She waited for Mr. Blackeyes to continue, but he didn’t immediately. Finally he just said, “I don’t know who Richard is. But I can see his face right now in my mind’s eye. He’s fair-headed and wears spectacles sometimes . . . when he does my books.”
“He’s your bookkeeper?” Renna sat down on the side of his bed, totally absorbed in this man’s puzzle of a past. “You must have some kind of business if you have a bookkeeper. Do you remember your name and where you’re from?”
“No. And it’s most infuriating too!”
“Be patient with yourself, Mr. Blackeyes.”
He drew his chin back in surprise, and Renna laughed. “While you were unconscious,” she explained, “I felt I had to call you something. So I made up the name Mr. Blackeyes. It’s because of the color of your eyes. They’re the deepest black I’ve ever seen.”
Another hint of a smile shone through the man’s dark beard. “I wish they worked.”
Renna smiled sympathetically. “Perhaps in time they will. In fact, we’ll ask God to heal them, all right?”
“Do you think He’d do that?”
“He might. God is all-powerful, and He can do anything. He created you, after all, so who would know better how to heal you than God?”
“He didn’t let me drown.”
“No, He didn’t.”
“I could have died in that frigid water during the storm . . . ”
Renna chewed her lower lip in thought. “Do you think you were a believer before but just can’t remember it now?”
Mr. Blackeyes rolled his head from side to side. “No. I laughed at Richard. And Sarah too. She went to church with the children . . . ”
“You’re remembering. How marvelous!” Renna stopped to think it over. “And do you think Sarah is your wife?”
Mr. Blackeyes was momentarily pensive. “I . . . I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “I feel something for her. Something special.”
“Love?”
“Not exactly.”
“Hmm . . . well, I’m sure you’ll remember soon enough.” Renna felt certain the man was married with children. But why should she feel so disappointed at the news?
She gave herself a mental shake and stood. Finding a fork and a napkin, along with the pie, she made her way back to her patient’s bedside. “I’m not on duty for another half hour. Would you like your apple pie now? And I can stay and talk with you, if you’re up to it.”
“I’ve been longing for someone to talk to.” Mr. Blackeyes worked himself into a sitting position.
“Well, all right, then.”
Renna allowed him to feed himself. In spite of his blindness he did rather well, using his fork and napkin in a mannerly way that suggested proper training. And the way he spoke too—Mr. Blackeyes was obviously a learned man. There was an air of sophistication about him.
“How about a good strong cup of coffee to wash that down?” Mr. Blackeyes dabbed the corners of his mouth.
Renna grinned. “How about a cup of milk instead? It’s all I brought with me.” She looked at the pie tin. He’d scarcely eaten even a quarter of the portion she’d brought.
“Milk will do nicely, thank you.” He seemed tired now.
Renna gave him the jar of milk, and he took a few long swallows; however, he didn’t finish even half of it.
“I’ll save the rest of this for you,” she promised. “There’s a good deal of pie and milk left.”
Renna cleaned up and prepared to put the food in the icebox downstairs. She could keep it there for the day without a problem.
“Nurse Fields?” Mr. Blackeyes’s tone sounded both pleading and commanding. “Could I get a shave? I simply abhor wearing a beard.”
“Of course,” Renna replied easily. “I’m quite good at shaving a man’s face. I shaved so many faces during the war that some say I put the local barber to shame.” She smiled.
“I was on the Mississippi River during the war,” Mr. Blackeyes stated. “I was on a gunner . . . ”
“You’re remembering!” Renna’s voice reverberated through the ward, and she had to remind herself to quiet down.
But Mr. Blackeyes only sighed. “That’s all I remember. This is most frustrating!”
Renna set her hand on his shoulder. “It’ll come. Give yourself some time.”
“Thank you.” He suddenly captured her hand in his, and something strange and powerful zinged through Renna, all the way up her arm and straight to her heart.
