He looked at her in astonishment. “You haven’t taken a carriage at all?”
She shrugged. “My time has been spent either at the house or at the hospital. Jeanette and I did explore Central Park a bit when we first arrived, and that was exhausting. This is such a big city.”
“It is, with so much to see. It’s a shame that you haven’t taken more of it in.”
She cast him a sidelong glance. “Didn’t you say that you spend most of your time studying as well, Doctor?”
He gave a reluctant chuckle. “This is true. We should both make more of an effort to see the sights, then.”
“Yes, we should. And how is your headache now?”
“It seems to be all right.”
“Good. I wondered if the sounds of the passing carriages were becoming too much.”
“No, I believe I’m all right.”
A short time later, the cab pulled up in front of the library, and Edward helped Miss Jones alight. He paid the driver, then escorted Miss Jones inside. He’d been there frequently enough that it didn’t occur to him to appreciate the surroundings, but Miss Jones looked as though she’d wandered into some sort of fairy land.
“This is beautiful,” she all but breathed. “And the books—I’ve never seen so many books in one place before.”
“Where are you from, Miss Jones?” Edward asked as they walked between the bookshelves.
“Erie, Pennsylvania.”
“Erie. That’s a place with a lot of history. Rather key in winning the War of 1812, as I recall, what with the gathering of the naval fleet there?”
“Exactly. We’re rather proud of our heritage.” Miss Jones paused in front of a shelf. “Speaking of history, I believe we’ve found that section.”
They spent a very pleasant few hours browsing through the books and carrying the ones that looked interesting over to the table to read. Edward found himself surprised at Miss Jones’ choices. He’d thought she would head straight for the romances, but she’d been immersed in a study of the ancient Greeks for nearly twenty minutes without looking up once. Yes, he confessed to himself, he’d been glancing her way often enough to know that she was immersed.
He simply could not figure her out. One minute, she seemed completely irresponsible and with no more sense than a fashion plate, and the next, she showed remarkable intelligence and quality of mind. He wished she’d decide once and for all what it was to be, as he was becoming quite confused.
“How’s your headache?” she asked a moment later.
“Hmm? What?”
“Your headache, Doctor. How is it?” She seemed amused at his distraction, and he hastened to cover his oversight.
“It’s quite well, actually. I’d all but forgotten the issue in my reading of . . .” What was he reading? He glanced down at the book in front of him. “Plato.”
“Oh, I understand. He is a fascinating study. What’s your favorite of his teachings?” She tilted her head, a curl bouncing down alongside her face.
“My favorite?”
“Yes, Doctor. Which of his teachings is your favorite?” A smile was beginning to form at the corners of her mouth.
“I’d have to say . . .” He glanced down at the book again. “Knowledge is always proportionate to the realm from which it is gained.”
She looked at him curiously, as if expecting him to continue, but he sighed and pushed the book away. “In truth, Miss Jones, I haven’t read a word of this book. Instead, I’ve been studying you.”
“Me? Whatever for?”
“You’re unlike any young woman I’ve ever met, and I’m trying to take your measure.”
She lifted a shoulder. “You may ask me anything you like, if that would help.”
“All right, then.” He folded his arms on the table and leaned on them. “How did you come to decide that you wanted to be a nurse?”
She matched his posture. “I’ve always wanted to help people who are in pain. My grandmother suffers horribly from arthritis, and I’ve watched her endure treatments and salves and every sort of thing as she’s sought relief. She finds it comforting when I visit her and tell her about my day or read her amusing articles from the newspaper. She says it takes her mind off her troubles.”
Understanding began to dawn. “So that’s why you enjoy interacting with the patients as you do.”
“That’s right, Doctor. Because it helps.” She fixed him with an arch look, and he glanced away.
“Well now, I’m beginning to get hungry,” she said a moment later, closing her book and standing up. “Why don’t we go back to the house and see what Mrs. Everett has made for lunch?”
“Are you sure she won’t mind? I don’t think she cares for me much.” Edward stood up as well, then picked up both their books to return them to the shelf.
“She’s a dear old thing. I don’t think she’ll mind.” Miss Jones paused. “Why do you think she dislikes you? Did she say something?”
Edward turned from the bookshelf and rubbed the back of his neck. “She didn’t say anything in particular, but she referred to me as a project, and intimated that I’d better be on my best behavior with you.”
“And so you should,” Miss Jones returned with a grin as she walked past him toward the front of the library.
Chapter Nine
“And how was your first day with Dr. Gregory?” Miss Cantrell asked, taking a seat in the parlor across from where Sophie sat.
“I think it went well. He said he felt fine most of the day. His headache did start to return after dinner, so he went home to go to bed early.”
“How did you get along?”
Sophie shook her head. “He really is a mystery. One minute, I’m so perturbed, I want to wring his neck, but the next, he’s almost tolerable.”
Miss Cantrell laughed. “You may find this difficult to believe, but I felt the same way when I first met Dr. Russell.”
