He jerked awake in such a startle of arms and legs that Ida nearly dropped the cup she was holding. “What? What’s wrong?”
It was wrong to laugh, but the man looked so wearily disoriented that it was just too hard not to offer him an understanding chuckle as she placed the coffee down in front of him. “Good morning.”
He squinted, then ran his hands down his face. “I’m so terribly sorry. I must have dozed off.” His jacket was folded over the next chair, his sleeves were rolled up and his shirt was a maze of wrinkles. He blinked and groped for his glasses, which sat on the table in front of him. “What time is it?”
“Not quite six.”
He groaned. An entirely human, entirely unadministrative groan. “I’d cut down every hedge on the property if that would keep last night from happening again.”
“I suspected the boys would be miserable. I didn’t count on them taking you down with them.”
“A few of the boys had started to blister. Someone needed to watch them.”
There were easily half a dozen people Dr. Parker could have assigned to sit up with the boys. “It didn’t have to be you.” Still, Ida admired that he’d taken it on himself. For all his procedural nature, the doctor cared deeply about the well-being of his charges. Indeed, he seemed personally invested in every child’s welfare, as if he took the burden for all their care solely on his own shoulders—and had something mountainous to prove.
He gulped the coffee down eagerly. “If they had been girls, where would you have spent the night?”
She sighed and sat down. “At their side.” How many times had she slept in a chair at the army hospital, keeping watch over a critical patient or even just a frightened one? But that was a nurse’s place, was it not? She was no administrator. “How did the hedges get so out of hand?”
“Mrs. Leonard was the one who tended to the plants and flowers. MacNeil does his best, but cobbling this place together on the meager budget we have doesn’t leave him much time for gardening. We’ve become a bit overgrown, I’m afraid.” He yawned. “And now we’ve paid for it dearly.” He put his glasses on and started to rise. “I’d best get up there to see just how dearly.”
She reached out to stop him, her hand landing on his bare forearm. The touch startled both of them, and Ida drew her hand right back, regretting the impropriety of that gesture toward her employer. She covered the awkward moment by gesturing to the plate of toast and asking, “Is that all you’ve eaten?”
He began rolling his sleeves back down as if it were necessary to hide the contact. “They’ll be up in the kitchen soon.”
“It’s Sunday,” she corrected. “Not for another hour. I reckon the boys are out cold, so why don’t I make you some eggs? I’m not entirely lost in a kitchen you know, even one as large as this.” If she could keep him occupied long enough for the rest of the staff to be up, she stood a chance of him letting someone else see to the boys while he managed some real sleep. The army was a fine education in how lack of sleep could muddle a soul’s thinking.
“I suppose I could be persuaded.”
“You suppose nothing. Nurse’s orders.” She took the now-empty coffeepot from the sideboard. “And don’t think I don’t know how doctors make some of the worst patients around,” she called as she pushed open the door that led from the staff dining room to the kitchen. “But you make a decent cup of coffee, so you can make more while I scramble up some eggs.”
Ida cocked her head toward the kitchen, giving the bleary-eyed doctor her best “do as I say” glare. Her stern look melted into a smile as he followed her obediently into the kitchen.
* * *
Daniel was too tired and too hungry to even consider the suitability of being found alone at dawn with the fairer sex in the Home’s kitchen. Most of the staff members were women, for goodness’ sake, and this was far from the first time a childhood illness or issue had kept him up all night. With fifty-eight children in residence—sometimes more—someone was always sick with something. The pressures of medical as well as administrative oversight that generally came to bear on him were what made an on-site nurse so essential to his ability to keep going.
Last night’s itchy, blistering boys, however, had been exceptionally difficult. “I feel as if I’ve spent the night herding wild boars.” He allowed himself a rare complaint while preparing a second pot of coffee. This morning, it felt as if he’d require a third pot before lunch.
“Did the baking-soda paste help at all?” Miss Landway said as she bent into the kitchen pantry. It was too close to their earlier encounter—how had the woman become so adept at holding conversations when her head was stuck in cabinetry?
