“Quincy! I need your help,” Blake shouted to Amanda’s uncle, the proprietor of the Home for the Friendless. If Amanda contracted cholera, her parents would hold him responsible.
Neither had encouraged her to pursue medical training. In fact, her father had used every ruse possible to keep her out of medical school. When Blake had suggested she could work with him and receive training, she’d readily accepted.
Amanda stirred and touched his arm. “Water. I’m so thirsty,” she whispered.
He offered her only a couple ounces, for he knew what would occur. She clutched the glass and downed the small amount of liquid he offered. Immediately, she pointed to the nearby basin. Fear shone in her eyes as she heaved relentlessly before falling back onto the bed.
Where was Quincy? He rushed to the door and peered into the clamoring crowd of patients. All of them wanted to see a doctor—and none of them wanted to wait in the overflowing room. They all feared the same thing. The person sitting beside them might carry the dreaded disease. When he finally spotted Quincy, he stepped farther into the room and shouted above the din. Two men, neither one appearing particularly happy, stood inside the front entrance. Blake recognized them as officials from the Health Department. They shook their heads, obviously agitated and anxious to be on their way. They pushed a paper into Quincy’s hand and hurried from the room.
After Quincy read the paper, he shoved it into his jacket and then cupped his hands to his mouth. “The Home for the Friendless has been placed under quarantine. The authorities have tacked a formal notice to the front gate.”
A hum of dissent quickly escalated into angry voices. Quincy retrieved the wrinkled sheet of paper from his pocket and waved it overhead. “This is a letter of explanation. No one is to leave the building.”
Blake wasn’t surprised when the gathered patients rushed out of the waiting room and onto the streets. They looked like mice fleeing a sinking ship, and there was no one to stop them. Within minutes few remained, and those who did were too infirm to leave under their own power. By the terms of the quarantine, no one should have left the building, but neither Blake nor Quincy possessed the power to hold them prisoner. And the authorities didn’t have sufficient time to enforce the orders. They were too busy delivering them.
The behavior of the patients came as no surprise to Dr. Carstead. He’d seen the same reaction in other cities. People understood the need for quarantines, but they refused to be inconvenienced. He’d discovered many were willing to remain within the confines of their own homes, but they didn’t want to be held in an unfamiliar institution such as the Home for the Friendless. And he understood their behavior. He, too, would have preferred to be surrounded by the comfort and convenience of his own home, where the downstairs had been converted into a doctor’s office with all of the latest equipment to provide care for patients able to afford his medical services.
Recently Blake’s volunteer work at the Home was consuming more and more of his time. There was little doubt he would be needed here during the days to come. The living conditions of those who required free medical care made them all the more susceptible to diseases. Besides, there were sufficient doctors within the city of Rochester to care for those patients who could afford to pay for medical treatment.
According to the terms of the notice, they would be quarantined at the Home for the next five days. Further evaluation would be made at that time. And with several patients showing definite signs of cholera, Blake guessed the quarantine would be extended. If they were to stave off the spread of the disease, it would take more than quarantines.
He lifted his gaze upward. “We need you, Lord,” he whispered before finally gaining Quincy’s attention. When the older man drew near, Blake grasped him by the arm and pulled him closer. “It’s Amanda. I’m afraid she’s suffering from cholera.”
Quincy peered across the threshold. The sight of his niece caused him to pale. “I greeted her when she arrived this morning. She looked fine. When did this . . . How could this . . . Her parents will never forgive me. They’ll blame this on me.”
“They can’t possibly blame you. They—”
Quincy shook his head with a vehemence that caused his hair to settle in unfashionable disarray. “You mark my words. If Amanda doesn’t recover, I’ll face my brother’s wrath for the remainder of my days. Jonas Broadmoor can hold a grudge longer than any man I’ve ever known.”
Both of the men turned when Amanda stirred. “My stomach. I need help,” she groaned.