Sophie frowned, surprised. “But I thought the two of you got along so well together.”
“That came about after a long time. We began with an appreciation for the other’s skills, and that was enough to tide us over until we formed a better working relationship. Today, we’re very well suited because of the time we’ve spent learning about each other’s work habits. Sophie, I wish I could promise you that every doctor you work with will be easy to understand, but that’s not how the world works. You must learn to adapt yourself to every situation.”
“That sounds quite complicated.” Sophie gave a sigh. “It would be so much easier if the doctors were to adjust to me instead of the other way around.”
“They do their fair share of adjusting, but you must understand that they hold the lives of their patients in their hands, and they have more important things to think about than meeting the whims of each of their nurses. That’s why it falls on us to create a good working relationship and to maintain it.”
“But it does fall on them not to behave like Neanderthals, I hope.”
Miss Cantrell laughed again. “Yes, it does. Now, may I please see the notes you took today?”
Sophie handed over the book and waited while Miss Cantrell read. She understood the importance of adjusting to meet the needs of the doctors she worked with, but she did still wish that the doctors were held to the same sort of standard. Some of them were cheerful by choice—Dr. Saul, for instance. He had a naturally jolly way about him. But others could be ornery and complain, and no one said a word to them about their behavior. It seemed quite unfair.
“These are excellent notes, Sophie. Very well done.”
Sophie perked up. “Thank you. I know it’s only been one day, but I have to say that I believe this experiment is proving that Dr. Gregory does not have a brain tumor. Notice that his head felt better when we were in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m not aware of a brain tumor that would respond to nature that way.”
Miss Cantrell raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been doing some extra studying.”
“A bit, and then I got
distracted by a novel,” Sophie admitted. “But what I found is that for patients with tumors, very often, the symptoms don’t change depending on their environment. I think Dr. Gregory’s headaches are caused by stress, just as Dr. Russell suggested.”
Miss Cantrell nodded. “To that end, while you’re with him tomorrow, why don’t you ask him additional questions about his lifestyle and his family background, and let’s create more of a picture of why he might be experiencing high levels of stress.”
“You mean, I have permission to pry into his personal affairs?” Sophie wiggled her eyebrows up and down.
Miss Cantrell smiled. “Don’t think of it as prying. More like, investigating.”
“Oh, but it’s so much more fun to pry.”
“Well, whatever you call it, be certain Dr. Gregory knows it’s for his medical records so he doesn’t become perturbed with you.”
“He’s going to do that regardless,” Sophie pointed out. Really, it was his most favorite thing to do in the world.
***
Dr. Gregory was pacing in the foyer when Sophie came downstairs the next morning. They’d gotten along together fairly well the day before, so she had high hopes that would continue, but one look at his face told her she was in for a very unpleasant day.
“Good morning,” she said, determined to see if she couldn’t forestall the inevitable.
“You’re ten minutes late, Miss Jones,” he snapped.
“Yes, it appears that I am,” she said amiably. “Come into the dining room for a moment, and let’s discuss how your morning has gone so far.”
She could hear Miss Cantrell in the parlor teaching the other students about the various fluids they might encounter in bedpans, and she had to hide a smirk. She was quite grateful to be missing that particular lecture.
“Please, have a seat.” She motioned toward the table, and they both sat. “Now, before we begin, I must say, I’m finding it a little awkward, all this formality. My given name is Sophie, and I’d much prefer you call me that.”
“I don’t see why. This isn’t a friendship, Miss Jones. We’re only conducting an experiment, if you’ll recall.”
“Why, yes, I do recall that. And because of the data I’ve been gathering, I know that you’re currently experiencing a severe headache. When did it begin?”
“Sometime during the night. I’m not sure of the exact time.”
“What did you do last night after we parted ways?”
“I went back to my boardinghouse and went to bed. It was fairly quiet. Oh, and I read some letters that had just come in yesterday.”
“Oh? What sorts of letters?”
“One from my father, and the other from an old medical school friend.”
Sophie wrote that down. “You should know, Doctor, that Miss Cantrell has asked me to inquire as to your reasons for feeling emotional stress. Did either of those two letters upset you in any way?”
Dr. Gregory pressed his lips together. “My father is coming for a visit in a few days. I can’t say as that I’m very excited to see him.”
Sophie put down her pencil and leaned forward a little. “Because he doesn’t approve of you being a doctor?”
“That’s right. He was here for a short time last summer, and spent the bulk of his visit trying to convince me to return to Albany with him. ‘There are plenty of other doctors,’ he said over and over again. ‘Let them take care of the problems of the world.’ He simply doesn’t understand the urge I feel to take care of those problems myself.” Dr. Gregory paused and pressed his fingers to his temples. “I suppose an increase in pain is a good sign at this point, yes?”
“Yes. It very nicely supports our theory.” Sophie wrote that down. Then she studied his face for a moment. “You love your father very much, don’t you?”
Dr. Gregory shrugged. “Just as any son would love his father.”
“I believe his disapproval is bothering you quite a lot.”