Daniel spooned grounds into the percolator. “Difficult to say, although if they’ve slept this late, we have reason to hope. They may owe whatever little comfort they have this morning to your fast action.” He added an extra spoonful, wanting the strongest-possible brew this morning.
“You ought to dunk the lot of them into an oatmeal bath when they wake up. It will help with the itch. Yourself, as well. I did so—just to be safe—and told Mr. MacNeil to do the same.” Miss Landway lit the fire under a frying pan and set a lump of butter in to sizzle while she broke eggs into a crockery bowl. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. He doubted many of the women in his social circles were such competent cooks. The army had done right by Ida Lee Landway—she seemed ready for anything.
“MacNeil? In an oatmeal bath?” He surprised himself by managing a small chuckle.
That caught her attention. “Why, bless my soul, Daniel Parker,” she exclaimed, an egg still in one hand. “An actual laugh. I wasn’t sure you still had one.”
Her astonishment stung just a bit. “Am I that serious?”
Sitting back on one hip, her eyes softened as if she’d realized the sharp truth in her teasing. Daniel couldn’t remember the last time anyone else had dared a joke at his expense. “I suppose you have to be. But I’d like to think you don’t have to be all the time.” The pan’s sputter pulled her back to the task, and she began beating the eggs with trademark enthusiasm. “What do you do for fun? Other than swordplay, that is.”
“Fun?” It bothered him, once spoken aloud, the utter shock he’d given the word.
“Yes, fun. That thing people do when they’re not at work.”
When they’re not at work. When was Daniel ever not at work? When was the last time he’d been anywhere but the Orphan Home and his family home? Men his age often went “out with the boys,” but in fact Daniel was always with boys—and girls. Perhaps Mother had good reason to declare concern over his social life, or more precisely the lack thereof. Daniel tried to craft an answer that didn’t sound pitiful, and when he came up short he simply didn’t reply.
Miss Landway banged a spoon against the bowl she was holding. “Mercy, you do have some kind of fun, don’t you? Is that why this place is so confoundedly gray?”
He squared off to stare straight at her. “What?”
He watched her choose her reply. She had an earful to give him—even half-asleep he could see it boiling behind her eyes—but she was weighing the consequences of such frankness to her employer. Still, the boiling won out, for she launched into a speech, waving the spoon to and fro for emphasis. “There’s not a speck of color in this place. Children live here, Daniel Parker, not soldiers. Even Camp Jackson managed more color than these dreary walls. Rooms here should be red and green and blue and yellow with stripes and happy polka dots. Some days I feel choked just walking down the hall.” Her volcano sufficiently erupted, she made a harrumph sound and began attacking the eggs as they cooked. “Well, that’s what I think.”
Mrs. Smiley told Daniel what she thought on a regular basis, and that always felt like a weight pressing down daily on his shoulders. Ida Landway’s version of the what I think speech felt entirely different. Her wor
ds poked him, prodded him in ways that didn’t feel altogether comfortable, but not altogether unpleasant either. More push than press, if that made any sense. Then again, he’d managed about an hour of sleep in thirty hours—nothing should make any sense at the moment.
“Thank you,” he said slowly, “for telling me what you think.”
“Well,” she huffed, “now there’s something I don’t hear very often. Most times my big mouth gets me into big trouble, which is why I’ve been trying so hard to mind my tongue here.” She cut the fire from under the eggs and turned to him. “But I really do believe it, Dr. Parker. Color changes a heart. There could be so much more happiness in these walls. There could be buckets more joy in these children’s hearts, and all it would take is some paint and imagination. God’s world is a lovely, color-filled place, and it eats me alive that these little ones can’t see it.”
Her words were heartfelt; every inch of her body hummed with her belief in what she said. Daniel hired for skill as often as he could, but he always hired for heart above all. It gave him great satisfaction to know that the chance he’d taken on Ida Lee Landway had indeed brought him a woman with heart. Loads of it.
“The Home is that colorless to you?” Practical as he was, he’d never paid much attention to such things. His focus was always the bodies inside the walls, not the walls themselves.
