by Renee Ryan
The quarantine lasted one week. Bella spent her last morning at the orphanage helping the girls dress for school.
Their excitement was so contagious she couldn’t bear to stifle their fun. Thus, she allowed face scrubbings to turn into splashing and hair braiding into giggling.
With most of the girls already downstairs, Bella stood behind Stacy and secured a light blue, polka-dot ribbon atop her shiny brown curls. “There,” she said, looking at their shared reflections in the mirror. “Perfect.”
Getting into the spirit of things, Stacy spun around and twirled the skirt of her green dress. “You mean, perfectly mismatched.”
“Precisely.”
They giggled together but then Stacy’s eyes turned serious and she threw her arms around Bella’s neck. “Thank you, Miss Bella. Thank you for everything.”
Heart in her throat, Bella hugged the girl tightly against her. “It was my pleasure.”
Which was nothing short of the truth. Thanks to her constant days and nights with the children, Bella had lost her uneasiness around them.
Peering over the top of Stacy’s head, Bella eyed one of the Scriptures scrolled along the wall. Love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.
The verse struck at her core. Love. Thanks to the Charity House orphans, and a certain dedicated doctor, Bella was learning a lot about the elusive emotion. And none of what she discovered remotely resembled what William had callously offered her.
One last squeeze and she released Stacy.
Casting her gaze around the room, her curiosity got the best of her. “Stacy, do you know who painted these walls?”
“I did,” said a soft voice from behind them.
Bella whipped around and connected her gaze with a tall blonde standing in the doorway. She’d only met the girl once, but even in that brief exchange Megan had left an impression on Bella. More woman than child, the kind look in her sea-green eyes spoke of a tender heart and a gentle soul.
“You’ve done a lovely job here.” Bella swept her hand in an arc through the room. “Simply exquisite.”
“Thank you.” Megan smiled, but something sad came and went in her eyes.
Bella recognized that look. The young woman was suffering some sort of loss, but she was putting up a brave front nonetheless.
“You’re very talented,” Bella added.
Megan lifted a shoulder then focused on Stacy. “Laney sent me to get you. You’re late for breakfast. Johnny is already on seconds.”
Stacy’s face lost a few shades of color. “You don’t think we’ll run out of food?”
“Of course not.” Patting her back, Bella handed the girl her coat. “But that doesn’t mean you should dally up here any longer.”
Stacy grabbed the garment and rushed into the hallway.
Smiling, Bella turned a circle and tried not to cringe at the mess she and the girls had made. Squaring her shoulders, she began picking up wet towels and blankets. Megan quickly joined her and they worked in silent harmony.
Bella had so many questions she wanted to ask the talented girl. Unsure how to begin, she set a blanket on the edge of a bed and looked at the walls again. “Have you thought of getting further training for your art? At a woman’s college, perhaps?”
Megan’s mouth opened and closed three times before she finally managed more than a squeak. “I could never leave Charity House.”
“Because of money?”
Megan shook her head. “Nothing like that.”
Bella took Megan’s hand and drew her down on the bed. “I don’t know you, and you certainly don’t know me, but I must tell you that I think it would be a mistake to ignore your God-given gift.”
“It’s not that special. I was just having a bit of fun.” Megan sat stiffly as she spoke, oblivious to the beautiful world she had created with a vivid imagination and a paint brush.
“Are you afraid?” Bella asked, touching a hand to the girl’s shoulder.
Grimacing, Megan stood abruptly. “Of course not.”
Bella tugged her back down beside her. “The world isn’t as frightening as it seems.”
“I know.” But she shifted out of Bella’s reach and stared at her with eyes a frigid, pale blue.
“Megan, please, tell me what’s keeping you here.”
The girl rose, but didn’t move, didn’t blink. Bella feared she would stand there frozen forever, but eventually her face crumbled. “I can’t…I can’t risk losing him.”
