by Renee Ryan
Kimberly moaned and her lashes fluttered open.
“Hi, there,” he said in a serious tone. “I hear you’re not feeling well.”
“My head hurts. I ache everywhere.” She kicked her legs out from under the covers. “And I’m hot. Really hot.”
Don’t forget cranky, Bella silently added.
Seemingly immune to the teenager’s sour mood, Dr. Shane turned her head to the right and brushed a clump of hair behind her ear. “Miss O’Toole. Tell me what you see.”
Bella studied the area he indicated. “The skin is red, looks like the rash is spreading.”
“It is.” He pointed to their patient’s neck next. “But it hasn’t spread there. Yet.”
Dr. Shane turned Kimberly’s head back toward him. “How long have you been feeling bad?”
“A couple days.” Her eyes filled with tears. “What’s wrong with me? Am I going to die?” she whimpered with dramatic emphasis.
An actress in the making. Bella liked her more and more.
Clearly amused by the performance, Dr. Shane smiled. “No, you’re not going to die. But I need to check the other girls and boys before I make my final diagnosis.”
His hands were so beautiful, Bella thought as she watched him sweep Kimberly’s hair back over her ear, so full of healing. Bella wanted to weep, but she didn’t understand why.
Surprised by her reaction, she caught her trembling bottom lip between her teeth and followed Dr. Shane to another young girl on the other side of the room.
This one looked decidedly worse. The rash had moved to her neck and she had the infamous “white goo” in her eyes.
After checking behind her ears and studying the eye infection, Dr. Shane sighed. “It’s what I feared.”
Bella lifted her eyebrows.
“Measles.”
The air in her lungs pulsated hot, then cold. “That’s highly contagious, isn’t it?”
Nodding, he raked both hands through his hair. “The only remedy is bed rest.”
“I remember. A bad case whipped through our theater company when I was seven. I was confined to bed for a week.” She eyed him carefully. “I’m surprised this hasn’t hit the orphanage before now.”
“It has. Six months ago. I’ll have to retrieve my records to clarify which children contracted the disease last time.” He scrutinized the room, his gaze sharp and measuring. “There may be more sick children before the day is out. The symptoms don’t usually develop until about a week after a child has been exposed.”
A week? “Oh.”
He considered Bella with the same measuring look he’d shot around the room. “I’d like you to stay until the contagious period passes. In the meantime, I’ll attend our other patients alone.”
The panic started at her knees, moved up her spine and ended in a tremble that rattled the tips of her hair. “I…” Bella broke eye contact.
What could she say? That she didn’t feel comfortable around the children? That she’d rather spend her time at Mattie’s brothel where she couldn’t do much damage to souls already tainted?
What would he think of her then?
What did that say about the selfish state of her heart?
Heavenly Father, give me the courage to put these little ones first, and please, please, keep my penchant for making bad decisions from rubbing off on them.
Misunderstanding her anxiety, Dr. Shane touched her hand. “There will be many moments of boredom, I’m sure. Is there anything I can do for you while I’m out? Anything I can bring from your brother’s home?”
A little courage? “Nothing. No, wait. There is one thing you can do for me. I…”
“Yes?” he urged when she didn’t continue.
Oddly nervous, Bella shifted from one foot to the other. “Will you check on Lizzie, let her know I won’t be able to read to her for a while?”
He smiled with his eyes. “Consider it done.”
The moment he turned to leave, Bella lowered her gaze back to Stacy. Without looking up, she called after him just as he crossed the threshold. “You forgot your coat.”
“How did you know that? You’re not even looking at me.” His voice sounded both surprised and oddly frustrated, as though he wasn’t sure he liked her knowing him so well.
Moving across the room, she lifted a shoulder. “I know because you always forget your coat.”
She reached for the garment and held it out of reach when he tried to snatch it away from her. “Allow me.”
He glared at her but then slowly stuck out one of his arms. As was becoming their custom, she helped him shrug into the first sleeve and then the next.
When he turned back to face her, she tugged on the lapels and had to fight the urge to reach up and even out his hair where he’d pulled his fingers through the glossy chaos a few too many times.
In truth, the man was a mess. His future wife would have her hands full organizing him on a daily basis. She would have to be patient and kind, smart and fast on her feet. And, most of all, she would have to be willing to share him with his patients.
Did Bella want to be that fortunate woman? Was such a beautiful reality possible?
No. Wishful thinking, at best. After all, the sealed letter in her pocket reminded Bella of her real worth in a man’s eyes.
Bella felt the urge to weep again. But this time, she knew exactly why.
After explaining the situation to Laney, Shane’s next stop was his office. On his way, he passed the Charity House School, wondering how many children were already sick but weren’t showing symptoms.
There wasn’t much he could do at this point. His best defense was to gather his records as quickly as possible and return in time to examine the children who had missed the first round of measles.
For now, they were best left at school, away from the sicker ones.
Needing a moment to gather his thoughts, he drew his horse to a stop and studied the school’s building. The outside looked like the rest of the mansions in the neighborhood: sturdy, elegant and fashionable.