Miss Landway planted her hands on her hips. “Gracious, I just told you the army had more color.” She pronounced it like the deepest of faults. “What does that tell you?” She opened cabinets around the kitchen until she found a stack of plates, pulling two out. “Look at these. Plain white. At least they’re not tin like in the army, but the children eat off tin plates, don’t they?”
They did. With the numbers they served every day, there weren’t too many ways around that—but Daniel doubted Miss Landway would see it that way.
She set the plates on the counter beside her then went searching again, producing silverware and—of course—plain beige linen napkins to place down on the counter beside the plates. The children used muslin napkins of much the same color. “No color here, either.”
He felt compelled to defend the Home at least a little. “We do have practicalities to contend with, Miss Landway.”
She replied by holding up a stack of beige muslin dishcloths. “We’re drowning in practicalities, Dr. Parker. I’m not saying we need my granny’s china teacups, but honestly, even a blue stripe down the napkins would make a world of difference. The girls could hem up colored napkins as a sewing project. Embroider flowers on them. Something. Anything.” She slid the eggs onto the plates, their sunny yellow color now standing out to Daniel as he tried to see the Home’s bland world through her eyes. In the few moments of her passionate speech, he’d forgotten how tired he was. She always managed to impose color onto her nursing uniform, slipping a bright blue ribbon into the rich auburn of her hair, and he noticed tiny blue flowers embroidered onto the collar of her blouse. Her whole manner was so vibrant that he rarely stopped to notice the details, but now that he did, he had to admit that they were charming. Meanwhile, the comforting, buttery scent of scrambled eggs and toast filled his senses in a way it hadn’t in years. Had he become that numb to the world and its wonders?
“Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted, swallowing the feeling that he’d just cracked open a very large floodgate. He rightly feared that this small trickle of his approval would soon become a tidal wave of Ida Landway’s rainbow world.
“I’m absolutely right,” she declared. Then, finding her words a bit presumptuous, she tacked a respectful “Dr. Parker” onto the end. She picked up the plates and headed toward the staff dining room as if that settled the matter. Daniel filled the coffeepot from the percolator and followed her to the table just as MacNeil pushed through the French doors. The Scotsman was usually the first up; the rest of the staff would arrive soon. Daniel found himself unnerved to be discovered eating breakfast alone with Miss Landway.
MacNeil, on the other hand, looked as if he wouldn’t much mind to find Daniel breakfasting with the Queen of England. “Saints alive,” he said wearily, “I itch like I’ve been sleeping with a herd of goats.” He pushed up his sleeves to display swaths of tiny red blisters along his forearms. “Have ye got any more of that stuff, Miss Landway?”
She responded by popping off her chair and offering the place setting to MacNeil. “Keep those sleeves rolled down. Here, eat this while I go find some oatmeal in the kitchen. I can wrap those arms up in some napkins while you eat.” She headed for the kitchen pass-through, then turned back toward the groundskeeper. “Unless that’s not the only place you’re breaking out in a rash.”
MacNeil’s reply was to turn pink and catch Daniel’s eye with a mortified expression. It was safe to assume the Scotsman was indeed breaking out in other places.
“Oh,” Miss Landway said quietly, her own face coloring. “You just eat up and I’ll send you back to your rooms with a bowl of it. Oatmeal and baking soda, that is.”
MacNeil lost his embarrassment in a forkful of eggs. “Good cooking and clever. Where’d you find her again?”
Daniel had the strange thought that oatmeal and baking soda were beige and white—Miss Landway’s offending colorless shades. Why was he suddenly thinking of everything in terms of hues? “The army,” he replied with a smirk as he dug into his own yellow, tasty eggs. “The dull, drab army.”
Chapter Nine
Ida sat perched on the edge of her chair Tuesday morning and told the bees in her stomach to hush. She’d faced grisly wounds and battle-hardened generals with less trepidation than she knew now at the prospect of the room of Charleston society ladies currently before her. For all the easy kinship she felt with Leanne, some days the differences in their backgrounds still loomed like an uncrossable gulch.
