“And there’s always the chance you won’t get in, and then you’ll have to stay here with us,” Miss Jones said.
“Exactly. You never know what might happen.”
“Now that we’ve gotten all our excitement out of the way, let’s sit down and enjoy this wonderful meal Mrs. Everett has prepared for us,” Dr. Russell said, and serving trays of food began to be passed from left to right.
Lewis’s mother leaned over and spoke in his ear. “Miss Green is going to become a doctor? Isn’t that . . . well, isn’t that a little odd?”
“It’s unusual, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” he replied. “She’s certainly intelligent enough, and I believe she’ll do very well.”
“It just seems contrary to the natural order of things,” she continued. “Makes the world seem a little topsy-turvy.”
Lewis didn’t agree, but he wasn’t about to argue with his mother on her first day in town. What he badly wanted was to speak with Libby, to congratulate her and ask her more about her plans. Suddenly it felt as though she was slipping away from him, and if there was one thing he knew for a surety, it was that he never wanted to let her go.
Chapter Eighteen
Libby slipped her arm through Lewis’s as they strolled down the sidewalk, the cool evening breeze dancing around them both. “I’m so glad to have met your parents. They seem like wonderful people.”
“They are. I have to say, though, I was surprised at your announcement tonight. Medical school? You’re becoming a doctor?”
“Well, that’s my hope. I have to apply, of course, and wait until the next session begins. I thought about finishing my course here first, but I believe I’d like a short break between the two.”
He shook his head. “I think it’s amazing. But then again, you’ve always amazed me, Libby.” He stopped walking and took the hand that was resting in the crook of his arm. “Do you know where you’d like to go?”
“My first choice is the New York Medical College for Women. It’s not far from here, and they have an excellent program.” She looked down at their joined hands. In the moonlight, it was hard to tell whose fingers were whose—they blended perfectly.
“I don’t even know where you’re from,” he said with a chuckle.
“Albany,” she replied. “I’ll go home for a visit and then submit my application. With any luck, I’ll be back at the start of the next training session, a full-fledged medical student.”
He squeezed her hand. “And when are you leaving for Albany?”
“Not until I know how you are,” she replied. “I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere before that.”
His fingers trailed up her arm and across her shoulder until his hand found her face. He cradled her cheek, and she leaned into the warmth of it. If he went back to Colorado, chances were quite good that she’d never see him again, and that was becoming more and more impossible to contemplate. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?” she asked instead, wanting to shift her thoughts away from her feelings. Now was just not the time for sentiment. He’d received a note from Mr. Wilhite during dinner—it was much more pleasant to focus on that.
He chuckled, and his hand dropped to his side. She wanted to reach out and take it again, but didn’t—why, she didn’t know. She’d certainly taken it often enough when she needed to lead him somewhere. “Of course I am, but I’m trying quite diligently not to show it. I keep telling myself that it’s all right if I fail, but the truth is, it’s not all right. This audition is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that’s been placed in my lap by a very kind turn of fate, and I simply can’t afford to do badly.”
“I’ll be there with you, as will your parents, and I know we’ll all be praying hard for you.”
“Thank you.” He reached out, and she took his arm again. “Your support means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
“It’s my pleasure. I feel like we’ve been on a journey together, you and I—we must see this through to the end.”
Her tone was light, but he stopped walking again and turned toward her. “Yes, that’s it exactly. We have been on a journey together, Libby, a very important one full of possibilities. But tomorrow’s not the end of it. It won’t be over until our very lives are over—that’s the thing about journeys.”
“You’re right, of course. I meant, this leg of the journey.”
“And then we remove the bandages and find out if I can see. What about the next step after that, and the one after that? How will our paths cross then? Will we be walking in the same direction, or will we have veered off entirely?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied, her stomach suddenly becoming tight. She didn’t want to infer anything he didn’t mean to imply—there was still so much uncertainty. If he didn’t pass the audition, he would probably go back to Colorado, and she must—she absolutely must—continue her education, whether as a doctor or a nurse. She couldn’t give that up.
And then there was another thing to be considered—what if he didn’t want a wife with a career?
She stopped her thought cold. He’d said nothing about marrying her. Yes, she would like that—she’d like that so much, it nearly hurt. But that was just fanciful wishing and not reality.
“Let’s see what tomorrow brings,” Lewis said at last, and together, they continued down the sidewalk and back to Dr. Russell’s house, where his parents were waiting to take him to the hotel.
***
Lewis tugged on his collar yet again as he waited for them to call his name. He’d never noticed how tight it was before, how constricting, how it felt like a hangman’s noose.
“Stop fidgeting. You’ll make yourself look rumpled,” his mother said, batting his hand away and straightening his tie. “This will all be over soon and then you may rumple yourself all you like, but for now, try to get yourself under control.”
“Sorry. I would just like to get this over with. How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”
“We got here early,” his father reminded him. “Stands to reason, our wait would be longer because of that.”
“Well, we didn’t want to be late.” His mother fussed with his collar again, and Lewis smiled. Now it was her turn to show nerves.
