A Haven for Her Heart

by Susan Anne Mason

  Later that day, however, instead of the interest waning as Ruth had hoped, it seemed that even more protesters had shown up, this time lining the sidewalk in front of Bennington Place and blocking the front gate. Ruth moved away from the parlor window, determined not to let those hooligans get the best of her temper. Cooler heads must prevail. It was only a matter of time until this all blew over, and if it didn’t, they still had some options, according to her lawyer.

  Unfortunately, the roof repairman was due to arrive soon, and Ruth wasn’t sure if he would be willing to go through the unruly crowd to gain access to the house. If he decided her business wasn’t worth the effort and canceled their agreement, Ruth would be hard-pressed to find another contractor who could come before their next scheduled inspection.

  She sighed. “Lord, why are they making this so difficult? We only want to help people. Is that such a terrible thing?”

  “Now who’s the one despairing?” Olivia’s voice preceded her into the room.

  “Oh no. Did I say that out loud?” Ruth shook her head.

  “You did.”

  “Don’t mind me. Just a moment of weakness.” She crossed the carpet. “I think I’d better call my lawyer again. If we can’t get this crowd to disperse, I’m afraid they’ll scare off the roofer.”

  Olivia’s brows crashed together. “We can’t allow that.”

  “Let’s hope my legal firm can pull a few strings and get someone over here to help.” Ruth had just started down the hall when a loud crash broke the silence, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

  “What on earth?” Ruth rushed back into the parlor and stared. A brick sat in the middle of the rug, surrounded by debris. The front window was shattered, with only one jagged shard remaining.

  Olivia stood with a hand pressed to her cheek. The sunlight glittered off tiny glass fragments in her hair. When she moved her hand away, a slash of red marked her skin.

  “Oh, my dear. You’re hurt.” Ruth moved toward her, but the almost feral look on Olivia’s face stopped her.

  A string of Italian words erupted, matching the fire in her eyes as she strode out of the parlor.

  Ruth’s heart jerked at the sound of the front door opening. Surely she wouldn’t confront the protesters. “Olivia, wait. Don’t go out there. It’s not safe.”

  By the time Ruth reached the front step, however, Olivia had marched down to the gate.

  “How dare you!” she shouted. “You have no right to damage our property.”

  The people shook their cardboard signs, waving them higher in the air, yelling insults.

  “Whores aren’t welcome here.”

  “We don’t want your filth in our neighborhood.”

  “Go back to the gutter where you belong.”

  Ruth gasped as a slew of eggs, tomatoes, and other rotten projectiles came hurtling over the gate.

  Olivia raised her arms against the barrage. “You’re all a bunch of hypocrites,” she shouted. “Leave us alone. We’ve done nothing to you.”

  In response, the crowd’s volume intensified.

  Alarm filled Ruth’s chest. Things were quickly getting out of hand. “Olivia, come back inside and we’ll call the police.”

  But the girl ignored her.

  Another volley of items flew over the fence, splattering the grass and the walkway. Ruth tried to shield herself from the onslaught, but something rank slid down her face and landed on her blouse. She brushed the slime from her cheek, blinking to clear her vision. Why had the crowd suddenly grown quiet? The eerie silence contained a nervous energy that seemed to pulse in the air.

  To her horror, she spied Olivia’s crumpled form on the ground in front of her.

  “Olivia!” Fighting a rush of panic that thrummed in her ears, she hurried to the girl’s side. All color had drained from Olivia’s face, leaving it as gray as the rock that had struck her. Blood flowed freely from a large gash above her temple.

  Ruth fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “Someone call an ambulance,” she cried as she pressed the material against the wound. “This girl needs help. Now!”

  20

  Darius drove slowly down the street toward Bennington Place. What was going on here? So many people lined the road and sidewalk that he couldn’t get past. Not willing to chance hitting a pedestrian, his only choice was to pull over and walk the rest of the way.

