But what did that mean? He’d never experienced this before. His sole focus had always been on his career. He’d never courted, he’d never taken a moonlight stroll, he’d never kissed a woman—he’d never even held hands with one. For a moment, he had to laugh at himself. What man of his age has never kissed a woman? It seemed preposterous, but it was the truth. He’d simply been too busy, and now perhaps he’d lost his chance. Miss Cantrell was in the parlor just then, enjoying an evening with the accomplished and successful Mr. Washboard, and the only person Frank could blame for that was himself. If he’d realized all this sooner . . .
But no. He was being even more ridiculous. He was so much older, so much more set in his ways than she was. A woman like that needed excitement, adventure . . . and he wasn’t sure he could provide any of that. He flexed his hand a few times, staring at it, wondering why it had chosen now of all times to betray him. He wasn’t the doctor he was two months ago. He wasn’t even sure he was the same man. What could he offer this young, intelligent, beautiful woman? He closed his eyes and leaned his head on his chair. Yes, Mrs. Everett, he had feelings aplenty. He just had no idea what to do with any of them.
***
Patrick’s visit of the night before had proven to be a pleasant surprise. Irene found herself thinking about it as she dressed the next morning. She had enjoyed reminiscing about days gone by, but even more than that, she found herself intrigued by the man Patrick had become over the ensuing years. He had taken his adventurous spirit and channeled it into a willingness to try new things and meet new people, and she had spent nearly half an hour listening to him tell of his travels around the country and the different businesses he’d helped create.
He had an air of confidence about him that had mellowed from the arrogance he’d had as a youth, and it made for an altogether attractive man. She found herself blushing at the thought. She never expected to see him that way, especially not after telling him quite firmly that she wasn’t interested. Maybe she should have sent him away immediately—his plan to win her over might be starting to take effect.
The girls were chattering up a storm when Irene entered the dining room, but they quieted down when she took her seat. “No, go ahead,” she told them. “Whatever it is, you can say it in front of me. Unless it’s something unpleasant about me, in which case, I don’t want to know.”
Laura chuckled. “It’s nothing like that, Miss Cantrell. It’s just that . . . well, Benjamin—I mean, Mr. Wilhite—he’s said he’d like to meet my parents. And maybe I’m reading too much into it, but that sounds . . . well, I don’t know. Doesn’t that sound like he’s getting serious about me?”
Irene had never seen Laura so flustered about a boy. With her flirtatious nature, she was usually at the center of attention, in complete command of her audience. Now she seemed unsure of herself. “That’s what it sounds like to me,” she replied. “Has he said anything to you directly?”
“Well, he did ask if I liked this program, and if I thought I’d always be a nurse.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“That I liked it very much. As far as my future plans, I’d see what came my way.”
Mrs. Everett came in with her tray and began placing food on the table.
“Where is Dr. Russell this morning?” Irene asked.
“He got a note from Dr. Wentworth, so he headed out early,” the housekeeper replied.
“Not an emergency, I hope.”
“I believe it was just a consult. He told me to let you know he’d see you at this afternoon’s surgery.”
That was something, at least—he hadn’t forgotten her. It was just odd for him to leave the house without letting her know or taking her with him.
As soon as everyone had their food and grace had been said, Irene looked down the length of the table. “Laura’s comment does bring up a question for me, though. How have you all enjoyed the program? Do you feel like you’re learning what you need to know?”
“Of course,” Tess replied. “I love it here.”
“All the doctors we’ve worked with have said we’re being trained well,” Phoebe added.
“What’s the matter, Miss Cantrell?” Jeanette asked. “You seem uncertain.”
Irene studied her fork for a moment before replying. “I have to admit, when both Millie and Libby left, it did shake my confidence.”
“But that wasn’t because you did anything wrong!” Sophie protested. “Libby was meant to be a doctor, and if you think about it, that was probably due to your inspiration. She wouldn’t have developed such a strong interest in medicine if you weren’t such a good teacher.”
“And Millie was never meant to be a nurse at all,” Jeanette added. “I don’t think any instructor on earth could have taught her not to throw up at the sight of blood.”
All the girls laughed.
“Thank you,” Irene said, looking down the length of the table with appreciation. “I think I needed to hear that today.”
“You aren’t doubting what you’re doing here, are you, Miss Cantrell? Because I can tell you right now, you’re a wonderful teacher, and I know we’re going to remember you for the rest of our lives,” Phoebe said, and the other students nodded.
“Sometimes I do, to be honest. I suppose everyone goes through that from time to time, though.” Irene picked up her fork. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your pleasant breakfast with my melancholy. Please, eat.”
Mrs. Everett had made some very nice eggs to go along with the biscuits and gravy she served, and Irene ate heartily. She would need her strength for everything to come the rest of the day—operations were always exhausting.
Once breakfast had been eaten, they all moved into the parlor, where she planned to teach them about different afflictions of the spine. She’d no sooner begun, though, when Mrs. Everett came in waving a note.
“Dr. Russell just sent for you. Needs you immediately.”
“Students, please study the section on the spine in your textbooks. We’ll discuss it in further detail another time.” Irene took the note from Mrs. Everett, scanned it to see if there was anything she had missed, and grabbed her hat on her way out the door.
