The Doctor's Newfound Family

by Valerie Hansen

  “You needn’t wait on us,” Sara Beth said, blushing. “I have no desire for tea but I would like to speak to Dr. Hayward in private.”

  Taylor stepped aside to give her room to precede him. Instead of going to the parlor, however, she walked out onto the veranda and raised her face to the sun.

  He followed. Young children were playing a game of hoops on the lawn while older girls jumped rope to a singsong chant, providing a perfect covering noise for their conversation.

  “I delivered your letter to James King,” Taylor told her.

  She clasped her hands tightly together, her emerald eyes glistening. “What did he say?”

  Although Taylor wanted to take her hands and offer physical comfort, he restrained himself. “The article will appear tomorrow. He didn’t have time to get it written and set into print for this evening’s edition.”

  “I suppose that will have to do.”

  “You seem more troubled than the last time we met,” the doctor said. “Are your brothers all right?”

  “They’re fine. Even Josiah. He’s the oldest one in the nursery, but he seems happy. And Mathias and Luke are already attending school, although I suspect that Lucas will soon have to find a job to help with our keep. I just hate to see him have to grow up so fast.”

  “I’ll see what I can do to delay that.” His brow knit. There was clearly more to the young woman’s disquiet than concern for her brothers’ fates. “What else is wrong?”

  “How do you know something is wrong?”

  “Because of the suffering in your eyes,” Taylor said softly. “You don’t have to confide in me, but you might feel better if you chose to do so. Have you had to arrange the burials? Is that it?”

  She shook her head soberly. “No. Abe sent word that he has taken care of everything already. I saw no reason to expose the boys to more trauma by making them watch the interment, and I didn’t think it was fair for me to go without them. I hope that was the right decision.”

  “Absolutely. Is that all?” He saw her jaw muscles clench and her chin jut forward.

  “No. The rest is so unbelievable it’s hard to fathom, let alone explain. William Bein, the man my father and mother trusted, has usurped our home and tried to ship us off to who knows where.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Positive. He showed me the packet of boat tickets he’d bought.”

  Laying aside his bowler and also placing the plate of cookies atop the broad stone railing that bordered the raised veranda, Taylor gave in to his instincts and grasped her hands. To his relief, she not only allowed his touch, she seemed to welcome it. “All right. Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”

  “There’s not much to tell that I truly understand,” Sara Beth said, tightening her grip on his fingers. “He and my father were partners in the assay business. Papa did the laboratory work and Uncle Will—I mean, Mr. Bein—handled the books and the safe transport of the ore.”

  “That might explain his connection to the workshop, but it should not mean he owns your house, too.”

  “That was my thought, exactly.”

  “Perhaps there’s a way to convince him to split the two halves of the property.”

  She shook her head, her eyes misty. “Even if it were that easy, I doubt he’d listen to reason. I spoke with him, looked into his eyes. There is no Christian love in that man. Not a drop. I can’t believe how taken in my father was by his perfidy.”

  Taylor was stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs, when he realized it was inappropriate and quickly released her; he was stunned by how strongly he yearned to touch those soft hands again. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. “Then we shall have to wait for the article in the Bulletin to create a groundswell of support for your cause. Once Bein realizes that his reputation is at stake, he should be more inclined to listen to reason.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “If he doesn’t, then I’ll have to revisit my friends on the Vigilance Committee.”

  “Papa always insisted that we shouldn’t take the law into our own hands.”

  “The law in this city is a travesty,” Taylor said flatly. He handed the plate of uneaten cookies to her and squared his hat on his head. “I have to check on the health of the children before I leave. Take heart, Miss Reese. The hands of true justice may be slower than you and I would like, but they will triumph.”

  “I would like to see my brothers,” she said. “May I accompany you on your rounds?”

  He tipped his hat and offered his arm, delighted when she slipped her small hand into the crook of his elbow. “Please do.”

  Before they left the porch, Sara Beth handed the cookies to a nearby girl, instructing her to serve them to her playmates and return the plate to the kitchen.

  “There. Now I have no good chores to keep me from accompanying you.”

  “I certainly don’t want you to feel that I’m coercing you,” the doctor said.

  “It’s not that.” She lifted her hem slightly to step over the threshold. “It’s the sadness I feel whenever I see all those poor, lonely children and realize that my family is now a part of that assembly.”

  “For the time being,” he replied. “You will get your rightful inheritance. I’ll see to it.”

  Her resulting smile and gaze of gratitude warmed his heart until he realized that there was a fair chance that he would fail. San Francisco politics were probably no worse than those anywhere else, but they were far from honest. Factions warred against each other until it was hard to tell who was really in the right. A man could be arrested for little cause, tried and hanged in the space of a day. There were many in power who would look the other way if Bein and his ilk had enough money to pay off the right people to get what they wanted.

  Except for Coleman and the others on the secretive Vigilance Committee, there was no one Taylor could trust. No one. And so long as that was true, Taylor had to keep control of his instincts to protect Sara Beth and her brothers. It was one thing to help them now, but when this was over, Sara Beth would find a protector—a husband—who could provide better for her family than Taylor ever could. To help her meant keeping that lovely woman’s best interests in mind and forming no attachment that would compromise her future happiness.