In seven short years, with diligence and a lot of prayer, Marc and Laney Dupree had created a safe haven within a larger, harsher world of prejudice and hatred. It had begun with Charity House, had expanded to the addition of the school, and now, thanks to Beauregard O’Toole and his gifted wife, there was a church.
God’s hand was clearly at work.
And Shane wanted to do his part for the effort. His dream was to add a clinic nearby, perhaps even a connecting shelter for women in trouble. But that would take money. And since most of his patients didn’t have the funds to pay for his services, he was far short of an acceptable down payment. God willing, the funding would come one day and then Shane’s clinic would become a reality.
Refusing to lose faith, no matter the odds stacked against him, Shane flicked his horse’s reins and steered his wagon toward town.
The Rocky Mountains stood on his left, God’s handiwork evident in their stark beauty. The cool air felt clean and fresh in his lungs. There was only a slight bite in the breeze today. A good sign. Winter was still a few weeks off.
As he turned onto Market Street, the heavy traffic demanded his complete concentration. Vendors, merchants and horse-drawn carriages formed a labyrinth of chaotic activity.
It was all so familiar. And yet, something felt…wrong. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention, much as it had when he’d picked up Miss O’Toole this morning and noted her change in mood.
Shane was a man who dealt in facts, not feelings. Thus, he drew his horse to a stop outside his building and willed the sensation to pass.
Climbing down, he grabbed his medical bag and scanned the area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Except…
A tall, brown-haired gentleman, dressed in a well-designed suit stared at him from across the street. Shane hadn’t seen that sort of man since his youth, and only when he’d ventured beyond the Bowery to the more expensive neighborhoods of New York.
The ma
n looked like a solicitor, or maybe a big-city banker. Or whatever he was, he certainly didn’t belong in Denver.
Bothered that the sight of a stranger could disturb him so easily and wanting to return to Charity House as quickly as possible, Shane broke into a swift trot to avoid a fast-moving carriage and entered his office with a frown. The room stood empty, the air heavy and stuffy. A good cleaning was long past due but it would have to wait until the crisis at Charity House was under control.
Thoughts of the orphanage reminded Shane of his promise to check on Lizzie for Miss O’Toole.
Gathering the necessary supplies he would need for later, he grabbed the Charity House record book off the shelf and headed out.
Once back on the street, he gazed around him, pleased to discover the man in the stylish city clothes was no longer in the immediate area.
Ten minutes later, Shane only had to knock once before the big double doors of Mattie’s brothel swung open. Although too early for any real activity, there were a few men taking their lunch break with the girls.
Before Shane could see what was what, or rather who was who, Mattie sidled up to him, grinning like a tomcat over his next easy prey.
“Well, well. Dr. Shane. Isn’t it a little late in the day for you?” She craned her neck to glance around him. “Is your lovely opera singer with you?”
Shane’s gut tightened at the calculating glare in her eyes. “There’s been a breakout of measles at the orphanage,” he said. “My assistant is tending the sick children.”
“What a good girl. You tell her I asked about her.”
When speaking of Miss O’Toole, Mattie had a softness about her around the edges that scared Shane spitless. “Don’t try to recruit her.”
Mattie tossed her hair over her shoulders and hitched her hip against his. “Shame on you, doctor, I wouldn’t think of such a thing.”
Yes, you would. “She’s mine, Mattie.”
A rush of satisfaction flicked in her eyes. “Is she now?”
“I meant, she’s my assistant. Leave her alone.”
“Right. Right.” She bumped her hip against his again. “I know what you meant.”
Frustration sent a growl humming in his throat. “I’m here to check on Lizzie.”
Mattie’s eyes filled with delight. Then she smiled. “She’s over there.” She waved her hand toward the center of the room.
Shane’s stomach dropped. Just as Mattie indicated, Lizzie reclined on a red-velvet divan. Her shaking fingers held a champagne glass none too steady, the golden liquid swishing precariously close to the rim. Worst of all, she was entertaining a gentleman in every wrong sense of the word.
Disgusted, Shane swallowed back a wave of condemnation. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d seen a woman on the verge of death one day resort to using her feminine wiles on a customer the next.
But now that the initial shock was wearing off, he rounded on Mattie. “What is Lizzie doing out of bed? Are you that heartless?”
Mattie jerked her chin at him. “Don’t blame this on me. She made her choice.”
“Did you pressure her?”
“Of course not.” Clearly offended, her eyes hardened. “She won’t do me any good dead, now will she?”
She was right. But Shane still narrowed his eyes in warning. “You will see she doesn’t overtax herself,” he said.
A pall of silence passed between them. “I’m not her keeper. She chooses to be here, Dr. Bartlett. As do the rest of my girls.”
Her eyes were blank, almost lifeless, but Shane heard the resignation in the madam’s voice, reminding him that desperate circumstances brought women like Lizzie to Mattie’s doorstep. The madam offered them an answer to starvation, and for some, even a better life than what they’d experienced before, but that didn’t make what she did right.
