“What if I sent Paisley?”
“She’s the law.”
That was an odd objection. Still, he could respect her wishes. Heavens, she looked tired. Defeated. “Someone who isn’t connected with the law, who isn’t a gossip, and who could be trusted to keep a secret?”
“I doubt there is such a person.”
“Doc?” Hawk’s voice was unmistakable, as was Miriam’s immediate, total panic.
“Please don’t tell him.” Her fingers dug into his arm. “Please.”
“What did I do to convince you that I could not be trusted?”
“Doctors can’t be trusted,” she whispered.
Hawk reached them; there would be no avoiding his questions. “Miriam truly has taken ill,” Gideon said.
To his credit, Hawk looked immediately concerned. “Can I do anything?”
“Would you locate Tansy for me and send her over to my house in a quarter hour?” Gideon asked.
“I will.” Hawk’s gaze returned to Miriam. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
Gideon assumed his most reassuring tone. “She has taken a little ill, but she’ll be feeling better soon.”
Hawk eyed them both as if he didn’t entirely believe Gideon’s words. That was the risk one took when telling half-truths to any of the three officers of the law who called Savage Wells home. They saw through ruses the way ordinary people saw through glass.
As Gideon guided Miriam around the corner of the building, Miriam looked up at him. “Thank you . . . for being kind.”
“It would seem I am not the villain you think I am, doctor or not.”
Chapter 18
Doctors can’t be trusted. She was ill, and he was a doctor, something that ought to have made him an ally, and yet it seemed to have made him her enemy. He likely had all of her previous dismissals to thank for that.
He knew he ought to be pulling out all of his medical texts and reading everything he could find on seizures, but his thoughts were spinning too rapidly for concentration. Though he’d witnessed seizures before, the experience never stopped being jarring, more especially when the one suffering through it was someone he cared about. The fear he’d felt in that moment still hadn’t subsided.
Thank heavens for Tansy. When he’d told her Miriam was ill and preferred the details of her illness not be public knowledge, Tansy had merely shrugged and told him she wasn’t a gossip. He’d expected precisely that response, but he’d been caught by surprise at the tender attentiveness she’d shown Miriam. There was a warmheartedness to Tansy that she kept well hidden.
He leaned back in his chair. His eyes, gritty with exhaustion, slid shut. He needed an escape. His weary body and mind easily conjured the remembered weight of his cello leaning against his chest and legs. Of their own volition, the fingers of his left hand pressed imaginary strings, while his right hand imitated in small movements the motions of bowing. He could hear the music in his mind, soothing and centering him. He couldn’t play with Tansy in the house. His music was too personal to share with anyone else. Miriam only knew about it by accident.
A crash above Gideon’s head pulled him back to the moment.
“Doc!” Tansy’s shout carried down to him. “You’d best get up here.”
He jumped up and ran. Even knowing what he was likely to find upon entering Miriam’s room, he still stopped short at the sight of her on the floor in the same state as before.
Tansy knelt near Miriam’s convulsing body. “She was fixin’ to climb into bed when this came on. Knocked herself hard into the bedside table on her way down.”
He would need to check for injuries again once the seizure stopped. He joined Tansy, watching and waiting.
“When you said she had a condition she didn’t want anyone knowing about, I assumed you meant she was expecting a baby. Not being married, she would want that kept to herself.” Tansy folded her arms across her chest.
That assumption hadn’t even occurred to him. “Thank you for your help,” he said, “and your discretion. Not everyone would be so understanding.” Indeed, Tansy didn’t seem distraught at the unnerving scene playing out before her. She kept as close an eye on Miriam as Gideon did.
“My brother had shakes like this every day. People said things about him—that he had a devil, that he’d been sneakin’ the moonshine, that he was mad.” Tansy shook her head. “But he was a good boy. He was ill, that was all.”
“I didn’t know about your brother.” Perhaps her family knew of some kind of treatment or home remedy.
“He died when he was still young. Hit his head during one of these.” She motioned to Miriam’s quickly subsiding seizure. “He never woke up from that one.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“He was my best friend,” Tansy said, “and the only one in my family who thought I was worth a hill of beans. Maybe because they were ashamed of the both of us, so we understood each other.”
Gideon knew only snippets of Tansy’s past, but what he did know tugged at him. It was little wonder she was, for the most part, hard and distant. People had been hurting her for too long. He firmly suspected the same could be said of Miriam. The treatment Tansy’s brother had endured was not unique. Unexplained illnesses, especially those that manifested themselves in unnerving ways, frightened people. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right. But it was far too often true.
The seizure ended faster than the previous one. Miriam lay there, still, pale, entirely unaware of her surroundings.
He leaned closer, eyeing her left shoulder. “I think she may have dislocated her collarbone.”
Tansy nodded. “She knocked into that table hard, poor thing.”
Miriam had told Rupert that she’d once dislocated her shoulder in a fall. It likely had been a seizure. How long had she been enduring these?
