Heart of Hearts (Nurses of New York Book 4)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “But you also just told us it can get worse,” Meg continued.

  “Hmm. Perhaps I shouldn’t have given the girls so many details,” Dr. Russell said to Irene, but loud enough so everyone could hear it. She appreciated that he was trying to maintain a positive outlook in front of the class, but she couldn’t see the humor in the situation, and only managed a faint smile.

  “They’re good listeners,” she said in reply.

  “That they are.” He wiped his mouth and set his napkin on the table. “Truth be told, Miss Wilhite, I haven’t figured out what’s to become of me. Dr. Wentworth has been doing some research on my behalf, and hopefully when we meet up this afternoon, he’ll have some good news for me.” He smiled, encouraging the others to do the same, and a few obliged. Most, however, looked stricken, and Irene knew exactly how they felt.

  She glanced at the time. “All right, girls, you need to be off. Jeanette, we’ll see you at St. Timothy’s in a little while, then.”

  Jeanette nodded and took the stairs at a trot to finish getting ready.

  Irene walked toward her bedroom to do the same, but Laura caught up to her and spoke in a low voice. “Miss Cantrell, Benjamin Wilhite asked if he could come to call tonight. Is that all right, or should I ask him to wait until another time? I mean, with this news about Dr. Russell and all, maybe it’s not appropriate . . .”

  “Thank you, Laura. That’s very kind of you. No, he can come over.” Irene suddenly remembered. “It might be a little uncomfortable, however.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Washburn asked if he could call as well. I believe he was hoping to speak with me, though. Is that going to be . . . strange?”

  Laura smiled. “Not at all. He’s a very nice man, but I never set my sights on him. It was obvious to me that he was interested in you.”

  Irene supposed that if all her students had noticed it, it must be true. She should just accept it as fact.

  “Very well then, we’ll both have gentleman callers tonight. But now we’d better get to work.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I’m with Dr. Gregory today. He’s a little nicer since he fell in love with Sophie, but he’s still cranky if his nurse shows up late.” Laura took the stairs two at a time, and Irene continued to her room with a smile. That girl and her many beaus . . . Mr. Wilhite was the best of the lot, and she hoped, for Laura’s sake, that something would come of it. Otherwise, the girl was bound to move on to the next, never giving her heart time to settle down.

  ***

  Irene and Dr. Russell strolled over to St. Timothy’s together. That was one thing that made their jobs easier—the two hospitals were in such near proximity to each other, and also to Dr. Russell’s house, that they walked whenever possible. Sometimes they’d take the carriage if it was already hooked up or if someone sent one, but it was nice to have a moment to enjoy the fresh air before heading back in to a stuffy building, and hospitals were definitely stuffy.

  Jeanette met them at the door of Dr. Wentworth’s office. “He’s expecting you, but he has two visitors right now,” she said. “Why don’t you have a seat, and he should be done soon—he’s been trying to get rid of them for twenty minutes.”

  “He wants to get rid of them?” Irene had no idea who the doctor’s visitors were, but it seemed rather unprofessional for Jeanette to talk like that. She might need to hold another class on how to speak circumspectly in a hospital setting.

  Jeanette lifted a shoulder. “I’ll let you know as soon as he’s free.”

  Irene took a seat next to Dr. Russell on a bench near Dr. Wentworth’s office door. After a moment, she heard raised voices coming from inside, and she cast a glance at Dr. Russell.

  “It’s not my place to interfere, but I think I’ll check on the situation,” he said, standing and walking over toward the door. He paused and listened for a moment, then flung it open with a lot more energy than Irene had ever seen him exert on a door before. She’d almost think he was angry with it.

  “Gentlemen, forgive my intrusion,” she heard him say.

  “Not at all,” Dr. Wentworth replied. “Come in, and if Miss Cantrell is with you, invite her as well.”

  Irene came to her feet and entered the office. The room was far too small to hold so many people, and yet they all seemed determined to be there. Jeanette edged out into the hallway, creating more room for everyone else, and Irene nodded. That seemed the best choice.

