Touch of Tenderness (Nurses of New York Book 3)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “I haven’t thought it through much at all, sir, because I wasn’t looking ahead toward any sort of future with him. I was focused on the here and now, seeing to it that his eyes were kept clean and dry, that he was out of pain, and so forth. Perhaps I should have been more cautious and more forward thinking, but I failed in that regard.”

  “No, not a failure at all. It sounds as though your focus has been exactly where it should have been—on his treatment. And if you can let him go, to surrender him to whatever he and his parents decide to do next, I’ll have no more concerns on the matter.”

  Libby nodded. “And if I do struggle with their decision, sir? If I hold it very close and don’t express it, does that fall within your guidelines?”

  He leaned forward and studied her. “If they are getting on a train and have chosen to complete their care with another doctor, that means he is no longer your patient, does it not? And at that point, it would seem to me that the rules would most definitely be different.”

  She blinked, surprised by his answer. Then she smiled. “Yes, sir. I understand.” Who would have thought that Dr. Russell had such a romantic streak in him?

  ***

  Monday afternoon when Libby checked in with Dr. Wentworth, she found that he had visitors in his office. She recognized Mrs. Hart immediately, but the two men were strangers to her.

  “Thank you for your punctuality, Miss Green,” Dr. Wentworth said by way of greeting. “I arranged this little meeting according to your schedule, and here we are, all right on time.”

  According to her schedule? That was rather flattering.

  “You know Mrs. Hart, of course. This is her husband, Mr. Hart, and this gentleman is Dr. Pierce, their family physician.”

  All three men had come to their feet when she entered the room, and now they all sat. Once again, the office was quite filled to the brim with people. It really hadn’t been designed with this in mind.

  “Miss Green is my nurse, and assisted in the treatment of young Tommy. I requested her presence to shed some additional light on the situation.” Dr. Wentworth nodded at her before going on. “Dr. Pierce, have you had the opportunity to read over my findings?”

  “I have, and I must say that your research is contrary to studies I’ve conducted on my own,” Dr. Pierce said. “In my experience, placing the patient in the asylum is the only real solution.”

  Libby glanced at Dr. Wentworth. He seemed to be expecting her to want to speak, as he made eye contact with her, then nodded.

  “I wonder, sir,” she began, her voice a bit soft because of her nerves, “exactly what solution takes place at an asylum. Are there new medications? New therapies? What does the asylum have to offer that a hospital or a doctor’s office does not?”

  Dr. Pierce looked over at the Harts. “It’s not so much that there are new therapies, but rather, that the patient is kept in a safe environment where he cannot hurt himself or others.”

  “I wasn’t aware that Tommy had been hurting himself or others,” Libby said mildly. “It appeared to me that he merely thrashed about. He wasn’t kicking or hitting anyone.”

  Dr. Pierce turned back to Dr. Wentworth with some agitation on his face. “I appreciate that you’d like to bring in as many witnesses as possible, so to speak, but I don’t intend to sit here and be contradicted at every turn. Do you always encourage your nurses to be so impudent?”

  Libby pressed her lips together. She must not react—that was clearly what this man wanted. She would not give him such power over her.

  “I don’t consider her opinions and observations to be impudent, Dr. Pierce, but yes, let’s put them aside for a moment. I happen to agree with her perspective for myself. I didn’t see the boy exhibit any dangerous behavior, and I’m not aware of any way in which an asylum would offer the correct sort of treatment. In addition, I understand that you’ve been telling this family that seizures are evidence of some sort of demonic possession.”

  Dr. Pierce raised his chin. “That theory has been prevalent for many years, Dr. Wentworth. Surely a man as educated as yourself would know that.”

  “I do know that. I also know that while a theory may be widely believed, that does not make it true. I suppose you are also a proponent of bloodletting.”

  “As every man of science should be! Come now, Dr. Wentworth. Don’t tell me that you’re a member of this new train of thought, this foolish idea that bloodletting should be done away with. How can you argue with centuries of success?”

