The Healing Season

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  She stepped through the arch and emerged into the sunny courtyard. As she walked past the beds, she saw a man bent over one of them with a garden fork. As she neared him, he turned. Shading his face with a hand, he watched her progress, as he rested against the fork.

  “You must be Mr. Russell’s uncle,” she said, already feeling a welcome in the older man’s genial face.

  “Yes, indeed. Oliver Russell, at your service. And who might you be?”

  “Eleanor Neville.”

  He smiled. “So you are Eleanor Neville.”

  She blushed, thinking he was referring to the actress. She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I don’t feel like Eleanor Neville these days.”

  He chuckled. “Why is that?”

  “She wasn’t a very nice person, you know,” she replied, wondering at how easily the words came out.

  “Wasn’t she? Beyond redemption?”

  “Yes. Thankfully, a new person has been resurrected in her place. I feel brand-new.” She looked down at the freshly turned earth. “But it means learning things all over again.”

  “That could take some time.”

  “Yes.” She sighed, returning to the reason she was there. “I’ve come to fetch some prescriptions Mr. Russell left for the children at the mission.”

  “Ah yes. He already collected them. I’m sure he’ll drop them by the mission today.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he will.” She would probably miss his visit. It was for the best, she told herself.

  “Do you have a moment?”

  She turned her attention back to Ian’s uncle. “Yes, why?”

  “Why don’t you take a few minutes and sit in my garden? It is a place of discovery.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. I believe I will. I shan’t disturb you in your labors, shall I?”

  “No. I was about to return anyway. I must see what Jem is up to,” he said with a chuckle.

  They bade each other goodbye and Eleanor turned back to the garden. Here and there she discovered a clump of crocus or a border of daffodils.

  Ian stepped into the quiet of his uncle’s garret.

  “Hello, Ian, I wasn’t expecting you today,” his uncle greeted him from the worktable.

  “No, I just left the ward. There was a surgery patient I needed to look in on.”

  His uncle was pressing a medicinal dough onto the pill tile with a long, grooved rolling pin to make a fresh batch of pills. Ian breathed in the scent of eucalyptus.

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve come. No, don’t sit down,” he said as Ian prepared to take a seat at one of the stools. Before Ian could inquire why, he explained, “I suggest you take a walk down to the herb garden.”

  “Why ever for? Did you leave something behind?”

  “No, but perhaps you did.” Before he could figure out the meaning of his uncle’s cryptic words, Uncle Oliver added, “There’s someone down there I think it worth your while to see. Leave your other cares for the moment and spend some time down in the garden.”

  “I suppose you’re not going to tell me any more than that?”

  “You suppose right. Now run along before you miss this individual.”

  Ian retraced his steps down to the ground floor. When he emerged in the street, he hesitated. Well, there was no harm in it, and he knew his uncle wouldn’t waste his time playing jokes on him. He turned in the opposite direction he’d come and walked toward the garden.

  His first thoughts as he came through the arch into the sunshine was that the trip had been in vain, for there was no one there, then he squinted, seeing someone at the far end, partially obscured by a yew hedge.

  Eleanor! What was she doing here?

  Ian found himself walking toward her. She didn’t hear him approach, and as he neared he saw that she was kneeling in front of an outcropping of colorful lavender and yellow crocus.

  She looked like a girl in prayer.

  He had been praying the day she’d come into his office. The significance hit him like a bolt from the sky.

  Isaac beholding Rebekah. Ian’s asking God for a sign. Had that been it, and he’d missed it? Was Eleanor indeed the one?

  He felt a sudden jubilation, just as quickly followed by a conviction of guilt. She leaned forward and broke off a flower stem and twirled it in her fingers.

  Had he truly forgiven her?

  She’d come to him in humility and what had he given her in return? In a split second he recognized his true nature, petty, unforgiving and arrogant. God had forgiven Eleanor and washed away her past as surely as He’d healed Ian. Her sins had been put away from her as far as the east is from the west.

  These thoughts crystallized in the few seconds Ian stood watching Eleanor in the sunshine. He must have made a sound because she turned and saw him. Her smile of greeting faded and he read uncertainty in her eyes. Is that what he made her feel? Uncertain? Unloved? Afraid?…the way every other man had? The knowledge pierced him.

  He stepped toward her, unsure what he was going to say.

  “What a beautiful spot your uncle has here. He invited me to stay a few moments,” she said, as if to excuse her presence there.

  “Yes, it is a beautiful spot. Please feel free to stay as long as you’d like.”

  She made to rise and he immediately came forward and held out his hand. As soon as she was standing, she let his hand go.

  “There is a bench over there. Would you care to have a seat?” he asked diffidently.

  She watched him the way a patient would who was awaiting a diagnosis. With a quick nod of her head, she accepted his suggestion and he led her to the bench.

  “There is not too much sun for you?” he asked when they were seated side by side.

  “No. It’s nice to see the sun and feel its warmth after the long winter.”

