by Janette Oke
She must have been impressed by the nicely dressed, professional young man, because she finally answered him, respect in her tone. “You caught me by surprise,” she responded slowly. “I was expecting my favorite Doctah Luke to be in to see me. Now I see a good-looking young man who appeahs to me to know what he is doing. How can such a small town have the honah of two such notable doctahs while the city of Boston suffahs with old has-beens and young, smug upstarts?”
Jackson laughed heartily, patting her hand as he did so.
“Doctah Brown, you say?” Mrs. Stafford-Smyth said, turning toward Belinda. “Where did you evah find him, my deah?”
Belinda could feel her cheeks flushing. She could also feel Jackson’s eyes upon her. She did wish that Mrs. Stafford-Smyth were not quite so forthright.
“Dr. Brown grew up in our community,” she explained, hoping her voice was even and controlled. “His mother is the schoolteacher in our country school. Dr. Luke has been in touch with him all through his trainin’, hopin’ to entice him back to our little town.”
The elderly lady’s eyes again rested on Jackson. “I still say it is unfai-ah,” she protested good-naturedly.
Jackson became serious and all-doctor then, examining the patient, asking questions, and jotting items of note on the small pad he carried.
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth cooperated. Belinda had the impression that she rather liked doctors fussing over her.
“We have some new medication I would like to try,” Jackson told the woman. “It has been used with good success in the hospital where I took my training. I will explain to Nurse Davis the dosage and how it is to be administered.”
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth nodded in agreement.
“Now I do believe,” went on Jackson, “that when I arrived, I heard some talk about sitting up for a short time. I think that’s a splendid idea. Could I help you to settle Mrs. Stafford-Smyth before I go, Nurse Davis?”
Belinda nodded and went to prepare the lady’s chair by the window. Then, with Jackson’s help, Mrs. Stafford-Smyth was carefully positioned on the chair, the draperies pulled back, and the window slightly raised so she might enjoy the freshness of the summer day.
Belinda thanked Jackson and was about to turn back to her patient when Jackson surprised her with a request.
“May I see you for a moment please, Nurse?” he asked.
Belinda felt a twinge of concern. Had he noticed something about her patient she had failed to see? And then she remembered the new medication—he had said that he would explain to her the proper use and dosage.
“I’ll be right back,” she assured Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, “and I will be jest outside yer door. If you should need me, I’ll—”
“Nonsense,” said the lady. “I’m fine. I haven’t breathed such wonderful ai-ah for weeks.”
Belinda smiled and followed Jackson to the hallway.
“She’s really doing remarkably well,” he commented after the door had closed gently behind them. “I am convinced that she has had first-rate care.”
“Luke has—” began Belinda, but Jackson interrupted her.
“I know that Luke has handled her treatment well—but I was talking specifically about nursing care.”
Belinda could only flush at his compliment. “Thank you,” she stammered, her eyes dropping.
Jackson stood for a moment looking down at her.
“I was hoping you’d have dinner with me this evening.”
Belinda looked up quickly. The invitation had caught her completely by surprise.
“I . . . I thought you were goin’ to explain the medication . . . to tell—”
“I didn’t bring it with me,” hastened Jackson. “I have a supply at the office. I’ll bring it this evening and explain it all to you then.”
His eyes seemed to be pleading, and she wasn’t sure just why. Was it necessary to meet over dinner to discuss the medication? Would a doctor ask his nurse to discuss cases over a meal? But she had worked only for Luke, and they were occupants of the same house. They could discuss cases anytime. Maybe it wasn’t unusual. How was she to know? She found her head nodding in agreement. Instinctively she knew that working with Jackson was going to be different than working with her brother Luke.
“Very well,” she responded, licking her lips to moisten them.
“When are you off?” he asked next.
“Mrs. Mills comes at seven.”
“Fine. I’ll see you then.”
“But . . . but . . .” argued Belinda. “I . . . I should freshen up some before . . . before dinner.”
“Of course,” he smiled. “I was thoughtless. How much time do you need?”