  After he parked the car, he headed toward the melee, elbowing his way through the crowd, many of whom carried placards. An undercurrent of subdued energy buzzed around him, but it wasn’t until he read the degrading slurs on their signs that his stomach began to churn. This was Walcott’s doing. He’d stirred up this nest of vipers with that dreaded newspaper article. Darius had hoped to reach Olivia to warn her in person before she saw it. But with all the uproar over Meredith and a minor crisis at the office this morning, he hadn’t been able to get away as early as he’d wanted. Now the best he could do was ensure that Olivia and the others were all right.

  “Stand back, please,” Darius said, then waited while some people moved away from the gate.

  “Are you the doctor?” One woman peered anxiously at him. “We didn’t mean to hurt her. We only wanted to scare them.”

  A cold chill slid down his back. “Hurt who?”

  But the woman ducked her head and backed away.

  Dear God, please don’t let it be—

  Darius entered the gate, closing it behind him with a clang. He turned to see Mrs. Bennington kneeling on the ground, holding a blood-soaked cloth against Olivia’s temple. His limbs went cold, and spots danced in front of his eyes. This couldn’t be happening again. Not another person he cared about injured by hate-induced violence.

  He gulped in a lungful of air, willing his vision to clear as he strode over. “What happened?” he rasped.

  “Oh, Mr. Reed. Thank goodness.” Relief slid over Mrs. Bennington’s face. “Help me get Olivia inside.”

  Darius bent to lift the cloth, revealing a gaping wound that made his stomach churn anew. “We need to get her to a hospital. My car is down the street. I’ll take her.”

  Before the older woman could protest, he slipped his arms beneath Olivia’s limp form, gathered her against his chest, and rose on unsteady legs. “Call the authorities, Mrs. Bennington. We can’t let these thugs get away with this type of violence. They must be held accountable.”

  He stalked off toward the car, silently daring anyone to try and stop him.

  Darius paced the waiting room at Toronto General Hospital. How long would it take for someone to come out and let him know how Olivia was doing? She hadn’t regained consciousness during the ride here, and Darius had found it almost impossible to concentrate on driving. In hindsight, perhaps he should have waited until someone could come with him. But at the time, his only thought had been to get Olivia help as fast as possible.

  He’d parked as close to the emergency entrance as he could and carried her in, shouting for a doctor. The nurse on duty had glared at him as though he’d totally overreacted.

  Then they’d whisked Olivia away, not allowing him to go with her, and he’d been forced to wait for what seemed like hours. All the while, a dark anger had stewed in his system. Olivia had been injured because that vile article had stirred up hatred in the community, a direct result of his boss’s lust for the Bennington property. Why hadn’t Darius been firmer when he told Walcott it was a bad idea? Could he have done something more to prevent this catastrophe?

  Unable to wait another minute, Darius approached the desk again. “Can someone please find out about Miss Rosetti for me?”

  The heavyset nurse looked up with a frown, then huffed out a breath. “Give me a minute.” Slowly she finished writing figures on a chart, then rose and went down the hall.

  What seemed like an eternity later, she finally returned. “Miss Rosetti’s wound has been stitched. The doctor fears she may have a concussion and is holding her overnight for observation. They’ll be transferring her to
a ward shortly.”

  Holding her overnight? Darius had not expected that. “Is she awake?”

  “No, she’s sleeping now.”

  He reined in his emotions long enough to summon a smile. “May I go back and see for myself? Just a quick look. I promise I won’t stay long.”

  The nurse rolled her eyes. “You have five minutes. Bed number ten.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” The fact that he’d been pestering the woman for hours might have worked in his favor.

  He headed back before she could change her mind. When he reached bed number ten, he peered around the curtained partition. Olivia lay there, her eyes closed, her dark hair spilling over the bedsheets. A white gauze bandage covered the right side of her head, and an angry red scrape marred one cheek. Under the harsh lights, her skin appeared almost translucent, and for the first time he realized how young she must be. She barely looked more than twenty. He grabbed a nearby chair and moved it beside the bed, then sat down and lifted one of her hands, stroking the soft skin with his thumb.

