“I must say, I don’t believe your eyesight is a factor,” Dr. Russell said after a half hour. “It seems to be rather good.”
“I’m certainly glad to hear that.” Dr. Gregory pressed his lips together, then spoke again. “We are both scientists, and we both know what my symptoms suggest. Do you believe that I have a brain tumor, Dr. Russell? I would like to discuss it openly, if you do.”
“I wouldn’t hasten to that diagnosis,” Dr. Russell said. “There are other factors we need to rule out.”
“But what is your feeling on the subject?” Dr. Gregory pressed.
Sophie studied Dr. Russell’s face. He seemed reluctant to say anything.
“Tell me about your home life,” he said after a long moment.
“My home life? That’s a rather curious question. Well, I lived at home until I was twenty, and then I came to New York City to study medicine. I live in a small boardinghouse room that’s quiet and suited to my needs, and I spend most of my time at the hospital.”
“And your family?”
“My mother and father still live in Albany. I have no siblings.” Dr. Gregory shifted a little in his chair, a movement that brought Dr. Russell’s head up sharply.
“Are you uncomfortable with my asking questions about your parents?”
“No. I just . . . have a strained relationship with my father.”
“I see. Of what nature?”
Dr. Gregory shifted again. “He was against my becoming a doctor.”
“What did he want you to become instead?”
“A banker, like himself. He considers it a more stable profession.”
Dr. Russell made another note. “So he’s not supportive of you.”
“That’s correct. My mother makes up for it, though.”
Dr. Russell smiled. “Mothers do have a way of doing that. Dr. Gregory, would you be so kind as to come back at two o’clock? I need to consult with Miss Cantrell, my head nurse, and decide on what course of action to recommend to you.”
“Yes, of course. I’d be happy to.”
Dr. Gregory stood, nodded to Sophie, and left the room after fetching his hat. Dr. Russell didn’t move, but steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin.
“Sophie, you seem a very willing, motivated sort of young woman,” he said after a moment.
“I suppose that’s correct,” she replied, wondering what he meant. And what he wanted her to do.
“Come. Let’s go back to the house, meet with Miss Cantrell, and have our lunch.”
“And I’ll find out what you plan to do with me?”
“Exactly. And I do hope Mrs. Everett has made us pie—I feel rather in the mood for pie.”
Chapter Seven
Dr. Russell and Miss Cantrell shut themselves in the parlor and talked for nearly half an hour, then resumed their meeting after lunch. Sophie was more curious than she’d ever been before in her life, which was saying quite a lot because a great many things made her curious. The other girls left on their assignments, and Sophie kept herself busy by rinsing the lunch dishes for Mrs. Everett. Finally, the parlor door opened, and Dr. Russell called for her.
“Yes, sir?” She stood in front of him, clasping her wet hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see her looking untidy.
“Are you ready to go back over to the hospital for our appointment with Dr. Gregory?”
“Yes, of course, but aren’t you going to tell me what you’ve decided?”
“I’ll tell you once we’re there.” He chuckled, most likely at the look of dismay that crossed her face. “Patience, Miss Jones. All things will be revealed in time.” He wiggled his fingers like a show magician, and she went to get her things.
Dr. Gregory was a few minutes late, so Sophie made herself busy by tidying up the office. When he did arrive, he looked a bit harried.
“I apologize for being late. I had a patient hemorrhage on the operating table, and it took a little while to bring matters under control.”
Dr. Russell nodded. “Do you need to be there now?”
“Dr. Wentworth is watching the patient for me. He agrees that I should meet with you and discuss my diagnosis.”
“That’s good.” Dr. Russell motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, be seated. You too, Miss Jones.”
“Me, sir?” Sophie was rather taken aback.
“Yes, please.”
Sophie took the seat nearest the door, wondering if she’d need to make a quick escape. Dr. Russell was looking altogether cagey.
“I met with Miss Cantrell, as I said I would, and we discussed your case at length. We also discussed our next step, which may be considered unorthodox, but we feel it will be of long-term benefit. To both of you.” He nodded to include Sophie in the equation.