“It’s going to make supper—er, dinner—very late,” Belinda reasoned. “Ya’ll be starved by then.”
“Tell you what,” he bargained. “Why don’t we both catch a little something to eat around four, and then we’ll be able to wait until eight with no problem.”
Belinda felt she had been invited into some kind of conspiracy— actually, it was rather exciting. She nodded, a smile playing about her lips.
“I’ll leave orders downstairs to send something up to the room for you and Mrs. Stafford-Smyth,” he went on, and when Belinda
was about to protest he waved it aside.
“I’ll see you later,” he promised with a smile that both dismayed and warmed Belinda. He touched her arm gently and was gone.
Belinda stood slowly shaking her head, watching his brisk strides take him down the corridor. Just before he rounded the corner, he turned slightly and gave her a little wave of his hand.
She blushed, not expecting to get caught watching him walk away.
She pushed the door open gently and returned to her patient, glad to have something with which to occupy her time and attention.
“How are ya?” she asked solicitously. “Are ya tirin’?”
“Oh my, no,” said the woman forcefully, “and don’t you dai-ah try to put me back in that stuffy old bed yet.”
Belinda smiled and went to freshen the bed while her patient was out of it.
“My,” went on Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, “such a nice young man!
You’re a lucky girl.”
Belinda lifted her eyes from the bed she was remaking, about to ask the lady what she had meant by her statement. But Mrs.
Stafford-Smyth went on. “He likes you, you know. Anyone can see that. Have you known him long?”
Belinda wanted to deny the lady’s assumption, but she wasn’t sure she could truthfully do so, so she skipped it and went to the woman’s question.
“We went to school together for a couple of years. He was a year ahead of me, an’ he left to go take his trainin’.”
“And did you develop your interest in nursing before or aftah you met him?” questioned Mrs. Stafford-Smyth frankly.
Belinda felt her face coloring but she answered, perhaps a little too quickly, “Before. I guess I’ve always been interested in nursin’.
When Luke discovered my eagerness to learn it, he promised to help me. I was only a little girl then.”
The lady smiled, then nodded. “See! It’s like I said. Good nurses are born, not made.”
They were silent for a few moments. Belinda continued straightening up the room, and Mrs. Stafford-Smyth sat looking out upon the sun-drenched world beyond her bedroom.
“I must say, though,” she mused, “it certainly has complicated things for me!”
“Complicated things? Meanin’?” Belinda asked, not following the woman’s train of thought.
“I had been hoping I might soon be ready to make the train trip home.”
“The new medication won’t complicate thet, I’m sure,” Belinda quickly assured her. “In fact, it might well hasten thet time fer ya.”
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s eyes began to shine with excitement, the first that Belinda had seen there. Then the woman sobered again.
“That wasn’t just what I meant,” she continued. “I had . . . had been pla
nning for some time to ask if you would accompany me.”
Belinda’s breath caught in her throat in a little gasp. She had never even thought about such a thing. The enormity of it caught her totally by surprise.
“You mean . . . travel with ya by train . . . all the . . . the way to Boston?” she asked.
“If you would.”
“Oh my,” said Belinda. “I never thought I’d see the likes of Boston.”
“Would you consider it?” asked Mrs. Stafford-Smyth.
“I . . . I don’t know. I’m not sure thet Luke could manage—” “He would have Flo—and the new nurse he’s training. You said so yourself.”
“Yes, but . . . but Luke hasn’t even started trainin’ the second girl yet, an’ . . . an’ Flo . . . well, she’s not ready yet to take over—”
“It wouldn’t be for a week or so yet—and besides, there are two doctahs now. They can relieve each other.”
That was true.
“Maybe they could . . . could manage for a short time,” began Belinda. “How many days would the trip take?”
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth did not answer at once. She hesitated, looking steadily into Belinda’s face. Then she spoke slowly.
