The Healing Season

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “He only gave me bit parts at first, but I did anything required of me. I learned acrobatics, singing, juggling, whatever I saw others do, as long as it put me in front of an audience.

  “It was a tawdry little company,” she admitted with a flick of her fingers at a piece of lint on her skirt. “It could barely keep itself together from town to town, but by the time I left, I was a lead player.

  “I stayed four years, learning everything I could. When we returned to London on one occasion, I came to the Surrey, as it was called then, and auditioned for a part. They hired me and I never went back to the other.”

  Only the muted sounds of the street below penetrated the curtained windows.

  “You never saw your brother again?”

  “None of them. The troupe traveled all over the country, and by the time I came back, they were gone. Who knows, an epidemic could have taken them all.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She stared at him, angry at the pity she read in his eyes. “You needn’t be. It happened long ago.” She waved a hand around her sitting room. “You see me now. I’m quite happy with the way things turned out.”

  He made no reply. They finished their tea, and she changed the subject, asking him about his work at the hospital.

  When Mr. Russell left, he was tender and solicitous with her. He took her pulse before leaving and told her to be sure to have something to eat and see her own physician.

  She could have wept. Why had she told him anything of her past? Instead of shocking him, she had only been made to feel shame, a shame she had thought buried from those long-ago days.

  That evening, Ian sat once again in his study, but his mind could not focus on his specimens. He got up from the microscope and paced the confines of the room, coming finally to the dormer window. He looked out the dark panes, seeing again a young, helpless girl, at the mercy of who knows how many lecherous men in her past.

  He felt again her frail frame beneath his arms as he settled her in her carriage; he smelled again her soft fragrance; he looked again into those clear eyes exuding only innocence.

  But she wasn’t innocent. She was a woman used by men, and who’d learned to use them to her advantage by the looks of her comfortable apartment.

  He turned from the window and walked to his desk. Opening his Bible to Genesis, he reread the story he’d been hearing since he was a boy, the story his father had read to him of how the Lord had chosen a wife for Isaac.

  Ian went to the beginning of the chapter. When Abraham was old and knowing his time was drawing near, he made his servant swear that he would not take a wife for his son of the daughters of Canaan, but would go back to his country and choose one.

  Several verses down, when the servant had arrived and prayed for this divine appointment, Rebekah appeared.

  “And the damsel was very fair to look upon, a virgin, neither had any man known her: and she went down to the well, and filled her pitcher, and came up.”

  A virgin. Neither had any man known her.

  Ian lowered his head in his hands. It seemed as if all his life he’d been waiting for his Rebekah. He’d kept himself pure for her.

  Why, then, did he feel a pull toward this other woman, a woman used by men, a woman who might show an external beauty, but who knew nothing of the beauty of holiness?

  It was only a fixation, an obsession, which he vowed to conquer. He returned to the passage. At the end of the chapter, the future groom, Isaac, was meditating in the field at eventide when Rebekah appeared. He lifted his eyes and beheld his future wife, riding toward him on a camel.

  Isaac had been praying, spending time in the evening with his God, alone in the open field.

  Ian’s father and mother had both instilled in him the notion that God would choose his helpmate. They had counseled him to wait on the Lord, confident that the day would come.

  But he’d been waiting years now.

  What if he’d missed her? What if she’d been one of the women he’d worked with at the mission or sat near at Sunday chapel services and simply not seen? Once he’d thought it might be Althea Breton. She possessed every quality he sought in a helpmate: zeal for the Lord, strength and dedication in His work. She was an attractive, intelligent young woman with a warm heart. She would have made an ideal companion.

  But somehow, nothing had ever materialized. They were each busy in their own labors. Then she’d taken a leave from the mission for most of the past year to nurse a child in Mayfair. Since she’d been back, he’d sensed a change in her, a preoccupation that he could only attribute to her experience in the household where she’d been nursing. Her charge, a young girl, had passed away, and Ian knew she must be grieving.