Ida came from a large, scrambling family up in the mountains of West Virginia. Leanne came from good Southern stock, a comfortable member of Charleston society. When Leanne finally did leave for Washington—which could only be soon—Ida wasn’t sure how she was going to get along with the six ladies Leanne had recruited. Lord, You’re gonna have to pave the way here, Ida prayed. I’m in over my head.
Find the good. That’s how Mama had taught her to deal with any sticky situation. Ida scanned the room and the refined faces for any trace of positivity. The best thing about the room was the abundance of color and texture. Next to the drab decor of the Parker Home for Orphans, Isabelle Hooper’s gaily colored parlor was a breath of fresh air. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Hooper,” Ida ventured to the afternoon’s hostess. “Such wonderful colors.”
Mrs. Hooper warmed instantly to the compliment. “Why, thank you, dear. You call me Isabelle, now. No need to be so formal.”
“I’m Ida,” Ida replied, still feeling out of place but glad for the welcome in the woman’s kind eyes.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ida,” Isabelle said with a smile as warm as her eyes. “I’m always glad to meet a fellow I. And a knitter, too.”
“I?”
“Ida, Isabelle. Short of an Imogene down on Broad Street, you’re the only other I name I know. There aren’t many of us.”
Ida found herself able to laugh and even manage a deep breath. She reached for the glass of sweet tea Isabelle had set before all the women seated around her parlor. “I suppose that’s true. We ought to look out for each other.” Feeling braver, she managed a wink. “All the other vowels are likely to be jealous, us being so exclusive and all.”
Isabelle fanned herself. “Gracious, but you are a clever one. I do believe we’ll get along just fine.”
She was like Mama, Ida thought to herself, just with fancier trimmings. Welcoming, quick to make a friend and fond of a good laugh. A lump of shame settled in Ida’s stomach where the bees had been. Why had she made assumptions just because Isabelle seemed to be
exceedingly well off? Rich folks could be as kind as poor ones, just as poor folks could be as mean as those with wealth. Dr. Parker had allowed her to seek these volunteers and donations of yarn, and that meant rubbing elbows with Charleston’s upper tiers. She was going to have to learn to look at these people by their character, not their ledgers. Still, coming from someone whose entire childhood home could fit inside the living room where she currently sat, it was hard not to feel small and fretful.
“Have you been knitting a long time?” Ida made herself ask, picking up one of the myriad balls of colored yarn that sat in baskets at the center of the circle of women.
“My mother and grandmother were talented knitters. Mother with all kinds of needlework.” Isabelle pointed to a set of exquisitely worked pillows lined up on a settee in the corner. “Those are hers.”
“They’re wonderful.” And they were. It was clear from the designs where Isabelle got her love of color. “Mercy, but I think I’d never let anyone sit on those—they’re worth framing.”
Now it was Isabelle’s turn to laugh, leaning in as if to share a secret. “You’re half-right—no one but Chester is allowed to sit over there.”
Ida was just taking a breath to ask what earned this Chester fellow such special privileges when a dainty white poodle the size of a bread box trotted into the room and hopped onto the couch to settle himself in a space she only now realized was left between the groupings of pillows.
“Yes.” Isabelle chuckled as she answered Ida’s unasked question, “That would be Chester. He doesn’t take up much space, so I indulge him.”
Given the twinkle of affection in Isabelle’s eyes, Ida guessed that Chester must live a very indulgent life indeed. “I had a dog once, growing up,” she offered. “They are grand company.” She pictured Spud, the loud and wiry mutt she and her brothers chased growing up. It was hard to categorize Spud and Chester as members of the same species. Still, dogs were indeed great company, which made Ida wonder if the good Dr. Parker would ever consent to something so unpredictable as pets on the Home grounds. She couldn’t see it—the man had been forced to stretch his mind to embrace colored socks, never mind something that ate and barked and required cleaning up after. Still, she could almost picture the delight in the children’s eyes were they to get a visit from well-behaved Chester. How much trouble could an occasional visit from such a small dog be? “If you ever deliver your socks in person to the Home, would you bring Chester?”
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