Touch of Tenderness (Nurses of New York Book 3)

by Amelia C. Adams

  As he crossed the street, he noticed a house up ahead with smoke coming from it. It seemed an odd time of day to be baking, but he didn’t know much about housekeeping, so it wasn’t his place to determine that. As he grew closer, however, he saw that the smoke wasn’t coming from a chimney, but instead, was oozing from a window, and it was thick and black.

  He dashed up the steps to the porch and beat on the door, but no one answered. From inside, he could hear screams, and he knew he had to act quickly. The door wouldn’t open, no matter how hard he tried. With his heart pounding in his chest almost as loudly as his fists had pounded on the door, he tried to wrench the window open, but it wouldn’t budge. He looked around and spied a porch chair, which he picked up and smashed through the glass. Then he all but dove through the window, smoke pouring out through the newly created opening and making it incredibly difficult to see.

  “Hello?” he yelled. “Come this way—you need to get out of here!”

  He moved through the house as quickly as he could in the unfamiliar territory until he reached the kitchen, where he found several people huddled together on the floor. This appeared to be the source of the fire—whether the stove hadn’t been properly cleaned out or if there was some other cause, he couldn’t tell, but he lifted the people by their arms and pushed them toward the front of the house. He followed them and tried to open the door from the inside, but it was still jammed. Of course it would be—if they had an easy escape, these people most likely wouldn’t be inside. He wondered, though, why they hadn’t thought to break a window themselves.

  The smoke was becoming unbearable, and his lungs burned. Squinting, he found a poker by the fireplace and managed to pry the door open, nudging the family outside.

  “Grandpa!” a child cried out. “Where’s Grandpa?”

  A middle-aged woman gasped, clutching her stomach. “Oh, no. He’s probably still napping.”

  “I’ll get him,” Lewis said. “Where?”

  “Up the stairs and to the left,” she replied. “Thank you, but please hurry!”

  Lewis held his sleeve over his nose and mouth as he raced up the stairway, but that did little to nothing to ease the burning that seemed to consume his whole face, especially his eyes. He found the bedroom and the elderly man sleeping peacefully through it all. “Sir! Sir, your house is on fire. You need to come with me.”

  “What?” The man sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Never mind that for now. Just come!”

  The man blinked, then climbed out of bed and headed for the door, Lewis right behind him. As they entered the hall, a billow of smoke overcame them, making them both choke and gag.

  “Push through it!” Lewis yelled. “Get down the stairs!”

  He lost sight of the man as he plowed forward, feeling his way. When he reached the bottom stair, a piece of burning wall fell and hit the floor, sending a shower of sparks into the air. Some hit Lewis’s face, and he cried out in pain. Where was the door? His eyes were watering so badly, he couldn’t see anything up ahead. Then another piece of wall fell, and another. The ashes in the air floated like dark fairies, clinging to him, sticking to his face, coating his eyelashes, flying into his eyes like tiny shards of glass. Then he reached the door and stumbled through, collapsing on the grass in front of the house, clutching his face. It burned. It burned.

  Chapter Three

  A nurse popped her head into the office. “Dr. Wentworth, there’s been a house fire. You’re needed.”

  Dr. Wentworth ran toward the front of the hospital as quickly as he could with his stiff knee. Libby was on his heels, and they were there to greet the fire victims as they were brought in. Libby helped assess who was the most badly hurt and showed them to examination rooms, then told the others they’d be treated shortly. There were ten victims in all, ranging in age from seventy down to ten years old.

  She stepped into the first exam room, where Dr. Wentworth was helping a young man who was most likely in his early twenties. Again, she wished she were better at guessing ages. He had sandy blond hair, but that was all she could make out of his features because he was holding a wet towel to his face.

  “What’s your name, son?” Dr. Wentworth asked.

  “Lewis Franklin.” A cough escaped, and it sounded deep.

  “And can you tell me the nature of your injuries?”