“That’s the complication. I had wanted you to stay on with me in Boston . . . indefinitely . . . as my private nurse . . . and now . . . now this young, good-looking doctah appeahs . . . and it is very plain to me that . . . that he has othah plans for you.”
Belinda began to flush deeply. “Oh . . . I . . . I believe you are . . . are mistakin’ friendship fer . . . fer something more,” she argued. “Jackson—Dr. Brown and I were classmates, not . . . not . . .” She faltered to a stop, feeling she had already said too much.
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth did not appear to be convinced.
“Did you write?” she quizzed.
“Fer . . . fer a short while,” answered Belinda honestly.
“Did he return a married man?”
“No-o-o.”
“Has he ever spoken of anothah young woman?”
“No,” Belinda quickly explained, “but we have not been writing lately. There might very well be a young woman . . .”
But Mrs. Stafford-Smyth just smiled a knowing smile. “I rest my case,” she said.
Belinda’s head began to whirl. What was Mrs. Stafford-Smyth telling her? Surely, after all these years Jackson could not still think . . . ? Why had he invited her to dinner to discuss a case that could have been taken care of at the office or here in the sickroom? What is going on? Oh my! she thought. Oh my! But Mrs. Stafford-Smyth was speaking again.
“If I should be wrong—or if you should be interested,” she began, “my offah stands. I would welcome you as my traveling companion and as my nurse in my home in Boston for as long as it would convenience both of us. The salary will be negotiated at such time as you decide. I will not pressure—but it would please me very much if you should decide to accept my proposal.”
Belinda could only shake her head. It all seemed like a dream.
“Oh my,” she said hesitantly. “I . . . I think I would enjoy the trip . . . but to stay on . . . well . . . thet’s quite different. I’ve never been away from my family . . . and . . . well, I guess I sorta feel I’m needed here. Luke needs me an’ . . . an’ Mama needs me. Now that things are . . . are . . . now that Dr. Brown is here an’ you are feelin’ much better . . . I . . . I plan to go home more. I . . . I jest don’t know. . .” Her voice trailed off.
“We’ll let it rest . . . for now,” said Mrs. Stafford-Smyth.
Belinda was glad to dismiss the amazing idea from her mind and turn to other things.
At four o’clock sharp there was a rap on the door and a young girl from the hotel kitchen staff stepped aside when Belinda opened it.
“I was ta bring this to yer room at four,” she offered.
“Oh my. Oh, oh yes,” responded Belinda. She had quite forgotten Jackson’s suggestion. She took the tray from the girl, thanked her sincerely, and turned back to the room.
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, who was tucked back in her bed propped up with pillows, looked quizzically at her.
“Dr. . . . Dr. Brown ordered it,” explained Belinda. “He thought thet a bit of refreshment might be . . . might be a good idea.”
“What a thoughtful young man,” commented the elderly lady. She eyed the tray filled with hot tea, pastries, and fresh fruit.
“It does look good, doesn’t it? Could you help me sit up just a bit more?”
Belinda looked in surprise at her patient. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, who had needed to be coaxed and cajoled into eating even a small portion of her meals, was prepared to attack with enthusiasm the tray of afternoon tea things.
Perhaps we should have thought to try this long ago, Belinda told herself. She might have taken to “tea” more quickly than to “dinner.”
Belinda poured two cups of the steaming tea, added sugar and cream to Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s at her bidding, and then the two ladies settled down to enjoy the dainties from the tea tray. It was almost like having a party, and Belinda enjoyed the bright chatter of Mrs. Stafford-Smyth as she recalled some of the teatimes she had shared with others in her home in Boston.
I must remember to tell Jackson—Dr. Brown—over supper—dinner— how good this has been for Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, Belinda told herself.
Perhaps it would not be long, after all, until the elderly lady would be able to return to her dearly loved Boston.
SIXTEEN
Dinner
Belinda had ample time to bathe, do her hair, and dress carefully. She had gotten quite a few questions from her two small nephews and a few good-natured remarks from her brother Luke when her plans for the evening were known. She tried to brush it all aside and convince them that this was nothing more than a doctor-nurse consultation in regard to a patient. But by now she had difficulty convincing even herself of that.
