An Unexpected Love

by Tracie Peterson

  Jonas shook his head. “She’s staying at Broadmoor Island until December. Even if she had returned to Rochester, I doubt I’d be able to convince her without answering a surfeit of questions. Now that she’s attained her legal majority, it’s become more difficult to manage her.”

  “I’ll transfer what I can, but it won’t be near what you need.” Mortimer jotted a note on a piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket. Obviously a reminder of what must be done.

  Jonas pointed toward the older man’s pocket. “You shouldn’t be writing down any of this information. Too risky.”

  “The paper merely says Jonas and the word transfer. I don’t think anyone would find those two words incriminating.”

  “All the same, I prefer you keep mental notes. If you need a reminder, I’ll ask you next week if you’ve completed the task. Make certain you transfer as much as possible. These losses are creating havoc with my business dealings.”

  Mortimer removed the paper from his pocket, tore it into tiny pieces, and shoved them across the desk. “I understand. No doubt Amanda’s schooling and living expenses are going to create quite an exorbitant expense, as well.”

  Jonas scooped up the pieces of paper and placed them in a nearby ashtray. He would burn them once Mortimer departed. “Amanda won’t be going to school. I contacted the college and told them to deny her admission. She would never accept my refusal, but if the college does not accept her application, she’ll have no choice but to remain at home and find a wealthy husband. College is no place for women. It’s a complete waste of money. Marriage and children—that’s what suits women.”

  “Well, I wholeheartedly agree, but I must say that I’m surprised you’ve permitted her to work over at the Home for the Friendless with Dr. Carstead. People do talk, and what I’ve heard hasn’t been good.” He furrowed his brow and leaned closer. “Your friends wonder why you would even consider consenting to such an unseemly arrangement.”

  Jonas forced a laugh. “There would have been no peace under my roof if I had objected. Both Victoria and Amanda were determined. After dealing with financial woes all day, the last thing I wanted was to come home and listen to a harping wife and daughter.”

  “Back in my day a woman knew her place,” Mortimer said.

  “Times change, Mortimer. Besides, with Amanda on the island for the summer, I thought she might forget about pursuing a medical career. Unfortunately, she still seems set upon the idea. Having Clara Barton visit the island several times didn’t help my cause, either. That woman did nothing but encourage Amanda to follow her dreams. Little wonder Miss Barton remains a spinster. I’ve never met a woman so set in her ways.”

  Mortimer removed his pipe from his jacket pocket and filled the bowl with tobacco. “Then you had best put a halt to Amanda’s working, or you’re going to have your own Clara Barton to deal with.”

  “I suppose it’s time I concentrated on finding a suitable man for her.”

  Mortimer tamped the tobacco and nodded. “She’s far beyond marriageable age. But as you’ve discovered, this generation tends to dislike arranged marriages. They want to fall in love,” he said, patting his palm on his heart.

  “Amanda will do as she’s told or face the consequences. I expect her to marry someone who will bring something substantial to this family, either name or prosperity—hopefully both. I don’t intend to have her marry some irresponsible fellow who’s only interested in the Broadmoor wealth.”

  “Broadmoor wealth?” Mortimer chuckled. “If your investments don’t soon see some improvement, such a suitor would be in for quite a surprise.”

  After offering a fleeting good-bye to her father and mother, Amanda stopped in the foyer and pinned her straw hat into place. The morning mail sat on the walnut pier table, and she stopped to riffle through the envelopes. Her heart quickened at the sight of an ivory envelope with a college seal emblazoned in the upper left corner. Finally! She was beginning to think she would never receive her letter of acceptance.

  Fingers trembling, she carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. Quickly scanning for the date when classes would begin, her eyes locked upon the words unacceptable candidate. Still reading, she stumbled toward the sitting room and dropped to the sofa. This couldn’t be possible. There must be some mistake. Surely her qualifications were equal to any other candidate who’d applied for admission—probably better. She traced a finger beneath each sentence. The letter said her application hadn’t been received in a timely manner, yet she knew that couldn’t be true, for she had mailed it long ago. She would appeal the decision, and they would be forced to accept her.

