Where Trust Lies by Janette Oke

Author:Janette Oke [Oke, Janette and Laurel Oke Logan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042030, FIC042040, FIC042000
ISBN: 9781441265364
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2014-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

“I’m going to make a request, Mother, but I don’t want you to be alarmed.” Margret kept her voice low enough that the others who were eating breakfast at the table could not hear. Beth, who was seated at Margret’s elbow, leaned forward to hear and see both Mother and Margret.

Mother put her roll back on her plate. “What is it, darling?”

Margret whispered, “I would like to visit a doctor.” She hurried on, “I hate to be any trouble, but I spoke with John last night, and he’d prefer that I see someone today, if possible.”

“You’re still feeling nauseated?” Mother placed her hand on Margret’s, studying her face. Beth watched her skillfully reading for signs with practiced eyes.

Margret smiled faintly. “Actually, not as much today. But it would be wise to confirm or disprove . . . a notion I have.”

A meaningful pause, and Mother sat back in her chair with a little smile. “I couldn’t help but wonder, my darling. I have experienced certain—well, indications myself, four times over, you know.”

Margret returned a shy smile. “So you wondered . . . ?”

“Yes, it did cross my mind, Margret darling. And we must get you to a doctor as soon as possible. I’ll see to it immediately.” She stood, excused herself with a smile at the group, then hurried out of the bistro toward the front desk.

Mrs. Montclair looked around in bewilderment. “What’s gotten into Priscilla? Are you ill again, Margret? Can I be of any help?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine—truly I am.” Her modest sister shrank away from the unwelcome attention and pretended to wipe JW’s mouth.

“Gracious. I’ve not seen your mother move so quickly.” Mrs. Montclair shook her head but mercifully let the matter drop.

In the end, secrecy was rather pointless. Julie certainly was not one to “let the matter drop,” and by the time they returned to the room, the fact that Margret was hoping for a doctor’s visit had made the rounds in excited whispers. Margret was duly fussed over, advice raining down upon her from all sides as they crowded into the Thatcher suite.

“Put your feet up, dear,” directed Mrs. Montclair. “You’ll want to keep your legs from swelling.”

Mother added, “I hope there wasn’t a great deal of salt in your eggs and ham this morning. I’m still convinced that salt was the culprit last time. You’ll know to watch that now.”

Even Julie had her tidbit to add. “I can get you a cold compress. That helps whenever my ankles feel puffy.”

“I’m fine,” Margret insisted. “No part of me is puffy. Honestly.”

But the morning excursion for the day was canceled. Through the concierge, Mother had discovered a doctor’s office nearby, and soon Margret and Mother were in a taxicab on their way there. Monsieur Laurent made no comment, but his eyes held a knowing glint. Beth, Julie, and Victoria decided on taking a stroll past the little shops adjoining the hotel, not remembering they had no money with which to make purchases. But it felt good just to window-shop and stretch their legs in the fresh air.

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