Confused, she pulled from his grasp. “I need to clean this up. I’ll be back soon to give you a shave.”
Not waiting to hear the reply, Renna took purposeful strides from the sick ward. She ran down the stairs to the storage room and set Mr. Blackeyes’s pie and milk in the icebox. Next she reported for work.
At the centralized nurses’ station on the second floor, to which she was always assigned, she charted everything Mr. Blackeyes had told her, hoping that all the slices of remembrances would somehow come together as a whole.
Minutes later Dr. Hamilton came through on his rounds, and Renna followed him. It was then she was introduced to her latest charges. One man, Mr. Baker, suffered from cholera. Another outbreak had recently struck the city.
“Make sure the man gets plenty to drink,” Dr. Hamilton said. “He has severe cramps but an unquenchable thirst. And look at his skin . . . it’s gray and wrinkling. An indication, I’d say, of poor circulation.”
Renna took the matter seriously. “Do you think he’ll live?”
“I’m not sure.” Dr. Hamilton’s tone sounded uncertain and heavy. “Time will tell.” He sighed. “Thank goodness it’s not contagious from contact. But mind yourself just the same.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Renna began cleaning the man up. She managed to change his bed sheets, depositing them in the incinerator on the lower level. Afterward she scrubbed her own hands thoroughly. The water was cool and refreshing, and the air downstairs was mild. However, by the time Renna returned to the second floor sick ward, she was perspiring again. Although it was September, it was still summer, and these last days were hot and humid. The unbearable weather made Renna long for fall and cooler weather.
Mr. Blackeyes suddenly hailed her. “Nurse Fields? Is that you?”
“It is. What do you need?” Before he replied, she recalled. “Oh, yes, about your shave . . . ”
She fetched the necessary supplies and a good, sharp razor before returning to Mr. Blackeyes’s bedside. She felt more in control of her feelings again, more like herself.
“You’ve been very patient.” Renna lowered herself onto the side of his bed.
“I’ve got no pressing engagements.” A hint of a smile peeked through his thick beard. “Tell me as you shave me. What do I look like?”
“Well,” Renna began, “you have dark, thick black hair.” A frown weighed on her brow. “Do you remember what the color black looks like?” She had to wonder.
“Yes, I know black. I’m in it constantly.”
“Of course . . . ” She took off a good patch of beard before continuing. “You’ve got black eyes, as I’ve told you before. But they’re not mean or menacing. They’re like polished stones. Like the kind you can find on the beach.”
“You’re a romantic, Nurse Fields,” Mr. Blackeyes said with a grin.
Renna blushed, glad her patient couldn’t see it. She continued shaving. “No more talking now,” she warned facetiously, “or I’m likely to slit your throat, and then Doctor Hamilton will have to forgo his lunch to stitch you up.”
“A bit of medical humor, I presume?”
She smiled. “Hush.”
He complied, but only for several long moments.
“Please go on with your description of me.”
“All right. You seem to be a tall man, and I would guess that you do some sort of lifting or pulling because you have well-developed shoulders and arms.”
The corners of Mr. Blackeyes’s mouth lifted sardonically. “And do you like tall men with we
ll-developed shoulders and arms?”
Taken aback, Renna gasped, and the movement nearly sent the basin of water toppling off her lap. She hadn’t meant to get so personal. She was merely trying to do the man a favor and tell him what he looked like to jog his memory.
Breathing hard from the rescue of the water, she eyed her patient. “Mr. Blackeyes, you are quite fresh. I believe I’ll stop shaving your face right now and you can just wear half a beard for the rest of the day.”
She moved to get up off the side of the bed and make good on her threat when he suddenly caught her arm.
“I apologize, Nurse Fields.” His voice was smooth and sincere. “I shouldn’t have embarrassed you that way. I couldn’t seem to help it.” He cleared his throat and then smirked. “You must admit that I am in somewhat of a compromising position here. And you . . . well, you smell . . . very soft and pretty.”