  Surprise soon bowed to anger, and she marched into the dining room, where her parents were finishing their breakfast. Holding the letter by one corner, she waved it in front of them. “Can you believe they are refusing me entry into medical school?”

  Her father arched his brows. “I told you that these schools give preferential treatment to men. You shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Amanda slapped the letter beside his plate. “Look at this.” She pointed to the sentence that mentioned her late application. “That’s impossible. I sent in my application nearly a year ago. How could it be late?”

  Her father shook his head. “Who can say what happens with these things, but you should simply consider it a sign that medical school isn’t in your future.”

  “What?” She yanked a chair from beneath the table and sat down next to him. “I plan to appeal their decision. This is unfair.”

  Her father picked up the letter and quickly scanned the contents. “Many things in life are unfair, but it doesn’t mean you can change them.” He pointed at a paragraph near the end of the letter. The admissions board will entertain no further action on your application. This decision is final. “I believe the matter is settled, Amanda. Even if you send a letter requesting an audience with the board, it appears they’ll refuse you.”

  “And school will likely be in session by the time they would reconsider,” her mother said.

  “If they would even reconsider,” her father added. “And from the tenor of this letter, I doubt they will.” He sipped his coffee and returned the cup to its saucer. “We need to set aside all of this talk and consider your future.”

  Amanda couldn’t believe her ears. What did her father think this was about if not her future? “Medicine is my future, Father. My application to medical college was the first step in that direction.”

  “I’m discussing your real future—marriage, children. We need to find you a husband.” He glanced at her mother. “Who was that young man Mrs. Stovall mentioned the other evening? He sounded like an excellent prospect.”

  Amanda jumped up from the table. “I’m not going to listen to this. Dr. Carstead will be waiting for me at the Home for the Friendless.”

  Despite her mother’s plea to remain and further discuss her future with them, Amanda raced down the hallway and out the front door. It now appeared that her mother was going to join ranks with her father to encourage a proper marriage. Well, that didn’t interest Amanda—not in the least. When she’d settled in the carriage, she removed the letter from her pocket and once again read it. Tears wouldn’t help the situation, but she hadn’t been able to stem the flow. She removed a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. She must stop this silly crying. After crumpling the letter, she shoved it into her reticule. Perhaps anger would defeat the overwhelming sadness that had taken up residence in her heart.

  As the carriage came to a halt in front of the Home a short time later, she wiped her eyes one final time and inhaled a deep breath. “You may pick me up at the usual time,” she called to the driver. With a determined stride she entered the Home and walked down the hall to the area designated for medical treatment.

  Dr. Carstead pointed to the time. “I thought you’d decided to remain abed, Miss Broadmoor.”

  Her shoulders tightened at the remark. She was only two minutes late, and he was already taking he
r to task. “I would remind you that I am a volunteer, Dr. Carstead. If I am two minutes late, I don’t expect to be chastised.” Her voice quivered, and he turned to look at her.

  “Oh, please don’t cry. I didn’t think you were one of those weepy ladies who resort to tears when corrected.”

  She forced herself to think of something pleasant, something happy, anything to keep from actually shedding a tear in front of this pompous man. “I am not crying. I am angry.”

  His hazel eyes narrowed and considered her with great intensity. Then his voice softened with seeming concern. “You may not be crying at this moment, but you have been. What’s the matter, Amanda?”

  She wasn’t certain if it was the gentleness of his final words or the fact that he hadn’t addressed her as Miss Broadmoor, but her tears coursed down her cheeks.

  He yanked a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and shoved it into her hand. “If you don’t dry those tears, we’ll have enough water in here to compete with Niagara Falls. Come sit down and tell me what this is all about.”