  His chest constricted as he gazed at her. He’d never seen her so still. She was always bustling here or there, eager to be of service.

  Lord, please let her be all right. She doesn’t deserve this conflict. All she’s trying to do is help women in trouble.

  He brought her hand to his lips, then rested it against his cheek. “You’re going to be all right, Olivia. You have to be. Those women need you.” The urge to hold her, to protect her from further harm, became almost impossible to fight. But propriety held him in check, and he settled for watching her in silence. He would stay until the nurse or security came to throw him out.

  Minutes later, however, Olivia’s lids fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes. Wincing, she pulled her hand free and strained to sit up.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “You’ve had a bad blow to the head.”

  “Darius?”

  “I’m right here. You’re in the hospital.”

  Her gaze darted from the bedside tray to the curtained partition. She jerked upright and plucked at the sheet covering her.

  “Olivia, no.” He reached for her hand again. “You need to lie back and rest.”

  Just then a different nurse entered the cramped area. She was a short woman, wearing a full-length white apron and cap, and had a stethoscope draped around her neck.

  Olivia stiffened, the look of fear increasing. Her whole body shook as she shrank back in the bed.

  “It’s only the nurse,” he said in his most soothing tone, one he used for Sofia after a nightmare. “She’s here to check on you.”

  Olivia turned and buried her face in his shoulder. “Don’t let her hurt me.”

  Why would she think the woman would hurt her? Perhaps her injury had made her confused. He put an arm around her and murmured soothing words, hating to see her in such distress.

  The nurse came forward. “There’s nothing to worry about, dear. I just need to check your vital signs.”

  But Olivia continued to shrink away.

  The woman speared Darius with a suspicious stare. “Are you responsible for this?”

  “Of course not!” Heat flooded his chest. “I would never hurt a woman.”

  “What happened, then? Who gave her that wound?”

  Darius debated how much to reveal but decided on the truth. “She was defending her home from protestors when she got hit with a rock.”

  The nurse recoiled in surprise. “What were they protesting?”

  “I guess you haven’t seen the paper. They were opposing the new maternity home in the neighborhood.”

  She glanced at Olivia, who still cowered against him. “This woman lives at a maternity home? There’s no indication on her chart that she’s expecting.”

  Darius shook his head. “Olivia helps run the facility. She’s committed her life to helping women in crisis.” A fierce pride laced his words, and he tightened his grip around her.

  The nurse’s demeanor softened. “It’s a brave thing you’re doing, Miss Rosetti. I’m sorry you got injured.”

  Whether it was the woman’s words or the extra gentleness to her tone Darius wasn’t sure, but Olivia slowly raised her head.

  “Can I go home?” she whispered.

  The nurse scanned the paper on her clipboard, then looked up. “If you have someone to watch over you for the next twenty-four hours, I’ll see what I can do to get you released. But the doctor will have the final say.”

  “I’m sure the women at the home will help,” Darius said.

  “All right, but you’ll need to impress upon them to follow the doctor’s instructions to the letter.”

  “I will, ma’am.”

  She turned her attention to Olivia. “If you’ll allow me to check your stitches and take your vital signs, I’ll go find the doctor.”

  Olivia moved slightly away from Darius. “No needles?”

  “No. I’ll give you medication that you can take orally.”

  Only then did Olivia appear to relax. “All right.”

  Darius rose. “I’ll wait outside while—”

  “No.” Olivia’s fearful brown gaze flew to him. “Please stay.”

  His heart twisted in his chest. How could he refuse such a plea? He turned to the nurse. “Is that all right?”

  “As long as you don’t get in my way, I’ve no objection.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be right here, then.” He stood by the footrail where Olivia could see him.