  Chapter Six

  When Sara Beth got her hands on a copy of the Bulletin the following afternoon, she was astounded to find her story on the front page. The headline read, “Dastardly Deed! Local Couple Murdered in Cold Blood,” and went on to detail her parents’ demise.

  As she read, she realized that Mr. King had dramatized her tale until it read more like an adventure serial in Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Weekly, yet the facts remained.

  Although reading the entire article made her heart ache, she forced herself to continue until she had taken it all in. Mr. King had not named names, but there was enough innuendo and oblique reference to leave little doubt as to which factions were in the wrong and who may have been responsible.

  In truth, his account sounded far more plausible than her plain treatise had. The editor believed them to be neither random killings nor a robbery gone wrong. He inferred that they had been planned and were part of a larger, more sinister plot.

  That thought caused Sara Beth’s pulse to speed. Could it be so?

  In an instant she was certain. Everything was starting to make more sense, especially since Mr. King had learned that her poor father was being blamed for the theft of gold he had been hired to assay.

  She was about to crumple the newspaper in disgust when Taylor Hayward walked into the orphanage kitchen. He was clutching a copy of the Bulletin in one hand, his medical bag in the other.

  “I can’t believe this! Papa Robert did not have a crooked bone in his body,” she blurted.

  “We all know that,” Taylor assured her, setting the black bag aside and approaching her. “That was the point James was trying to make when he wrote it that way. Anyone who knew your father will see that
there’s no truth to the accusations. I’m positive tomorrow’s paper will follow up on that conclusion.”

  “How can anyone believe such lies about my father? And what about the others? Papa wasn’t the only one handling that gold. There were smelters and refiners as well as the branch mint. He often said there was too much unexplained loss from the manufacturing of the coins and ingots, but he could never prove theft.”

  Suddenly she recalled the conversation she’d overheard the night of the murders. In her excitement, she grabbed the doctor’s forearm through his coat sleeve. “Wait! I just remembered something else. Papa told Mama he was going to the wharf to meet someone he worked with and give that man a chance to repent. Do you suppose he finally did find proof of theft and was planning to face the person he felt was responsible?”

  “Possibly. But who?”

  “Who is profiting already? And who was in a position to frame my father for crimes committed by others?”

  “William Bein.”

  “Precisely.” Sara Beth began to pace and wave the newspaper for emphasis as she spoke. “I can’t let this happen. Robert Reese rescued me and Mama from our struggles and gave us a wonderful home. He was the kindest, most forthright, Christian man I ever knew. I will not stand idly by and let his good name be ruined.”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  “Write to Mr. King again and provide any other details I can recall, no matter how obscure. Now that I see what kind of exposé he plans, I can better tailor my words to fit his model.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  She arched her eyebrows and cocked her head. “Wise or foolish, I shall do it. No one can deter me. Don’t even try.”

  Smiling slightly, Taylor raised his hands in mock surrender. “Far be it from me to stand between an angry woman and her goals.” His grin spread. “I’ll be glad to deliver any other notes you want to dispatch. In the meantime, would you like to visit the sick ones with me again? Your presence seemed to cheer them a lot yesterday.” As he spoke he picked up his small satchel.

  She turned to Clara. “Can you and Mattie spare me?”

  “Of course, dear. You go with the doctor. We have everything in hand.” Although she spoke plainly, there was an extra twinkle in her eyes and a knowing smile on her face that made Sara Beth a bit self-conscious.

  Blushing, she left the kitchen. Clara was right, even if she had been teasing a bit. There wasn’t enough work in the efficiently run kitchen to keep three women busy all day. Honestly, there was barely enough for two as long as they were both hard workers like Clara and Mattie.

  As the doctor led the way down the hall toward the sickrooms at the rear of the mansion, Sara Beth’s thoughts were racing. She almost had to run to keep up with his longer strides.

  At the door, she grasped his arm to stop him. “Wait! I have an idea.”

  “All right. What is it?”

  “I want to become your assistant. I don’t mean a real nurse, just a helper. You know. Someone you can teach how to care for the sick little ones and be trusted to carry out your orders when you can’t be here and the others are too busy looking after the healthy children.”

  His brow furrowed as he stared at her. “Why not become a real nurse? You’re certainly intelligent enough.”

  “Thank you.” Unsure of how he had come to that conclusion, Sara Beth waited for him to elaborate.

  “I read the letter you wrote to the newspaper,” Taylor said, beginning to smile. “It was quite impressive.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really.” His grin widened. “On my next visit, I’ll bring you some medical books to look at. Then, if you decide you can cope with all the trials we’ll face, you may also become my amanuensis and help me keep proper records.”

  Her countenance sobered as she began to fully comprehend what he was saying. “The possible loss of life, you mean?”

  “Yes. Medicine is not the science it may one day become. We’re learning new things all the time. A few years ago, a doctor in Austria proposed that something as simple as hand washing might prevent hospital fever.”

