by The Lady
He nodded.
Worried over the way the baby winced at the movement, Ella nestled her onto the bed and raised the side up again. She swiped the girl’s brow, then handed the rag to the man and motioned for him to do as she had done. But, oh—she was supposed to note all patients in the nursing log. Dr. Penske ran a tight ship at his practice.
“Just a moment, I’ll be right back.” Ella dashed away for the thick book and returned just as quick. Pencil poised, she spoke as authoritatively as she could. “Your surname? Holland’s?”
He hesitated for the briefest of moments. “Lionheart.”
Ella tipped her head slightly and knew a lift of her eyebrows betrayed her.
He arced a hand toward the ledger. “Just write it down.”
She nearly apologized as she scribbled it and was mildly afraid to ask. “Your name, sir?”
“Charlie. And the same—Lionheart.”
Before jotting that down, she flicked him a glance. “Charlie. As in Charles?”
“No, as in Richard. Like the king.”
She smiled despite herself.
“My parents had a sense of humor.” His eyebrows dipped sharply. “Just…” He scribbled through the air with an invisible pencil.
She finished her notations and slid the book aside. Seeing that Holland was still flushed, Ella made quick work of the patched dress, stripping her down to a pinned diaper. Picking up the baby, Ella held the child to her chest and felt her steamy back. “Oh, my sweet one.”
She bounced softly, hoping the cool air on the baby’s skin might help. Ella tried to ignore what the girl’s shape—the gentle weight of her—did to her heart. Charlie Lionheart watched, expression vulnerable. Strikingly so.
He bore the same thick lashes as the baby, and though his coloring was darker, their profiles showed a remarkable resemblance, the parentage clear. With the settled silence, he tugged a slip of black silk from around his neck. He crammed the scarf in his pocket, flashing dark, fingerless gloves.
“You are a performer?” Ella asked hoping to set him at ease as she rocked Holland.
“I’m sorry?” He ran a broad hand down the side of his face that had been in want of a razor for several days.
“The circus. You are a circus…person?”
His hand stilled.
Oh dear, that was the wrong thing to say.
Clearly not about to answer that, he reached into his pocket. “Is this…” He pulled out a handful of coins. “Is this going to be enough?” The uncertainty in his eyes could have answered his own question.
It took Ella but a moment to tally the small sum. She breathed in slowly through her nose. “Yes.” But it felt like a lie.
He must have sensed it. “For how long?”
“One night.” Barely. Ella smoothed a palm down the side of Holland’s hot cheek. How she wished that wasn’t the case, but Dr. Penske had strict policies when it came to this hospital that catered to Roanoke’s upper crust. They were, after all, in the doctor’s home, and a philanthropist he was not. Surely this stranger would have had no idea of that when he spotted the three-story establishment from the street. While Dr. Penske occasionally allowed payment installments, if this man was traveling, she didn’t know how gracious the doctor would be.
Charlie blinked quickly. “All right. Um… is that enough time for her to get well?”
Ella tried to guard her reaction but knew it showed when he quick-glanced around the room.
“Is there something I can do?” He looked back at her. “This is all I have.”
“Everything?” It was barely enough to buy a hot meal.
“Do you want the clothes on my back?”
“No.”
Holland whimpered against her shoulder and Ella rocked gently.
“Mr. Lionheart—”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie, sir…let’s just focus on tonight and Holland. She may be greatly improved in the morning. We’ll keep a close eye on her and give her the best attention we can. If she needs more care, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Ella held his gaze, praying the doctor wouldn’t make a liar of her. “We won’t let anything happen to Holland on account of money.”
His expression seemed to soften on the way she called his little one by name. Finally, he nodded. She sensed a shift in the air between them as he looked at her almost trustingly.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome. Should…is there some way you can get word to the child’s mother?”
“Her mother.”
“Your wife?”
He peered down at the mattress then smeared fingertips over his forehead without looking up. “I’ve never had a wife.” His tone was a drip of hot wax—sealing the conversation to a close.