“Both of us? I don’t understand, sir,” she said. What could she possibly have to do with Dr. Gregory’s treatment and recovery?
Dr. Russell sat back and regarded them. “Throughout my time as a physician, I’ve found certain aspects of the human body fascinating, especially in regards to how a person’s emotions affect their physical health. This is, of course, evident when nervousness leads to a case of nausea and so forth, but also in the way that stress can cause headaches. Dr. Gregory, I would like to conduct an experiment to see if stress is at the root of your condition.”
“How do we go about that, Doctor?”
“I’m glad you asked, young man.” Dr. Russell looked entirely too pleased with himself, and Sophie became even more concerned. He was planning something, something that would most likely be uncomfortable.
“We need to evaluate your activities and your reactions to those activities. I want you to begin by taking three days off—totally and utterly off. Go on a picnic. Visit a museum. Study the birds in the park. You are not to practice medicine or even think about medicine.”
“That will be difficult,” Dr. Gregory said. “Medicine is my life. It’s all I ever think about.”
“Which is precisely why you need a break from it. Then, after the third day, you may resume limited work hours, building up until you’re fully restored to your normal schedule. At each step along the way, we will analyze your food intake, exercise, and the quantity of sleep you had. In this way, we will see a pattern between your lifestyle and your health.” Dr. Russell paused. “If we can prove that stress is causing your headaches, that’s certainly better than arriving at the diagnosis of a brain tumor, is it not?”
“Yes. Yes, it certainly is,” Dr. Gregory replied. “I’m willing to try this experiment and see if we can isolate the cause.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Russell,” Sophie interjected, leaning forward a little. “What is to be my part in this?”
Dr. Russell chuckled. “Ah, Miss Jones, you have a very key role. You are to be Dr. Gregory’s shadow.”
“I . . . I don’t understand.” Whatever it was that he meant, it sounded very unpleasant.
“Dr. Gregory will need someone with him to help monitor his activity, to take notes, and to gauge his reactions to stimuli. It must be someone outside of himself who can interpret when he is becoming agitated.” Dr. Russell reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small leather-bound book. “Here you are, Miss Jones. Dr. Gregory will pick you up at the house right after breakfast and report on his sleep patterns and what he had to eat. You will record that, and then follow him around the remainder of the day until he returns you to the house shortly before nightfall. I will analyze your data, so be sure to write neatly.”
Sophie stared at Dr. Russell, her mouth agape. “You want me to follow him around?” She glanced at Dr. Gregory. He looked similarly appalled.
“I’m sure I can take my own notes,” he said, but Dr. Russell raised a hand.
“I already gave my reasons for assigning you an outside observer. Miss Jones is the perfect choice because this type of observation and detailed recordkeeping will be good for her education, and the fact that the two of you don’t get along well together will
ensure that all her findings will be impartial. I simply ask that you observe her curfew, that you refrain from dragging her anywhere inappropriate, and that you have a chaperone if you go somewhere secluded.”
“I honestly don’t know what to say. I didn’t imagine that I’d be assigned a caretaker.”
“I know this is difficult, Edward,” Dr. Russell said, softening his voice. “You appreciate your solitude. I’m just trying to give you the best possible diagnosis, and I believe this will help.”
Dr. Gregory sat there for a long moment before nodding. “Very well. If you feel this is best.”
“I do. Miss Jones? Do you have any questions?”
Sophie blinked several times, trying to focus again after the surprise. “I believe I understand, sir.”
“Excellent. Miss Cantrell will meet with you this evening to make sure you know what types of data to record, and Dr. Gregory, we’ll see you at my house tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
After Dr. Gregory left, Dr. Russell turned to Sophie. “You look as though you’d like to scold me,” he said with a chuckle.
“I’m rather surprised, that’s all. Why would you assign me to work with that man? We’ll do nothing but bicker the entire time.”
