The Dark and the Dawn (Kansas Crossroads Book 3)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Jeanette looked around with interest. Aside from the train station, the hotel, and the general store, she hadn’t seen much of Topeka since her arrival.

  “Where are you from, Miss Peterson?” Dr. Wayment asked.

  “Just a tiny place, nothing like this,” she replied, deflecting the question. “What about you?”

  “I’m from a town in upstate New York called Palmyra,” he said, giving the reins another flick. “I believed I could do more good out here, so I found myself a new home.”

  “I know Tom White is certainly glad you came west,” Jeanette said, pleased that her distraction had worked and they were now talking about the doctor’s life again. “I can’t imagine what would have happened without you there.”

  “Now, now, Miss Peterson, you’ve already got the position. There’s no need to butter me up.” Dr. Wayment pulled the buggy up in front of a small cottage just a few streets from his home. “I do appreciate the compliment, however.”

  “I wasn’t trying to butter you up,” Jeanette protested, but then she caught the twinkle in his eye as he came around the buggy and helped her down. She was grateful that he’d thought of it—she detested leaping down from buggies or wagons without assistance. She always tended to lose her balance, and once she’d toppled into the dirt.

  The door to the cottage opened, and out came a woman in a worn blue dress. Her eyes were tired, but they lit up when she saw Jeanette.

  “You’ve brought a guest today, Dr. Wayment,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Indeed I have, Mrs. Brown. This is Miss Peterson. She’s to be my new nurse.”

  Mrs. Brown bobbed a curtsy. “I’m glad to meet you, Miss Peterson.”

  Jeanette returned the gesture. “And I’m glad to meet you. I’m new to town, and I don’t know very many people.”

  “And I’ve lived here for years and barely know a soul. I suppose that’s what happens when you keep to yourself.” Mrs. Brown ushered them into her house. Jeanette glanced around, immediately feeling at home. It reminded her so much of where she’d grown up.

  “I’d introduce you to my husband, but he’s working over at the hotel today,” Mrs. Brown said apologetically.

  “I’ve seen him from a distance—I work at the hotel as well,” Jeanette explained. She walked over to the side of the bed that stood in the corner of the main room. She didn’t see a doorway leading into an additional separate sleeping area, but that didn’t surprise her. Extra rooms were a luxury many people couldn’t afford. “And this must be Daisy,” she said, looking down at the small girl who lay curled up in the blankets. The child gazed back up at her with wide eyes.

  Dr. Wayment explained the child’s condition, how it was discovered, and what was being done to treat her. Jeanette listened carefully, all the while studying the little girl’s face. Her eyes spoke of being accustomed to hardship, yet there remained an innocence about her that Jeanette was glad to see.

  “She’s been battling a fever, and it’s mostly gone now,” Dr. Wayment continued. “I administered some willow bark yesterday, which is a natural compound excellent for fever reduction. I read about it years ago in one of the articles you saw in my office—the ones making the place so cluttered.”

  “I’ve had experience with willow bark,” Jeanette said. “My grandmother used it all the time. She said it’s an old Indian treatment.”

  “It could very well be. Much of what we have today comes from Indian wisdom.” Dr. Wayment checked Daisy’s forehead, then gently probed her stomach with his fingertips. The girl kept her eyes trained on him, but she didn’t seem to be in any discomfort at all.

  “There now. That’s quite an improvement.” Dr. Wayment nodded in satisfaction. “How do you feel, Daisy?”

  The child didn’t answer, but glanced at her mother instead.

  “She’s rather shy,” Mrs. Brown said by way of explanation. “She told me this morning that she feels a lot better, and that she likes milk.”

  “Excellent. I’m very glad. Do you have money for milk, or do you need some?”

  “I meant to tell you about that.” Mrs. Brown smiled. “Mr. Brody was very kind. He gave Harry a week’s worth of wages in advance as a thank you for coming to work so quickly. That will go a long way for us.”

  “Good. I couldn’t be more pleased.” Dr. Wayment looked around again and nodded. “Now, what about you, Mrs. Brown? Are you getting enough rest?”