Abigail rushed by, asking Ella to help her find the tincture of camphor in the scullery, ripping Ella’s thoughts from what the man had just alluded to and onto duties that needed to be done. It pained her to set the baby down, but she settled Holland onto the small mattress. Then she remembered the ice. “I’ll be by in a few minutes.” She tidied the tray so the cool rags were in his reach.
Nodding gently, Charlie thanked her.
When Ella stepped away, he leaned forward and kissed Holland on the forehead. Tucking the dropper into the scullery sink, Ella peered back over when she heard him whispering soft words to the baby—almost lyrical. He wasn’t singing, not exactly, but she realized it was some kind of hymn. One she felt she knew. His large hand smoothed back the infant’s blonde curls again, arm cradling her as if the simple touch might hold at bay all that could step in and separate them.
His aching tangible, Ella had to pull her gaze away, remembering her own kind of fear afresh and how it mattered not that she’d clung to hope. She had still found herself kneeling—nothing to her fingertips but cool earth and cold stone as she pressed flowers to a grave so small, it might have been missed. Her grief so deep, she’d given no thought to those who called her a harlot. They didn’t care to find out that she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That you don’t have to sell your soul for it to be stolen regardless.
Peering once more over her shoulder, Ella watched as Charlie stood to adjust Holland’s pillow before sitting on the edge of his chair again.
Perhaps this was a bad idea. Perhaps the scullery was the best place for Ella after all. It was safe there. Her heart didn’t beat back to life surrounded by bowls, bottles, and scrub brushes.
Feeling every ache over a little girl named Holland…and a little boy whose mother couldn’t bring herself to name, Ella stepped away.
C H A P T E R 2
__________
Charlie leaned back in his chair, which sent his coat slipping from the top rail. He picked it up and crammed his gloves and scarf back in the pocket. Remembering Holland’s tiny stuffed tiger in the other, he slipped the animal out and into the crook of her plump arm. The tiger was small and the velvet threadbare, but rarely was it not in her grasp as she crawled around their tent or flapped it up and down on his mattress in the wagon. Those blue eyes of hers bright with mischief.
His throat went tight.
It killed him to sit here and do nothing, but he held on to what had been prescribed—fluids, cool compresses, and medicines they hadn’t access to apart from here. As the hours passed and with that woman’s help, Holland’s temperature had lowered. Even as he thought it, Charlie lifted the damp rag again and gently swiped it down the side of her neck, her bare chest.
“Hey,” he whispered, shifting forward to rest his forearms on the bed. “You need to get better. Because I need you. And Regina needs you. And everyone else does, too, all right?”
Holland breathed slowly, sleepily. Her chest lifted and lowered, and resting his chin on his folded arms, Charlie watched her small ribs rise and fall. Her hand lay fisted and he traced his finger along it, his thumb almost as thick as her wrist.
Rock of Ages…cleft for me.
The hymn ke
pt circling his mind—over and over and over as it always did when he didn’t know what to do, when the air closed in on him.
Let me hide myself in thee.
He stared at her pale skin, remembering how easily those tiny, round fingers could tug at his hair, his top hat, anything he had worth catching. Imagined her belly laugh and the way he could coax it out of her with a few animated kisses to her neck, her cheeks…those pudgy feet. Charlie smiled at the thought and lifted Holland’s limp fingers to his mouth to press his lips there.
“How is she doing?”
At the voice, he looked up into the blue eyes of the nurse who’d been coming and going. The young woman placed used rags into a bucket. What was her name again? She filled the dropper and repeated the task of getting Holland to take some. When the baby struggled, the nurse mentioned fetching more ice chips.
Holland’s blue knit hat in his hands, he folded it. Unfolded it.
How many times he didn’t know.
The nurse worked quietly another minute. “Her temperature is down again. It often does that come morning. It will give her a little reprieve.” She checked Holland more closely, looking into her mouth and feeling around her throat. “I fear this may not be a common cold. I’ll have to do some reading today.”