  “You may say that bloodletting is successful, Doctor, but how do you know that the letting of blood actually cured the patient, and not another treatment that was also tried at the same time? How can you trace it that accurately? But I digress.” Dr. Wentworth held up a hand. “Back to Tommy. You say you believe that he is possessed of demons. Tell me, Doctor, what could a child of his innocent age ever do to attract the attention of the evil one in such a manner? And I am also led to wonder, have you studied things of a spiritual nature? Are you perhaps a priest in addition to being a physician? You must be a very busy man, in a case like that.”

  Libby tried to make herself very small so as not to be noticed. This was a fascinating discussion, and she didn’t want to be excused from the room for any reason.

  “One does not have to be a priest to recognize demonic possession!”

  “In what other circumstances have you seen it, sir, aside from your patients?”

  “I’ve never seen it outside one of my patients. They are always brought to me and therefore become my patients.” Dr. Pierce seemed so very sure of himself.

  “But how do you know this is how the devil chooses to make himself manifest? Has he ever spoken with you?”

  Dr. Pierce came to his feet. “Dr. Wentworth, your line of questioning has gone too far. You are making a mock of everything I practice, everything I believe in, everything I teach my patients. I insist that you cease this instant. You’ve insulted me in every way I can imagine, and I won’t tolerate it for another moment.”

  Dr. Wentworth waved his hand again. “Sit, sit, Doctor. I didn’t mean to cause offense, and I apologize. You must understand, though, that as men of science, we are called upon to solve mysteries, and in order to solve mysteries, we need clues and evidence. My questions were merely meant to gather those clues and that evidence.”

  Dr. Pierce slowly lowered himself back into his chair. “Understood. You must understand in return that it’s the greatest insult to suggest that I would ever consort with the devil.”

  “And what of Tommy?” Libby spoke up, unable to stop the question from flying out. “Are you saying that he consorts with the devil, a small boy of such innocence?”

  “I’ve had quite enough of you, young lady,” Dr. Pierce said, turning to her with eyes ablaze. “I’ll thank you to hold your tongue.”

  “And I’ll thank you not to abuse my staff,” Dr. Wentworth said mildly. “Now, let’s bring this back to basic facts. Point one—you have no idea what’s causing the seizures. Point two—there is no medical treatment currently being performed at the asylum that is superior to what we can offer out here. Point three—you have put the child in the asylum because you don’t know what else to do with him. Is that a fairly correct summation? And from that summation, can we rightfully say that the parents may retrieve him, take him home, and care for him there in a much cleaner, more loving environment than he could get where he currently is?”

  “If the parents wish to go against my expert advice and remove their child, that is up to them. I will not, however, state that I don’t know what else to do with him. Again, that’s an insult, and one I will not tolerate.” Dr. Pierce rose again. “I bid you all good day.”

  As he strode from the office, Dr. Wentworth looked at the Harts, who had remained silent and all but motionless the entire time. “You heard him—the choice is yours. I don’t believe for one fraction of a second that your child is possessed. I believe that there is a medical condition causing him to flail a
bout as he does, a condition that will someday be diagnosed and researched, and there will be a cure for it. Will it happen in Tommy’s lifetime? I have no way of knowing. What I do know is that in the years I have practiced medicine, I have seen great advances, new discoveries, things I never thought possible. That is going to be true in your son’s case as well, and I urge you to give faith a chance.”

  Mrs. Hart’s fists were clenched so tightly, Libby thought it was a wonder that her knuckles didn’t pop out through the skin. She looked at her husband imploringly, at his jaw that was clenched, the set look of determination on his face.

  “Truth is, Doc, we don’t know what to do with him,” Mr. Hart said at last. “At least at the asylum, they have some ideas.”

  “I’ll be truthful with you in return, Mr. Hart,” Dr. Wentworth said. “I have visited three asylums in the last two years, and in each case, they leave the patients to suffer alone. They receive no care during or after their seizure, and they are given no medication to prevent or ease the suffering. A person sent to an asylum has been sent there to be forgotten, and I cannot fathom such a life as that for your little boy.”