Libby sat quietly next to him—so quietly, in fact, that if it weren’t for the occasional brush of her sleeve against his arm, he’d wonder if she was still there.
At last, Lewis’s name was called, and Libby slipped her arm through his and led him into the auditorium. As soon as they entered, he could sense the vastness of the space. Their footsteps echoed up to a ceiling that seemed to reach to the heavens.
“Mr. Franklin,” a booming voice said as they approached. “Thank you for meeting with us today. I’m Horace Dew, the current conductor of the Philharmonic.”
Lewis shook Mr. Dew’s hand. “Thank you for seeing me today.”
“My pleasure. Please, take your place.”
Libby took him over to the piano, gave his arm a quick squeeze, and then moved away. He missed her comforting presence immediately and wished he could call her back, but that would hardly do.
“What will you play for us today?” Mr. Dew asked.
“A piece of my own composition, if you don’t mind,” Lewis replied.
“You compose?” The voice sounded surprised, but Lewis couldn’t tell if that was a surprise of pleasure or disappointment.
“I do, but I also enjoy playing pieces that have been written by others, particularly the great masters,” Lewis explained. He hoped he hadn’t just ruined his chances—maybe he should have chosen something a bit more expected for this audition, something recognizable to everyone.
“Begin when you are ready.”
Lewis took a deep breath. He wished he knew where Libby and his parents were sitting, whether they were behind him or to the side, and how far away. He assumed they were in the audience seats, but how far back in the rows? Not that it mattered all that much, but it would be nice to know.
When he came to the end, he was exhausted both physically and emotionally, but he knew he had just done the very best he could possibly do. He had nothing to berate himself for, no missed note or ill-timed chord. It was all as perfect as he was capable of producing.
“You say you also play the classics,” Mr. Dew said. “Would you please favor us with an example?”
No comment on what he’d just done? Lewis was disappointed, but he smiled and said, “Yes, of course.” He played a standard symphony piece, imagining the other instruments playing along with him, the violins and the flutes and the harp. It didn’t thrill his soul like the first had, but he played with passion and competence, and felt content with his performance of this as well.
He brought the piece to an end and sat there quietly, wondering what would happen next.
“Mr. Franklin,” the voice said at long last, “you’ve put me in a curious position.”
“Oh? How is that, sir?”
“It would appear that you’re not suited to a symphony, but rather, to play as a soloist,” Mr. Dew said. “However, without experience in a symphony, you’d struggle to find your place on any stage. There’s a certain chain of events, you see. A musician must work his way up through several levels before he’s considered good enough to perform as a soloist, and it’s a rare thing indeed to meet someone who has achieved that level without taking those steps.”
“So what is to be done with me, sir?” Lewis’s heart was warmed by the man’s words, but he needed to know what this meant.
“That’s precisely what I’m trying to determine.” A pause. “I would like very much to offer you this position with the Philharmonic so you can get the experience needed to expand your career at a later date. Would playing the classics with an orchestra stifle your creativity, young man, or would you find it stimulating enough for you?”
Lewis tilted his head. “I’m not sure I understand—did you just offer me this position?”
Mr. Dew laughed. “Yes, I did. The previous applicant was perhaps a better choice from an orchestral standpoint, but if I didn’t give you the opportunity to gain some experience and make a name for yourself, I would be doing both of us a grave injustice. What do you say?”
“I . . . I would be honored,” Lewis said, coming to his feet and holding out his hand. With a chuckle, Mr. Dew shook it.
“Allow me to ask about your eyes, if you don’t mind,” he said.
“To be honest, I don’t know yet,” Lewis replied. “I meet with the doctor in two days to answer that question. If my eyes haven’t healed properly, will that ruin my chances here at the Philharmonic?”
“No, not at all. You’d just need to arrange for some kind of guide, I imagine, to bring you back and forth, but it seems you’re already provided for in that way.”
“I’m sure we’ll get it worked out,” Lewis replied. He had no idea what he would do—Libby would be at school, and his parents would be returning to Colorado. Perhaps Dr. Wentworth could recommend someone. At the moment, all that seemed important was the fact that he’d just succeeded—he’d landed a spot in the Philharmonic. Everything else was secondary and could be overcome. No obstacle would keep him from this dream.
***
Libby sat on the edge of her bed and watched Millie pack. “I wish you’d been there. His mother and I were both in tears the whole time, and I know I saw his father get a little misty. It was amazing.”
“I’m so glad for him. He deserves the opportunity.” Millie laid her blue dress in her trunk and turned to get the next.
“Are you sure about this, Millie?” Libby asked, knowing even as she spoke that this was the right choice for her friend. She’d seen her struggle since the very beginning, and there was no need for her to go through it any longer. Still, it was so hard to say good-bye.
“I’m sure. But you’re leaving too—you can’t feel too badly about this. That wouldn’t make any sense.”
Libby smiled. “You’re right. But who says we have to make sense? Feelings aren’t logical in the first place, are they?”