  “I believe I burned my eyes, sir.”

  Dr. Wentworth quirked a brow at Libby. She’d learned from all the times she’d worked with him in the past that he intended that to mean, “What an interesting case.”

  “And how did that happen?”

  “Well, I was walking past a house and saw smoke coming from it. At first, I didn’t think anything of it, but then I noticed that it was coming from a window, not a chimney. I ran up to the house, but the door was locked, so I took a porch chair and smashed the glass. I could hear screaming, so I climbed inside.”

  “You went inside a house that was on fire?” Dr. Wentworth asked, incredulous.

  “Yes, sir. I realize it was foolish, but I could hear voices, and it didn’t look like any other help was coming.”

  Libby held back a gasp. How incredibly brave.

  “I understand. Go on,” Dr. Wentworth said.

  After another cough, Mr. Franklin continued. “I helped the family get to the front door, which wasn’t just locked, but jammed. I found a poker from the fireplace and pried it loose. They couldn’t go out the back door because it was a kitchen fire, and the flames were keeping them from it.”

  Dr. Wentworth nodded. “And your eyes?”

  “Well, it was hard to see, and the longer I was in there, the more my eyes burned. Right now, I feel like they’re on fire too.”

  “You’re staying remarkably calm despite all this,” the doctor said.

  Their patient chuckled bitterly. “Oh, trust me, sir, I’m not. I’m actually about ready to ask for a butter knife or some other such thing so I can gouge my eyes from their sockets.”

  “Well, before you do that, let me examine them. It would be easier if they were still in your head for this portion of your treatment.”

  Mr. Franklin lowered the towel, and immediately, tears began to flow. He grimaced as Dr. Wentworth raised each lid and peered beneath. Libby badly wanted to know what Dr. Wentworth was seeing, but knew it wasn’t the time to ask.

  She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, trying to keep her composure. Mr. Franklin looked young—so very young—with a smattering of light freckles across his nose, and sitting up there on the examination table, he seemed rather isolated. As soon as Dr. Wentworth finished his examination, Mr. Franklin pressed the towel to his face again.

  “Mr. Franklin, you did a very brave thing in rescuing those people from the fire,” Dr. Wentworth said, placing a hand on his patient’s shoulder. “But as the smoke and ashes blew into your face, tiny particles went into your eyes, and you have a multitude of corneal abrasions. This means you have scratches all over the surface of your eyes. We’ll need to flush them out and then bandage them. You’ll need to keep them bandaged until all the pain has subsided.”

  Mr. Franklin took a deep breath. “Will I lose my eyesight?”

  Dr. Wentworth didn’t answer for a moment. He paused long enough that Libby looked at him in alarm, wondering why he was being silent. Finally he answered, “God willing, no.”

  “And if God isn’t willing?” Mr. Franklin replied. “Are you trying to prepare me for the worst, Doctor?”

  “I wish I knew, son,” Dr. Wentworth said, patting his shoulder again. “I wish I knew.”

  Mr. Franklin gave one quick, sharp nod. “Let’s do what we must and see what happens, then.”

  At the doctor’s request, Libby fetched water and more towels, and also a syringe. Dr. Wentworth removed the needle from the end, then pulled a quantity of water up inside the tube. “I’m going to wash out your eyes now, Mr. Franklin,” he said. “We’re putting a towel around your shoulders, but
you are going to get a bit damp.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mr. Franklin said. “It seems a small thing.”

  “Well, that’s my opinion too, but you’d be surprised how many people find themselves bothered by the little things in moments of great emotional duress. It’s as though that slight fixation helps them keep from focusing on the real issues.”

  Dr. Wentworth lifted back the right eyelid very carefully, then proceeded to release the water into Mr. Franklin’s eye. Libby held the towel in place and watched as their patient tried not to move, but the pain he felt was obvious. She wished there was anything more she could do to help.