  “Not quite enough yet, but I had more last night, what with Daisy doing better.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Rest as much as you can. Daisy needs you now, and we can’t have you wearing yourself down.”

  Jeanette accepted an offer from Mrs. Brown to stop by another time for some tea, then followed Dr. Wayment out to the buggy. “Do you suppose Daisy will stay healthy now?” she asked as they drove to their next destination.

  “She will as long as her parents manage to keep her fed well,” the doctor replied.

  “How long has Mrs. Brown been taking in mending?” Jeanette asked.

  He turned to look at her with a curious expression on his face. “I didn’t realize she did. When did she tell you that?”

  “She didn’t speak to me about it, but she had a large pile next to her mending basket, and no family in their circumstances owns that much clothing. That might explain her eye strain.”

  “Her eye strain?”

  Jeanette smiled at the surprise in his voice. “I’m sure you noticed how red her eyes were, Dr. Wayment.”

  “Of course. That’s why I asked about her sleeping patterns.”

  “My guess is that she’s staying up nights working on mending for her neighbors. It’s one way for a woman to earn some money, but it’s hard on the vision, and if she hasn’t had sufficient lamp oil . . .”

  Dr. Wayment snorted. “I’m a fool, Miss Peterson.” His sudden words made her jump. “I’m an utter fool. Thank you for pointing out what I should have noticed myself. On my next visit, I’ll perform an examination on Mrs. Brown’s eyes.”

  Jeanette turned away in her seat so Dr. Wayment wouldn’t see the satisfied grin on her face. She wouldn’t leap to any conclusions, but she believed she’d just done something to prove that she was worth having along.

  Chapter Six

  After their visit with Mrs. Gillespie, next on their list was Orinda Lou Britt, who lived in a modest, yet comfortable home near the Kansas River. “Miss Britt is a fascinating case,” Dr. Wayment said as they pulled up in front of the house. “She was once an opera singer, but had to retire due to strain on her vocal chords. She speaks only in a whisper unless she’s in public, and once a year, she performs for a charity gala event here in town.”

  “What are you treating her for today?” Jeanette asked, gathering up her skirts to prepare to jump down. The doctor seemed to have forgotten to assist her again.

  “Once a month, I bring her a new bottle of tonic for her throat. She has relatively few health problems otherwise. And if we’re lucky, perhaps she’ll regale us with a story from her opera days.”

  A kind-looking middle-aged woman opened the door to Dr. Wayment’s knock, and her eyes flew immediately to Jeanette. “Oh, hello! Who might you be?” Her voice was soft, just as the doctor had said it would be.

  “Miss Britt, this is Jeanette Peterson. She’s training with me to be a nurse.”

  Miss Britt acknowledged Dr. Wayment’s introduction with a nod, but her eyes never left Jeanette’s face. “You are a pretty thing. I’m sure the good doctor will find even his most uncooperative patients turning into lambs if you’re in the room.”

  Jeanette felt her cheeks go warm and was about to protest, but noticed that Dr. Wayment was smiling. “I think you may be right,” he said. “How is your throat today?”

  “It’s doing well. Oh, dear. I haven’t invited you in—I was too taken aback by your charming new assistant. Please, come in.”

  She stepped aside and welcomed them into her home. It was very pleasantly arranged, with a p
arlor off to the right. Jeanette gasped when she saw what was in the corner.

  “Oh, Miss Britt, what a lovely piano.”

  “Do you play, my dear?”

  “I do. The dressmaker back home was my teacher. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to practice, however.” Jeanette’s eyes caressed the polished wood. She’d never seen such a beautiful instrument in all her life.

  “Then you must play it.” Miss Britt made the pronouncement like there was nothing at all to it.

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t,” Jeanette stammered. “It’s too beautiful.”

  “And why shouldn’t a beautiful piano be played? Come on.”