Millie crossed the floor and touched her shoulder. “You’ve been such a good friend. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
Libby stood and gave her roommate a long hug. “Thank you,” she said into Millie’s hair. “More than you’ll ever know.”
Chapter Nineteen
Libby fisted her hands, squeezing until her nails dug into her palm. It was important to stay calm and professional, but the anticipation was too great.
Dr. Wentworth took the end of Lewis’s bandage and began to unwind it from his head. Libby had drawn the curtain so the light in the room wouldn’t be overly bright, but even at that, she knew it would require some adjustment.
“I’m going to remove the gauze pads, but keep your eyes closed,” Dr. Wentworth instructed. “Then began to open them very slowly. They’ll most likely water quite a bit, but don’t rub them. The abrasions could reopen if you do.”
“All right,” Lewis replied. “I’m ready.”
Dr. Wentworth took the gauze from Lewis’s eyes and stepped back, watching his patient closely. Libby pressed her lips together. If he couldn’t see, he would still have a wonderful life playing for the Philharmonic and then going on to solo, but if he could see, he’d have all that and so much more.
Lewis’s eyelids fluttered, and he blinked several times. Tears flowed down his cheeks, the body’s natural reaction, and Libby stepped forward to press a handkerchief into his hand. He dabbed at his cheeks, blinking even more rapidly.
“It’s so bright in here.”
“I’m sorry. I tried to make it dimmer.” Libby glanced around—she couldn’t think of another way to ease his discomfort.
“That’s all right. I’ll adjust.” He continued to blink, and as the tears slowed, he glanced up.
Their eyes met.
“Libby?” he said, his voice incredulous.
“Hello, Lewis,” she replied. Tears were forming in her eyes as well, but for a very different reason.
He reached out, and she took his hand. “It’s you,” he said, his gaze full of wonder. “You look exactly like I’ve imagined you this whole time.”
“I do?” She studied his face. His eyes were light hazel, full of merriment. Her heart gave a little flop, and she suddenly felt shy. It was like meeting a handsome stranger for the first time, even though she already knew him so well.
“Ahem.” Dr. Wentworth took a step forward. “I’ll leave you alone in a moment to discuss . . . well, whatever it is you wish to discuss . . . but first, I need to check our patient’s eyes.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry.” Libby moved back and allowed Dr. Wentworth to stand where she had been. There would be time for all that later—Lewis’s health was the first priority right now.
Dr. Wentworth asked him to look up, down, and to both sides, then to roll his eyes around. With each instruction given, the doctor peered carefully into Lewis’s eyes, making occasional interested sounds.
“It would appear that you have a scar remaining on your left eye,” he said at last. “How does it affect your sight?”
“Things are a little blurry over here,” Lewis replied, motioning with his finger, “but I can see around it without difficulty.”
Dr. Wentworth nodded. “My boy, you are lucky. You are very lucky indeed. Any number of things could have happened—the tissue of the eyeball could have become adhered to your inner eyelid, for instance. The scar tissue could h
ave reopened, or never closed over at all. Or your corneas could have been so covered with scars, you wouldn’t be able to see a thing. To escape with just one small blurry area—it’s a miracle. It’s simply a miracle.”
Lewis chuckled. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me all that at the beginning—it would have been difficult to wait all this time with such a dire prognosis.”
“I specifically didn’t tell you for that very reason. I couldn’t be happier at this moment, Mr. Franklin. Congratulations on your almost complete recovery. Now, I want you to shield your eyes from bright light for the next several days, and do everything you can not to rub at them for at least a month. Blink rapidly when you need to clear them. I’ll go write all this down so you don’t forget. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He gave Libby a wink, then stepped out of the room.
Lewis’s gaze went right back to her face. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, reaching out to caress her cheek.
“I’m sure you’d say that to any girl who was the first person you saw after being blind for weeks,” she retorted.
“Maybe. Bring some other girls in here and let’s compare.”
She swatted his shoulder. “I don’t think so. There are some very pretty girls in this hospital, and many of them are my good friends. I wouldn’t want to be stacked up against them, not for anything.”
He slid off the edge of the examination table where he’d been sitting and wrapped his arms around her waist. She was so surprised, she didn’t protest—but then again, she didn’t want to protest. He looked down into her eyes, and a smile touched his lips. “Oh, Libby,” he said, almost in a whisper, “don’t you know there could never be anyone for me but you?”
He lowered his head to hers, and all she could think about was the softness of his lips, the feel of his arms, and the fact that her heart was sure to pound out of her chest at any moment. It was a good thing she was already at the hospital.
Epilogue
The last strains faded out and were replaced by thunderous clapping. Libby came to her feet, along with every other member of the audience, as the conductor of the Philharmonic turned and bowed, then motioned to the musicians. Lewis’s face beamed as he accepted the praise of the crowd, and Libby was sure her face would split in half from her wide smile. She had truly never been more proud of anyone in her whole life.
Touch of Tenderness (Nurses of New York Book 3) Page 12