  Ian bowed his head and prayed, Lord, give me a sign when my bride comes. Let me be as Isaac. Let me be praying and when I look up, let me behold her.

  Chapter Eight

  Eleanor descended from her coach and approached the neat, thatched farmhouse where Sarah lived. Every week she looked forward to this day, and yearned for the time when she could have her daughter with her permanently. But she knew she must be patient. Her daughter had a good, stable life with the Thorntons, and she must consider Sarah’s best interests.

  As soon as she’d knocked and been greeted by the maid, she knew something was not right.

  “Oh, Mrs. Neville, you’ve come at last!” The young maid wrung her hands. “Poor Sarah’s been feelin’ poorly.”

  Eleanor untied her bonnet ribbons. “Dear me, what ails her?” Already, she was heading for the stairs to Sarah’s room.

  “Mrs. Thornton thinks it be a marsh fever, mum.”

  Eleanor quickened her steps at the dreaded words. Every summer many were felled by the fevers. She’d thought it too late in the year for it to strike anyone now.

  She met Louisa at the door to Sarah’s room.

  “Oh, ’tis you come to see poor Sarah. She’ll be glad of it, but I don’t know as you should go near her.”

  “Of course I shall go to her,” Eleanor said, attempting to get past her in the doorway.

  “Now, now, don’t fret. The girl is resting. Mr. Allerby has been to see her twice already, once yesterday and now this morning.”

  “What about a physician, shouldn’t she see a proper physician?”

  “Why, Mr. Allerby has been treating this family for nigh on ten years, from broken bones to the croup. There’s no physician better than our apothecary. He brought his cupping jar and has already bled her. Left her Dr. James’s Fever Powder to drink. She’ll be better in no time, I’m sure.”

  Eleanor forced herself to remain calm. “Tell me how it started.”

  “Well, let’s see.” Louisa tapped her jaw with a finger, thinking back. “Sarah began complaining of a megrim yesterday after she’d been out in her pony cart. I thought to myself, she’s taken too much sun. It’s all I can do to get her to take her parasol. By teatime she was feeling so poorly she went to lie down. That’s when I felt her forehead and saw she had a fever. Well, o’ course I sent for Mr. Allerby.

  “He was delivering Hannah’s baby. She’s been due for over two weeks now. But as soon as he was through, he come by. That was nigh on eight o’clock yester evening. He immediately bled our little Sarah and she rested easier after that.”

  Eleanor finally managed to squeeze past Louisa and enter Sarah’s room. She hurried to the bed and bent over her daughter’s flushed face. “Hello there, sweeting. What is this I hear that you’ve gone and gotten sick?”

  “Hello, Aunt Eleanor. I’m sorry, I wish we could go riding today. I had so much to tell you.”

  “Well, that’s quite all right. I didn’t feel much like riding today, anyway. Today shall be a reading day, how’s that?”

  Sarah gave a weak smile. “Oh, that would be lovely. Only my head still hurts so.”

  Eleanor touched her forehead gingerly. It felt hot. She looked around and seeing the basin of water, took the cloth Louisa had left hanging over its edge and wet it and wrun
g it out, then laid it on Sarah’s forehead.

  “There, that will cool you off.”

  “Yes…that feels better,” the girl mumbled, her eyes fluttering closed.

  Eleanor brought over a rocking chair and sat down, feeling helpless. What could she do to make her daughter well?

  She sang a soft melody, but afraid she would disturb her daughter with the sound, she fell silent. She spent a few more moments changing the compress on Sarah’s forehead and worrying her bottom lip, wondering what else she could do. When she determined that Sarah slept, she walked out softly, searching once again for Louisa.

  She found her in the kitchen, helping the maid with the week’s baking.

  “I really think we should send for a physician,” Eleanor told the older woman.

  Louisa looked at her in consternation.