  “You mean . . . right now?” Jeanette’s hands began to tremble. She hadn’t meant to hint that she’d like to play it, and she was sure this was highly unprofessional. Dr. Wayment must think her very immature. She glanced at him, hoping he’d give her some kind of sign, a way to get out of this awkward situation, but instead, he nodded, motioning toward the piano. Now it seemed she would have no choice.

  She took a seat on the bench and closed her eyes for a moment. She had always practiced best when her teacher was the only other person in the room, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to will her fingers to stop their trembling. But as soon as she raised her hands, all doubt left, and she brought them down in a sprightly tune, the first piece to come to her mind.

  Behind her, she heard Miss Britt gasp. “‘Habanera’ from Carmen,” she said. “This opera was only introduced last spring—how do you know the music?”

  Jeanette lifted her hands from the keys. “My teacher’s aunt went to Paris and saw it while she was there. She knew my teacher would enjoy the piece, and in turn, I was able to learn it as well. Something about it spoke to me, and I found it very easy to memorize.”

  “Please, continue,” Miss Britt said, closing her eyes and clasping her hands before her, as though waiting for a treat.

  Jeanette started at the beginning, and after the introduction, Miss Britt began to sing. Her voice filled the room, causing echoes to reverberate off the walls and sending chills down Jeanette’s arms. Her fingers danced as though energized by Miss Britt’s magic, traipsing up and down the keys in a merry rhythm all their own. When at last the song was over, both women froze, transfixed by the moment. Jeanette never wanted it to end.

  “Incredible,” Dr. Wayment said after a long period of silence. “Simply incredible.”

  Jeanette blinked. She’d forgotten he was even there—she’d forgotten all but the music.

  “I don’t sing much anymore. I don’t know if Dr. Wayment told you,” Miss Britt whispered. “But the music—it compelled me. Thank you for this precious gift, Miss Peterson. I’d like you to come back as often as you can and play my piano. I might even join you again on another occasion.”

  Jeanette raised her hands to her cheeks, only somewhat surprised to find they were damp with tears. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Yes, I will come back.”

  “Now give me my medicine, and I’ll send you on your way,” Miss Britt said. “I know you have a great many things to do.”

  “None more pleasurable than this, I assure you.” Dr. Wayment reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle. “Here you are, and I’ll see you in a month.”

  As Jeanette moved to leave the room, Miss Britt caught her by the elbow and waited until Dr. Wayment had gone out of earshot. “You’re quite the young lady,” Miss Britt said. “And he’s a very good man. Take care of him.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Jeanette said, glancing at the doctor’s retreating back.

  Miss Britt smiled. “You might not know now, but you will. Just be aware that I approve.”

  What an odd thing to say. Jeanette thought about it as she went outside to get into the buggy. Dr. Wayment was waiting there to help her in this time—he was oddly inconsistent—and boosted her with extra care. After he took his seat, he turned to her with an incredulous expression on his face.

  “Miss Peterson, why aren’t you studying in a fine music conservatory? Why are you here, working in a hotel in Topeka, of all places?”

  “I never had the opportunity for an education such as that,” she replied simply.

  “That is a shame. A perfect shame. If I had a daughter with your talent, I would move heaven and earth to see to it that she was properly trained.”

  “My father thought differently.” Jeanette didn’t want to discuss it. She didn’t even want to remember it—her father’s refusal to pay for her lessons, the way she did ironing for the ladies in the neighborhood to cover her own tuition, his anger when he found out what she’d done. She’d been forced to take her lessons in private, her own hour of joy each week. She would change the subject again—it had worked before. “Miss Britt has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.”

  “She is a rare talent. We’re blessed to have her in the community.”

  Jeanette glanced over at the doctor, trying to figure out what Miss Britt had meant. He was a nice-looking man, although not as handsome as others she’d seen. He was very clever, and gentle and kind. He was indeed a good man, but Miss Britt couldn’t possibly mean that she thought Jeanette should marry him. Jeanette was never going to marry. She’d found her path in nursing—she would devote her life to this wonderful cause, and it would fill her life.

