Heart of Hearts (Nurses of New York Book 4)

by Amelia C. Adams

  As he walked back up to the house, his mind swirled with all its many thoughts, not unlike the swirling skirts at the ball. Miss Cantrell setting him to rights. The accusations against Dr. Sims. The infernal pain in his hand. What a night it had been, and he had no idea what to do about any of it.

  He let himself in the house quietly so as not to wake anyone up, but the kitchen was lit, and when he peered in, he saw Mrs. Everett bending over the kitchen table, rubbing soap into the skirt of Miss Cantrell’s gown.

  “Did she tell you how it happened?” he asked.

  The woman didn’t slow in her scrubbing as she answered. “She said she had a moment of clumsiness. It’s such a shame—you can never get red out of ivory, but I intend to try.”

  Frank leaned against the doorframe. “She told a falsehood to save my dignity. I spilled that punch on her.” He was ready to admit to this, but not yet ready to tell his housekeeper the extent of the problem. He would when he had a diagnosis and a better idea of what it meant.

  At this, Mrs. Everett did glance up. “That’s like her, you know. Always looking out for your best interests, even with me.”

  “You’re right. She does that often.” Frank straightened and crossed the room, hoping there was some bread left from that day’s baking. There was, and he managed to cut himself a slice without hurting himself or the loaf. “I never asked her to, you know,” he added as an afterthought.

  “She didn’t have to be asked. She’s loyal, that one.”

  Frank carried his bread over to the table and sat down well out of reach of Mrs. Everett’s elbows. He’d likely get jabbed in the face if he came any closer, she was scrubbing that vigorously. “Is the dress a lost cause, then?”

  “I’ve tried all my mother’s tricks and now I’m left with just good old soap. We’ll give this a rinse, and then we’ll know.”

  He noticed that she’d filled a tub with water and it stood ready. “How long was I outside?” he asked casually.

  “Oh, about an hour, I’d say, judging from when Miss Montgomery came in. I wondered what was keeping you.”

  An hour? It had taken him an hour to set things to rights in the stable? A task that should have taken a quarter of the time . . . He took another bite of bread, processing that information. This seemed to be progressing far too quickly. But then again, just how fast should one lose the use of a limb?

  He thanked Mrs. Everett for what she was doing, took a quick drink of water, and headed off to bed. He was tempted to go see if a light still shone through the crack under Miss Cantrell’s door, but he stopped his feet from turning in that direction. He had no business in that part of the house after dark. He not only had his nurse’s reputation to maintain, but that of all the students sleeping upstairs. Instead, he continued on past the kitchen and into the part of the house where his bedroom and office were located and readied himself for bed.

  Once changed, he sat at his desk chair and took out his journal. It had been a habit of his to write down the day’s happenings since he was twelve and his grandfather had given him his first blank book. “Make a record of your life,” the old man had told him, “and you’ll avoid repeating the same mistakes.” Frank had found this to be true on many occasions, but he had determined long ago that he was far too stubborn for such a simple fix to work every time, and some lessons had to be learned over and over again.

  Just when had his hand begun to bother him? He flipped through the pages, going back and back, skimming here and there. He smiled at his notations. Successful operation today. Good thing Irene didn’t decide to become a doctor—she’d put me out of business. On the previous page, he read, Patient too upset to allow us to sedate her. Irene sat by and held her hand until she consented. There it was—even more evidence that Miss Cantrell was the most valuable asset he had. He would set a goal to treat her as such on a more consistent basis, keeping the promise he’d made to her in the carriage. She was deserving of nothing less.

  ***

  Irene lay in the darkness, unable to sleep. Mrs. Everett had been more than kind when she saw the stain and promised to do everything she could about it, so Irene had changed quickly and given her dress over to the care of someone who knew a great deal more about laundry than she did. She’d had some tea with milk, and then she’d climbed into bed, exhausted both physically and emotionally, sure she’d drift right off. That hadn’t happened.

  She heard his footsteps as he came in the house, the low rumble of his voice as he spoke with Mrs. Everett. Then the house grew still, silent, just as it should be for so late at night, perfect for sleeping—if sleep would just come.

  Something had shifted in their relationship over the last couple of days, shifted and would have to be made right. That, however, was the thing keeping her awake—could it be made right, or had they joked too much, taunted too much, to go back to how things were? She felt as though they’d treaded on territory they shouldn’t have treaded upon, said things they shouldn’t have said, for things to be able to go back to normal. They would have to take a different direction from here, and she didn’t know what that direction might be.

  The room where she now lived had once belonged to Dr. Russell’s mother. She’d had rather traditional tastes and had decorated in mauve and lace. Dr. Russell had told Irene that she could change out anything she liked, but she hadn’t—she found comfort in this room, as though motherly eyes were watching over her, gentle hands soothing her.

  Tonight, she seemed to hear a whisper of calm, telling her that it would be all right and she didn’t need to take everything so seriously. Logically, of course, that was excellent counsel, but Irene couldn’t stop thinking about the flickers in Dr. Russell’s eyes when she goaded him. She’d only meant to provoke him into better behavior, but looking back on the whole evening, she wondered if she’d been too forward, assumed she had more influence over him than she did, had presumed too much about their relationship. She should have let him carry on and make a fool of himself if that’s what he was determined to do.