Bella’s heart played a rhythmic beat against her ribs. “Him?” Please, don’t let her say Shane.
“Logan. Logan Mitchell.”
Relief swam in Bella’s brain at the unfamiliar name. “I don’t think I know him.”
Megan twisted her fingers together in front of her. “He used to be Marshal Scott’s deputy. He was transferred to the San Francisco office.”
“I see.”
Megan turned her head away, jaw set. “He will come back for me.”
Ah, so Megan was yet another hopeful woman waiting for a man to fulfill his vow. How Bella wanted the girl’s trust in Logan Mitchell to be warranted. But she bit her lip and resisted the sympathy building in her. One of them had to be practical. “How do you know he’s coming back?”
“Because he promised. And I’ll be here when he returns because I promised.” Megan’s sad sweet smile broke Bella’s heart.
Such faith. Such blind trust. But at what cost? “Surely Marc and Laney would tell him where you were if you left to pursue your art.”
The girl hugged her arms around her waist. “I won’t have him misunderstand if I’m not here.”
“But you have no idea when he’ll return. It could be years.”
“Then I’ll wait years.”
“Oh, Megan.” What else could Bella say? The girl was so young, not yet twenty. How could Bella explain the harsh reality of a world she was only discovering herself?
“It was nice talking to you, Miss Bella.” Megan looked toward the door as though it were an escape route. “But I need to check on the babies.”
Bella didn’t try to stop the hasty exit. But as she watched the girl leave the room frustration had her rising from the bed and balling her hands into fists.
Was this the same helpless emotion Shane had experienced as a child? How utterly and completely awful.
Her heart bled for the little boy Shane had been.
Unfortunately, she knew empathy could not change the past. That didn’t mean Bella couldn’t do something about the future.
Yes, she would do…something. Soon.
She just didn’t know what. And she didn’t know when. But details like that had never stopped her before.
The air in Shane’s office pulsed with the scent of iodine, furniture polish and sulfur. Not particularly pleasant, but the room smelled exactly like a medical office should. Sadly, though, the familiar odors did nothing to calm Shane’s restlessness. Ever since he’d revealed the details of his childhood to Bella, he couldn’t relax around the woman. Even now, as they worked side by side preparing for their day, he had to tamp down his rambling thoughts.
Problem was, the woman knew too much about him now.
She hadn’t spoken of the matter, nor had she tried to encourage further discussion, but for the last week, she’d gone beyond her normal duties. She kept his office tidy, ensured he ate three meals a day and never once allowed him to forget his coat.
Pondering the change in their relationship, Shane dumped a salicylic compound in a medium-size mortar and began mixing a fresh batch of painkillers.
With every few flicks of his wrist he cast a quick glance at Miss O’Toole. Dusting the bookshelves, the only sound she made was her gentle humming. Shane wondered what she was like on stage, singing the lead in some famed opera.
No doubt, she was stunning. Unforgettable.
Displeased with the direction of his thoughts, Shane set the pestle down and raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends as th
ough he could yank his thoughts under control with the gesture. He couldn’t forget Bella would soon be leaving. The reminder made his gut curl into a tight ball of dread.
Thankfully, a loud knock at the door splintered his musings.
Bella quit humming and settled her velvety eyes on him. “Do you want me to answer that?”
“No. Finish your dusting.” He slanted his head toward the bookshelf. “I’ll let you know if we have a patient.”
She nodded, but instead of returning to her duties, she watched him move across the room.
Hand on the knob, a wave of foreboding washed over him and Shane hesitated, oddly reluctant to admit whoever was waiting on the other side.
Nevertheless, he threw open the door.
Blinking into the bright morning sun, his gaze landed on a complete stranger. Much older than Shane, the man was dressed in a tailored suit, his white hair slicked back in the popular fashion of the day. His small, expressionless eyes put Shane instantly on guard. “May I help you?”
