Gently, he pushed his way through the door and closed it behind him. He leaned against it. Fear should have gone through her, but instead she was intrigued with his boldness. She should scream at the top of her lungs. She stood her ground.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” She crossed her arms in defense.
He didn’t look like a sex maniac or a masher, as her aunt used to call men who tried to seduce women. He didn’t have murder or even hate in his eyes.
“Are you all right?” His voice stayed a soft, deep rumble. “I heard about the motorcar coming through the restaurant window and killing that man. Were you hurt? I couldn’t get a damn thing out of Nurse Summit when I heard about it.”
She sighed, gratified and disturbed by his caring. Tension eased from her. “Yes, of course. I’m all right. Not a scratch on me. The men sitting at the table weren’t so lucky, of course. Both were killed, but one was ..." She took a deep breath. “He was headless.”
“Jesus Christ.” Cade whispered.
Tears filled her eyes, but she banished them in an instant. “It didn’t help that his head rolled out from under the car and rolled past Margaret Swartzberg’s feet. She started screaming. It kept going and came to a stop under the table next to my feet.” She shuddered. “I was stuck there for a moment with a head lying almost on my toes.” She’d wrapped her arms around her middle, but the cold wended through her like a river. “I didn’t scream.”
“I’m just glad you weren’t injured.”
“That’s why you came here tonight?”
His eyes darkened. “There’s something else, but now I’m in your room, I can’t do it.”
Fear returned. “Do what?”
“Give you a piece of my mind. I’ve thought of it for days now. Wanting to ask you questions about what happened when my sister died. To understand why you did what you did.”
“It wasn’t deliberate.” Tears filled her eyes again, but then she took a deep breath and marshaled the strength she’d always shown. “What happened to your sister was horrible. If it makes you feel any better, you can see my scars and know that I didn’t walk away from it without pain and suffering.” She warmed to her subject, the anger coming out hot. “You can’t know what I experienced. The guilt I feel every day. If you did, it might be enough for you to rejoice in it. Now if you don’t mind—”
“Do you have nightmares at night?”
His out-of-the-blue question struck her dumb for a moment. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“I used to take laudanum. They gave it to me in the field. I discovered it helped me sleep.”
“You’re lucky it didn’t give you more nightmares.”
His mouth twisted in a smirk. “I haven’t been lucky for a damned long time. I came to Tranquil View for two reasons. Three maybe. One, to get rid of the dreams. Two ... I wanted to lose my dependence on the laudanum. Three, and most important, I wanted to find you.”
She watched his eyes, his expression, wondering if the gentleness she felt coming from him now was an act—an illusion that could result in her downfall. She couldn’t trust him. “I commend you for getting help, but not for trying to find me, or for being in my room. Is that the way you hope to get even with me? You’re hoping we’ll be found together and my reputation will be ruined? I could lose my job.”
He smiled. “Maybe that is what I want. But there’s a new problem. One I don’t like one damned bit. Before I knew who you were, I wanted to kiss you. I realize that would be a good way to get revenge on you.” He took a step closer. “Come in here and taint your reputation.”
Anger surged upward inside her. “You’re not an honorable man, Captain Hale, if you would do that. What would your fiancée think?”
“Fiancée?” He snorted. “How did you know I had one?”
She frowned. “Velia mentioned it once.”
He stuffed a hand in his hair and shrugged. “She left me as soon as she realized I was checking myself into the asylum. She said she didn’t intend to marry a man who didn’t have full use of his faculties, even if he did have money.”
“That’s horrible. I mean ... that she wished to marry you for money.”
He snorted softly. “You think a woman marrying for money is a bad thing?”
“I would never do it.”
“Hmm. Admirable, Nurse Dorrenti.” He shrugged. “To be fair to Matilda, her father wanted her to marry me because I’m a West Point graduate and my family has money.”