  Between hiccups she tried to explain, then finally retrieved the letter from her purse and shoved it toward him. “Read this.”

  “You’re upset because they’ve denied you admission,” he said after perusing the letter. He handed the letter back to her. “So you plan to give up?”

  “I wanted to appeal, but—”

  He shook his head. “There’s no need for such drama, Miss Broadmoor—nor for that medical school. You can work and train with me. Few doctors are privileged enough to attend formal training at a college, but that hardly keeps them from becoming physicians. When I believe you’re adequately trained, you may be certified for medical practice.” He waved toward the patients waiting in the reception room. “There is no lack of patients here at the Home, and many of the women and children would prefer a woman doctor seeing to their needs.”

  “You’re doing this because you feel sorry for me,” she murmured.

  Blake laughed. “Miss Broadmoor, I have never felt sorry for you. You live a life of wealth and luxury that few will ever know. You are pampered and spoiled at every turn and are given your way so much of the time that a simple letter telling you no threatens to defeat you in full.”

  Amanda sobered completely at his words. Gone were her tears and frustration with the school. “How dare you say I’m spoiled? You hardly know me well enough to make such judgments. I have never met a more objectionable man in all my life. All I want to do is learn about healing. I just want to serve my fellow man.”

  He grinned and crossed his arms casually against his chest. “And I just offered you a way to do both.”

  “But you said . . . you said that I was pampered and spoiled.”

  “And you are. Do you deny that you have a new gown whenever you desire? Have you ever gone hungry because there wasn’t enough food in the cupboard?” He raised a dark brow and challenged her with his look to reply.

  “Well, just because I have clothes and food hardly means I’m spoiled. I care about the people around me. I want to help others. Spoiled people do not seek to help anyone but themselves. They sit around focused on their own needs, and when they do not get their own way, they . . .” Her words trailed off. He was smiling at her, and the truth suddenly began to sink in.

  “Yes? You were saying?”

  “Oh bother.” She whirled on her heel. “There’s work to be done, and I’m not going to stand here and argue with you.”

  “Good. I’m glad you see it my way.”

  She turned abruptly and crashed against Blake, not realizing he had chosen to follow closely after her. He tried to steady her, but his touch so shocked Amanda that she pushed him away. The action served neither of them in good stead. They both landed on their backsides and could only sit staring at each other in surprise.

  Amanda was mortified. She wanted to apologize but at the same time knew it would only bring another round of sarcasm from the good doctor.

  Just then her uncle Quincy walked into the room. He looked at them both and grinned. “Are we so poor that we can’t afford furnishing chairs upon which you can sit?”

  Carstead laughed and jumped to his feet. “Miss Broadmoor was merely showing me the lack of proper cleaning done in this room. No doubt she will wish to scrub the floor quite thoroughly after we tend to the sick.”

  Amanda clenched her jaw but said nothing. Blake held out his hand in a rather tentative manner.

  “If my touch doesn’t offend, might I assist you off the floor?”

  Amanda looked at her uncle and then at Blake. “Thank you,” she managed to say. She took hold of his hand and was quickly on her feet.

  “Well, if you two are done with the floor inspection,” Uncle Quincy said, “I believe I’ll get the papers you said you had for me, Blake.”

  “Certainly.” Blake left Amanda and went to his desk.

  “Amanda, should you wish to inspect the floors in my office,” Uncle Quincy said with a glance over his shoulder, “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

  Amanda shook her head and went to the hook by the door for her apron. “Men,” she muttered, knowing her uncle wouldn’t understand.

  “Well, what do you think?” Paul asked when he and Amanda arrived in front of the house.

  “The location isn’t bad, but let’s see what the inside is like before I render a final opinion, shall we?”

  When the family had returned to Rochester the last day of August, Paul had anticipated a tour of the house with Amanda the following day and the finalization of the purchase—if it met with her approval. Unfortunately, his plans hadn’t coincided with Amanda’s. She’d been busy with her duties at the Home, and the Labor Day parade and celebration had interfered, as well.