  Mr. Hart clenched his jaw again, then spoke. “Well, let’s go get him, then.” He rose, his wife clinging to his arm, and they left. Mrs. Hart cast a grateful look at Libby as she passed by.

  Libby took a deep breath. “You did it, sir. You did it.”

  Dr. Wentworth shook his head. “That was certainly hard won, and we can’t assume that Mr. Hart will never change his mind. But for today, we did everything we could, and hopefully, that family will find a way. And a new doctor.”

  Libby chuckled, more out of relief than anything. “May I ask a question, sir?”

  “Of course.”

  “If I were a doctor, Dr. Pierce would have listened to me, wouldn’t he?”

  Dr. Wentworth leaned back in his chair. “Men like Dr. Pierce and Dr. Saul will always have problems with women in the medical field because it has been dominated by men for so long. Just like the prevailing theory of bloodletting, when something has been done one way for years and years, it’s difficult to imagine it being done any differently. However, I will say this. Regardless of gender, a doctor will always be more respected than a nurse. They may chafe at your medical degree, but they can’t say that you are any less trained than they are.”

  Libby nodded. “Thank you, sir. If I want my voice to be heard, I know what I need to do.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lewis sat bolt upright on his bed when he heard the voices coming from the entryway of Dr. Russell’s home. He stood, felt his way to the door, and was nearly to the end of the hall when he heard Mrs. Everett say, “Let me show you to your son.” Then, “Oh, here he is now.”

  Warm arms clasped him, pulling him close. “Lewis, whatever have you done to yourself? All those bandages . . . how can you see?”

  “Well, that’s the thing, Mother,” he said with a chuckle. “I actually can’t see. Come sit down in the parlor, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  His mother held his hand the whole time he spoke, telling his parents about the fire and his diagnosis, the necessity of keeping his eyes bandaged a bit longer, how he came to be staying at Dr. Russell’s home instead of at the hospital, and finally, his chance meeting with someone who could help him audition for the Philharmonic. His parents said very little except to exclaim or express their disbelief.

  “I hardly know what to think,” his mother said at last. “We put you on a train and expect you to be gone three weeks and come back to us safe and sound, and now we find that you’ve had every adventure possible. And another week before you know if your eyes are healed? How have you stood the uncertainty all this time?”

  “It hasn’t been easy, I’ll admit, but the people here have done everything they can to ease that burden for me. Mrs. Everett, the housekeeper, is a wonderful cook and has kept me fed, and Libby—er, Miss Green, my nurse—has kept me company and changed out my bandages.”

  “Libby, you say?” He could hear the curiosity in his mother’s voice, and imagined the look she must be giving his father.

  “Yes. She’ll be home from the hospital in a little bit, and you’ll have the chance to meet her. She’s been very kind to me.”

  Lewis’s father cleared his throat. “Be that as it may, I think you’ve trespassed on their hospitality long enough. Your mother and I are going to take a room at the hotel down the street here, and we think you should move in with us. We can take care of you. Not as well as these folks can, what with them being professionals and all, but we’ll do our part.”

  “Of course. That’s what I was thinking we’d do.” Lewis paused. “Have you given any thought to how long we’ll be here? I’d like Dr. Wentworth to be the one to check my eyes, if we can stay another week. I know it’s expensive to room at a hotel and all that, but if we could . . .”

  “Absolutely,” his mother said. “We want you to get the best possible care.”

  His father cleared his throat again. “That brings me to another point, son. You see, we couldn’t quite scrape together enough for our train tickets, but we wanted to be here for you—your mother had one of her premotions, you see, even though you didn’t right-out ask us to come.”

  Lewis smiled and didn’t try to correct his father’s pronunciation.

  “And we had to come up with some funding, so . . . we pawned your piano.”

  “It’s the only thing of value we have,” his mother rushed in. “We could have sold off an acre or two, but we couldn’t have arranged it so quickly, and we need that land.”