  “Your natural tears probably did much to carry away the debris, and this will just help that process,” the doctor explained as he moved to the other eye. By the time they were finished, the towel was soaked, but Mr. Franklin seemed to be in less pain. Either that, or he had become resigned to it. Libby had seen that happen plenty of times as well.

  “You’ll notice that the water left your eyes feeling a little dry. Your tears will regenerate in a moment and help moisten everything again. Now Miss Green will bandage your eyes.” Dr. Wentworth turned to Libby. “A pad of gauze in each eye socket, then several turns of gauze around his head.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And when you’re done, administer a dose of opium.”

  “Do you think that’s necessary?” Mr. Franklin interjected. “My brother was injured a few years back and became dependent on opium. I’ve been rather skittish about it ever since.”

  “I understand your concern, and I leave it to you,” Dr. Wentworth replied. “You’re the only one who knows if you can tolerate the pain you’re currently experiencing. We could start with a quarter of the usual dose, just to take the edge off your discomfort, and that might be a better option for you.”

  Mr. Franklin nodded. “Let’s try that.”

  Dr. Wentworth turned. “Please proceed, Miss Green. I’m going to see if there are other patients still waiting to be treated.” He left the room, the door closing behind him with a hollow thud.

  Libby took a clean cloth and wiped some excess moisture from Mr. Franklin’s face. “I think what you did was wonderful,” she said as she worked.

  “I don’t know about that—it seems to me that anyone would have done it.”

  “Not anyone. That took real courage. Now, I’m going to place some gauze over each eye. Keep them closed, but don’t squeeze them tight—I’m sure you haven’t been, because it would be painful, but I need to caution you about it nonetheless.”

  She held the gauze pads in place with a strip of gauze bandaging around his head, then went around three times more for security. “How does that feel?”

  “As far as the bandaging goes, just fine. The eyes are quite painful, though.”

  “I’m so sorry. Let’s see if the opium helps.” She poured out a quarter dose and gave it to him, then tucked the bottle safely away. “Now tell me a bit about yourself. Where do you live?”

  “I’m from Colorado, actually. I’m here in New York just seeing the sights—fulfilling a dream, you might say.”

  “You don’t have any family or friends traveling with you?”

  “No, I’m quite alone.”

  Libby hardly knew what to say in response to that. He was a stranger, a tourist in the city, and had risked his life to save people he’d never even met. “We need to tell your parents what happened.” She rummaged in her pocket for a scrap of paper and a pencil. “What’s their address? We’ll send a telegram on your behalf.”

  Mr. Franklin gave it. “If there’s a way to phrase it so they don’t become alarmed, that would be best.”

  “Perhaps you’d better dictate it, then. What would you like to say?”

  “Hmm. That is a tough question.” He thought for a moment. “How about, ‘Slight injury. Being treated well. Everything’s fine.’”

  Libby chuckled. “That seems rather an understatement.”

  “It’s difficult when we don’t know the outcome. And my mother—well, she worries. A lot.”

  “That’s what mothers do. They worry about their children.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Do you have children, Miss Green? I’m guessing not, because you’re Miss Green and not Mrs. . . . I’m sorry. That was an impertinent question.”

  She smiled. “Not at all. No, I don’t have children. I’m still in nursing school, actually, studying here with Dr. Wentworth. Next week, I may be working with a different doctor, so I’m glad we’ve had this chance to meet.” She patted his shoulder. “Will you be all right here for a minute? I need to go ask a question.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She left him sitting there alone while she went in search of Dr. Wentworth. She found him bandaging a burn on the arm of a young man who seemed hardly older than thirteen.

  “What are your plans for Mr. Franklin?” she asked.

  “Discharge him into the care of his family and his regular doctor.”

  “Sadly, that’s just the thing. He’s from Colorado, and he doesn’t have any family or friends in town.”

  “Hmm.” Dr. Wentworth finished bandaging the arm, then said, “Best to admit him, then. We certainly can’t send him off to a hotel to fend for himself.”