“Hardly. I’m hot and sticky. I doubt I smell very good at all.”
“On the contrary, Nurse Fields. You smell far better than this sick room and one hundred times better than the food in this hospital.”
“I’m sure you mean that as a compliment, sir.” Renna couldn’t help teasing him now.
Mr. Blackeyes grinned. “I do, indeed.”
Renna shifted uncomfortably then, thinking about her patient’s “compromising position.” She had taken care of hundreds of men throughout her nursing career and had never thought of her role with any of them as compromising. She was a nurse. They needed medical care. That was all there was to it.
But this man was very, very different. He made her feel sensations she’d never felt before—
And put ideas in her head that ought not be there!
“Perhaps you’re a pirate,” she murmured, studying his face now. He had a very straight nose and a rugged-looking jawline. He looked darkly handsome—even with only half a beard.
Mr. Blackeyes laughed. “Like Edward Teach, perhaps? Are you familiar with him? He was an English pirate in the 1700s, also known as Blackbeard.”
Renna grew wary, but his next remark disarmed her.
“I used to tell my two sons pirate stories all the time . . . before they went to bed.”
“You have two sons? See, you are remembering.” She resumed his shave. “Can you think of their names?”
Mr. Blackeyes fell silent for quite some time, and it wasn’t until Renna had finished with the razor that he replied. “I can’t think of either one’s name, but I see their faces in my mind’s eye. I can see them . . . and two little girls. My daughters, I think. We’re at a funeral . . . ”
His voice trailed off in a way that let Renna know he got lost somewhere in his past. She quietly cleaned up and straightened his bedcovers. Children. Four of them. And a wife.
Renna bit back another onslaught of disappointment, wondering why she should feel anything but concern for the man.
“Nurse Fields? Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” She smoothed the folds from her apron. “I was just thinking that your family must be terribly worried about you.”
“No, I don’t think so.” A derisive note edged Mr. Blackeyes’s tone. “And I believe you may be right. I am more of a pirate than I ever was a husband and father.”
FOUR
He could picture the whole scene in his mind. The beautiful woman laid to rest in the casket, the children hovering around their governess’s knees. He could hear the organ music as they all stood in the large sanctuary. Somehow he knew that the beautiful woman was his wife, but he couldn’t recall her name. He knew their relationship had been strained, if nonexistent, since he’d returned from the war, but he couldn’t remember why. Was he sad that the beautiful woman had died?
No.
He remembered feeling apathetic, even annoyed at having to leave his business for this much overdone funeral! Thank heaven Richard had taken the time to plan everything.
The service, replaying so vividly in his mind, ended, and he remembered calling for the children’s governess. He recalled that she was one of many who had come and gone throughout the years.
Yes, that’s right. He and his wife sported a very demanding lifestyle.
And then he remembered more . . . the elegant dinners in lavishly furnished mansions, the parties and fine affairs. Was that what killed her? The beautiful woman? His wife?
No. No. He remembered that she’d frequently been ill.
In his mind’s eye, then, he watched as the middle-aged governess prepared to take the children away. He remembered it was close to Christmas, and he had promised the kids he’d come home for dinner. They could open a present early. In memory of their mother.
However, he never made it home that night. He rarely did. Business took precedence in his life, especially during the off-season, and attending social functions was essential to his economic success.
But what exactly was his business?
He saw himself at his wife’s funeral again, the vision unfolding like a scene from a play. He stood conversing with several prominent citizens who had come to pay their respects. They were important people in the community, he remembered—
Except he couldn’t think of their names or which community!
“Mr. Pirate Blackeyes?”
He recognized Nurse Fields’s voice at once, and its soft timbre swung him back to the present. He wished he could see her. She sounded so beautiful. Amusement frequently laced her tone, and he imagined that she stood over him now, smiling at the new nickname. Mr. Pirate Blackeyes.