Blake tightened his hold on Quincy’s arm. “We must locate a woman to help her. She’ll be in further distress if I attempt to assist her while she’s in the throes of elimination.”
Quincy agreed. They had both assisted one of the men who’d gone through several days of suffering. The poor fellow had died soon thereafter. The episode was an immediate reminder of debilitating scenes of violent vomiting and unrelenting evacuation of the bowels accompanied by gripping pain and spasms that left the victim dehydrated. Nothing good could be said of what lay in store for Amanda.
Blake would oversee her care, but he didn’t want to cause her embarrassment. She had been surrounded by wealth all her life. Now she’d be subjected to suffering this terrible illness in pitiable conditions. And all because of him! He should have insisted that she remain at home when the first cases of cholera had been suspected. Instead, he’d encouraged her to continue working alongside him. He’d told himself he was furthering her medical career, while in truth he’d both wanted and needed the caring hands she offered. Only now did he acknowledge his motivation had been borne of selfishness. What had he done?
While Quincy hurried off in search of some willing soul who might lend aid, Blake dragged a wooden screen from across the room and placed it beside Amanda’s bed. It would offer a modicum of privacy.
She moaned, and her eyes fluttered open. “Water. Please won’t you give me water?”
The result would be the same, but he couldn’t refuse. He placed a basin on the table and then poured her a drink.
She’d barely finished drinking when she retched and emptied the contents of her stomach into the basin. Blake brushed the damp strands of hair from her perspiring forehead. Surely she must have had some of these symptoms before she’d come to work this morning. Why hadn’t she stayed home where she could be properly cared for?
Before he could ask, Quincy peeked around the screen. “Mrs. Donner has offered to lend a hand.”
“But only for a price,” the woman said. She tapped her index finger in the opposing palm. “Don’t forget you promised to pay me in advance.”
Blake met the woman’s intense gaze. “You might consider helping for the sake of simply doing good for another, Mrs. Donner.”
“Don’t you go judging me, Dr. Carstead. If I die from cholera, Miss Broadmoor’s father won’t take it upon himself to feed my children. I learned a long time ago that God helps them that help themselves.”
“If I recall, you and your children have been living in the Home for the Friendless free of charge for well over three months now. Aren’t those beds and food worth a speck of charity from you?”
When she shrugged, her tattered shawl slipped from one shoulder, and she yanked it back into place. “You’ll not convince me to change my mind. Do you want my help or not?” She turned to face Quincy.
“We want your help.”
Blake motioned to a pitcher and water. “You’ll need to be careful to wash your hands after you’ve had contact with Miss Broadmoor.” He glanced at the woman’s dirt-encrusted fingers. “In fact, I had best teach you the proper method for scrubbing before you begin your new duties.”
“Soon as I get my money,” she said.
Quincy offered an apologetic look. “She’s the only one who would even consider coming back here.”
Blake removed several coins from his pocket and placed them in the woman’s outstretched hand. “This will have to do for now. We have no way of withdrawing money from th
e bank. The quarantine, you know.”
Her hand remained open. “I’m guessing Mr. Broadmoor can offer a little more.”
Quincy withdrew two bills from his pocket and gave them to her.
The older woman grinned and tucked them into her pocket along with the coins. “Now let’s have that lesson in hand washing.”
While Blake led Mrs. Donner to the washbasin, Quincy followed along, reciting Scripture. “ ‘And above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness.’ ”
Mrs. Donner squared her shoulders and pointed her finger in Quincy’s direction. “I don’t need you reciting passages about charity. It’s easy to be charitable when you got food on your table and money in the bank.” Anger flashed in the woman’s eyes. “If you want my help, you’ll pay me with money and keep your preaching for them that want to hear it.”
Blake sent a warning look in Quincy’s direction. If he was left to care for Amanda through this undignified illness, she’d never be able to look him in the eye. He didn’t want Mrs. Donner to leave him stranded in such a circumstance.