Before the man had a chance to answer, Shane lowered his gaze to the man’s hand. He carried a small leather satchel made specifically for holding important documents. Shane had seen an identical case in his father’s possession the day he’d come with his offer of education.
“Are you Shane Bartlett?”
“I am.” Shane leaned forward to get a better look at the satchel. “And you are?”
“Ronald Wilson. I have come on a matter of grave importance.”
Frowning at the melodramatic words, Shane stepped back and allowed the man to enter his office.
Shoulders rigid, Ronald Wilson strode into the room. His gaze swept the small sitting area and stopped on Bella.
Shane stepped between them. “This is my assistant, Miss O’Toole.”
The man removed his hat and nodded. “A pleasure, miss.”
With her usual politeness, she inclined her head slightly, but then her solemn gaze connected with Shane’s. From the glint in her eyes it was clear she didn’t trust the man.
Shane didn’t either. Something wasn’t right about Ronald Wilson. He was too slick, too polished and he carried the scent of “city” all over him.
Shane slid his hands into his pockets and watched the man walk through his clinic with a confident step. Shane had seen that sort of walk enough to recognize the look of money.
“Are you in need of medical services, Mr. Wilson?”
“No.”
A brief pause. Then the man continued his inspection, turning in a half circle before moving to the wall of bookshelves.
Bella came to stand next to Shane. The gesture turned them into a unit, much like the time she’d boldly announced to her brother she was going to be a nurse.
Standing here now, her narrowed eyes never leaving Ronald Wilson, she looked small and fierce and incredibly sweet.
Shane’s heart gave a swift kick.
“I don’t like this,” she whispered. “I don’t like him.”
Mr. Wilson turned at that last part, his stare locking onto Bella. Shane didn’t appreciate the light of interest in the other man’s eyes. Stepping forward, he shifted Bella behind him.
A look of understanding flashed across the other man’s face and he nodded. The respect laden in the simple gesture threw Shane off balance.
“My assistant and I have a busy day ahead of us. Please state your business, sir.”
Mr. Wilson gave another quick nod. “Certainly.” He paused, looked at Bella. “Perhaps we should speak alone.”
Shane thought he heard a soft growl come from Bella’s lips. Of course, he was mistaken. He had to be mistaken. But when she gripped his elbow in a silent request to remain he knew he couldn’t deny her.
“She stays.”
Mr. Wilson inclined his head. With quick steps, he strode to a table in the middle of the room and set the leather satchel on top. “I’ll get straight to the point.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“I’m afraid there’s no easy way to say this.” He rested his palms on the table and adopted an expression of sympathy. “Your father is dead.”
A long moment passed, and then as if in a nightmare, dark, angry emotions linked together in Shane’s mind. Shock, relief, regret, guilt. The violence of his sporadic emotions hit like a punch in his gut, a hard, ruthless punch that stole his ability to take a decent breath of air.
Bella’s hand tightened on his arm. “Shane,” she whispered. “You should sit. You…”
He didn’t hear the rest of her words over his own muddled thoughts. Of all the scenarios he’d expected this morning, the news of his father’s death was not one of them.
With quick movements, Bella dragged a stool across the room and then urged him to sit with a hard push to his shoulders.
Knees unbuckling under the surprisingly strong pressure, Shane collapsed into the seat and gazed up at her. She approached him slowly, placed a hand on his cheek. The concern in her eyes was palpable. “It’s okay, Shane. Take a moment to accept this.”
Shaking his head, Shane glared at the man who had brought this unexpected news. “When did he die?” He held up a hand to prevent the other man from answering right away. “I don’t care how, or why, I just need to know when.”
“Three months ago.”
Three months. Three months and Shane had known nothing, had sensed nothing. That alone spoke of the relationship he’d shared with the man who had sired him.
Hatred, bitterness, rage, a legacy of dark emotions was all that had existed between father and son. But to what end? Peter Ford was dead and Shane would no longer have the opportunity to…to what? Further his revenge? Make amends? Forgive?