  She would apologize to him in the morning, and once she’d done that, she’d never speak to him like that again. She was his head nurse, not his confidante or his wife, and she’d do well to remember her place from now on. It would certainly be less painful.

  It wasn’t until she’d made this decision that she was finally able to sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Irene had meant to speak with Dr. Russell after breakfast, but he didn’t come in to the dining room for the meal, and she didn’t see him before she headed out the door for church. He must have been sleeping in after their late night—if he’d been called out on an emergency, he would have taken her with him. She sat on the hard wooden bench inside the church, a few of the girls from the nursing school with her, trying to concentrate on the sermon, but her thoughts kept wandering. Once she had the chance to make that apology, she was sure she’d be able to concentrate on other things. It was just a shame that her distractedness was keeping her from hearing the words of what was probably a very good sermon.

  She and the girls were crossing the lawn of the church when she heard a voice behind her. “Miss Cantrell!”

  She turned to see Mr. Washburn striding across the grass toward her. She waited until he was within reasonable earshot to say, “Hello, Mr. Washburn. You do have a habit of coming up behind me in unexpected places, don’t you?”

  He smiled and swept off his hat. “It seems that I do, and I don’t regret it. Where is Miss Montgomery this morning?”

  “Some of our students are more religiously inclined than others, and we don’t make it a requirement that they attend while they’re living in the house,” Irene explained. “You remember Miss Anderson, I’m sure, and this is Miss Jones and this is Miss Wilhite.”

  He nodded to each in turn. “Miss Wilhite, I believe I met your brother last night. A musician, isn’t he?”

  “That’s right,” Meg said with a return nod.

  “He seemed like a good fellow.
” Then he turned back to Irene. “I trust I may still call tomorrow evening?”

  “Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Mr. Washburn gave one last nod, replaced his hat, and continued across the lawn. No sooner was he out of earshot than Sophie giggled.

  “Miss Cantrell, are you having a gentleman caller at the house?” she asked, her eyes bright and curious.

  “I don’t know about that, exactly,” Irene demurred. “He and I were friends years ago, and he’s coming by so we’ll have the chance to catch up.” She glanced at his retreating figure. “It’s also awkward because he escorted Laura to the ball last night. I’m sure he’s coming to see her just as much as he is to see me.”

  “He only escorted Laura because you had already promised Dr. Russell,” Jeanette said. “It’s completely obvious who he really wants to see.”

  “Besides, isn’t Laura interested in your brother, Meg?” Sophie asked.

  Meg nodded. “She’s been asking me a rather large number of questions about him, and it’s enough to make me squirm. Gracious! I don’t pay any attention to how many ladies he knows and how many of them he thinks are pretty or that other nonsense. She’s getting on my nerves quite rapidly.”

  “See there?” Sophie turned back to Irene. “He’s coming to visit you, and Laura won’t even care.”

  “Well then, I suppose I am having a gentleman caller,” Irene replied, her cheeks going red as she spoke. There was no reason for her to feel so shy about it all of a sudden—she’d had gentleman callers before, hadn’t she, and nothing too horrible had come about because of it. Still, her heart gave an extra little beat, and she found that she rather liked this feeling of anticipation. “Let’s get back to the house. Mrs. Everett said something about whipping up a chocolate cake for our Sunday lunch.”

  ***

  The meal wasn’t quite on the table when the girls returned to the house, so Irene took a moment to put her room to rights and then went in search of Dr. Russell. If he was still asleep, she’d send Mrs. Everett to check on him—she’d never known him to stay abed so long, and wondered if he’d become ill. But she found him in his office, and rapped three times on the doorframe to let him know she was there.

  He looked up from the book he was reading at his desk. “Good morning, Miss Cantrell. How was church?”

  “I’m sure it was very pleasant, but I didn’t catch a word of the sermon. May I speak with you?”

  He closed the book and half rose, motioning to the chair across from his desk. “Please, have a seat. What’s troubling you?”

  “I am.” She took the offered chair and smoothed out her skirt, occupying herself to keep her hands from trembling.

  “You’re troubling you?” A note of humor touched his voice. “Whatever have you done to cause yourself so much anxiety?”

  “I was very impertinent to you last night. I should have held my tongue and let you work through your troubles without my interference. I overstepped my boundaries, and I apologize for it.” She spoke quickly, afraid that if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to say everything she’d prepared.

  “Impertinent? Perhaps so, but that’s one of the things I value most about you, Miss Cantrell. Why, I depend on your impertinence every day, and am quite put out if I don’t get it.”

  She looked up, surprised, and saw merriment in his eyes. “I’m serious, sir.”

  “And so am I. Being impertinent is now officially one of your duties. And as far as leaving me to work through my troubles, I most sincerely hope that’s something you will never do. I need your assistance, Miss Cantrell. I need someone to talk to when things become pressing. I didn’t realize it before, but I do now. Please don’t require me to face this alone.”

