The attendant placed the notes on the foot of Ainslee’s bed. “Since the asylum opened. Is there anything else you need?”
“No.” Ainslee shook her head and refrained from further questions. The woman seemed as friendly as a poisonous snake, and she might be every bit as dangerous. A peek under the silver dome revealed scrambled eggs, sausage, a large biscuit, fried potatoes, and a bowl of oatmeal. A small pot of coffee sat off to one side of the tray, along with a linen napkin and silverware. She wondered if this was the daily fare for the patients. If so, they must have hearty appetites, for she doubted whether she could eat half of what she’d been served. She picked up the paper from the foot of her bed and settled into a chair that the attendant had placed near the bedside table. If she balanced them properly, she could possibly eat and read at the same time.
Attempts at using a fork with her left hand proved to be a brutal awakening. If she could barely manage to get food to her mouth, how was she going to complete her duties at the tile works?
Eating only a small portion exhausted her. She pushed away the tray and looked at the note from Dr. Thorenson. Beneath the medical notes, he’d written instructions that she should rest and return to him or another doctor of her choosing for continued treatment of her wound. Dropping the paper onto the bed, she walked to the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the doctor, but he was nowhere in sight. If he would remove the large bandage that had rendered her right hand immobile, she might be able to function at work.
She paced the length of the room for what seemed an eternity. At the sound of heavy footfalls on the tile floor, she rushed toward the door. She prayed it would be the doctor and not the cranky attendant who’d delivered her food.
“Good morning, Miss McKay. How are you feeling this morning? I trust you enjoyed your breakfast.” Dr. Thorenson lifted the dome and shook his head. “You didn’t eat much. Is your stomach upset? Sometimes medicine can cause indigestion. How’s the hand?”
Ainslee didn’t know which question to answer first, so she decided to begin with her hand. After all, that was the most important in his list of questions. “My hand aches a little, but I’m sure it’s much better. I thought if you could remove all of this bandaging, I could perform my work with greater ease. I do a great deal of writing, and this bulky dressing is in the way.”
“I understand the problem created by the dressing, but if the hand is to heal properly, you need to keep it bandaged for a week and then we will see how it is doing. Your injury was more than a mere cut. The blade cut deep, and I worry there may be damage to the fibers and nerves in your hand. Only time will tell.”
Ainslee stared at the bandage. One swift, reckless decision could cause her to suffer a lifetime of regret. “Are you saying I could lose partial use of my hand?”
“I am. As I said, much depends upon whether the nerves were severed. You are quite fortunate that you didn’t lose several fingers or your entire hand. I think you have much to be thankful for, Miss McKay.” A somberness darkened his eyes. “I trust you will refrain from further attempts to use any equipment at the tile works—or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“You may set your mind at rest, Doctor. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll follow your orders.”
“I hope that means you’ll follow all of my orders and stay home for at least the rest of today. I think you’re going to find that your hand is going to cause you greater pain than you expect. Frankly, there may be some residual pain for the rest of your life.”
Ainslee flinched. Dr. Thorenson certainly hadn’t worried about sweetening his medical opinion, but she did appreciate his honesty. “You’ll learn that I can be quite determined when necessary, so I’ll do whatever I need to do in order to achieve a good recovery.”
The doctor sat down in a chair near the window. “It pleases me to hear you say that, but sometimes even our best efforts aren’t enough. Deep wounds can remain for a lifetime; the real achievement is learning to live a full life even when scars remain.”
The doctor’s tone was subdued, and Ainslee wasn’t certain if he was referring to the cut on her hand or to a deeper wound he carried inside. Silence hung over the room until the sound of footsteps in the hallway captured the doctor’s attention. He looked up and greeted the attendant who’d delivered Ainslee’s breakfast.
The woman bid the doctor good morning, then looked at Ainslee while gesturing toward the breakfast tray. “You done with your breakfast? I need to get it back over to the women’s wing.” Without waiting for an answer, the attendant crossed the room and picked up the tray.
The doctor shifted in his chair and craned his neck toward the older woman. “Miss Mardel, have you met Miss McKay? Her family owns the tile works here in town.”
Miss Mardel grunted and gave a nod. “I brought her tray to her earlier this morning.”
The woman’s curt response appeared to have little effect on the doctor. “Miss McKay was a teacher before coming to Weston, and she’s expressed interest in providing some form of extra classes for the women. Perhaps something similar to the classes Noah Judson’s brother oversees in the men’s wing.”
“Art classes?” Miss Mardel placed the tray on the foot of the bed.
Ainslee shook her head. “No. I don’t paint or draw. I was thinking something more general. Geography or arithmetic, something of that nature.”
The older woman curled her lip. “Don’t think you’d get much interest from the ladies with that kind of offer, but some of the patients who still have some brains rattling around inside their heads think we should have a library.” Miss Mardel chuckled. “Imagine that—they think we should feed ’em three meals a day, furnish ’em clean linens, wash their clothes, provide ’em with medical treatment, and they expect a library, too. I say they should be thankful they’re living in a day when they got this fine asylum instead of a cage in a jail.”