  “I’d begun to worry whether you would have time to visit the house before leaving for college,” he told her as they toured the grounds. “Mr. Jefferson has been anxious to sell, and I’ve been equally worried that he would sell to someone else. I’d hate to disappoint Sophie.”

  “She would understand if the place was less than perfect for the two of you. But from what I see, it looks quite lovely.”

  “The yard is nice, but it could use some bushes and flowers,” Amanda continued. “I like the large porch. Sophie can sit out here with the baby come springtime. And Fanny will have ideas for plantings. She’s the one who is talented with flowers and shrubs. I’m certain she’ll suggest lilac bushes along each side of the house.”

  With paper and pencil in hand, Amanda instructed Paul to measure the rooms while she sketched them on the paper. Mr. Jefferson, the owner of the house, appeared baffled by the procedure, but he led them through the house and answered Amanda’s countless questions.

  When they finally returned to the foyer, he rested his hands on his hips. “So are you going to buy? I can’t wait much longer for my money.”

  Before Paul could reply, Amanda grasped Paul by the arm. “We need to speak privately for a moment,” she told Mr. Jefferson.

  The older man heaved a sigh and ambled toward the parlor while Amanda and Paul stepped outside. “Down here,” she said, directing Paul toward the yard. “We don’t want him to hear what we say.”

  “You don’t like the house?”

  “I like it very much, but you should offer him less. He’s anxious to sell, and I think he’ll take a lower price.”

  Paul frowned. “But the house is worth what he is asking.”

  “Yes, but the economy has slowed considerably. Money is tight with many people, and everyone understands the need for compromise and bargaining.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” Amanda said, hands on hips. “This is the way business is done. I’ve seen my father at work a hundred times before. Offer less.”

  “How much less?” he asked.

  She sensed his unease. “Let me talk to him.”

  At Amanda’s urging, the owner agreed to lower the price by two hundred and fifty dollars. By afternoon’s end, the c
ontract had been signed, money had passed hands, and Amanda’s sketches for Sophie were in the mail, along with a promise to add further details when she returned to the island for a visit.

  She didn’t mention her admission to medical school had been denied. No need to mix bad news with good.

  29

  Saturday, October 15, 1898

  The crispness of the fall air brought a smile to Paul’s face. He was anxious for Sophie’s return to Rochester, and he viewed each passing day as another step toward attaining his goal. His mother used to tell him such thinking was simply wishing one’s life away; Sophie had once told him her grandfather used to say the same thing. Apparently older people were more inclined to see it that way, but Paul didn’t believe it to be true. He believed his life would truly begin the day Sophie returned from Broadmoor Island.

  For today, he would be content to surprise her with a visit. With new construction and additional residents at the Home, there had been little opportunity for him to do so. He and Amanda had made one journey to the island after his purchase of the house had been completed. Both Sophie and Fanny had been filled with excitement as they listened to the many attributes of the home. He grinned, remembering how his heart had swelled with pride when Sophie assured him she would be pleased with whatever he had chosen for them. Since that visit, their contact had been through letters. He’d been diligent in his effort to write, but Sophie’s letters had been sporadic. Seclusion on the island didn’t provide adequate fodder for letters, or so she said, but he would have been pleased with a daily update on her health.

  Paul settled on the train, delighted he’d have the next few days to enjoy time with Sophie. His time at Broadmoor Island would also yield a brief respite for Fanny. Providing daily companionship for Sophie was no small chore, for his wife bored easily. He’d brought along several books for the two women to read, along with some fabric Amanda had sent with sewing instructions. If all of the baby clothes had been completed, Sophie and Fanny were to begin stitching kitchen curtains. He doubted Sophie would be pleased to see additional fabric and thread, yet he didn’t mention that fact to Amanda. After all, she’d done her share to put the new house in order.