  “Agreed. I also have his parents’ address so we can send them a telegram.”

  “Excellent. I’m making this your personal assignment, Miss Green—help him get settled in, send the telegram, whatever needs to be done.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Libby arranged a room with the nurse in charge, then went to collect Mr. Franklin. “You’re right where I left you,” she said. “You didn’t become bored and decide to leave us?”

  “I might have been tempted, but I figured it was best to be obedient.” He smiled. “So, what’s to become of me? I imagine that’s what you went to find out.”

  “You’re right. As it turns out, because you have no connections in town, we’re going to check you in to the hospital so we can watch over you. If you were a local resident, we’d send you home, but this will work. We have a spot for you on the second floor, and I’ll take you up there now.”

  He slid off the exam table, and she took his arm. “Do you have your bearings? Do you feel steady?”

  “I believe so. I used to play blind man’s buff as a child, and I was quite good at it. Maybe that skill will come in handy now.” He paused. “You’re not terribly tall, are you, Miss Green?”

  She chuckled. “No, not very.”

  “I’m sorry—I’m being impertinent again.” Mr. Franklin shook his head. “You have every right to tell me to stop speaking, and I’ll mind you.”

  “I will if you offend me.”

  She led him to the men’s wing of the second floor, then to the bed he’d been assigned. “Get comfortable, Mr. Franklin, because this is where you live for the time being. There are four other male patients here at present, so you won’t be lonely. Now, where are your belongings? Have you been staying at a hotel?”

  “Yes, I have. It’s not too far from the home that burned, actually—I was just leaving for an afternoon stroll when I saw the fire.”

  “Dr. Wentworth asked me to make sure all your needs are met, so why don’t I go to the hotel and fetch your things? You can give me your room key, or you can send a note along with me so the manager doesn’t think I’m some sort of thief.”

  “I doubt I have much worth stealing.” Mr. Franklin shook his head with a rueful smile. “I turned my key in at the desk when I headed out on my walk, but I’m sure that if you explain the situation, they’ll let you in. Thank you, Miss Green. I never imagined I’d be causing so much hassle.”

  “It’s not a hassle. I’m glad to help.” She smiled at him, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’ll be back soon with your things.”

  “Thank you again.”

  Libby took off her apron and put it with the laundry, then grabbed her hat. As she walked out of the hospital, she
overheard one woman complaining to her nurse that she had been given a west-facing room, and she wanted an east-facing room. It didn’t seem to make a difference when the nurse explained that they didn’t actually have any east-facing rooms—she wanted what she wanted, and would not be talked out of it even when she was told it was architecturally impossible. Libby shook her head. Every person reacted so differently to illness. Mr. Franklin seemed to be in good spirits, but by choice. That would certainly aid in his recovery—Miss Cantrell had often spoken of the patient’s attitude being a determining factor. Libby imagined that cheerful patients also led to cheerful nurses, and she could certainly use a little more cheer herself.

  Chapter Four

  Libby hailed a cab that was passing the hospital and asked the driver to take her to the hotel Mr. Franklin had indicated. As she rode along, she couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful day it was. She generally spent all her time inside, either studying, in class, or helping patients, and she missed being outside and seeing the trees and flowers and whatnot. Her mother grew roses, and Libby spent at least an hour a day in the garden when she was at home in Albany. Maybe the nursing school needed a garden. She wondered what Dr. Russell would think if they plowed up a bit of his nice lawn and turned it into a vegetable patch bordered on all sides with rose bushes.

  A moment later, they reached the hotel. She asked the driver to wait for her, and then she ran in and approached the front desk. The clerk was more than happy to help her once she explained the situation, and showed her to Mr. Franklin’s room.

  He hadn’t brought much with him—just one bag that was still mostly packed and sitting on a chair. She found a book on a small table near the bed, and a shirt that had been draped across the end of the bed.