Dr. Russell chuckled again. “You’ll need to take that up with Miss Cantrell. It was her idea, actually. She feels that if the two of you can learn to get along—if he can keep his temper around you, and you can learn to stop irking him—it will make you both better at your careers, and it will teach him to control his emotional reactions, which may in turn help control his headaches.”
“You think I’m irksome?”
“I think Dr. Gregory finds you irksome.”
Sophie folded her arms. “Well, I suppose. But that’s only because he’s so very irkable.”
Dr. Russell raised an eyebrow. “Irkable?”
“Irkworthy. You decide.” Sophie took a deep breath. “All right, I’ll do it. For the good of the program and to help a patient and because you and Miss Cantrell asked me to. But I won’t like it. I find that man as irritating as a grain of sand in an oyster, and if you tell me that I’ll find a pearl if I wait long enough, I will run from here screaming.”
Dr. Russell laughed. “I promise to say nothing of the sort. Thank you for agreeing, Sophie. If this works, we will have the information we need to improve a very key aspect of Dr. Gregory’s life. I believe that will make the inconvenience worth it.”
Sophie sighed. “I hope so. Now, do you have any tasks for me to do that I might find more enjoyable? Cleaning up vomit, perhaps?”
Chapter Eight
If Dr. Russell believed that chaining Edward to Miss Jones for hours on end was going to cure his headaches, he must not be a very perceptive doctor. Didn’t he understand that what Edward needed was peace and quiet, not the endless jabbering of a brainless girl?
Edward climbed the stairs to his boardinghouse bedroom, trying not to call attention to the fact that he was home, but Mrs. Daniels, his landlady, heard him anyway. “Oh, Doctor!” she called out, her voice shrill as it echoed up the staircase. “Doctor, do pop in to the parlor for a minute, won’t you?”
He paused, thinking he might pretend as though he hadn’t heard her. But if he did that, she’d just come knocking on his door—he knew this from sad experience. He turned around and went back downstairs, pasting a smile on his face. “Good evening, Mrs. Daniels. What can I do for you?”
She bustled over to him, her full skirts swishing on the floor as she moved. He’d once overheard her tell a female boarder that she never felt fully dressed unless she was wearing at least twelve yards’ worth of petticoats, and he believed it. “We have a new guest—Miss Ermengarde Hedgerow. She has come to New York to study opera. Isn’t that simply marvelous?”
“Marvelous,” he echoed, fearing what she was about to say next.
“I’ve asked Miss Hedgerow if she’ll entertain us with an aria. I’m so glad you came home when you did so you can join us.” She took hold of his arm and all but pulled him the rest of the way into the parlor.
Miss Hedgerow was a pleasant-looking young woman who had, sadly, been born with buckteeth. Edward smiled and gave her a short bow, then greeted the other boarders who had been cajoled—er, invited to attend the impromptu performance. Mrs. Daniels sat down at the pianoforte in the corner, and Miss Hedgerow took up a position in front of the instrument. Edward took a chair in the opposite corner and clenched his hands into fists on his lap.
He had anticipated something painful. He had not set his sights quite high enough. From the first note that came from the soprano’s mouth, he was in sheer and utter agony. The sound raced through his head like a lightning bolt, and it was all he could do not to jump. Perhaps if his head wasn’t already pounding, he might have been able to bear it, but this was too much. How could he get out of the room gracefully?
Finally deciding he had no choice but to fake a coughing fit, he made quite a scene, his arms alternately flailing and clutching his chest. He made apologetic gestures toward Miss Hedgerow as he left the room, then took a deep breath as soon as he reached the hallway. The music carried through the house, but at least his bedroom door muffled it somewhat, and he lay down, his arm across his eyes.
Back to the matter at hand. How was he to survive over the next several days? His ability to practice medicine had been put on hold, his solitude had been stripped away, and he would be followed around by a young woman whose vivacity was only slightly less painful than Miss Hedgerow’s voice.