  He nodded.

  They sat for some minutes. Just as Ian was ready to speak, she began, and he fell silent, preferring to hear what she had to say.

  “I shall be leaving the mission soon.”

  His heart sank, but then he remembered she still lived in London. Her next words dashed those hopes.

  “I am going to live with the Thorntons for a little while, until I can find a cottage nearby for Sarah and myself.”

  “You and Sarah.”

  “Yes.”

  He watched her profile as they spoke. “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know yet.” She gave a slight smile. “The Lord hasn’t revealed that much to me yet.”

  “Will you resume your…acting career?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He was stunned. “I thought it was so important to you.”

  “It was.” She looked down at the crocus in her hand. “I believe if I ever appear in front of an audience again it will be in the Lord’s service, but that’s as much as I know.”

  They sat a moment longer in silence, Ian wondering how he could say what was in his heart.

  She turned to him slightly. “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why haven’t you married Althea? Isn’t she everything you are looking for in a woman?”

  The question startled him, and he struggled to find the answer. Her face was so close to his as she awaited his reply. He looked into her eyes and was caught anew by their amazing color, a gray so translucent it was like glass. The dark pinpoints of her pupils contrasted sharply, adding to the effect of light.

  “She is such a worthy woman,” she added.

  Her words gave him the opening he needed.

  “She may be worthy, but I’m not in love with her.” He paused. “There is only one woman in the world for me.”

  She swallowed. “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “What is she like?”

  “She is so beautiful it makes my heart ache.”

  Her lashes came over her eyes to hide them from his view. “What is the matter, then? Does she think she is too good for you?”

  “No, on the contrary,”
he replied slowly, “she has never known her true worth. But I am certainly not good enough for her and never will be.”

  Her eyelids flew up and he could see the protest ready on her lips.

  “I would never ask her to share the life I lead. I would never ask her to give up the recognition she’s gained over the years through her talent and determination and hard work on the stage.”

  The look in her eyes told him she was beginning to understand that he was referring to her.

  “Why haven’t you ever married, Eleanor?” he asked her softly.

  “Because I never trusted men…until now,” she whispered.

  “You had good reason not to.”

  “But the Lord showed me there was one man who was trustworthy. He thinks he is a mere surgeon, but I’ve never met a truer man, or better friend, or…protector.”

  “Oh, Eleanor,” he breathed, “I can offer you so little except my love.”

  The smile began in her clear gray eyes and reached her lips. “How can you say that when we’ve been given wealth immeasurable?”

  He leaned forward until her face blurred and he inhaled the freshness of her skin and finally felt the softness of her parted lips.

  Some moments later, she giggled beneath his lips.

  He opened his eyes. “What do you find so amusing about my kisses this time?”

  “Your kisses are perfect,” she assured him with a quick peck to prove the fact. “What I find funny is the fact that you’re going to make an honest woman of me.”

  “No,” he replied seriously. “The Lord has already done that.”

  She sobered, bringing up a hand to stroke his cheek. “So, what is left for you, then?”

  He smiled. “To enjoy it.”

  As her smile grew in response, he leaned toward her again. “I have, after all, a lot of time to make up for.”

  Her laughter was smothered by his kiss.

  A little later she pushed away from him again, a look of sadness on her face.

  “What is it, my love?” he asked, his fingers framing her face.

  “I’ll never make a good wife. I don’t know how to do anything housewifely. All those things like cooking, sewing, knitting…” Her voice grew mournful as the list grew longer.

  He laughed. “I don’t expect to marry my housekeeper. I don’t need a servant, but a soul mate. I may be a poor surgeon compared to your manner of living, but I do have an adequate income, enough to pay for at least a servant or two.”

  “Where shall we live?” she asked, snuggling against him as he put his arm around her, amazed at how right she felt beside him.

  “Here in London or near the Thorntons if you’d like. Sarah will live with us, of course.” She squeezed his free hand in response.

  “You remember that gentleman, Digsby, you dragged to the anatomy lecture?”

  She giggled at the memory.

  “He has become interested in my work after all. He’s offered to line up some backers to put up the money for a children’s hospital—the first of its kind here in London.”

  She turned glowing eyes to him. “Oh, Ian, that’s wonderful.”

  He looked deep into her eyes, whose goodness he could now trust. “I don’t expect to tell you what to do. God has given you a wonderful talent—to entertain people and make them laugh—even cry. I won’t dictate to you whether you should leave the theater or not.”

  “Thank you, Ian. That means a great deal to me.” She traced the line of his jaw. “But I think the Lord has another course for me now. I want to join you in this new endeavor to help the children of London, if you’ll have me.”

  “Nothing would make me happier.” He kissed the top of her head where her bonnet had fallen back. “May I call you Maisey?”

  She smiled up at him. “You alone.”

  “Will you be my Maisey? Can you really want to marry me, Maisey mine?” he asked in a teasing voice, touching his nose to hers.