How could God forgive a man like Peter Ford? More confounding still, how could Shane?
He forced his emotions to the back of his mind and tried to focus logically on the problem before him.
One question arose. “Why this visit, Mr. Wilson? Why not send a telegram?”
Head bent over the satchel, the man sighed. “I was Peter Ford’s personal solicitor. Due to the nature of his business and certain life choices he made in his youth, he wanted complete privacy for a number of matters.”
“Matters? You mean me and the situation of my birth.”
“Yes, Dr. Bartlett. That is precisely what I mean.” Eyes still cast down, he flipped open the leather pouch’s flap and dug his hand inside. “I have kept track of you through the years on your father’s behalf.”
The statement could mean a number of things, but the sympathy in Mr. Wilson’s eyes eroded any delusion on Shane’s part of a father keeping tabs on a beloved son. Whatever the reason Peter Ford had monitored Shane’s progress through the years, it had not been out of love.
Shane drew in a sharp breath, jerked his knee up and down in agitation. He relaxed only when Bella’s hands smoothed over his hair.
“I still don’t understand why you’re here now?” he said once he had his control back in place.
“I have come to explain your father’s will to you.”
“His what?” Shane jumped up so fast the stool went tumbling behind him. Bella’s touch to his arm kept him from rushing forward.
“Go on, Mr. Wilson,” she said for them both. “Tell us the rest.”
“Dr. Bartlett, your father left you everything.”
Shane let out a bitter laugh as he batted away the declaration with a contemptuous wave of his hand. “Impossible.”
“It’s true.” The solicitor pushed a mountain of papers toward Shane. “However, there is a stipulation.”
“Of course.” Shane curled his lip in derision. But then he remembered the others. “My father had a wife, and two daughters. Did he leave his family nothing?”
“My client’s wife died several years ago. As for his daughters,” Mr. Wilson’s eyes turned sad, making Shane wonder what the man’s life had been like in constant service for a man like Peter Ford, “they receive nothing of your father’s estate.”
&
nbsp; Nothing? Peter Ford’s daughters, daughters raised in the height of privilege, would get nothing from their father? Shane struggled with the ugly realization of their instant poverty, fought to close his heart to what that meant. But he could not. He had two sisters left destitute. What kind of monster had his father been? “How old are they now?”
“Drusilla is fourteen, Elizabeth only ten.”
“Who is caring for them? Where are they living? How are they taking this change in their circumstance?” He fired off the questions like bullets from a six-shooter.
Mr. Wilson took a bracing breath of air. “They are residing in my home at present, but not in the style they have previously known. With four daughters of my own, and my largest client dead, I am a man of limited means.”
Stunned at yet another unexpected revelation, Shane readjusted his first impression of the man. Of course, now that he was the sole heir of his father’s estate, he would have to decide what to do about his sisters. He would…
He would…
A burst of confusion took hold of him. There was too much information coming at him all at once. He needed air, needed a moment to think and organize his thoughts. He started for the door, but Bella stopped him.
“Shane, wait. The stipulation.” She gave him a meaningful look. “You have to listen to the rest.”
Shane halted, spun to glare at Mr. Wilson. “What is the stipulation?”
“The details are spelled out in your father’s will.” The solicitor pointed to the pile of papers he’d set on the table. “You should read every page carefully for yourself.”
Shane waved a dismissive hand. “Summarize the important points.”
Mr. Wilson sighed. “In order to receive your inheritance, you must legally change your name to Ford, return to New York and take on your role as your father’s rightful heir.”
The air in the room turned cold, heavy, closed.
Shane swallowed. “And if I refuse my inheritance? Will my sisters receive the money in my place?”
Mr. Wilson shook his head. “If you refuse, the entire estate will be sold and the proceeds will be distributed to Harvard Medical School for the sole purpose of research.”
Bella gasped. “Are you saying the money won’t even go to charitable organizations?”