“I can fetch her another nightgown if she needs one,” Tansy said.
“You really do have experience with this.”
“Told you I did.”
Gideon slid along the floor right up to Miriam’s side. A quick examination confirmed his suspicions about her shoulder. He quickly assessed her head as well, then felt along her arms, then her legs.
“She has separated her shoulder,” he said, “but her other bones seem whole.” He looked across at Tansy. “I will need some help realigning her shoulder.”
Tansy nodded firmly and confidently. “Tell me what to do.”
“Hold her down.”
Miriam turned her head in his direction. Though her eyes weren’t fully open, there was inarguable pleading in them.
He set his hands gently on either side of her face. “This is going to hurt like the dickens, my dear, but I suspect it does already.”
“Help me,” she mouthed silently.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be quick,” he promised her.
Gideon took hold of her left hand and set his foot in her armpit. He looked over at Tansy. Her grip tightened.
“Here we go.” He pulled Miriam’s arm quick and sharp. She cried out in pain. Gideon felt and saw the collarbone pop into place. She sucked in a sharp breath, the sound of her suffering suddenly silenced.
“Breathe,” he instructed, but she either didn’t hear or was unable to comply. “Breathe,” he repeated, more sternly.
She obeyed, the air rattling as she inhaled. Her next breaths were shallow and quick.
“Where do you keep your bandages, Doc?” Tansy was on her feet, ready to fetch the needed supplies.
“Bottom drawer of the armoire. You have experience resetting shoulders as well?”
She crossed the room. “I’ve lived a full life.”
Apparently. “Where were you six months ago when I began looking for a nurse?”
“Making moonshine. Where else would I have been?”
Gideon turned back to Miriam. He
cupped her face, hoping the touch reassured her, comforted her. “Immobilizing the arm will help tremendously.”
“Is it broken?” she asked.
“No.”
“Did Tansy see?”
Tansy returned with a length of bandaging. “I saw, but I’m no gossip. Besides, it ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Miriam closed her eyes tightly. Her breaths continued to shake, likely from a combination of exhaustion, frustration, and pain.
Gideon made short work of securing Miriam’s arm to her side to keep the shoulder from separating again. He helped her to her feet and eased her to the side of the bed, assisting her as she sat.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Tansy asked.
“I am a little thirsty.”
Tansy snatched the empty water pitcher from its stand and headed out of the room.
Alone with Miriam at last, Gideon asked the question that had been weighing on his mind. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her gaze remained firmly on her lap. “You would not have allowed me to stay if I’d told you. You would not have even allowed me to come.”
He sat on the bed beside her, tired to his core. “I likely would not have offered you this position if I’d known. There are too many possible complications.”
“What do you mean to do now that you know?” Emotion cracked through the words.
He hadn’t allowed himself to think that far yet. “That is a question best left unanswered at the moment. You need to rest and recover, and I need to consult my books.”
“I would rather you not study up,” she said. “Just let it be.”
He shook his head. “I can’t help you if I don’t learn all I can.”
“I don’t want you to help me.” Beneath the firmness of her tone was a layer of fear.
He had to find a way to reassure her. “As a doctor, I—”
“Don’t be a doctor. Just be Gideon.”
“But ‘Gideon’ is a doctor. It’s who I am.”
She turned the tiniest bit away from him. He hadn’t thought she could look even more exhausted, but, somehow, she did.
“Lie down,” he insisted. “I’ll pull the curtains so the sun won’t wake you in the morning, and I’ll fetch you an extra blanket.”
The words had only just left his mouth, and she was already lying down, the quilt pulled up over her, her eyes closed.
He wasn’t an expert on this condition by any means. He wasn’t even certain of the exact diagnosis. It was likely epilepsy, but the seizures could be caused by something else entirely. What if he wasn’t doing something he should have been? What if she needed medicine he didn’t have?
“I worry about you, Miriam Bricks,” he admitted quietly.
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
He shook his head at the illogical nature of her request. It was far too late for him to simply not worry about her, to not care.
Leaving her there was harder than he expected it to be, but he had questions that needed answers. If only he knew where to find them.
Chapter 19
Miriam made the agonizing trek downstairs the next afternoon, having slept far later than she’d expected. Her shoulder hurt, and she ached, but it was not her physical condition which slowed her steps. She knew what came next, and she dreaded it.
Every time a new doctor learned of her condition, one of two things happened. Either he sympathized with her plight but regretfully informed her that he was letting her go, or he informed her in crisp tones that he knew the mental ramifications of her ailment and, as such, would insist she be placed in an asylum for her own good and that of the people around her.
Her days in town were numbered. She would either leave in defeat or be forced once again to run for freedom.
She listened for voices, not wishing to intrude if Gideon had a patient, but the parlor was silent.
Her attempt to appear confident when she stepped into the room was no doubt undermined by the fact that she was still wearing her nightgown. The bandages holding her tender shoulder in place prevented her from lifting her arm enough to change her clothing. The question of her future was too pressing, however, to wait for more dignified attire.