  ***

  Phillip flicked his horse’s reins, trying to keep himself occupied while he struggled to understand this girl sitting next to him. She looked fragile, and yet she continuously exhibited great strength of will and character. Her mind was sharp, and her talent—he’d never heard anything like it. When she and Miss Britt performed that stirring aria, it was as though the doors to heaven itself had opened up. With Miss Peterson’s golden hair and sweet face, she looked as though she belonged in that celestial realm.

  He shook his head. What was he thinking? He wasn’t a poet, and yet, here he was, having all sorts of sentimental thoughts. He didn’t have time for daydreaming—he was a man of science and healing, a man with patients to attend who wouldn’t benefit from fanciful notions. It was best that he put all this aside, but when he glanced over at Miss Peterson again and noted the angle of her pert nose and the way her curls lay on her shoulder, he knew it was hopeless.

  They had just turned onto the street where he lived when a man on a horse galloped up alongside them. “Dr. Wayment! My wife’s gone into labor, and things don’t look right. Midwife sent me for you. Can you come?”

  “Of course.” With another flick of the reins, Phillip urged his horse to go faster, and they followed the man to his house.

  “Have you ever witnessed a birth?” he asked Miss Peterson as they drove.

  “No, I never have.”

  “Birth is a sweet experience, one of the most precious things ever to happen to mankind. Usually, a birth can be attended to by a midwife, and we have some very skilled women in town. When I’m called in, I know it’s because something has gone wrong.” He looked at her. “This may not be pleasant, I warn you. If you’d prefer to wait in the buggy, I understand. It’s your first day, and—”

  “Dr. Wayment,” she interrupted, “I didn’t ask to be trained only in simple matters. If I’m to be a nurse, I need to see it all. I’m ready, and I’m willing.”

  He studied her eyes. She looked back at him with a steady gaze, and he nodded. “Very well. Come along.”

  She followed him into the house and through a doorway into a tiny bedroom, where a woman lay on the bed, covered in sweat. Another woman stood nearby, wiping her hands on a towel.

  “Dr. Wayment, I’m glad you’ve come,” she said. “This child simply will not be born.”

  “Goody Smith, this is Jeanette Peterson,” Phillip introduced. “Miss Peterson is my new nurse, and today is her first day of training.”

  “This is an awful introduction to the world of medicine,” Goody Smith replied. “Are you sure you’re up for it, young lady?”

  “All I can do
is try,” Miss Peterson replied, and Goody nodded.

  “Very well.” She turned to Phillip. “I’ve been here since dawn. She labored most of the night before sending for me, and she hasn’t progressed one bit in all that time.”

  Phillip reached out and touched the woman’s shoulder. She opened her eyes, gave a weak smile, and then closed her eyes again.

  “She’s exhausted,” he said to Miss Peterson. “When the body has undergone this much trauma over so many hours, it begins to shut down and ceases to function. Sometimes women will actually stop laboring to allow the body to rest. When that happens, one of two things will occur—she’ll regain strength and the labor will proceed, or she will not regain strength, and more drastic measures have to be taken.”

  “I’m afraid it’s likely to be the latter,” Goody said. “She’s a strong one and a fighter, but this is her sixth pregnancy in a very short period of time, and her body is worn out.”

  “When was her last set of strong contractions?” he asked.

  “About an hour ago. They’ve been fairly mild since, and she’s slept through them. I’ve been monitoring them by pressing on her abdomen.”

  “Would you mind showing Miss Peterson?”

  “Certainly.” Goody placed her hand on the patient’s stomach and motioned for Miss Peterson to do the same. They waited, silently, and then a moment later, Goody nodded. “Can you feel how hard her muscles have just become?”

  “Yes. Her whole stomach has tightened.” Miss Peterson glanced up at the patient’s face. “What is her name?”

  “This is Dora Green,” Goody replied. “Her sister lives next door and has been keeping all the children away. I assumed there might be the need for surgery.”

  Phillip nodded. “Thank you for that precaution. We don’t want to alarm the family.” He glanced over at Miss Peterson. “I’ll now do an exam of the pelvis and see what can be determined. Goody, where can I wash up?”