  “Dr. Russell, I wonder if you know Dr. Sutton and Dr. Ashby,” Dr. Wentworth said. The two men rose and shook hands with Dr. Russell, whose jaw was clenched. Irene wondered at that. What on earth was going on?

  “And this is Miss Cantrell, Dr. Russell’s head nurse.”

  The men turned to her and bowed, and she inclined her head in return.

  “My two colleagues have been speaking to me quite earnestly about a concern they have regarding Dr. Sims,” Dr. Wentworth said.

  “Yes, I’m well aware of their concerns,” Dr. Russell replied. “We met up over the weekend.”

  “I see. And what do you make of all this?”

  Dr. Russell took a deep breath. “It makes me rather curious as to their motives. First, Dr. Sims has been practicing here in New York for some time now, and he has come under no scrutiny since his arrival. Why are they seeking to go after him for things he may have done in his past? Isn’t a man allowed to learn and move on?”

  Irene raised an eyebrow. This was certainly going to be an interesting conversation.

  “Second, I’d like to know why they find it necessary to go from doctor to doctor in this town, sowing their seeds of discontent. If they truly have cause to be aggrieved, why aren’t they speaking to the American Medical Association or some other type of authoritative body that could actually do something? Gentlemen, this approach reminds me of nothing so much as a schoolyard inquisition. Billy told Tommy that Harry stole Johnny’s new ball. Isn’t there a better way, a more professional and effective way, to handle your grievances?”

  Dr. Sutton’s face had taken on a curious shade of purple. “Dr. Russell, I object to your comparison of our concern to a schoolyard dispute over a toy. It’s as if you don’t care about what happened to these women. Are you of the same mindset as Dr. Sims, then? Do you believe that the slaves have no feelings and don’t need to be treated as human beings? That’s an attitude we fought and died to eradicate just ten years ago, sir.”

  Irene had so many questions, but she sat quietly, knowing Dr. Russell would speak to her at length later on.

  “Dr. Sutton, you accuse me of intolerable things. I am not a bigot, and I refuse to be labeled that way. Your argument, however noble, isn’t relevant here. I’m not arguing against the slave—I’m arguing that Dr. Sims should not be vilified for his past actions, if your report of them is even accurate.”

  Dr. Ashby came to his feet. “By his own admission, he operated on those slaves without anesthesia.”

  “How long ago?” Dr. Russell thundered back. “If I were to be held to the fire for every foolish thing I’ve ever done, I’d certainly be burned to a crisp right now. Dr. Sims’ actions, for the entire length of time I’ve known him, have been above reproach. I told you before and I will continue to say it—I personally have never seen him do anything questionable, and my word will never be used to accuse him. He taught me how to provide needed care to suffering women, and their lives have been changed for the better because of him. If you insist on pursing this line of inquiry, it will be without me.”

  “And it will be without me as well,” Dr. Wentworth said. “It does my heart good whenever I see those who are willing to stand up for justice plant their feet and refuse to move, but the cause must be just and the principles sound, and I’m with Dr. Russell on this one. I have no personal experience with Dr. Sims that would make me question him. I will not be added to your list of agitators, and I leave you now to go in search of those who are willing.”

  “You’re making a foolish mistake,” Dr. Ash
by said. “When Sims is revealed as the monster he is, you’ll think about all the patients he abused, and you will be ashamed of yourselves.”

  “Rather, I choose to think of all the patients he has helped,” Dr. Russell returned. “I’m not God—I can’t judge the state of the man’s heart. That, gentlemen, is why this conversation is now at an end. You seek to condemn a man without having the authority to do so. Now, if you’ll be so kind, I believe Dr. Wentworth asked you to leave.”

  The two men looked around the room, making eye contact with each person before they turned and left.

  “I’m sorry things became so unpleasant, Miss Cantrell,” Dr. Wentworth said, turning to her with a smile on his face.

  “If I wanted my life to be filled only with things that were pleasant, I chose the wrong profession,” she replied, and he laughed.