She told herself that she would not dress “special,” but even as she made the determination she found herself lifting a soft, full-skirted pink taffeta from her closet. She knew it was by far the most becoming dress she owned. She slipped it over her head and studied herself in the mirror, deciding just how she should style her hair to go with the gown.
She had just finished adding a touch of scent to her wrists and temples when she heard the knock at the front door and Luke admitted Jackson to the family parlor. Belinda felt her pulse quicken—merely because this would be a special evening out, she said to herself, and for Belinda those were few indeed. With heart pounding and cheeks warm, she waited for Luke’s summons before leaving her room to meet her caller.
Jackson did not compliment her with words, but his eyes shone with appreciation as he looked at Belinda. She took a deep breath in attempt to calm herself as he held the door for her, but his light touch under her arm as they walked down the front steps sent a thrill through her that was both pleasurable and unnerving.
Belinda walked by his side as calmly as she could manage, anxious to take her seat in the hotel dining room before the whole small town was abuzz with the fact that she was out strolling with the new doctor.
The dinner was an enjoyable experience for both of them.
Jackson talked easily, sharing with Belinda stories of his experiences in medical training and his excitement over new medicines and treatments that were constantly being discovered.
“The field of medicine is moving forward so quickly that it is difficult for us doctors to keep up,” he said, genuine awe in his voice.
Belinda could not help but feel some of his enthusiasm. For a moment her old wish came to mind. I wish I’d been a boy. Then I could have been a doctor. But she did not dwell on it for long.
When there was a bit of a lull in the conversation, Belinda dared present a question. She didn’t know how Jackson would respond to being asked about a patient—by a mere nurse. She was so used to working with Luke, and they discussed all cases openly.
“What . . . what do you think abou
t Mrs. Stafford-Smyth and her progress?” she ventured rather timidly.
“From reading all of Luke’s reports and examining her today, I would say that she has made a remarkable recovery,” he answered without hesitation.
Belinda relaxed. It was good to hear another doctor fresh from the latest in medical training agree with Luke about her patient.
She had really become quite attached to the elderly lady, in spite of the obvious difference in their social backgrounds.
“I think that getting her up for a brief time was an excellent idea,” Jackson continued. “Did she tire quickly?”
“She surprised me. But I didn’t leave her up quite as long as she would have liked. I was afraid she might overdo.”
“Good for you,” encouraged Jackson. “She should gain her strength back quickly now as long as she doesn’t do something foolish and have a setback.”
“She is beginning to talk about traveling home to Boston,” Belinda said slowly.
“Home? That might be rushing things a bit. Unless, of course, she has someone who will come and travel with her. Even then I would give it another week or two at the least.”
A week or two. That really wasn’t very long.
“Someone mentioned a traveling companion,” went on Jackson.
“Yes,” said Belinda, “but we just heard from the woman. She hasn’t recovered well after her surgery. She isn’t able to come.”
“Well, Mrs. Stafford-Smyth definitely won’t be able to travel by herself for some time yet,” said Jackson soberly. Then he brightened. “But perhaps something else could be arranged. I would like to see you freed up from your heavy responsibility as soon as possible.”
Belinda looked up quickly. “I’ve rather enjoyed nursin’ her,” she said.
“I’m sure you have. And you have done a commendable job. But there comes a time when one must move on to other things . . . don’t you think?” and Jackson smiled at Belinda in the soft light of the lamp.
She nodded. Perhaps it is time to move on to other things, she agreed, but she did not voice her thoughts to Jackson. Something told her that she and Jackson might not quite be thinking along the same lines. She wondered just what he might say if she were to tell him about Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s complimentary proposal. But she decided that this might not be the time. After all, the two doctors did need a nurse to assist in the office, and Flo was not yet knowledgeable enough to take over all the duties. Belinda decided she would not concern Jackson with the possibility that she might ask for a few months’ leave. At least not just yet.