  Lewis felt as though both his lungs had been punctured at the same time. “You . . . pawned my piano?” he said after a long moment.

  “We did, son, and we’re sorry. We hope you’ll forgive us. It shouldn’t be too hard to get it back—we’ve got some good crops coming in and all. We’ll do whatever it takes. You’ll see.”

  Even with his father’s assurances, Lewis couldn’t find the humor in the situation, or even the positive. His piano. The thing he treasured most in all the world. But then his mother squeezed his hand again, and he smiled. He couldn’t put a possession above his family. He just couldn’t.

  “Well,” he said lightly, “I guess this means I’ll need to get that job with the Philharmonic so I can buy my piano back.”

  ***

  Lewis and his parents checked into the hotel, but came back to Dr. Russell’s house for dinner. He was eager for his parents to meet all the nurses, most specifically Libby, and he wanted her to meet them—her opinion mattered to him more than he’d realized it would.

  After everyone was seated, Dr. Russell began to speak. It sounded as though he had stood up at the head of the table to say something important.

  “I’d like to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Franklin to our table,” he began. “We’ve enjoyed having young Mr. Franklin under our roof, and extend the invitation for him to come back and play the piano here any time he likes—well, any time that doesn’t interfere with classes.”

  Everyone around the table laughed.

  “Before we begin our meal, I have an announcement—or rather, two announcements—to make.” He paused. “I’ve spent a bit of time in my office this afternoon, first with one of our nursing students, and then with another. I don’t know if there was something in the air or if it was a sort of conspiracy, but . . . well, I’ll let them each tell you in their own words. Miss Forsythe?”

  Lewis heard a chair scrape back and then a feminine voice. “I wasn’t planning to make a speech, Dr. Russell.”

  “Well, here you are anyway,” the man said jovially.

  “Right.” She cleared her throat. “As you all know, I’ve struggled ever since I came here. My father is a doctor, and I’ve worked with him in his office, but I’ve only done bills and arranged his appointments and things. He sent me here in the hopes that I would learn the practical skills of nursing, and the fact is, I’m terrible at it. I’m a good person and I lo
ve to be helpful, but not as a nurse. I thank Mr. Franklin for showing me what I need to do.”

  “Me?” Lewis asked, flabbergasted. “What did I do?”

  “You reminded me that we need to feel a sense of purpose in our work, a sense of joy and direction. I’ve never felt joy as a nurse—I’ve only felt terror and apprehension. And nausea. Lots of nausea.”

  Everyone laughed again.

  “And so I’ve decided that I’m leaving the nursing program.”

  Now the laughter turned to gasps.

  “I will miss you all so much, but if I continue here, I’ll only become more miserable as I try to make myself into something I know I’ll never be. I’m going to tell my father that I will continue to help in his office, but that I can’t be his nurse. And I believe he’ll understand.”

  “We’ll miss you,” one of the girls called out, and all the rest agreed.

  “And now, Miss Green,” Dr. Russell said.

  Libby? Lewis was immediately on his guard. What could she have to say?

  “Oh, gracious. You’re going to make me stand up too?” Libby’s voice was full of humor. “All right, I suppose I can do that. This is a hard thing for me to say, but I’m leaving the program too.”

  “What?” someone cried out. It sounded like Miss Jones. “You and Millie are both leaving? Is there something wrong with that bedroom of yours? Should we block it off and never let anyone go in there again?”

  Libby laughed. “Who knows? Maybe. But actually, I’m leaving for a different reason. Dr. Wentworth suggested that I go to medical school, and I’m going to take his suggestion.”

  Now the voices buzzing around the table became so loud, Lewis couldn’t pick any of them out from the others. He was stunned. Medical school? What a wonderful, brave, frightening thing to do.

  After a moment, the noise calmed, and Libby continued. “I hope to attend school here in town so I can come by and see you all. You won’t have a chance to miss me because I’m not really going anywhere.”