  “Very true. Tell me, Dr. Russell, are these men really going around to all the doctors in town to air their complaints?”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I only know that they spoke to me, and now they are speaking to you. Perhaps they’re working their way down the street—who knows.”

  “I don’t understand what they’re hoping to gain. What sort of benefit could they possibly get from it?” Irene asked. “There can’t be a monetary incentive, and he didn’t actually break the law, so he can’t be jailed. Are they jealous of his success?”

  “I have no idea.” Dr. Russell lowered himself into one of the vacated chairs. “I just hope they stop before they do some real damage.”

  “And what if they’re correct?” Irene tilted her head to the side. “They’re so passionate about their beliefs—are they based on any truth at all?”

  “Dr. Sims has stated that he performed surgery on slaves without anesthesia. That’s an established fact,” Dr. Wentworth said. “We’re discussing so many shades of gray here, it’s all but impossible to distinguish between them, but we can agree that this type of surgery would be agony without medication. How do we judge between his successful outcomes and his questionable experiments? I know I can’t do it. He uses anesthesia now in all his surgeries. That’s where I choose to keep my focus.” Dr. Wentworth looked around suddenly. “Where did Miss Anderson get to?”

  “She stepped into the hall when the room became crowded,” Irene replied.

  “Oh. Quite right. Miss Anderson?”

  She came back in. “Yes, Doctor?”

  “Please join us. We’re going to put that distracting visit aside for now and keep our appointment with Dr. Russell.” He leaned forward and laced his fingers on the desk in front of him. “How are you feeling today? Have you had any incidents since we last spoke?”

  Dr. Russell glanced at Irene. “A few. They seem to be increasing in severity.”

  Dr. Wentworth nodded and looked down at his desk. “I’ve done a great deal of reading over the weekend. In fact, that’s about all I did. I sent a telegram to a colleague, I checked every medical journal and article that seemed to deal with it, and I’m sorry to tell you that at this time, we have no effective way of treating neuralgia. It seems to run in families, but they have no idea what determines who gets it and who doesn’t within the same family. I’ve found a few mentions here and there of a compound or a practice that seemed to provide temporary relief, but they seemed like nothing more than snake oil to me. I wish I could tell you any differently, but it seems there is no cure.”

  “None at all?” Dr. Russell’s voice was even.

  “Not at this time,” Dr. Wentworth affirmed.

  “And yet science is making new discoveries every day, isn’t it?” Jeanette said. “That’s one of the things Dr. Wayment has mentioned to me on several occasions since I met him. Science is moving forward, and tomorrow they’ll discover something that will lead to something else. All hope isn’t lost.”

  “Of course it’s not lost,” Irene said. She was rattled to her core, but she had to cling to the positive in this moment. It was all she could do—she couldn’t give in to the suffocating dread that had filled her. “The very practice of medicine is based on experimentation and making new discoveries and seeing where they lead us.”

  “Exactly. That is what we’ll hope for, and that is where I’ll put some of my energy. In the meantime, though, I think it would be wise for me to learn my limitations and figure out what the remainder of my life will hold for me.” Dr. Russell stood. “Dr. Wentworth, I appreciate the time you’ve spent on this question. I’d be interested to read the articles about those snake-oil remedies, if you don’t mind—there might be elements of truth to them.”

  “Of course. I marked them and I’ll send them over.”

  “Excellent.”

  He and Irene left the office, neither one of them saying a word. When they came to the sidewalk that led back to Woman’s Hospital, he made the turn. “We have an appointment with Mrs. Blewitt in half an hour,” he commented, as though Irene had asked the question.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry I forgot.”

  “Well, it has been a rather distracting day.” He paused and turned to look at her. “We’ll figure this out, Miss Cantrell. We’re not done, not by a long shot.”

  “Of course not, Doctor.”

  She followed him as he resumed his path back to his office. They might not be done, but it certainly felt like the end of the world.

  Chapter Nine

  “Mrs. Blewitt, I believe you’re a perfect candidate for this surgery.” Frank wasn’t surprised to see tears form in the woman’s eyes—it happened often when he gave good news. “Not only is your fistula easily repairable, but we have some time in our schedule tomorrow morning.”