“What about the doctor?”
The one who had barely spent two minutes with Holland.
Charlie didn’t like the way the nurse’s gaze moved to the man with the rolled-back shirtsleeves across the ward. Nor the distrust that lived in her expression. Unsettled, Charlie glanced from the doctor, then back to the nurse. “I forgot to ask your name.”
She tipped her head down—flashing a crown of golden braids coiled around her head. “Ella. A very plain and boring Ella.” She gave him a little smile. “My parents forgot their sense of humor.”
He searched her face and saw that she was teasing. One more person poking fun at his name. Sarcasm crept up his throat. “You’re quite funny, do you know that?”
She rolled her eyes, and he would have regretted his condescension if she hadn’t deserved it. And here he had been liking her. A glance out the window showed it was still foggy with a lightly falling snow. One more day the carnival couldn’t open. “Does it always snow in Roanoke this time of year?” He said it absently, not thinking to make conversation anymore with plain and boring Ella.
She answered anyway. “Not that I can ever recall. It’s quite late. Just when I thought spring was here…”
So had the circus. They’d all thought they’d just be passing through—three days to perform—then move on as usual. Instead, they were trapped in this town. He looked at Holland on the bed and knew it was for the best that he had the day free.
Gaze to the nurse, he watched her, too closely, he realized, when she blushed. “What time is it?” he blurted awkwardly.
Which didn’t seem to jar her one bit as she looked to the far wall.
Maybe he could still like her.
“Almost five in the morning.”
“How long do you stay here?” he asked.
“I’ll be leaving in an hour and another nurse will care for Holland. She’s very good at what she does and very kind.”
“Thank you.” But he didn’t want this lady to go. Despite the fact that she was mildly annoying, she was doing a good job with Holland.
Just then, the doctor strode over, ebony hair askew in a wake of clear frustration. He grumbled something about missing linens, and Ella’s cheeks tinted as she admitted to having left them in the hall. The doctor escorted her to a nearby cupboard where a lengthy lecture on cleanliness and promptness followed. Though Charlie tried not to listen, he overheard the man saying he would need to dock her pay.
Charlie straightened and glanced over.
Ella apologized and then left for several minutes, perhaps to the laundry. Upon returning, she went back to her work of quietly tidying Holland’s bedside table. Charlie rubbed the side of his head. Maybe he should tell the doctor that it was his fault she’d set that bundle aside. But he had a hunch it would only get her in more trouble.
The pale shadows under her eyes reminded him that she hadn’t slept, which meant he hadn’t either. Or eaten. Good grief, he was still wearing half his costume from yesterday’s snowed out parade. The waistcoat now hung open and he’d pulled off his gloves, but it was unseemly for him to be in public without them. He thought about putting the gloves back on, but exhaustion kept him still.
Since they’d landed in town, he’d left Holland only to work, and even then, he’d been back to his tent as quick as possible. Except as he’d tugged off his coat yesterday, he’d knelt beside Holland’s box bed and knew she wasn’t getting better…she was getting worse.
Charlie rubbed his fingers and thumb over his forehead at the headache forming. Since she was asleep, he should close his eyes. Even for just a few minutes.
“What does that mean?” the nurse asked softly. “The writing.”
He looked up at her. “Huh?”
“On your hand.”
He turned his wrist to see which one she was referring to. “Um…Carpe Diem.” He rubbed his head again, then dropped his arm. A question in her eyes, he added, “It means ‘seize the day.’”
“Oh.” Her voice was small. She eyed the side of his hand again. “Is it a…”
He narrowed his gaze, waiting. She bit her lip timidly.
“A tattoo,” he finished for her.
She looked back to the fine, black script. “Was that painful?”
He gave it a quick glance. “Not this one.” When her eyes widened, he knew that was a dumb thing to say. “Does that offend you?”
She pursed her lips, face a blank slate. “Why did you do it?”