  “I can send my coachman for a physician,” she insisted when the older woman said nothing.

  “Well, you know there’s nobody nearby but Mr. Allerby. Nearest physician is two towns over.”

  “We must send for him, then.”

  She looked doubtful. “He’s new and I don’t know anything about him. Let’s see…there’s two surgeons in Dartford, but they only set bones, as far as I know…and none o’ them is as trusted as our Mr. Allerby.”

  At the word “surgeons” Eleanor’s mind went immediately to Mr. Russell. Eleanor couldn’t think of anyone she’d trust more to doctor Sarah than Mr. Russell. But where might he be now? Perhaps it would be better to send her man to seek out these others than make him go all the way back to London and search from the dispensary to the mission to who knows where?

  “Where is McGinnis, my coachman?”

  “He’s gone out back to the stable, ma’am,” the maid answered promptly. “He’ll be in shortly for some refreshment.”

  “I must see him,” Eleanor said, already hurrying out the back door.

  “But, Eleanor—” Louisa’s voice was lost to Eleanor as she left the kitchen.

  Ian was examining a patient at the dispensary when Jem handed him a note from a “fella in livery.”

  Dear Mr. Russell,

  I have a very feverish little girl who needs your help. Could you please come? My coachman will bring you. I am about an hour’s ride out of London in Surrey. Please come.

  Eleanor

  He looked at Jem. “This was just delivered?”

  “Yes, the man’s in the waiting room.”

  “Finish up here,” he instructed Jem, knowing the lad was capable of applying the poultice.

  Ian stepped outside and spied Mrs. Neville’s coachman. They exchanged a few words and then Ian excused himself to get his bag.

  As he rode southward, Eleanor’s plea reverberated in his mind. Finally he pulled out the note and read it again.

  Please come. Eleanor.

  What seemed hours later, but was little more than one, Mr. Russell entered Sarah’s room. Eleanor immediately stood from the rocker and came to him. “Oh, thank goodness my coachman found you. Thank you for coming.”

  He nodded only briefly to her and approached the bed. She watched him remove his gloves and feel her daughter’s forehead.

  “She’s only been feverish since yesterday afternoon, I’m told. She was out riding and came back with a headache. We’ve been bathing her with vinegar water every few minutes. She’s been bled…” Eleanor realized her words were tumbling out in a rush, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Mr. Russell’s attention remained fixed on Sarah. After taking her pulse, he opened his medical bag and extracted two long cylinders, which he screwed together. After lowering the bedcovers, he placed one end on Sarah’s chest, and the other to his ear, bending over to listen.

  Eleanor stared, fascinated.

  He continued his examination, feeling and palpating other parts of her body.

  Finally, he straightened. “Her lungs are clear. She seems to have a mild intermittent fever, not uncommon here near the fens. It’s late for this time of year, but with the unseasonably warm weather we’ve been having, it’s not unheard-of. Do you know if she has been given any Peruvian bark to drink?”

  “I don’t know…I don’t think so. Let me ask Louisa.”

  After they’d ascertained that the apothecary had not prescribed any Cinchona bark, Ian got a packet from his bag.

  “Boil this in water and make a tea. Give it to her every hour or so.”

  Louisa hurried out to comply with the order.

  He turned to Eleanor. “You should see some improvement in a few days. She’ll be uncomfortable until then, but she should be all right.”

  Eleanor closed her eyes in relief, not realizing how much she had been holding in her fear until that moment. She felt the tears welling over her lids.

  She turned away from the doctor and brought a hand up to her eyes to wipe at them.

  “You care a great deal for the girl,” he said softly, handing her a handkerchief from behind.

  She dabbed beneath her eyes, only nodding in reply. The handkerchief was a thick folded square. It smelled clean, like his neck cloth the day she’d collided with him. She breathed in the fresh scent, feeling the relief swell through her anew that he’d come. How many other patients had he had to leave to come to her? But he’d done so.