  “So soon? Thank you. I can’t believe it.” She pulled a handkerchief from her bag and blotted her eyes. “You can’t imagine what I’ve been through. Well, actually, I’m sure you can because you do this all the time. I just can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “It will be our pleasure to help you. Please go down to the front desk and they’ll tell you what time you should arrive.”

  Frank watched her leave, feeling satisfied. This was what Woman’s Hospital was about, not rumors or past possible indiscretions. It was about these women who had been able to receive help nowhere else, who had come here believing it was their last hope, and then being able to give them that hope.

  “Poor woman,” Miss Cantrell said from where she stood on the other side of the examination table.

  “Poor woman indeed. And I’ll tell you who else I feel sorry for—myself.”

  “Oh?”

  “That’s right. It’s dinnertime, and I’m very hungry. Let’s go see what Mrs. Everett has made for us, all right?”

  “I believe she said something about roast beef.”

  “Excellent.”

  “And she might have said something about jam tarts.”

  Frank’s stomach rumbled just at the thought. “Even better.”

  “But . . .” Miss Cantrell looked at him sternly. “You may not eat all the tarts.”

  “What do you mean? When have I ever eaten all the tarts? I always leave some for you and the other girls.”

  “Yes, but there’s competition for them tonight.”

  Frank took a step back. “What do you mean, competition for tarts? Who is this competition, and why do they want my tarts?”

  “They aren’t your tarts.”

  “They’re very close to being my tarts. They’re being baked in my house by my housekeeper, are they not?”

  Miss Cantrell pulled off her apron and put it with the other soiled linens. “True, but these are for an entirely different purpose. We’re having two gentleman callers tonight.”

  “And they want my tarts?”

  “Well, of course they do. If you were a gentleman caller, wouldn’t you want tarts?”

  “I always want tarts!” Frank trailed behind Miss Cantrell as she strode down the hall. “So who are these men?”

  “Mr. Washburn and Mr. Wilhite.”

&nb
sp; “Ah, both coming to see Miss Montgomery. That should be quite entertaining. What are they going to do—sit each other out in the parlor? See who has the most fortitude?”

  “Actually, no. Mr. Washburn is coming to see me.” Miss Cantrell pushed open the front door of the hospital and stepped into the night air. Frank felt the cool breeze on his face, but he was stuck where he stood, unable to take another step.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said at last.

  “I suggest you come through the door, Dr. Russell—I’m not going to stand here and hold it open all night.”

  “Oh, yes. Right.” He stepped over the threshold, and she allowed the door to close. “Now, about Mr. Willywiggins . . .”

  She paused on the steps and turned to look at him. “Dr. Russell, this little game you’ve been playing was cute the first dozen times or so, but now you’re having to go farther and farther afield for your little nicknames. Wouldn’t it be so much simpler to admit that yes, you know his real name, and then to simply call him by it?”

  “Is that how this is? First, you take away my tarts, and now you’re going to insist that I call your paramour by his proper name? Are you determined to spoil all my fun, Miss Cantrell?”

  “He’s not my paramour, no one is taking away your tarts, and you’re certainly not lacking in fun because you’re having quite a lot of it at my expense right now. And it seems to me that if you’re really as hungry as you say you are, you’d stop lollygagging and walk a little quicker. We don’t have all evening, you know.”

  “Right.” Frank quickened his steps and fell into line beside her. “So, why is he coming if he has no romantic interest in you whatsoever?”

  “Why, to eat your tarts, of course.” She turned and flashed him a smile.

  There was something about this whole situation that Frank found irritating. He had nothing against the women of the household having gentlemen callers as long as they left at a suitable time and were restricted to the parlor. Those were the rules he promised their fathers they’d abide by when he opened this nursing school. However, he’d never stopped to consider that Miss Cantrell herself might want to entertain friends, and the whole thing was highly annoying. This Mr. Whitewater . . . er, Washburn certainly had a lot of nerve.