He supposed that if he took Dr. Russell’s advice and visited the museum and so forth, Miss Jones would be somewhat bearable. She’d be less likely to prattle endlessly if they were in a library or some other place that called for quiet. Hmm. This idea did have possibilities. While Edward tried to endure what sounded like an encore coming from downstairs, he began to plan out his time with Miss Jones. If this had to be done, it would be done on his terms.
***
The next morning, Edward rapped on the front door at Dr. Russell’s house and was greeted by an older woman dressed in gray. “I’m Dr. Gregory calling for Miss Jones.”
She surveyed him up and down. “Oh, so you’re the project, are you?”
He blinked. “The project?”
“That’s right. Dr. Russell told me that Sophie’s got a project going on, and I shouldn’t be overly alarmed if I see her spending a particular amount of time with one young man.” She narrowed her eyes. “I do hope you’re a respectable sort.”
“I’m sure Dr. Russell wouldn’t be assigning me to Miss Jones if I weren’t,” Edward replied, amused despite himself.
“Yes, well, I’ve grown rather fond of Sophie, and I’d hate to see her unhappy. And since you don’t plan to do anything that would make her unhappy, I don’t need to worry, do I?”
“No, ma’am, you do not.” Edward shifted to his other foot. “Is she ready, by chance?”
“She is. Wait right there and I’ll fetch her.”
The door closed, and Edward was left standing on the stoop. That was rather curious.
A moment later, the door opened again, and Miss Jones bounded out. She looked fresh and pert in a yellow dress and matching hat. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “I do hate to tell you this, Doctor, but you’re late.”
“Yes, I know. I was held up by your austere and rather formidable housekeeper.”
“No, you were late before that. You rang the bell at ten minutes after the hour.”
“I’m sorry, and I shall try to be more punctual tomorrow. Shall we be off?”
“First of all, I have some data to collect.” Miss Jones took a seat on the bench that lined the sidewalk. She pulled the journal from her handbag, as well as a pencil. “How did you sleep last night?”
Edward sighed. The first question, and he was already bored with the whole thing. “I went to bed at ten o’clock and woke up at five.”
“Was it a restful sleep?”
�
�I’m afraid not. We have a new lodger at my boardinghouse, an opera singer, and she treated us to a song. I use the word ‘treated’ lightly. I had a horrible headache when I went to bed, and consequently, I had nightmares.”
Miss Jones wrote swiftly, almost as if she was taking down every word he said. “What did you have for breakfast?”
“Two eggs, oatmeal, and a jam tart.”
Miss Jones looked up at that, and Edward felt he needed to explain. “I don’t often have a tart for breakfast, but I missed dinner last night, and Mrs. Daniels, my landlady, had saved me one.”
“You don’t need to justify anything to me, Dr. Gregory. I was merely curious because I’m rather fond of jam tarts too. We might have just found something in common.” She gave him a grin before bending her head back to her notebook. “How is your headache now?”
“It’s actually not bad. I walked over here because it’s such a temperate day, and the fresh air might have helped.”
“That’s good news. I don’t believe a brain tumor would react to fresh air, would it? I’d say this is a positive sign.” Miss Jones rose from the bench, tucked the book and pencil in her bag, and nodded. “Shall we be off, then? Where are you taking me? Keep in mind—I’m only your shadow. Carry on as though I’m not even here.”
“If you weren’t here, I’d be at the hospital.”
“This is true.” She gave him another grin. “So, where are we going, then?”
“Have you been to see the New York Society Library?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then let’s go there. I know I’m not to study medicine, but there are several thousand volumes there, and I should be able to find something other than medicine to pique my interest.”
He stepped onto the street and waited a moment for a cab for hire to pass by. He waved it down, then gave Miss Jones a hand up. “It is a pleasant day, but it would take us nearly an hour to walk to the library,” he explained.
She leaned forward as the horse began to move into the flow of carriages already on the street. “I haven’t ridden in a carriage since I arrived here, so this is quite exciting for me.”
Cause of Conflict (Nurses of New York Book 2) Page 5