He stared at her so long that Annabelle wanted to fidget. She didn’t like how he unsettled her with his direct looks and husky deep voice. He took another step forward. Another. Until he stood far too close. She breathed deeply to calm her pounding heart, and to settle the crazy yearning that burst inside her. It made no sense. She wanted to run, and yet she didn’t. She couldn’t make her feet move. But as he leaned forward and slipped his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, hot desire trembled low in her stomach. He brushed a gentle taste across her lips. Her mouth tingled as his lips clung to hers and she responded for one tiny increment. Then common sense kicked in. She drew away quickly and stepped back.
“Stop.” Annabelle shivered with feelings and wants she hadn’t acknowledged in a long time. “Please leave.”
She took the chance and looked into his eyes. Dark mystery resided in that gaze, and she yearned to understand. What drove this man? Boldness surely. He didn’t hesitate to do anything he cared to do. Or did he? Heat and desire lingered in his eyes, but so did mistrust. Desire was animal—a feral need inside most humans. She’d heard of men and women who actively disliked each other, finding heated sex between the sheets. Such an idea had never made sense to her. Until now.
“There,” he said softly. “I’ve got that out of my system. I won’t do it again.”
He turned away from her, hand on the doorknob. Before he could open it, a knock came on the door. Annabelle jumped, startled.
“Damn,” he said softly as he opened the door.
Penelope didn’t appear shocked to see him, but she did look angry. She wore her nightgown, robe, and slippers. “What are you doing here, Captain Hale? Are you trying to ruin her reputation and get her dismissed?”
“Penelope, it’s all right.” Annabelle didn’t know why she was coming to his defense. She shouldn’t.
“I’m leaving.” And he did. Penelope shifted away from the door to allow him to depart.
She came into Annabelle’s room and closed the door. She kept her voice to whisper. “What on earth are you thinking? You know what happened to Susette Pizer two months ago when she let that patient ... well, you know.”
Annabelle sighed, knowing she deserved the lecture. She crossed to her bed and sat down. “He’s not like Suzette Pizer’s boyfriend. It isn’t like that. I didn’t sleep with him. He just came by to see if I was all right after what happened in the restaurant.”
“What? I thought he hated you.”
“I think he still does. The man is disturbed. Who knows how he thinks?”
Penelope sat on the bed next to her. “I get it. My mother always said my imagination was too good. I didn’t need to see a guy’s head chopped off to get some idea of how you felt. The war is awful. But you’re here now, and it’s all right. You have a good thing here at the asylum. Lulu and Margaret understand since they were in France, too. But I feel like you and I know each other better.”
“You’re a true friend. Thank you for looking after me.”
Penelope smiled brightly. “So, tell me. Did he kiss you?”
Annabelle’s face burned. “How did you know?”
Penelope tapped her temple with her index finger. “Penelope knows all.”
Annabelle rolled her gaze to the ceiling and laughed. “God save me. How odd is that? I mean, that he would kiss me. He hates me.”
“Love and hate can be close together. I’m wondering one thing, though. Maybe we should suggest to Nurse Summit that we get locks for our doors. I cannot believ
e it hasn’t been done before. We’re living on the wards, which isn’t the way it’s done at many of the asylums around the country. Most places have separate buildings for staff.”
“I know. I think you’re right. Let’s suggest it to Nurse Summit and she can go to the superintendent.”
“In the meantime, keep your chair wedged under the doorknob. I always do.”
Annabelle gazed at the door, thinking what would happen if a man—any man—decided to come into her room unwanted. You could have yelled, could have protested harder when he came in your room. Why didn’t you?
“How did you get to be so wise, my friend?” she asked as she followed Penelope to the door.
“It’s because I’m older than you.”
Annabelle snorted. “Two whole years older.”
“Counts for a considerable amount.”
“Get out of here, old woman.”
Penelope opened the door and slipped outside. Annabelle watched her friend retreat to her room next door. They were the only nurses on this part of the ward. Others had rooms on the different floors. In truth, the superintendent had discussed the idea of an additional building being erected on site for staff. He needed state funding for it first, and approval hadn’t come through. In the meantime, the staff would have to make do. She started to move back into her room when she heard and felt ... it.