Gideon was at his desk, as she’d assumed he would be. And, as she had guessed, several books sat open for his perusal.
“Good afternoon.” Her voice shook. That couldn’t be helped.
He looked up, and his eyes widened. “Miriam? What are you doing out of bed?” He hopped to his feet. “You are supposed to be resting.”
“I’ve slept away half of the day. I do not need more rest.”
He reached her side, his concern not ebbing in the slightest. “At least sit down.”
She opted not to argue; she had bigger issues to address. He led her to the couch and sat beside her.
“How are you feeling?” The way his gaze quickly scanned her face, her shoulder, and her overall demeanor, she guessed he didn’t actually need an answer to that question. He was a doctor, first and foremost. That was the problem.
“I am a little tired and a little sore,” she said. “But, other than my as-yet-unhealed shoulder, I am doing quite well.” She chose to jump straight to the heart of the matter. “Now that you are aware of my condition, what do you mean to do?”
“I don’t rightly know,” he said. “I’ve been studying for hours, but I haven’t come across anything helpful. So much about your ailment differs from case to case. I don’t know enough about your history with these episodes, how long you’ve had them, how often, or what has been tried with or without success.” He shook his head, his shoulders rising and falling. “I want to help, but I don’t know how yet.”
“I didn’t mean as my doctor. What do you mean to do as my employer?”
He leaned against the sofa back. “This is why you’ve been let go from so many jobs.”
He knew about that? Of course he did. That explained why he’d begun questioning her so intensely the past few days.
“It didn’t matter how capable I had shown myself, how competent, how hardworking. Once this was known, none of that mattered.” The experience had repeated itself so often that recalling those firings left her more tired than angry. “Is this to be next on my list of lost positions?”
He leaned his elbows on his knees, interlocking his fingers in front him. “I have been focusing on you as a patient, I hadn’t thought of—” His eyes seemed unfocused. “Do you always have warning beforehand? Last night you seemed to know—”
“Not always. I feel a bit strange, and sometimes I get an odd taste in my mouth. But not always.”
Her answer only clouded his expression further. “Then this could happen again at any moment, without warning.”
“Yes.” Experience kept her calm, despite the weight pressing on her heart. “Did you come across anything promising in your reading?”
He shook his head. “As much as I hate even saying it, this seems like an untreatable condition.”
“Believe me, I know,” she muttered.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Even if we had nothing more than a way to predict when this was going to happen. You could take the remainder of that day off and rest or . . .” He threw his hands upward in a show of frustration.
The nervousness she’d felt since leaving her bed that morning gave way to a familiar resignation. Though she’d known this was the inevitable outcome, a part of her had held out hope. “At least I know you will fall under the first category.”
He looked back at her, brows drawn and mouth turned down.
“Every doctor I have ever worked for has eventually discovered this about me,” she explained. “And they all reacted in one of two ways. They either dismissed me with kindness or with cruelty.”
“You’re a good nurse,” Gideon said, “but—”
“
Please.” She held up her good hand. “I know how that sentence ends, and I would rather not hear it again.”
“Right now, you are resting and recovering. Nothing needs to be decided immediately.”
That was a new response. “You aren’t firing me?”
“I would prefer not to,” he said. “There is a lot I haven’t read yet. Until I learn everything I can, I don’t intend to make a final decision.”
Obviously, he hadn’t yet discovered the link between seizures and insanity, otherwise a “final decision” would have already been made. While she didn’t think he would send her to a mental hospital, she felt certain his open-mindedness would waver in the face of that condemning information.
The front door squeaked open. A forced smile appeared on Gideon’s face. Miriam attempted to follow suit.
Paisley stepped in. Her eyes settled on Miriam. “How are you feeling?”
How much did she know? Surely Tansy and Gideon wouldn’t have told all they knew.
In the next moment, Tansy stormed into the parlor. “I said I’d fix a meal for you and Miss Bricks, but I ain’t feeding a queen.”
“A queen?” Gideon sounded as confused as Miriam felt.
“Came right in the kitchen, making demands and assessing the place like she meant to take over. I’m not a servant; I won’t be pushed around.”
Who in the world is in the kitchen? Miriam had never known any of the townspeople to come in through that door instead of the front.
The swish of silk layers and the click of heels on the wooden floor pulled Miriam’s thoughts back to New York City and the fine and fancy ladies Mother had socialized with. It was an odd sound to hear so far West.
A woman who would not have seemed the least bit out of place amongst the finest of East Coast society stepped inside the parlor. She held herself proudly, appraising everything with a critical eye. She didn’t seem to miss a thing, little or great. Her piercing gaze settled on Gideon, who had frozen, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and staring.
“There you are, Gideon,” the woman said in a cultured but chastising tone.
His mouth moved wordlessly for a moment. Then, with a shake of his head and a quick clearing of his throat, he said only two words: “Hello, Mother.”
Healing Hearts (Proper Romance) Page 13