  What had her so spooked about the hospital? She seemed terrified of the nurse, yet she was fine with Dr. Henshaw. Was it the building or the profession? More and more things about Olivia Rosetti puzzled him.

  The nurse took Olivia’s temperature, listened to her heart rate, which was likely sky-high given her fear, and then checked her head wound.

  “The doctor did a nice job on those stitches,” she announced as she re-bound the area. “If you’re lucky, the scar will barely show.”

  Olivia remained silent.

  “Any headache? Blurred vision?”

  “No.”

  “What about dizziness, nausea, or vomiting?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Your temperature is normal, which is a good sign. If you develop any hint of a fever, call your doctor right away.”

  “I will.”

  The nurse stepped back. “I’ll go and see about your release now.”

  Only once the woman left did Darius realize that Olivia’s eyes had been trained on him the whole time. What had her so traumatized?

  Olivia gulped in a lungful of fresh air, thankful to get away from the horrible antiseptic smells that she would forever associate with the Mercer clinic.

  Darius helped her into his car, and she sat back with a sigh of relief, not even caring that her clothes were covered in dried blood and smelled like rotten produce. Darius had a fair bit of blood on him as well, likely from carrying her.

  She couldn’t believe he’d gone out of his way, waiting at the hospital all that time and then doing his best to calm her fears. It was more than she could comprehend.

  “Thank you for staying with me,” she said once he’d started the car. She stared straight ahead, unable to look at him. What must he think of her strange reaction?

  “I was glad I could be there.” He turned onto another street and beeped the horn at a slow-moving vehicle in front of him. “If it’s not too personal, may I ask why the nurse frightened you so much?”

  She swallowed. How could she ever explain? She’d never told anyone about the horrors she’d experienced while at the Mercer. Dr. Henshaw had guessed some of what had happened, but she doubted even he would believe the full story. She certainly wasn’t going to explain it to Darius. “I . . . had a bad experience with a woman doctor recently. It’s made me extremely wary of medical people.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. “But you don’t seem nervous around Dr. Henshaw. Is that because he’s a friend?”

  “I was nervous of him
too at first, but he’s earned my trust. Still, if he ever came near me with a needle or some medical instrument, I can’t predict how I’d react.” She attempted a weak smile.

  Darius glanced sideways at her, a troubled expression on his face. “I’m sorry you’ve had so much suffering, Olivia. And I hate what those protestors did. They should be arrested for their disgusting behavior.”

  “Yes, they should.” But would that stop all the forces against them? Olivia doubted it. “It’s strange,” she said. “I thought the hardest part would be opening the home in the first place. I never imagined the community would turn against us.” She winced as a ray of sun hit her eyes. “I can’t believe Mr. Simmons went to the paper and that they printed his venomous words. They never even bothered to check our side of the story.”

  When Darius remained silent, Olivia glanced over at him. A nerve pulsed in his jaw.

  “I’m afraid it wasn’t Mr. Simmons behind the article,” he said at last, “although he was more than willing to give his testimony.” His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “It was my boss who initiated the piece. He’s still bent on shutting your home down so Mrs. Bennington will sell.”

  With the throbbing in her temples, it took a moment for the full implication of his words to sink in. “Did you have anything to do with it?” she asked quietly.

  “No. Mr. Walcott came to me with the idea for the article, but when I didn’t act on it, he had one of my colleagues take over the assignment.”

  She released a soft breath. “I’m glad it wasn’t you. But that must have put you in a difficult position.”

  “Unfortunately, it did.” His features darkened. “But I intend to speak to my boss on Monday and let him know that I won’t be party to such underhanded tactics. Bennington Place is a worthy endeavor. He has no right to interfere with it.” He gave her a long look, a mixture of admiration and regret. A look that seemed laced with promise.

  The tension in her muscles began to ease. Perhaps as a result of all this uproar, Bennington Place had gained a new supporter. One who might make all the difference in keeping their home open.