  “Thank you, Mr. Russell,” she said. “I’m sorry. I was so worried about Sarah…She’s usually such a healthy girl, and when I saw her so pale and fretful, I didn’t know what to do. I…couldn’t bear if anything happened to her.”

  “Is she a relative of yours?” he asked, still standing behind her.

  Feeling composed enough to turn around, she finally faced him. “In a manner of speaking. She was a foundling. Someone left her with us when I was with the traveling players, and we all adopted her. Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, who were with us then eventually took over her upbringing.”

  She held out the handkerchief to him. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Russell. I hope I didn’t take you away from another patient.”

  He shook away her apology. “Think nothing of it. It’s good that my partner and apprentices are with me at the dispensary. I was able to leave at once.”

  “That’s two lives I’m indebted to you for now,” she said softly, realizing it as she spoke the words. “The second one is infinitely more precious to me, I’ll confess.”

  “I’m not God, Mrs. Neville,” he replied equally softly, a slight smile playing across his lips.

  “You’re the closest thing I’ve known to Him, then,” she whispered in reply.

  The next fortnight passed in a whirlwind for Eleanor. She divided her time nursing Sarah at the farmhouse in the mornings and going to the rehearsals in town in the afternoons. In the evenings she returned to the farmhouse.

  She saw no more of Mr. Russell for a few days and debated sending for him again, wanting his reassurance that Sarah was truly all right. Over and over she pondered how quickly he had come when she’d summoned him. Would he do so again? Had he done it out of a mere sense of duty? Or was it out of pity? she asked herself, remembering his manner toward her after she’d confessed her past to him.

  Not all her past, she admitted. She hadn’t told him the truth about Sarah. She didn’t trust anyone with that secret. What would the upright surgeon think of an illegitimate daughter? She didn’t care for her own reputation, but she didn’t want any slurs cast upon Sarah’s name.

  Just when she had decided to stop by the dispensary at the end of the day, she spied Mr. Russell entering the theater one afternoon during a rehearsal.

  She missed her cue and the orchestra had to begin the music anew. Taking a deep breath to begin her song, she watched Mr. Russell take a seat in the rear of the pit. What was he doing here? Hadn’t he as much as said he’d never come to the theater again?

  Her heart beat wildly for the rest of the song, and she waited impatiently for the break. When the director finally called for one, Eleanor wiped her face with a handkerchief. Aware she was not lookin
g her best in an old pair of men’s breeches, she made her way down the row of benches to where the surgeon sat.

  He rose as she approached. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Neville,” he began, fiddling with the hat in his hands. His voice seemed stiff and the eager smile she had for him waned.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I merely stopped in to inquire after the young girl. How is she? Would you like me to look in on her again?”

  Eleanor smiled widely in relief. “Oh, she is much better! I can never thank you enough for coming so quickly that day. I was out of my mind with worry.”

  “It’s understandable. I’m glad I could come.”

  “I can’t believe how quickly she improved after taking the tea. You did wonders for her.”

  “It’s a well-known remedy. I don’t know why your physician hadn’t already recommended it to her.”

  “I haven’t any idea. Mrs. Thornton uses the apothecary who’s treated people in the village all his life. He’s getting on in years. But yes, if you have time, I would appreciate your coming by and seeing for yourself that Sarah is truly better.”

  “Very well.” He hadn’t smiled during their interchange and his manner had been so subdued that she was on the brink of asking him if something was the matter, when she realized the direction of his gaze and understood. The breeches! He disapproved of her outfit.

  Feeling lighthearted with relief that it was only that, Eleanor took a step back and twirled around. “This isn’t the final costume, but what do you think? Do I look like a proper Leporello to you?” She put her hands on her hips and assumed a manly posture.

  He cleared his throat and looked away from her. “I must get on with my rounds. I’ll stop by the farmhouse tomorrow afternoon if that is convenient with you.”