“And you would be correct. My father has always believed in the family tradition—the son does what the father tells him to do. I think my father feels as though I’ve rejected him by turning to my own field of study, and he’s refused to let me explain.” Dr. Gregory closed his eyes and then opened them again. “I wish discussing this wasn’t necessary for my evaluation. I don’t like remembering how I’ve hurt my father.”
“I don’t think it’s just necessary, Dr. Gregory. I think it’s crucial.” Sophie set down her pencil again. She wanted to reach out and touch his hand where it lay on the table, but then she wondered where on earth that impulse had come from. “Don’t you see? Your relationship with your father is at the root of your headaches. You feel as though you’re betraying him, so you have these headaches because you feel guilty.”
Dr. Gregory looked at her with something akin to derision. “I have a guilt-induced headache? Come now, Miss Jones—where is your medical proof to back up this hypothesis?”
Sophie shook her head. “You of all people should know of the connection between the emotions and the physical, Doctor, with all the time you spend studying. Dr. Russell even spoke about it in his office the other day.”
“But what if . . .” He muttered something, then moved as if to stand up.
“But what if . . . what, Doctor? Please wait a moment. I’m not done with my notes.”
He settled back in his chair, looking entirely unwilling to be there. “What if I very much dislike that theory? What if I should be stronger than that?”
“Stronger than what?”
“What if I should be in better control of my emotions? What if I don’t want every feeling I have to overtake me and dictate how I must live my life?” He raised his voice, and Sophie could feel the frustration radiating off him.
Her mouth dropped open as she began to realize what he was saying. “Is that why you choose to remain so impersonal? You don’t want your feelings to be in control?”
“I can’t do my job as a doctor if I see every patient through the lens of emotion. How could you stand to cut open a person’s stomach if you took the time to get to know them first, to understand their thoughts and their desires and their dreams? I must remain impersonal if I am to operate on them, Miss Jones. I must keep myself impartial and separate or I cannot reach my hands into their intestines. Surely you must understand that.”
Sophie sat back with a thump and regarded him with new eyes. “I do. I understand it completely. I just wish that I’d understood it before.”
He shook his head. “It’s of no consequence now.”
“Of course it is. Now that I know why you’re being so . . . well, why you behave . . .” Her face turned red as she realized that she really had no polite way to say what she was thinking.
“So boorishly?” he supplied.
“Well, I wouldn’t have chosen that word exactly,” she demurred. “I was thinking more like, brusque.”
“And what difference would it have made to you if you had known that?” he asked. “Why do my internal struggles matter so much to you?”
“Because your entire attitude matters to me. If I’m trying to assist you and all you can do is snarl at me, don’t you suppose that has an effect on me? It’s very difficult for me to concentrate on my tasks when you’re hissing like some sort of enraged wildcat.”
“You’ll call me a wildcat, but you wouldn’t call me boorish?”
“Um . . .” Sophie picked up her pencil and found it very fascinating all of a sudden. “It’s important to share what we’re thinking, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
Sophie was quiet for a moment. “Stay here,” she said at last. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he called after her. “We’re chained together, if you’ll recall.”
She chuckled as she entered the kitchen. How could she forget?
A moment later, she returned to the dining room, carrying a tray.
“What’s all this?” he asked, coming to his
feet to take it from her. She was quite relieved—it was rather heavy.
“You looked like someone who needed some tea. And jam tarts.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “You just happened to have jam tarts on hand?”
“No. After I got home last night, I asked Mrs. Everett to make some, and she did. I told you, she really is a dear old thing.”
“She might be less dear if she heard you calling her old.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Sophie said complacently. “Now, Doctor, tell me how you take your tea.”
“Edward.”
“Hmm?” She pretended to study the tray. “I have sugar, cream, and lemon. I don’t seem to have any Edward.”
He reached out and caught her wrist. His hand was warm and gentle, and it utterly surprised her. “No, please. Call me Edward.”
She turned and smiled at him. “All right, Edward. How do you take your tea?”
“Two sugars, and just a bit of cream.”
She made his cup up like he asked and handed it to him, then offered him the plate of tarts.
“I can’t believe you did this for me,” he said, holding a tart aloft in salute.
“Oh, I didn’t do it for you. Talking about them set me to wanting one, so it was purely selfish on my part. You should be grateful there are any left at all.” Sophie put sugar and lemon in her tea, then settled in across from Dr. Gregory. Edward. That was going to take some getting used to.
They ate and sipped in silence for a moment, and Edward helped himself to a second tart. Sophie smiled to herself as she watched his shoulders relax.
“This is good tea,” he said after swallowing the last drop. “What’s in it?”
“Oh, just tea,” she answered vaguely. Gracious—how was she supposed to know what went into making tea? “And maybe a little willow bark.”
“Willow bark?”
“For your headache.” She shook her head. Really. It was as though he’d never heard of such a thing before.
“Thank you. I think it’s working.”
Cause of Conflict (Nurses of New York Book 2) Page 6