Prepared to do a little preaching, he opened his mouth but a soft, youthful voice caught his attention and he turned toward the sound. At the sight before him, he sucked in a hard breath. Annabeth, the young girl he and Miss O’Toole had met two weeks ago in Mattie’s kitchen, carried a tray of long-stemmed glasses, weaving her way among the clientele. Every few feet she would stop and offer a flute of sparkling liquid to one of Mattie’s patrons.
“What’s she still doing here?” A burning throb of anger knotted in his throat. “I thought you told Beau she was a distant relative visiting for a week.”
Mattie’s eyes frosted to a cold, sharp blue. “You leave her out of this.”
Their stares locked, clashed, but Shane refused to back down. “Who is she?”
“None of your business.”
“She’s too young to live in a brothel.”
“I know that.” She wrapped her arms around her waist in an uncharacteristic display of defensiveness. “She will return to boarding school as soon as the arrangements are made.”
Something in the madam’s eyes told Shane this was a personal matter for her, one he should leave alone.
He pushed anyway. “She attends a school back East?”
Mattie’s expression closed, and he knew she was through answering his questions. “Let me remind you, Dr. Bartlett, your job is to care for the sick. Nothing more. Forget that, and you won’t be allowed in my establishment again.”
Her threat sent another burst of anger rolling through him, but he didn’t doubt she meant every word. Business always came first for Mattie Silks. And aside from kidnapping Annabeth himself, there wasn’t much he could do to help the girl. He had to trust that Mattie spoke the truth.
Shane released a frustrated sigh.
A breakout of disease, a stranger in town that left him feeling uneasy, a battle with a notorious madam over a young girl’s fate, clearly, the day was shaping up to be one of his worst in years.
Chapter Twelve
Bella had never felt so helpless in her life. These children, these innocent boys and girls were in severe pain and she could do nothing of consequence to ease their suffering.
The letter from William was burning a hole in her pocket, but she didn’t dare take it out now. There would be time when she was alone. Perhaps once the children went to sleep she would read what Lord Crawley had to say to her.
In the meantime, she wrung out a rag and brought it to Kimberly’s heated forehead. “Does that help any?”
Kimberly closed her eyes and sighed. “A little.”
Bella moved through the room and replaced the compresses on the other four girls’ foreheads. Now that Dr. Shane had returned from town, he and Bella had decided to split the rooms between them. There hadn’t been time to discuss anything else, since four more sick children had been sent home from the school.
According to the doctor’s records, there could be another six still to come.
Bella caught a movement in the doorway.
She turned in time to see Dr. Shane motioning her into the hall.
Confused by his sudden appearance, she made her way quickly across the room. The moment she shut the door behind them she noted the lines of fatigue around his mouth and eyes. The man had to be exhausted, living with little sleep and meager wages, yet he never complained. His dedication awed her. Inspired her. Made her want to be a better person.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked.
“How are the girls?”
“Sick, hurting, bored. I’m afraid the bored portion of that equation is making them cranky.”
Reaching out, he touched her sleeve and then just as quickly dropped his hand. “We’ll get through this. A few days after the rash disappears the contagious period ends and then you will be able to return to your brother’s home.”
She thought of the two girls that had joined her room this afternoon, neither of which had shown any signs of rashes. “Are you saying you want me to stay here until the threat is over?”
“It’s the best solution.” He cocked his head at her. “Is there a problem with that?”
“No.” Resigned at t
his point, she merely shook her head. “I was thinking about our other patients.”
“I saw Lizzie today.”
Bella didn’t like the look in his eyes. “You have bad news.”
“She’s back to work.”
Her eyebrows scrunched together at the news. “You don’t mean—”
“I’m afraid I do.” There was such sadness in his eyes, such loss, as though the idea of Lizzie returning to work was his own personal failure.
Bella understood completely.
“What a mess,” she whispered. “If only I could speak to Mattie.”
“It was Lizzie’s choice.”
“Yes, but—”
“Bella,” he said with such gentleness she only half realized he’d used her given name. “The hard reality of life is that some people don’t want to be saved. They’re happy in their choices.”
Why did she sense he was speaking from personal experience? Or had he seen into her heart and was urging her to change her ways?
“I thought she wanted to change.” Was she speaking of Lizzie now, or herself? “She—”
“—is a prostitute.”
This time, Bella didn’t appreciate his harsh honesty. “By profession, maybe. But it’s not who she is.”
“For some, what they do is who they are.”
He sounded so certain that tears of frustration filled her eyes. She swiped at them with the back of her hand. “Lizzie’s too weak for that kind of life. I have to go to her. I can talk sense into her, I know I can.”
He stopped her with a firm grip on her arm. “You’ve been exposed to measles.”
“But I’ve already had the disease.”
“What if you’re carrying the virus?” He released her arm. “You could infect Lizzie.”
“I—”
With gentle fingers, he touched her cheek. “You know this, Bella.”
Closing her eyes, she offered up a swift prayer for Lizzie’s soul but the inability to help her friend left a sour taste in her mouth. “Oh, Shane, I feel so powerless.”
He gave her a sad smile. “Now you know how I feel every day of my life. But then, our lack of control leaves us with the choice to open the door to God.”
