“I don’t know how long you’re going to keep this up. You’re doing too much.”
“It’s what I set out to do, Lolean—to help people who couldn’t help themselves.”
Ransom ate steadily, his hunger aroused by the good food, and finally she took a napkin off of yet another plate and said, “Here. You will like this.”
“What is it?”
“Gateaux galore.”
“Always loved chocolate. How’d you learn to cook, Lolean?”
“My mother taught me how. Now, drink your coffee.”
“You’re up awfully late, Lolean. You’d better go to bed.”
“I’ll go later after you.”
“I’m so grateful for your help,” Ransom said, sighing with contentment. “It’s almost like having a wife. No, it’s better than that. Most wives don’t take care of their husbands as well as you look after me.”
The young woman did not speak, and when Ransom glanced up, he saw an odd expression on her face. “Why, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Lolean said quickly. “It’s just that I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t taken me in.”
“Well, I guess the Lord knew that you needed me and that I needed you. God always puts things together exactly right.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“I hope you always will.”
“You know, Lolean, there are beautiful simplicities in every life. Oh, there are mixed-up things, too, but basically we need to love God and love each other.”
Lolean sat down, seeing that despite his fatigue, Sheffield wanted to talk. It had occurred to her more than once that he really had no one to talk to, at least not on an intimate basis. She loved listening to him, and as he began to describe his dream of a hospital, she was happy to draw up a chair.
“You know, sometimes I wonder if I’m crazy, Lolean. I feel as if I’m a man in the middle of a bridge who forgets both its ends and just stands there, looking down at the water flowing below.”
“That is not what you’re like, Doctor.”
He looked at her, thinking again what a beautiful young woman she was. He had been surprised when she seemed to have no interest in the many men who were certainly interested in her. He took in the ripe and self-possessed curve of her mouth, her wide-spaced eyes colored a golden brown that seemed to have no bottom, and the pale olive shading of her skin—a beautiful complexion. He could not help also but notice the shape of her body: slim and tall. The light from the lamps were kind to Lolean, showing the soft lines of her body and the womanliness in her breast and shoulder.
“You’re a comfort, Lolean,” he said. “I don’t know why you sit here in the middle of the night, listening to my rambling.”
“I like it,” she said simply. “And you are going to have your hospital one of these days.”
“I hope you’re right.” He leaned back, closed his eyes, and locked his fingers behind his head.
“Have you ever had a sweetheart?” Lolean asked abruptly.
Startled, Ransom opened his eyes and took in the expression on her face. “Not really. Women seem to play a game, and I never learned the rules of it.”
Lolean studied him, saying little for a while. “I feel like an orphan, Ransom: too young to die and too old to play, and I’m always losing people. Beloved people push off from my life like boats on the shore, and they disappear.”
Ransom Sheffield felt compassion for the lovely, lonely young woman before him. He leaned forward and took her hand. “Don’t be sad,” he said quietly. “You have many wonderful qualities.”
“No, not really.”
The two looked at each other, and her lips parted in wonder. She had never been as attractive to him as she was at that moment, and he suddenly realized that she was looking at him the way a woman looks at a man. He knew she admired him, and he had come to feel a great affection for her. He opened his mouth to speak, but as he did, the door suddenly resounded from a knock. Quickly he drew his hand back and said, “Come in.” When the door opened, he jumped to his feet. “Why, Leonie, what are you doing here this late?”
Leonie’s face was strained, and her eyes were filled with misery of some sort. “Could I—could I talk with you, Dr. Sheffield?”
“Of course. Come in.”
Lolean stood and gave a half-resentful glance at Leonie. “I’ll be going now.” She picked up the tray and said, “Go to bed as soon as you can. You won’t be fit for work tomorrow.”
“I will, Lolean. Thanks for the supper.” As soon as the door closed, he turned and said, “What’s the matter?”
“Something terrible has happened, Dr. Sheffield.”
“Look, I think we’re good enough friends we can be on a first-name basis. Leonie and Ransom, all right? Now, what’s happened? Is Lady Maria ill again?”
“No, it’s not that. I had to leave Belle Fleur.”
“Had to leave? Why?” He listened as she repeated the story, and he saw the despair etched on her face and deep in her eyes. “I can’t believe it, and I don’t see how Lady Maria could believe it.”
“The man was in my room. Something was wrong with me. I don’t even remember any of it.”
“You were obviously drugged, Leonie.”
“And the jewelry. Zara says I stole the pieces from her and she found them in my room.”
Anger began to build in Ransom. His face grew stern. “I think Lady Maria’s lost something somewhere along the line—compassion or common sense. She knows you well enough to know better.”
“She couldn’t deny the evidence.”
“Well, we’re going to look into this. Don’t worry about it.”
“How can I help it?” Leonie said, tears tingeing her voice. “I have no place to go, Ransom, except back to the convent.”
“Nonsense. You’re not going there. We’ll fix up a room here at the clinic, and you can work here. Not much money for anybody, but it’ll be a place to stay, and I can certainly use the help.”
Relief flooded Leonie, and she said simply, “I knew I could come to you. You were the first one I thought of.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“You’re so kind. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had you to turn to.”