Ainslee shivered at the callous remarks. Granted, the asylum was a beautiful facility, but the patients weren’t free to come and go at will. Surely having books to read wasn’t such a major request. “Maybe I could help start a library for the ladies.”
The older woman snorted. “Exactly how you planning to do that? You need lots of books to fill a library.”
The doctor frowned. “I believe Miss McKay knows that libraries require books, Miss Mardel.”
The older woman stiffened at the doctor’s retort, and her cheeks flamed bright red. Until she turned, Ainslee wasn’t certain whether Miss Mardel had been seized by embarrassment or anger, but one look at her eyes told the story. She was furious—not at Dr. Thorenson, but at Ainslee.
“I wasn’t questioning her knowledge of libraries, only how she would obtain enough books to fill a library.” Miss Mardel spoke through clenched teeth and held her arms tight to her sides.
Truth be told, when Ainslee blurted out her offer, she hadn’t given the slightest thought as to where she’d locate enough books to fill a library or how she’d manage such a feat. She’d made her offer as a defense to the patients’ request—an attempt to prove that their wish for a library wasn’t foolish. She hadn’t planned to make an enemy of Miss Mardel, especially since she worked in the women’s wing.
Her stomach churned, but Ainslee forced a broad smile. “I didn’t take any offense at your remark, Miss Mardel. Your question about where I would locate books is sound. I can’t set out a specific plan for gathering books at this moment, but I believe there are people in the community who would be willing to donate some of their books and we might even consider a fundraiser of some sort. Perhaps I could look to you for advice and assistance.”
Miss Mardel directed a triumphant look at the doctor. Her shoulders relaxed as she turned toward Ainslee. “I believe I could spare a little time to help. Some of the patients’ families might even be willing to donate books.”
The knot in Ainslee’s stomach eased. “I would be delighted to have your help, Miss Mardel. I’m sure the asylum administration will need to approve a
ny project, but if they do, please know that I’ll look forward to your assistance.”
Miss Mardel beamed as she picked up the breakfast tray from the foot of the bed. “I work during the days, so I could be present for any meetings you schedule with the administration.”
“That’s good to know. Thank you, again, Miss Mardel. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
With her smile still intact, the older woman departed the room.
The doctor grinned at Ainslee. “You handled that with expert aplomb. I apologize, for I fear it was my remark that caused Miss Mardel’s defensive behavior.”
“I’m not sure I managed matters well at all. I have no idea if I’ll be able to succeed with such a large project. Setting up a library wasn’t at all what I had in mind when I volunteered to provide classes to some of the ladies.”
“You need not make the library your only focus. The ladies who would be included in your group are alert and capable. Most are suffering from various sorts of depression or grief. Having a project to occupy their minds will be helpful. They may find greater joy in helping form a library rather than simply being furnished with books to read.”
Excitement seized her as she listened to the doctor. “That’s true. They could help write letters to various businesses and see if they would donate money or books for the cause. If I set my mind to it, I’m sure I can come up with many business establishments and friends who will help.” She glanced at her bandaged hand. “Until my bandage is removed, I’m afraid I’ll have to rely upon the ladies to complete the letter writing. How many do you think could assist me?”
“I believe there are at least thirty women who possess the mental stability to assist you, but I’m not certain how many read and write. We need to gather that information from the patients’ records, but I think you could count on around thirty who would possess the ability and desire to be included in the project. And don’t forget Miss Mardel. I’m sure she’ll help. In addition, she’ll likely stop every visitor who comes into the women’s wing and request a book or donation.” He chuckled. “With that stern look of hers, I believe most folks will be quick to comply.”
“I think you’re right on that account.” She placed the fingers of her left hand atop the bandage. “You mentioned further visits for the care of my hand. You’ve caused me to wonder if the injury is serious enough that I should contact my brother and seek his opinion regarding any additional treatment.”
“As I said, your injury is more serious than a simple cut, but I believe the treatment you receive here in Weston will be as good as any you would receive anywhere else. However, another doctor’s opinion is never a bad thing. Whether you seek the advice of your family members is your decision, but you’ll need to disclose what happened at some point. Unless you intend to wear gloves the rest of your life, you won’t be able to hide the scar from them.” The doctor stood. “I have several patients I need to see. I’ll talk to the administrator about your ideas for obtaining books and a possible library. I can send word with Levi when he comes to give his art lesson.”
“Thank you.”
She gave little attention to his comments regarding the library. Right now her thoughts remained engrossed on her foolish behavior and the need to tell her family. If she sent a telegram to Ewan, he’d likely be on the next train; he might even take over the tile works and insist she return home. A week or two ago, she would have jumped at that idea, but now it didn’t appeal. She wanted to hear more about Levi’s ideas, she wanted to see if she could assist the hospitalized women in some small way, and she wanted the tile works to succeed.
What had caused her change of heart? Was it the accident or something else?
The clock in the asylum bell tower struck twelve as Levi approached Ainslee’s room. He’d arrived early, partly to surprise her, partly because he was worried, and partly because he knew if he waited until the regular lunch break, some of the men would make jokes about him going to fetch the boss. He’d let Robert or Harold explain where he’d gone should the other workers inquire about his whereabouts.