2
With a mixture of irritation and surprise, Jonas Broadmoor waved Victoria into his office. He was certain his wife had advised him she would be remaining at home all day today. Now here she was distracting him before it was even midmorning. After all these years, Victoria still didn’t seem to realize that the business day was exactly that—a time set aside to complete meaningful tasks without interruption.
He dipped his pen into the ink bottle and continued writing in the ledger. “What brings you to the office, Victoria?” A brief glance was enough for him to place the pen in the bronze holder. She was positively pale. “Has something happened?”
Victoria placed her handkerchief to her lips and nodded. “They’ve quarantined the Home for the Friendless. I sent my maid to pick up that new gown I ordered. The driver passed by the Home, and Veda saw the quarantine sign. She told me they aren’t letting anyone in or out of the place.”
Jonas shrugged. “I doubt Quincy will be overly inconvenienced. He’s at the Home all the time as it is.”
Victoria straightened in her chair and slapped her palm on his desk. “Your daughter is there, Jonas! Our Amanda is going to be quarantined for five days with those diseased people. Don’t you realize what that means?”
Jonas leaned back in his chair. “How does this change anything? I told you months ago I didn’t approve of her training with Dr. Carstead. You’re the one who agreed with this medical nonsense. You encouraged her when she said she wanted to become a nurse.”
“Doctor,” Victoria corrected.
Jonas jerked to attention. “What?”
“It isn’t nursing that interests Amanda. She wants to become a doctor. There’s a vast difference, Jonas.”
“Oh, forevermore, Victoria. Why are we quibbling over minute details? Doctor, nurse—it makes little difference. Your decision has subjected Amanda to cholera.”
“You know I did everything in my power to stop her from going back to the Home until after the outbreak subsided. If we’d gone to the island as I suggested, she would be safe from harm. Our remaining in Rochester was your doing.” She glared across the desk. “And now you dare accuse me of subjecting our daughter to a deadly disease. I’m almost sorry I came here.”
“Almost but not quite. Correct?” He arched his brows. They were playing a game of cat and mouse, and he didn’t intend to lose. “You expect me to find some way to get her out of that place. That’s why you’ve come here, isn’t it?”
Victoria tightened her lips into a thin line and offered only a slight tip of her head. The unanticipated ease of her admission lessened Jonas’s thrill of victory. He determined she must be extremely worried—and very likely he should be, too. One of his children had placed herself in danger. He should have insisted that Amanda give up this notion of becoming a doctor. Once he rescued her from his brother’s Home for the Friendless, there would be no further discussion. Adult or not, Amanda was going to abide by his rules until she married. And his rules would include the termination of any further medical training with Dr. Carstead!
He closed the ledger and pushed away from his desk. “Before going to the other end of town, let’s stop by the house. I do hope Amanda has used her good sense and managed to sneak out after the authorities departed. They’re far too busy to guard every home bearing a quarantine notice, and it would be easy enough for her to leave by a back door.”
“Jonas! I can’t believe you would say such a thing. Those quarantines are in place to help prevent the spread of disease, and Amanda would not ignore such an order.”
“She has no difficulty ignoring my orders.” He shrugged into his black wool topcoat and gathered his hat and cane. “Take us home,” he instructed their driver as they exited his office. Victoria didn’t argue, and for that he was thankful.
This had been a day he’d set aside to work on his ledgers, and thus far he’d found nothing encouraging in the numbers. His losses appeared even greater than he’d first imagined. The thought was enough to cause perspiration to bead along his forehead in spite of the chilly April breeze. He settled into the thick leather cushion and withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket.
Victoria leaned aside as he swiped his forehead. “Jonas! You’re ill. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He detected the fear in her eyes. “I don’t have cholera, Victoria.”
She removed a glove and touched her palm to his forehead. “You feel clammy. That’s not a good sign. I’ve been questioning Amanda regarding the symptoms.”
Jonas lightly grasped her hand and lifted it from his forehead. “Please trust me. I am fine.”