Ransom put his hand on her shoulder. She seemed very small and vulnerable. “People have to learn to serve each other. We live on credit, balances of little favors we give, and one day we have to return. If you meet someone in trouble, you stop. Another time he may stop for you. One of these days you may pull me out of trouble.”
“I can’t imagine that.”
“The first thing is to get you settled. Come on. Let’s get that room fixed up.”
Leonie’s life took such an abrupt turn at times that it left her breathless. The room in the back of the clinic was small, but she made it functional and attractive. She hung the tapestry she had been working on on the wall, and it gave her comfort to look at it. Some of it she had done before she had left the convent, some while she was working for Madam Honore, and some at Belle Fleur. She thought often that the tapestry was like herself, the fabric of her life woven into it.
She was sitting in her room early in the morning before breakfast. She had been reading her Bible, and it came to her suddenly that her life had a vastly different shape from anything she had imagined. It had new branches, and some of the old branches were dead. It had followed the constant pattern of discard and growth that all lives follow. Things passed, and she had confidence that new things would come. She got up, washed her face, and walked outside. It was too early for patients to begin to gather, so she went to the small kitchen and began cooking breakfast.
She thought of Lolean and knew that the girl resented her. She also had learned during the days she had been there that Lolean had eyes for Dr. Ransom Sheffield. This came as no surprise to Leonie; the girl had come in pitiful condition, and it was Ransom who had pulled her out o
f it. It was obvious he was a hero to her. Quickly she made eggs, fried ham, and coffee. She had just finished eating when a knock on the clinic’s front door startled her. She got up and walked to the front. When she unbolted the door and opened it, she found Blaise Mignon. “Blaise,” she said, “come in.”
“Good morning. Am I too early?”
“No. Have you had breakfast?”
“Not yet,” he said. He was wearing a new suit, not the one she had made for him, and looked altogether more prosperous.
“Come in. I’ll fix you something. Will eggs and ham be all right?”
“What could be better?”
He followed her into the little kitchenette and sat down. She poured him a cup of coffee and then began to prepare the food. “I’ve done nothing but think about what happened,” Blaise said.
“It doesn’t do much good to think about it, does it?” She tried to smile, but the pain of her separation from her grandmother was keen. “When I didn’t have any relatives, I had nothing to lose. But I was just beginning to feel that I was a part of Lady Maria’s life.”
“You were. She was very fond of you. Everybody could see it.” Blaise sipped his coffee, then shook his head. “Something is wrong, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
She finished preparing the breakfast, and when she sat down, he began to eat. But his eyes were fixed on her. “Are you very unhappy, my dear?”
“I have a hurt in my heart, for I hate to disappoint my grandmother.”
“This place isn’t much,” Blaise noted. “I’m being paid now. If you’d like to move to a better place—”
“Oh no, this is fine. I have work to do here.”
“It’s not a paying proposition, is it?”
“No, not for anyone. I suppose that’s why I admire Dr. Sheffield so much. He could be making a lot of money in practice. He’s such a fine doctor.”
“I admire him, too, although sometimes I think he’s a fool for turning down prosperity. I think of my own life and the mistakes I made. They were the worst kind. You know, sometimes I think we’re made of memories. They say 95 percent of us is water, but that’s wrong. It’s 95 percent memories.” He took a bite of toast, chewed it thoughtfully, and shrugged. “My memories are all snarled and tangled like a line on a reel that had to be cut away. I’ll never get them straightened out.”
“God could straighten them out for you, Blaise.”
He smiled. “You’re going to preach at me. I can feel it coming. Well, I’m eating your food, so preach away.”
“I’ve become very fond of you, and I want to see you safe.”
The simple declaration made Blaise stop midchew. He said, “I believe you mean that. Well, don’t give up on me, Leonie. I’ve thought about God more since I met you than I have in my whole life.”
At that moment Lolean entered the kitchen. She was startled to see Leonie and Blaise there.
“Let me fix you some breakfast, Lolean,” Leonie offered.
“No, thank you,” she said, backing toward the door. “I’ll eat later. Good morning, Monsieur.”
“Good morning, Miss.”
Lolean disappeared, and Blaise lifted one eyebrow. “What a beautiful girl.”
“She is very pretty.”
“The doctor’s doing all right. Two beautiful women to take care of him.”
“It’s not like that, Blaise,” Leonie protested, “and I’m not beautiful the way she is.”
“We won’t argue about that.” He finished his breakfast and said, “Do you need any money? I just got paid.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“All right. I’ve got to go.” He reached out and took her hand and kissed it. “You’re going to find your place. I’m going to see to it.”
“As God wills.”
“I don’t know much about God, but I think it’s always His will that a family be together. Good-bye.” He left abruptly, and Leonie stood thinking what a strange man he was.
“We worked too hard. We’ve got to have a break.”
Leonie looked up. She had been mopping the floor, and Ransom had come in, his face determined.
“You work harder than anyone,” she said.
“Well, I need a break then. Tonight we’re going out on the town.”
“Going out? Where?”
“We’ll go out and have dinner at an expensive restaurant. Then we’ll go to either the circus or an opera. They are both in town. I’ll let you choose.”