  Intrigued, Sara Beth hung on his every word. “Really? How?”

  “No one knows. Many doubt him, but the man has the statistics to back up his conclusion. I, for one, see no reason not to employ the technique. It certainly can’t hurt.”

  “In that case, I’m thankful this property has its own well. That water the trucks deliver to most of the city is fetid, especially as the days warm in the summer.”

  “I’ve been using a diluted chlorine solution,” Taylor said. “When a few drops are mixed with any water, everything clears, even odor, though I wouldn’t recommend that anyone drink it.” He displayed his palm. “It’s hard on the skin if you don’t wash it off, so it can’t be good for the gut. Don’t worry. You won’t be actually touching any very ill patients, just writing down my findings for me.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say. I want to make myself useful.” His warm smile in reply blessed her.

  “Then let’s start by seeing how our little patients are doing today,” Taylor said.

  He held the door for her and Sara Beth walked boldly into the sickroom. Dealing with ill children was going to be harder than peeling potatoes or drawing well water to supply the kitchen, but at least here she’d feel needed.

  One look at the wan, coughing child in the nearest bed, however, almost caused her to change her mind. Only a sincere desire to help the doctor and the children kept her steps steadfast.

  “Have you seen this?” Bein shouted, throwing the crumpled sheets of the Bulletin onto James Casey’s desk at the office of the Herald.

  “Calm down, William. He’s just stirring the pot. There’s nothing he can prove.”

  “You wouldn’t be so complacent if it were you he was slandering.”

  The younger, thinner man shrugged. “As a matter of fact, one of my spies tells me King is planning to do exactly that.”

  “You have skeletons in your closet?”

  Casey guffawed. “You might say so. I was not always the upright businessman you see before you.”

  “There are no upright businessmen in this room,” Bein countered. “Myself included. And proud of it, if you must know. Besides, you just got elected city supervisor. If he’d had anything on you, he’d surely have revealed it before the election.”

  “True. But one never knows what unwelcome information may yet surface. I was not exactly a model citizen of New York.”

  “Just because you spent some time in Sing Sing prison? Nobody’s perfect.”

  “I’ll be satisfied as long as we’re not run out of town on a rail or tarred and feathered,” Casey said, chuckling. “Now get out of here and forget about the Bulletin. There’s nothing King or any other editor can do to us that we can’t handle via my weekly.”

  “Except that you have to wait until Sunday to rebut.”

  “All the more time to plan an impressive response,” Casey said. He arched a brow and eyed the newspaper his ally had brought in. “How much of that article is true, anyway?”

  “All of it,” Bein replied with a snide smile. “Why?”

  The pile of books the doctor had delivered to Sara Beth weighed more than all her brothers put together. She had asked him to leave them in the parlor where she could choose one at a time rather than take them to the girls’ ward and worry about the children being overly curious. Some of the illustrations had made her blush, but she kept reading, fascinated by her studies. The more she read, the more eager she was to learn, and the more she appreciated and revered her teacher.

  When she saw Taylor Hayward the following day she was quick to tell him so. “I can’t believe all you have to know,” Sara Beth said, eyes wide. “Those medical books are amazing. I had no idea the subject was so complicated.”

  “You were able to understand the texts?”

  “Most of them, yes,” she replied, averting her gaze and blushing.

  “I do a
pologize if some of the chapters upset you, Miss Reese. There was no way I could censor them to protect your refined sensibilities. I would have if I could.”

  She looked up and met his gaze. “I know that. I must admit that there were parts I skimmed rather than read every word. I thought, if it were necessary to know everything, I could always return to those chapters and study them then.”

  “Very wise.” He smiled benevolently. “Truth to tell, most medical men refer to their textbooks often when making a diagnosis. No one could possibly remember every detail well enough to be certain.”

  Sighing, she, too, smiled. “Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid my poor mind was feeble.”

  That made Taylor laugh and Sara Beth felt her cheeks growing warmer as a result. “Well, I was,” she insisted.

  “I totally understand. In medical school I often felt that way.”

  “You went to a real school? Where?”

  “Massachusetts General Hospital. Why do you ask?”

  Embarrassed to have doubted him, she explained, “I had thought… I mean…the doctor who used to come by when Mama and I lived here had apprenticed under another man. I’m impressed that you actually attended a medical college.”

  “That’s becoming more and more common these days,” Taylor said, “although many practitioners of the healing arts are still given licenses after very little real study.”

  “Could I… I mean, might I do the same?”

  “Become a doctor?”

  Sara Beth could tell by his expression of astonishment and disbelief that he doubted her abilities and resolve. Nevertheless, she spoke her mind. “Why not? Surely there are many modest women who would rather be treated by someone like me. Someone who understands their reticence to put themselves in a man’s hands.” She felt her cheeks flame. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  It didn’t assuage her embarrassment to see that the doctor was struggling to keep a straight face. She couldn’t tell whether he thought her goal was silly or if he was merely amused at her rosy complexion and nervous manner.