“So I wouldn’t forget.”
Her brows lifted. “Will it never come off?”
Words eluding him, he shook his head, soaking in the sight of her face. The unspoken thoughts that traced her brow. He didn’t mean to shock her but was somehow doing it anyway. He rarely spoke to rubes—townies. At least not away from the lot. Not candidly. Something about it fascinated him. Especially since she didn’t know who—and what—she was talking to.
If so, she’d blanch a lot more than she had over his hand.
“Did the doctor happen to see it?” she asked gently.
“I don’t know. Why? Is he gonna think I’m a criminal?”
Her mouth pressed slim and she looked toward the dark-haired man. Answer enough when she blinked quickly as if shaking off some silent worry. She placed an empty bowl on the tray along with a cup. “I’ll be along to check on Holland before I go. Would you like some water? Or something to eat? You must be hungry.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” He didn’t want to trouble her.
The nurse—Ella—moved to walk away, but stilled at the foot of the bed. He looked at her and the shift in his neck made his head throb worse.
“Seize the day,” she said. “It’s a pleasant thought.”
Despite himself, he smiled a little. “Yeah, I suppose it could be something worse.”
Her own smile reached her eyes, and a few minutes later, she brought him a cup of water and a piece of bread anyway.
__________
Coat pulled tight against the cold, Ella shivered. May flowers, indeed. She ducked chin to collar and crossed the muddy intersection of Campbell and Second, nearly missing the cream and black poster hanging on the fence in front of Rorer Hall. She stepped closer and touched the paper where an inky drawing of a trapeze artist swung above the bold, etched font of The Most Spectacular Show. Her finger slid down to a silhouette of three lions. A clown on a unicycle. One dime to enter, it said. Three days only. The dates were crossed out and adjusted for later on in the week, and she smiled softly, realizing that meant more rest for Holland.
Ella hurried the last block home to her apartment building, feet complaining at the next three flights that led to her door where she slid the key in the lock. She pushed into t
he small space that was one part parlor and one part kitchen. Nestled off to the side was the bedroom she shared with her roommate Margaret, who often worked opposite shifts. Settling down on the faded sofa, Ella unlaced damp boots and slid them closer to the warmth of the Quaker stove.
With a cup of tea beckoning, she added a scoop of coal to the stove. While the kettle steamed, she washed both face and hands. Pulling a few pins released her rounded braid and Ella tossed it over her shoulder. She blew at wisps of pale yellow hair as she crossed the small room. After hanging up her apron, her fingers slid down the square bodice and she thought of the little girl she’d held there for much of the night. Holland’s labored breathing. Whimpers whenever Ella moved her too much. Which made her wonder…
Ella snatched the nursing encyclopedia off the bookshelf, fixed a cup of tea, and after changing into a nightgown, crawled into bed and pulled the wool blanket snug. A sip of hot brew, and she nestled in deeper.
She flipped through the book, reading first on adenoids. No. That wasn’t it. She shuffled to the index and hunted for pneumonia. Page 564. Ella turned there and read, “A common disease in childhood.” She read on. “The cough is usually persistent and troublesome.” Holland didn’t have a cough. Ella finished the page, then sipped her tea. “Hmm…” An idea sparking, she searched for Rheumatic fever, finding the section.
“Rheumatic fever—an acute infectious disease…inflammation of the joints resulting in pain.”
Ella twisted her mouth to the side.
“The predisposing causes are tonsillitis, exposure to cold and damp, and lack of proper nourishment.” She thought of Charlie and his mere coins. The storm that had blown in so unexpected. Holland’s threadbare dress. Ella’s heart tightened as she read on. “The patient’s temperature varies from 102 to 104 with marked remissions.”
Starting back at the beginning, Ella read of the fever once more, noting the baby’s symptoms, and the events of the past twelve hours fell into place. She took care to study the advised treatment, glad she’d done what she could, though a few new remedies came to mind for tomorrow.