When she reached the hospital, Dr. Russell had already prepared for surgery and was waiting for her in the operating room. “Mrs. Blewitt has taken a sudden turn for the worse and we need to operate now,” he said. “The large abscess we were going to incise along with repairing the fistula has ruptured, sending poisons through her body, and we need to lance it, close it off, and repair the fistula immediately. If we don’t, the poisons will have quicker access to more parts of her body, making her become even more ill.”
Irene had been washing up while he spoke and now stood ready in a clean apron.
The patient already lay on the table, asleep. Dr. Russell picked up the scalpel and made an incision that would release more of the poisons, and Irene pressed gauze to the wound to absorb the pus. They worked this way together for several minutes until Irene could see that they’d incised all they could and the wound could now heal.
Dr. Russell wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. “And now for the fistula.”
“Are you all right, Doctor?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
They worked in silence for a moment, but then Dr. Russell cried out and jerked his hand back. The scalpel he was holding made a long slash in the patient’s flesh, and she began to bleed.
Irene grabbed a towel and pressed it to the inadvertent wound, then looked over her shoulder at Dr. Russell. He had dropped the scalpel to the floor and now clutched his hand to his chest. His face was white.
“Is she all right?” he gasped.
“I’m calling Dr. Dearing. Are you all right?”
“Never mind about me.”
Irene gave him a sharp nod and ran out into the hall, making a turn into the other doctor’s office. He looked up, startled.
“You’re needed in surgery at once.”
He tossed his pen onto the desk and followed her.
When they reached the operating room, he took in the situation at a glance. He snatched up a needle and thread, not bothering to wash up, and began to stitch. Irene couldn’t blame him for not taking the time to scrub—if the woman continued to bleed as she was, it really wouldn’t matter.
“I need more thread,” he said after a moment, and Irene handed him a new needle that was fully ready to go. She glanced over at Dr. Russell, who leaned against the wall. His face was still white, and beads of sweat lined his brow. He seemed alert, though, so she wasn’t as alarmed as she might have been otherwise.
After another moment, Dr. Dearing tied off the thread and took a step back. “Now that the urgency has passed, Miss Cantrell, I’ll take a moment to wash, and then I’ll finish up this fistula procedure. If you would please fetch Ida Beth to assist me, I believe Dr. Russell could use your help. You’ll find Ida Beth on the second floor.”
“Of course, Doctor.”
After Irene had found the nurse and told her what was needed, she returned to Dr. Russell’s side and guided him back to his office. He collapsed into his desk chair, and she brought him a glass of water. Then she wiped his forehead and waited, watching to see what else she might be able to determine that he needed.
“I believe that will do it for me, Irene,” he said at long last.
“There’s nothing else I can get for you?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. This was my last surgery.”
“I think that’s wise.” Oh, how she hated to say it, but truth was truth.
He closed his eyes. For a long moment, she wondered if he’d dozed off for some reason. “A half dose of opium, please,” he finally said, and she administered it to him.
“I feel utterly foolish for even trying it,” he said after a few more minutes of silence. “Did I think I’d somehow been cured? That I wouldn’t have any problems? Miss Cantrell, what was I thinking?”
“That you aren’t ready to be done,” she replied. “That medicine is in your very soul, and the thought of doing without it is painful to you.”
“Yes. That’s it exactly.” He looked up and met her eyes. “I’ve known almost nothing but medicine since I was a boy. This is all I’ve ever wanted to do. How do I now re-create myself? I’m not young anymore—I’m in my forties. The time to begin a new career is long past. I’ve never felt so purposeless in all my life.”
“You’re most certainly not purposeless,” Irene said, taking the seat across from him. “We’ll go back to the house, you’ll get some rest, and tomorrow, things will seem clearer. You’ll no longer be a surgeon, but you’ll still be everything you were before.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever stopped to examine what I am,” he answered. “When your entire identity has been wrapped up in one thing, it’s rather difficult to assess what else there might be.”
“I’ve felt the same way my entire life,” she told him. “Nursing is who I am, and yet I know there are parts to the whole—many different parts. You’ll discover that for yourself—your other interests, your hobbies. Perhaps talents you’ve forgotten you have. There is more to you.”
“I know you’re right, and tomorrow, after I’ve taken your prescription of some rest, I’ll be able to reason it through. For now, will you walk with me back to the house by way of the park? I feel a bit rattled, and I need to soothe my spirit.”
“Of course.”
Between the house and the hospital was a small patch of grass with a few trees and a bench. It wasn’t anywhere near large enough to be considered a park, but that’s what the inhabitants of the house called it. It was a pleasant spot to bring a picnic or sit for a moment and watch people passing by. When they reached it. Dr. Russell sat on the bench, and Irene sat beside him.
“Just look at the color of that sky,” he said, nodding. “That’s a shade of blue you only see at this time of year.”
“And can you smell the autumn in the air?” Irene replied. “It’s heavenly.”
He turned to her with a curious look. “You can smell autumn?”
“Of course. Can’t you?”
“No, I never have.”