Since she’d come to the asylum she’d felt this ... whatever it was. She shivered as the sensation came over her. She rubbed her arms and stared around the dimly lit hallway. Because her room was located on the first floor ward in a single-loaded hallway, her room faced a blank wall rather than another set of rooms.
“It” was the only word she could think of to describe the sensation—a creepy, horror tale awareness of someone or something lurking around. No one stood in the hallway, but for the life of her, she couldn’t deny the belief that someone stared at her. It stared and had malice in their heart. Ridiculous.
Unnerved, she returned to her room.
Annabelle propped the wood chair under the doorknob before she returned to bed.
* * *
Annabelle and Penelope ate their evening meal the next day in the staff dining area on the bottom floor between the wards and near the administration offices. Annabelle was tired, and she abandoned her fork to rub her eyes. Her shift had been long and wearisome. Several of the men had seemed extraordinarily restless. She couldn’t blame them. Everything had conspired against them. Here they were in an institution for the insane, tormented by their memories of war, and now an epidemic sliced across the country like the avenging hammer of Thor. Everything in their lives plotted to destroy whatever they had left.
Wind rattled the windows, and Annabelle felt a draft race across her ankles. Her feet and hands were cold all the time, but since she couldn’t wear gloves or boots in the ward, she’d have to deal with it. Discomfort didn’t bother her in the way it would have before the war. She understood true inconvenience and deprivation, and this place was pure luxury in comparison to her experiences in France. She almost reached down to touch her left leg. A habit she’d learned to squash, but sometimes it returned. Her calf ached, but she reminded herself she was lucky to have the leg at all.
Annabelle glanced up from her food at her good friend, thankful for quiet times where she could imagine life had few troubles. Penelope’s bubbling personality and strength belied her angelic looks. From the time she’d entered the asylum, she’d received at least a half dozen marriage proposals. She’d turned down every one.
Penelope stared at her meal. “This is the most unappetizing pudding I have ever seen.”
“Chocolate? I’ve never known you to miss an opportunity for chocolate. Eat it up. I heard this is rare stuff most anywhere else.” Annabelle smiled at her friend, amused and sympathetic. “You have to admit the roast beef and potatoes were very good.” She looked into the bottom of her black coffee. “Then again, I’m not sure anything on this table is real.”
Penelope stifled a huge laugh, her eyes alive with pure mirth. “You think the cook stirs the coffee with a mouse tail? That’s what Lillian Fordice said a few days ago.”
“Lillian is strange.”
“And she’s not even a patient.”
They giggled—a girly, delightful sound. Laughing like this lifted Annabelle’s spirits and reminded her that life could feel extraordinary.
Penelope finally stopped laughing. “And how is the coffee?”
“Interesting flavor. The bouquet of rodent tail perhaps.” Annabelle drank it anyway. “It keeps me awake and that’s all that’s important.”
Silence entered the room, but it didn’t last long. Penelope made a noise that said she’d remembered an important something. “I overheard Nurse Summit telling another nurse that the superintendent got an urgent call from the Army asking for more nurses.”
Annabelle’s heart felt like it might stop. “What?”
Penelope smirked. “That’s right. They want us to go back.”
Annabelle cringed inside. “I can’t go back. I don’t have anything left to give them. Nothing.”
Penelope’s gaze was steady as she nodded. “Neither do I. The superintendent told them all the nurses were desperately needed here to tend to the soldiers.”
Annabelle sighed. “Are we really? Do these men need us?”
Penelope switched gears quickly. “The superintendent called the state asking for permission to close the asylum to all further patients and to quarantine us until the influenza has gone.”
“And?”
“And Nurse Summit talked to a nurse she knows in Philadelphia.” Penelope didn’t have the lighthearted expression anymore. It had completely gone underground. “It’s the enza. It’s ravaged the city worse than any disease we’ve seen before, Annabelle. Anything.”