  “I should like that above all, Ian, my love,” she answered shyly.

  His lips met hers once more and he hugged her close to him, rejoicing in what a blessed man he was.

  His future wife had been worth the wait.

  Epilogue

  Announcement in the Morning Post

  Married: Ian Russell, doctor of surgery, to Maisey Moore, spinster, April 3, 1818, at the Morningstar Chapel, Whitechapel.

  Witnesses present: Jacob and Louisa Thornton and their offspring.

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1) What is Ian Russell’s first impression of Eleanor Neville? Hers of him? How can first impressions be both accurate and inaccurate?

  2) Both Ian and Eleanor have preconceived notions of what the other should be in their respective professions, the doctor and the actress. How does each break the stereotype in the other’s mind? What kind of parallels do they see in each other’s professions?

  3) What is Eleanor’s real opinion of men? Why does Eleanor want to tempt Ian to fall from his pledge of purity? How is this related to her cynical view of men? In her opinion, is any man capable of the ideals Ian holds?

  4) How is the Bible story of Isaac and Rebekah significant to Ian?

  5) How do Ian’s attentions to Eleanor differ from other men’s? How does this confuse Eleanor?

  6) When Ian escorts Eleanor to a show at the Drury Lane, how does this event begin to change Eleanor’s ambitions from being accepted by the high society of London to being merely a respectable member of society?

  7) When Eleanor attempts to do good—working with the children at the mission, attending church—how do things backfire?

  8) What does Ian’s “apprenticeship of faith” consist of? What kinds of things does he have to unlearn from his religious upbringing? How does the faith of his parents and elders begin to be transformed into his own faith?

  9) After all her years of separating herself from her shameful past at the hands of her stepfather, Eleanor’s life comes full circle when she finds herself at the mercy of d’Alvergny. What is the ultimate result of the degradation she is made to feel at his hands?

  10) How does Ian finally realize Eleanor is as pure as the woman he has held up as his ideal?

  Author’s Note

  I apologize for causing any squeamishness in my readers when describing some of the medical procedures in 1817 London. I, too, am squeamish and found them difficult to write about! But I have tried to portray an accurate picture of medicine, including its many advances, in the Regency period. I was privileged to visit an operating theater in London, as well as an herb garret, both of which were part of St. Thomas’s Hospital in Ian’s day.

  I’ve also found much useful information in many books on medicine and theater at the time, which I list following. Although I have tried to respect dates, I did take a few small liberties. For example, although Rene Laennec did invent the stethoscope in 1816 in Paris, he didn’t publish anything on it until 1819, so it was probably not in use in London at the time of my story. However, I believe it to be a reasonable scenario that someone could have heard about it from a French colleague and even received a sample one, the way Ian does.

  It was true, also, that at the time there existed no hospitals to treat children. The first “dispensary” specifically for children opened in 1769, but disappeared in 1789 when its founder, Dr. George Armstrong, died. The idea of a dispensary was like our modern-day out-patient clinic. Few of these treated children. The second one for children, the Universal Dispensary for Children, opened in 1816, and grew to eventually become the Royal Hospital for Children and Women. It didn’t actually admit children as inpatients until 1856.

  As for the theater world, the male leads in some of the offshoot productions of Don Giovanni did go to women, but not until 1820. One of the most popular was Madame Vestris, whom I mention briefly in the story. But it was not unusual for a woman to land a “breeches” part prior to 1820.

  For further reading on the medical and theatrical worlds of the period, I recommend the follo
wing works (this is not a complete list):

  Bosworth, F.F. Christ the Healer. Grand Rapids: Baker Publishing Group, 2004.

  Buchan, William. Complete Domestic Medicine 1849.

  Gloucestershire: Archive CD Books.

  Clinton-Baddeley, V. C. The Burlesque Tradition in the English Theatre after 1660. London: Methuen & Co., Ltd., 1952.

  Hitchcock, Tim and Heather Shore, eds. The Streets of London from the Great Fire to the Great Stink. London: Rivers Oram Press, 2003.

  Hood, Paxton. Portraits of the Great 18th Century Revival. Greenville: Ambassador Books, 1997.

  Houtchens, Carolyn W., contrib., Lawrence H. Houtchens, ed. Leigh Hunt’s Dramatic Criticism, 1808–1831. New York: Columbia University Press, 1949.

  Loudon, Irvine. Medical Care and the General Practitioner 1750–1850. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986.

  Mandel, Oscar, ed. The Theatre of Don Juan: A Collection of Plays & Views, 1630–1963. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1963.

  Nuland, Sherwin B. Doctors: the Biography of Medicine. New York: Vintage Books, 1988.

  Porter, Roy. Quacks, Fakers & Charlatans in Medicine. Gloucestershire: Tempus Publishing, 2001.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5338-8

  THE HEALING SEASON

  Copyright © 2007 by Ruth Axtell

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