  She blinked a few times, utterly dumbfounded. “All right,” she replied after a long minute. “You won’t be alone. Not ever.”

  “Thank you.” He settled back in his chair, looking quite content. “Now, on to other things. I’ve received a note here from Dr. Dearing asking for our assistance with a difficult case in thirty minutes. He apologizes for interrupting us on a Sunday, but fears it can’t be helped. We’ll be able to eat some of Mrs. Everett’s delicious cake before we head out, but we won’t have much time beyond that.”

  Irene glanced down at her dress. “I’ll go change.”

  “Excellent. I believe I’ll have Mrs. Everett pack us up a lunch to take with us just in case we have a moment to eat.”

  As Irene stepped out of her yellow frock and put on her more sedate work uniform, she thought about the conversation she’d just had. It certainly hadn’t gone at all like she’d planned, but maybe that was all right. If Dr. Russell was willing to pretend that nothing whatsoever had happened between them, she supposed she could pretend as well.

  ***

  Irene all but collapsed into the chair in Dr. Russell’s office and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. They’d been in surgery with Dr. Dearing for the last four hours, and it was only the combined skill of the two doctors that had saved their patient. She and Ida Beth, Dr. Dearing’s nurse, had been kept busy nonstop the entire time, and she couldn’t stand up a moment longer.

  “That poor woman,” she murmured. “That poor, poor woman.”

  She heard Dr. Russell’s desk chair squeak as he sat in it. “Only time will tell now,” he replied, his fatigue evident in his voice. She lowered her hands to see him shake his head. “I’ve never participated in a surgery that required so much reconstruction. If she makes through this experience, she should never attempt birth again—her body simply won’t allow for it.”

  “Dr. Dearing said she badly wants another child,” Irene said.

  “There’s quite a difference between wanting one and being wise about having one,” Dr. Russell said. “If she were to attempt it, she’d most definitely upset what we accomplished today, and that in turn could lead to her losing her life. I don’t think that’s what she intends to give a child—a life without his mother.”

  “It’s not possible that she could be successful?” Irene couldn’t help the wistful note that crept into her voice. There was something about this woman’s situation that tugged at her.

  “Oh, I suppose there’s always the possibility, but the dangers are so great, it seems foolish to try. There are so many orphan children who are in need of a good home—why not take one of them home to love, and maintain your health? That seems the wisest course of action to me.”

  “I suppose so.” Irene caught a loose curl and tucked it back up in her hairpin, wondering for the first time what she looked like. Long surgeries were always hard on hair.

  “Have you ever thought about having children, Miss Cantrell?” Dr. Russell asked, his voice soft.

  That was certainly an odd question, and not something they’d ever discussed before. “I don’t believe I ever have. I knew from the time I was small that I wanted to be a nurse, and that’s where I’ve put all my focus.”

  Dr. Russell leaned back and studied the opposite wall. “I used to wonder what sort of father I’d make. My own father died when I was quite young, and I was raised almost entirely by my mother and grandmother. I’m sorry—you already know that. I won’t bore you with the repetition. But because of that lack of a father in my life, I wondered if I’d know how to do it—play with a child, teach them, guide them, all those things that a good father should do.”

  “And what conclusions did you reach?” Irene asked, interested to know how this man perceived himself.

  “I decided that I’d most likely be good at it, but that I’d have to put myself to the side and focus on the good of the child above all else, and I wasn’t sure if I had that kind of integrity.”

  Irene chuckled. “You, sir? Integrity? I don’t think that’s a concern at all. Of every man I’ve ever known, you have the most integrity of all.”

  “You can’t mean that. Every man? Ever?”

  “Of the ones I’ve known. I can’t compare you to every man who h
as ever lived because of course I don’t know most of them.” She flashed him a smile, even as tired as she was.

  “Thank you. That’s quite a compliment. But now I suppose I’ll never have the opportunity to try it out.”

  “And why is that?” Her heart constricted strangely at the turn this conversation had taken.

  “I’m far too old and set in my ways to consider marriage—which, as I understand, is an excellent first step toward fatherhood. I doubt I could convince any young woman to have me.”

  “I saw several young ladies glancing your way at the ball last night.” As much as it pained her to say it, he deserved to know that he was still desirable. Er, attractive. Her face grew warm. Even though she wasn’t speaking aloud, she was just as embarrassed as though she had been.

  “You did? Hmm. Probably wondering what on earth I was doing there. No matter—it’s of no consequence. Do you suppose our lunch is still any good?”

  His change of subject was so abrupt that she blinked. “Oh, lunch. Of course. Let’s take a look and see.”

  She stood and pulled the basket from where she’d tucked it in the corner of his office. Mrs. Everett was used to packing up food for them to take to the hospital and always did an excellent job of it—the bread was always separate so it wouldn’t get soggy and so forth. Everything looked delicious, and soon it was laid out on the corner of Dr. Russell’s desk.

  “How long until we know she’ll be all right?” Irene asked after swallowing a bite of cheese.

  “You mean, how long are we staying here. Am I right?”