A spike of fear, raw and painful, struck Annabelle to the soul. She remembered how she’d felt the first time she’d seen droves of men coming in to the field hospital in France. Their horrible injuries. Their lives torn asunder in the most destructive ways. She denied the fear, shoved it away, and stuffed it into a corner where it couldn’t find her. “I hate it when people call it enza,” Annabelle said. “Why don’t they just say influenza? This is the first influenza outbreak where no one wants to call it what it is.”
“People are frightened. I don’t care what any of the authorities say. This isn’t like normal influenza. People give it a name that makes it seem less intimidating. Less real. Aren’t you afraid?”
Annabelle decided. “I can’t afford to be. Doing my job would be impossible. If there’s one thing France taught me, it was to live one day at a time. What else can I do?”
Penelope grasped her coffee mug in both hands. “Nothing, I suppose. You’re right. It’s hard to imagine a time when it’ll be like it was before the war. Remember then?”
Annabelle shrugged. “The good old days that never were?”
Penelope laughed again, but this time the sound lacked conviction. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound callous. Your life before the war was wonderful.”
Penelope’s gaze turned inward. “Yes it was.”
Annabelle knew Penelope wouldn’t want to elaborate on things they already knew. Penelope’s fiancé had been killed in the war, and the experience had crushed her so deeply she’d left France and the Red Cross to come here. In that, they were the closest of sisters. Annabelle had followed her friend not long after, for equally tragic reasons.
“Now we have the enza—I mean influenza to deal with. I heard it has reached Denver, too,” Penelope said.
“Puppy's tails.” Annabelle didn’t have a problem with cursing in front of Penelope, even though the woman had grown up in higher society in San Diego. Today, though, she wanted an innocent thing to say. “Even war sounds easier than influenza to me.”
“From what I’ve heard of the symptoms, war is easier.”
They went quiet a moment, before Annab
elle returned with a grave statement. “I heard what it was like for many of the men at Camp Devens. One man went through there right before all hell broke loose with the disease. He told us what it was like, and I don’t want to imagine that happening here.” She shuddered just recalling his description of how men died. “He told me the nurses and doctors felt helpless as they watched people drop. At least with bombs and gas and bullets men know who the enemy is and can try to defend themselves against it. With disease ... well ..."
Penelope rubbed her arms, as if she’d been embraced by a man with arms of snow and ice. “Billy Turpin ... you know that barely sane one?”
“Yes.”
“He described how he was hospitalized in Philadelphia and he thought the end of the world was coming. He was in a cot in a drill hall and no one came to tend him. They couldn’t. There were thousands of them around him. Most dead or dying. Once he felt better, he took the first train he could get across country.”
“He’ll be in a heap of trouble when the authorities discover where he’s at,” Annabelle said.
“I suppose he thought being court marshaled couldn’t be worse than staying where everyone is dying.” Penelope’s eyes turned haunted, her frown filled with sudden sorrow.
Annabelle’s sympathy cut deep, and she swallowed hard. “You’re right. I probably would have done the same thing. Run like the wind.”
Penelope stirred the pudding, then took a bite. She screwed up her face and placed the spoon back in the bowl. “Some people are dying the same day they fall ill. The same day. Every day the death toll rises horribly. Death is their constant companion in places like Philadelphia. What do we do when it gets here?”
Hair on the back of Annabelle’s neck prickled.
Penelope swallowed hard. “I didn’t leave the damn war just to die of a disease.”
Annabelle shuddered. “Are we living in hell?”
Her friend’s eyes reflected sudden hope. “There must be a reason we’re still alive. We lived ... we are living.”
Are we?
“Nurse Summit reminded me the other day we’re not immune just because we’re out in the boonies, and I already knew that,” Penelope said. “I wish she hadn’t told me about Emma Snyder. She was one of the first nurses to tend sailors at Pennsylvania Hospital.” When Penelope’s gaze locked with Annabelle’s, Penelope said, “She was only twenty-three when she died.”
Shadows Rise Page 4