She shook her head. “Sniff deeply. There’s the scent of crushed dried leaves, the hint of twigs fallen to the ground, just a snap of chill in the air—why are you looking at me like that?”
“I can’t smell any of it.”
“Then you must use your imagination. I promise you, though, it’s all there.”
He regarded her. “And you’re one of those curious people who can smell rain, too, I suppose?”
“Of course I can. And snow.”
He chuckled. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“Then do. It’s a wonderful smell, full of promise. This is going to be a beautiful fall. Just look at this tree-lined street we live on—the whole thing will be covered in every shade of yellow and orange. I can hardly wait.”
They sat for another few moments, neither saying anything. Irene was counting on their surroundings to give Dr. Russell some peace. They really did live in one of the most beautiful areas she’d ever seen. Even the architecture of the buildings was impressive.
“Will you travel home for Thanksgiving, Miss Cantrell?”
“Hmm? Oh, Thanksgiving. I hadn’t even thought of it. We’re still a ways off. I don’t have to decide right now, do I?”
“Of course not. I was just curious. Mrs. Everett always makes a delicious dinner, if you’d like to stay.”
She turned and looked at him, noting the seriousness in his eyes. “I’d love to stay, if you’d like me to.”
He smiled, and his whole demeanor changed. “I’d like it very much.”
“Consider it decided, then.” She rose. They could stay out here the remainder of the day, but he needed to eat something and lie down. “Come on. Let’s go see what Mrs. Everett has for us.”
Chapter Eleven
Frank ate and then slept, waking up just as the sun set. The pain in his hand was long gone, thankfully, and he flexed his fingers a few times. They felt odd, a lingering memory that something had happened, but they weren’t seizing up. He’d take every reprieve he could get.
He thought about going into the dining room for dinner, but he wasn’t very hungry, and he didn’t feel up to socializing. Instead, he wanted to take a few minutes to ask himself those questions Miss Cantrell had posed to him. Who was he when he wasn’t being a doctor? Or rather, who did he want to be, as he couldn’t recall a time when medicine hadn’t consumed him?
One of the things he enjoyed most about his profession was teaching. He liked working with the nursing students and showing them different procedures. He wasn’t as gifted with instruction as Miss Cantrell, but he believed he was effective, and teaching was something he could do regardless of his health.
He thought about that as the sun set, and before he knew it, his room was full dark. He blinked and looked around, startled. He didn’t realize he’d become so lost in his thoughts.
A soft knock sounded on his door.
“Come in,” he called out, and light from the hallway fell on his floor in a shaft as the door opened.
“My goodness, Doctor. Why are you sitting here in the dark?”
“I was thinking, and I suppose it never occurred to me to light the lamp.”
Mrs. Everett did that task for him, shaking her head. “Some days I wonder if you’d survive at all without people to tell you what was what.”
“I happen to know that’s the case every day. Thank you for your help.” He gave her a smile.
“I wonder, Doctor, if you minded if I had a seat.”
“A seat? Of course not.” He motioned to the chair in the corner of his room. “What can I do for you?”
She plunked herself down and looked him over. “Miss Cantrell told me what happened today and said that you seemed a bit dispirited.”
“Ah, yes. That.” He crossed the room and splashed some water
on his face from the basin in the corner. That was some better. “I was. After the pain subsided, I realized that my career as a surgeon was over, and I was at a loss for what to do with myself. That was the emotion of the moment, though, and I’m past it now.”
“Are you?” She tilted her head to the side. “Disappointments don’t usually disappear that fast.”
“Ah, but I’m a special case.” He chuckled at the look of disbelief on her face. “I thank you for your concern, Mrs. Everett. You’ve always taken good care of me. I’m still casting about, trying to decide what I’d like to do, but I’m in much better spirits than I was this afternoon, I assure you.”
She nodded. “I’m glad to see that you aren’t in here drowning yourself in your sorrows. Some folks do that, you know, and it never leads to anything but more despair.”
“Very true. Some need longer than others to sort themselves out, though.”
“Also true.” Mrs. Everett pulled herself up to her feet. “May I fix you a tray? Dinner was rather nice—roast chicken with a lovely orange zest and fluffy rolls.”
“I’m not very hungry, but I would like a few rolls with some butter, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course not.” She walked over to the door, then paused. “For what it’s worth, whatever you decide to do with yourself, you’ll make a smashing success of it. I’m quite confident of that.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Everett.”
“And Miss Cantrell thinks so too. She made it a particular point to tell me so.”
Frank smiled as the housekeeper left the room. She seemed determined to play matchmaker between the two of them. That was all very well and good, he supposed, but he couldn’t involve Miss Cantrell in his life more than she already was until he knew just what that life would be about.
***
When Irene had seen Dr. Russell last, he’d been pale, but he assured her he was already feeling better. That had been the afternoon before, and he hadn’t come out of his room since. She wondered if he was all right and asked Mrs. Everett about it.
“He’s fine, dear. I took him in some rolls and tea last night, and he had a good breakfast this morning. He’s just resting, like you told him to do. He said to let you know that he’s being a good patient.”
Heart of Hearts (Nurses of New York Book 4) Page 9