Mrs. Brighton had been far too worried about Ainslee to chide him about his tardy return home last night. She’d learned of the accident when one of the men from the tile works stopped on his way home. When Levi arrived, she’d quickly produced a warm plate of food and plied him with questions. She’d been aghast to learn that he’d taken Ainslee to the asylum, and even more upset to learn he’d left her there for the night.
He’d done his best to assure Mrs. Brighton that Ainslee was in good hands and would come to no harm, but the boardinghouse owner had remained unconvinced. After listening to her for far too long, Levi had begun to question his decision. Perhaps he should have brought Ainslee home and placed her under Mrs. Brighton’s care. When he’d finally gone to bed, he’d been unable to sleep. All night he’d tossed and turned, worried she might come to some harm—and it would be his fault.
Ainslee looked up when he entered and smiled at him. “You’re early.”
He sighed with relief at the sight of her. She was fine—at least as fine as one could be with a deep cut to her hand. “Did you sleep well? Were you well cared for?”
“Why do you sound so worried? You’re the one who convinced me I should stay overnight and assured me I would be fine.” She tipped her head to the side and pinned him with a questioning look.
“Yes, but that was before Mrs. Brighton chided me for not bringing you home and allowing her to attend to you. Have you decided whether you want to go to the tile works or to the boardinghouse? She’s eager for you to return. I think she plans to coddle you.”
“I’m afraid she’s going to be sorely disappointed. I’ll remain at home for the rest of the day, but I’m returning to work tomorrow.”
Levi glanced at the door. “Did the doctor agree?”
“He didn’t disagree. My biggest problem will be writing. I’m not sure how I’m going to log the employee work hours or complete the bookkeeping duties when I can’t even hold a pen. I suppose I’ll need to hire someone to assist with my duties.” She sighed. “I won’t even be able to write letters to suppliers, submit bids, or respond to inquiries from customers.”
“I’d be willing to help you on my lunch break and after work, if you’d like.” Levi wasn’t sure how much time would be needed, but he wanted to do whatever he could to help—and to make certain she didn’t do anything to slow the healing process or further injure her hand, especially since he felt guilty over his role in her accident.
Yes, Levi thought, there was something compelling about Miss McKay. She revealed both determination and curiosity, yet she possessed a vulnerability that he couldn’t resist. Volunteering to help might mean extra work, but if it meant being in her presence, it would be worth every minute.
Chapter 13
Ainslee settled beside Levi at the large desk in the tile works office. When she’d accepted his offer to assist her with the paper work, she hadn’t expected to need his help for quite so long. Although she’d accepted the fact that she might have a scar on her hand, she hadn’t been as quick to accept the amount of time involved with the healing process. She believed her healing was taking far too long, yet Dr. Thorenson had declared she was making excellent progress. They obviously had differing views of progress. She was eager to once again dress without assistance, eat meals without someone cutting her food, and make entries in the work ledgers on her own.
Levi hadn’t complained about the many hours he’d been required to spend with her each day, and his handwriting had proved excellent. Though she’d dictated the correspondence and figures, his entries in the ledgers were neat. At the end of each session, he was careful to verify all of the records and calculations for errors. He’d even penned business correspondence with a faultless script. She couldn’t have hoped for better support with her duties.
They focused upon the business during most of their time together, but a friendship had blossomed through the past few weeks of cl
ose contact. Each of them had shared more about their personal lives, yet Levi never mentioned the woman he’d left behind. On a couple of occasions, she’d considered asking him, but courage failed her. She didn’t want him to think that she was prying, yet she thought it odd he’d disclosed so much about his brother and deceased parents but never mentioned his betrothed. She’d lain awake at night and wondered why it disturbed her that he didn’t mention the woman. Was it because she’d been so open and honest when she revealed that she’d never had a suitor, or when she’d bared her soul about Adaira? Or was it because she was jealous? During her wandering nighttime thoughts, she told herself she still wanted to leave Weston, but the thought of departing had become more confusing. There were still things she wanted to accomplish.
Creating a library at the asylum remained a priority, and she wanted to help Levi with his idea to produce mosaic tiles. Those were things she couldn’t do if they sold the tile works and she returned to Grafton. But when she weighed those motives against her increasing affection for Levi, she realized he was the chief reason she wanted to remain in Weston. She’d attempted to guard her feelings, but she’d become increasingly fond of him.
“Did you hear me?” Levi lightly touched her hand. “Do we need to complete the payroll this evening since your brother arrives tomorrow?”
Ainslee jerked to attention. “What? Oh, yes, the payroll. I hadn’t considered doing it tonight, but that’s a good idea. It will give us more time with Ewan. I want him to have ample time to review our ideas about the mosaic tiles.”
Levi’s jaw tightened. “I’m excited to show him, but I wonder if we should have waited to have him come.”
Had she misunderstood what Levi wanted? Even though she’d avoided telling the family about her injury, she’d sent a telegram to Ewan and asked that he visit. She was willing to face Ewan’s expected anger over her foolish behavior with the cutting machine because she wanted Levi to have an opportunity to pursue his dream. Now he thought they should have waited?
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