He felt her warm hand come to rest upon his arm. Her touch reassured him somehow. This darkness could be so frightening at times, irritating at others. But Nurse Fields had become his fragile link to the world beyond this blackness and the images that taxed his memory.
“Are you awake?” she asked.
“Yes, of course I’m awake.”
A pause. “You’ve been sleeping for most of the day, you know.”
“I have?” He felt puzzled. “But you were just giving me a shave—”
Her palm gave his arm a comforting pat. “That was this morning, Mr. Blackeyes. It’s suppertime now, and I brought you a tray. It’s beef stew . . . I think.”
“You mean you don’t know for sure?” He grimaced.
She laughed, a light and delicate sound. “Try it and let me know.”
The challenging note hung between them. She helped him into a sitting position before placing the tray on his lap.
“On your right, at one o’clock, is your coffee—I managed to get you a cup.”
“You’re most kind, Nurse Fields.” Sarcasm dripped from each word.
He felt her closeness and smelled the increasingly familiar scent of the soap she used, like roses and soft powder. He inhaled deeply. She was like a breath of fresh air compared to those women he knew who doused themselves with French perfume.
“And at about three o’clock are your utensils.” He had to force himself to pay attention. “At nine o’clock is your napkin, and at eleven o’clock is a slice of the apple pie from your breakfast.”
“I’ll eat that first. At least I know it’s safe—and delicious. Compliment your mother for me, will you? My own cook, Isabelle, couldn’t even match that, I’m sure.”
“Isabelle!” Nurse Fields gasped in what sounded like delight. “You’ve remembered someone else! Very good!”
He heard the rustle of her skirts now as she moved away. “Are you leaving?” He hoped she’d stay. This darkness could be so very lonely.
“Yes. I am expected at home, and I’ve already stayed here too long. But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask my father to come back and visit you tonight. He works at the Chamber of Commerce in the exchange room where they sample grains, and he is a very faithful man in our local church. Perhaps it would be beneficial for you to speak with someone as dedicated in both faith and business as my father.”
“I’d like that.” Somehow he sensed that she was smiling at him from where she stoo
d at the side of his bed.
“You may have come into this hospital a pirate,” she said on a teasing note, “but you’ll leave here a man of God!”
That seemed doubtful, but he pushed out a polite smile. What might such a conversion entail? It sounded drastic. From pirate to parson? Surely not! But something vague came to mind when Nurse Fields mentioned the grain exchange.
“Yes, please. Ask your father to come. I’m desperate for the company anyway.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
A little laugh, and then he heard her heels clicking on the tiled floor as she walked away.
•••
Renna couldn’t help smiling as she left the hospital. The late summer sun shone from the sky but the wind had shifted, and now cool breezes blew off Lake Michigan. It suddenly felt a bit like fall here in Chicago.
As she walked the near mile home, Renna held her grin. Da would be the perfect companion for Mr. Blackeyes this evening. Da would likely read to him from the Bible—assuming Mr. Blackeyes agreed to it. Hearing the Word of God was exactly what that handsome pirate of a man needed in order to grow in his new faith.
The memory of him telling her how pretty she smelled this morning still lingered. Renna had felt awkward around him all day. He had a virile way about him that frightened Renna, for his manner implied he knew women very well. And of course he would, since he was a married man.
He’s married. Renna tried to shake the man from her thoughts. She shouldn’t think about him as anything other than a patient. And yet he spoke to her in such a personal manner. How could he with a wife and children? It didn’t say much for his character.
But things were different now. The pirate claimed to be saved by grace.
A fact that should please his wife greatly.
Renna continued with her walk home. She inhaled deeply, reviving her senses after the hours she’d spent in the sick ward. She admired the well-maintained lawns and white picket fences of her city neighborhood not far from the downtown area. It was by far the most exciting part of Chicago. This side of town had the stores, hotels, and other public buildings, such as the Chamber of Commerce building—where her father worked—and the courthouse.
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