While keeping her gaze fastened upon him, Victoria worked her fingers back into her glove. “I think your decision to return home before going to check on Amanda is sound. I don’t want you going anywhere else if you’re ill.”
He sighed. No need to argue further. His wife would not heed his words. He dropped back against the seat and stared out the window until the horses came to a halt in front of their East Avenue mansion.
“You sit still, Jonas. I’ll have the driver help you down.”
Jonas yanked the handle and pushed open the carriage door. “I am not ill, and I do not need assistance out of the carriage. Please stop this foolishness.” He extended his hand to help her from inside.
Her furtive glances didn’t go unnoticed as they continued up the front steps leading into the house. He wished he’d left his handkerchief in his pocket. “Any word from our daughter?” Jonas inquired of the butler, who helped them with their coats.
“I don’t believe so, but you have a visitor waiting in the library, Mr. Broadmoor.”
Victoria shot him a warning look. “Do tell whoever it is that we have important business requiring our immediate attention.”
Jonas could feel the perspiration beginning to bead across his forehead again, yet he dared not wipe it away. “Please rest easy, my dear. Nothing is going to change regarding the quarantine. We will go there in due time.”
Victoria grasped the sleeve of his jacket. “In due time? Amanda needs to be removed from that place as soon as possible. I want her home before nightfall.”
“Yes, my dear. And I will see to it that she is.” Jonas glanced at the butler, who appeared as rigid and stoic as the statues that adorned their gardens. “I assume you have the name of my visitor?”
With a curt nod the butler retrieved a calling card from the silver tray and handed it to Jonas. He stared at the engraved block letters. Vincent Fillmore. The last thing he needed right now was a meeting with his lawyer’s son and law partner. And why had Vincent come to the house rather than his office?
“I won’t be long,” he told his wife before turning down the hallway.
What else could possibly go wrong today? Wasn’t it enough that he was suffering these severe financial woes? His stomach clenched into a knot. What if Vincent had come to deliver devastatin
g news regarding a legal issue—something that would send his finances plummeting even further? At the moment he wondered why he’d even gotten out of bed this morning. The day had been filled with enough bad news for at least a month, and it wasn’t yet noon!
He opened the library door and motioned for Vincent to remain seated. “What brings you to my home in the middle of the day?” Without waiting for an answer, he dropped to the chair across from the younger man. “Didn’t you realize it’s a weekday?”
Vincent raked his fingers through his hair. “To be honest, I didn’t think at all. My father died just a short time ago.”
Jonas gasped. Panic washed over him and seized a tight hold. His mouth went dry.
“Father told me I was to advise you immediately of his death, no matter when it occurred.” Vincent slumped forward and shook his head. “I knew this day would arrive, but he’d been feeling better over the past two weeks.”
“So it wasn’t cholera?”
“No. The doctor said his heart simply gave out. I had feared Father might contract cholera, but the doctor tells me the newspaper reports have been exaggerated.”
“Is that so? My wife will be pleased to hear that.” Jonas’s thoughts whirred as he attempted to maintain his composure. “I am genuinely sorry for your loss, Vincent. Your father was a dear friend and confidant.”
“Thank you. He wanted you to say a few words at the gravesite.”
“What? Me?” Surely he hadn’t heard Vincent correctly. “I think a local preacher would be a better choice, don’t you? I mean, it’s just not proper. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
Vincent laced his fingers together. “Whatever you say will be fine. My father was never one to stand on ceremony. You know that better than anyone. He had no use for the church and always thought he’d outwit God. He used to tell me he was going to live like the devil, and at the end he’d ask forgiveness and step into heaven with a smile.”
“Let’s hope it works that way,” Jonas replied. Their conversation was veering off in a strange direction. The last thing he wanted right now was a discussion of right and wrong or of heaven and hell. All he wanted at the moment was to secure his files from Mortimer’s office.
A Surrendered Heart Page 2