“I’d rather go to the opera, but isn’t it expensive?”
“I got a new contribution for the clinic. We’ll take a little out of it. We owe ourselves a night out.”
“If you say so!”
The two looked at each other like conspirators, and he said, “You know, we ought to ask Lolean to go.”
“Oh, that would be very nice.”
Lolean, when Ransom mentioned it, brightened up at first, but then her face fell when he said, “Just the three of us.”
“Leonie is going?”
“Yes. It’ll be fun, Lolean.”
“I’d rather not. I don’t care for operas.”
“We’ll be disappointed.”
She did not answer, and Ransom could not persuade her to go. He mentioned this to Leonie, who looked at him oddly. “Don’t you know why she won’t go?”
“She says she doesn’t like operas.”
“Ransom, she’s a woman, and you practically saved her life. It’s only natural she would attach herself to you.”
“Well, nothing can come of that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I don’t know why not. It’s just not to be.”
“Be very careful, Ransom.”
Ransom stared at her. “What do you mean, ‘Be careful’?”
“I mean she’s a beautiful young woman, and you’re often alone with her. You could make a big mistake and hurt her very badly— yourself too.”
Ransom looked confused. “That won’t happen, but I’ll be careful. Another night I’ll take her somewhere else—just she and I will go.”
“That’s a good idea. What time shall we leave?”
“As early as we can. I want to make this a night to remember.”
The meal had been excellent, and the opera had been fun. Leonie had been pleased to see her old schoolmate Damita Madariaga there, and the two had had time for a brief visit.
Driving home in a carriage that one of Ransom’s doctor friends had offered, Leonie and Ransom carried on an animated conversation punctuated by laughter. When they reached the clinic, he unhitched the horse, and the two went inside. The clinic was silent. A single lantern hung on the wall threw its amber corona through the room, twisting shadows into shapes and shedding yellow on the walls and on the floor.
“I’m tired, but I hate to go to bed,” Leonie said with a sigh.
Ransom turned to her and asked, “Did you have a good time, really?”
“Oh yes!”
“I wanted to make you forget some of your problems. I had some things I needed to forget myself.”
“What would you want to forget?”
“Oh, we all have things that need to be shoved into a box and locked up.”
The two stood talking in low voices, and as Leonie stood looking up at Ransom, he recognized a deep and well-guarded interest. He was aware that something warm and real lay between them, strong and unsettling, and he gave way to a smiling restlessness. She spoke in a detached and unstirred voice, but somehow Ransom knew she was not as cool as she seemed, for somewhere within, an emotion worked and left its fugitive expression on her face.
Then suddenly, without really meaning to, he leaned forward to see more of what was in her face. He caught the smell of her perfume, lavender, and as he drew even closer, he put his hands on her shoulders. He saw that she had not moved but was looking at him with her face lifted, her eyes motionless. He saw the quick rise and fall of her bosom, and he leaned forward and kissed her. At each moment he waited for her
protest and was astonished when it did not come. He felt her hands go to his shoulders, and she did not pull away.
For a moment, as his lips lay on hers, there was a sweetness in them for him. Then the heat of something rash and timeless touched him. She had the power, he discovered with a start, to deepen his sense of loneliness and his hungers.
Leonie knew she was trembling, and she was enormously aware of the strength of Ransom’s arms as they pulled her closer and even more aware of the pressure of his lips on hers. It was like a tall fire springing up through a black sky, and she knew somehow she had crossed a boundary that she had set for herself. She pulled him closer for a moment, and then with a sob pushed him away.
“Don’t cry, Leonie, it was my fault. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she whispered. “Please don’t be sorry.”
“Then I won’t be.” Faint color stained her cheeks, and she looked at him with a glance that he could not really understand. She was like a strong presence, like a fragrance riding the night air, like a melody coming from a great distance. Ransom said, “We better say good night.”
“Yes. Good night, Ransom. It was a lovely evening.” Turning, she walked quickly away, but he stood for a long time in the yellow light of the lantern.
“What did I mean by that?” he whispered. And he found that he did not know.
Something had changed. He knew that the two of them had turned a corner, had touched the mystery that lies between a man and a woman, and could never be again what they had been before that night.
Chapter eighteen
Two weeks had passed since Leonie’s trip to the opera with Ransom, and every day and every night she was conscious that something new and different had touched her life. It was not the memory of the opera or the fine meal at the restaurant that she dwelt upon but the moments when the two were alone, and Ransom had put his arms around her and kissed her. She had no experience with men and was not sure what he meant by it. She had listened to other young women talk about their romances, but that was of no help to her.
Late one Thursday afternoon she had taken a few moments off from her work in the clinic to walk around the city. She walked aimlessly for a while and found herself on St. Peters Street, walking through the cemetery. She knew that burials in New Orleans were different from those in other places. New Orleans was built on low and swampy ground—the area surrounded by ditches and the earth from the ditches used to raise the level of the land. All of the plots were aboveground, and the cemetery was fenced partly by a wood palisade and partly by a brick wall. She knew that the cemeteries in the city were called Cities of the Dead, and somehow the walk troubled her.
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