Promising Hearts

by Radclyffe

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Beecher,” Vance said. She turned to the other two women and smiled graciously, as if she were once more in the great room of the brownstone mansion in the heart of Philadelphia where she’d been born and raised. “And Mrs. Mason and Rose. How very nice to see you again.”

  “Yes, how nice,” Clarissa Mason said coolly.

  “Oh, do sit and have some tea,” Rose gushed, sliding closer to her mother on the sofa to make room.

  Vance remained standing, waiting for the lady of the house to make known her desires.

  Watching the exchange, Martha Beecher was at a loss as to how to react. There was absolutely no doubt that the woman before her was bred to high society. It was evident in every line of her face and every cultured inflection of her speech. Despite the outlandish—even shocking—attire, she stood as if she were at the head of a reception line at a formal affair, greeting the elite of society with just the slightest hint of amused superiority. Oh, Clarissa Mason had clearly underestimated her, but then, how could Clarissa be expected to recognize someone of the doctor’s station? Clarissa might be a banker’s wife, but a banker’s wife in New Hope, Montana, was a far cry from the upper class of Eastern society. Clarissa had undoubtedly looked at the newcomer’s admittedly outrageous appearance and no further. Martha stood to greet her guest.

  “Please, do sit down, Dr. Phelps. I’m so happy to have this opportunity to meet you at last,” Martha said with just a hint of polite reserve. “I so hope you bring news of the East, as we very seldom have the opportunity to hear of events out here before they are no longer of consequence.”

  Declining the offer of a seat, Vance feared that she would disappoint Kate’s mother on more than one level. Any news that she might relay of politics and the social upheaval that followed the end of the war would undoubtedly dissatisfy, and she knew nothing of the latest fashions and styles. “I’ve been traveling for quite some time, and I’m afraid I have no recent news about any matters of importance.”

  “And,” Kate interrupted laughingly, slipping her hand into the crook of Vance’s elbow once more, “I have invited Dr. Phelps home for a late meal. I’m going to take her into the kitchen and fix her a plate. She’s been working all day.”

  “Indeed,” Clarissa Mason said archly. “You’re…” She hesitated as if searching for a polite term. “You’re actually tending to patients, then, not just assisting Dr. Melbourne.”

  “I’m doing both,” Vance said quietly, her tone subtly cooler. “Some procedures, particularly surgeries, are easier to perform with competent assistance.” She smiled thinly. “But I am used to treating substantial injuries independently. The war taught me that.”

  “Oh,” Clarissa gasped, as if finding the subject repellent.

  Rose, however, sat forward, her face alight with excitement. “Oh, do tell us what that was like!”

  “Surely not, Rose,” Clarissa chided. “Such things are not fit conversation for a young lady.”

  “Is it true, that no one knew you weren’t a man?” Rose persisted.

  “I really couldn’t say,” Vance said. She was tired from riding all day and her shoulder ached. She was agitated and worried about Mae, and the fragile veneer of sociability she’d been able to assume cracked and slipped away. “I’m a physician, and I was there to treat the wounded. When the ground is littered with the dead and the dying as far as the eye can see, social conventions fall quickly aside.”

  “Oh, how terribly awful,” Rose cried, looking even more intrigued.

  Vance glanced toward the door. “Forgive me. It’s been a very long day and you must excuse me.”

  “Come,” Kate said, drawing Vance toward the hallway and the kitchen beyond. “Let me fix you that meal, and then you can head home and get some rest.”

  Rose jumped to her feet. “Let me help.”

  Before either of their mothers could object, Kate and Rose spirited Vance away.

  “It’s really not necessary for you to fuss,” Vance said as Kate took the remainder of dinner from the icebox and placed the tray in the center of the table.

  “Oh,” Rose said, preempting Kate’s reply as she pulled a chair close to where Vance sat at the table, “it’s hardly a bother when here you are doing such important and so very difficult work.”

  Vance caught the amused look on Kate’s face and managed not to laugh. “Well, I do appreciate it. I very seldom have home-cooked food. Miss Beecher, can I help you?”

  “Nothing to do,” Kate said as she placed the bread and cold meats in front of Vance. “And please, call me Kate.” Then, shyly, she asked, “What was it like, going to medical school?”

  “It’s Vance, then.” Vance struggled to bring into focus an experience that felt to her now as if it had occurred in a different lifetime. To a different person altogether. She answered from a place of sad remembering. “I attended Women’s Medical College, which was an amazing thing in itself. An entire medical school established and devoted to training women.” With an absent smile, she shook her head. “Originally, I wanted to attend the school that my father had, that my…” She took a breath. “Well, at any rate, I ended up being very happy where I trained. It was exciting, demanding work.”

  “Oh, I can just imagine how wonderful it must’ve been to be able to study like that,” Kate said, her face flushed with enthusiasm.

  Rose shuddered. “Well, I can’t imagine it. Working around the sick and the dying all the time.” She glanced quickly at Vance and amended, “But I think it’s highly admirable, of course. Highly.”

  “Yes,” Vance said solemnly, wishing that she could remove her coat. The kitchen was overly warm. However, she had no desire to invoke more rabid curiosity from the eager young Miss Mason.

  “I know you’re tired,” Kate said gently. “But someday, when you have a moment to spare, I’d love for you to tell me what your courses were like.”

  “It’s a promise.” Vance pushed the barely eaten food away. She had little appetite for dinner and far less for company. The bounds of normal conversation took her far too close to the borders of memories best left unvisited. There were places she simply did not want to go again. “This was very kind of you. Thank you.” She stood. “Now, I must say good night. Please give my regards to the other ladies.”

  “I shall.” Kate held open the back door. “Be careful.”

  Vance regarded her quizzically, then smiled faintly, wondering if Kate too was still thinking of the onerous Phineas Drake. “Thank you. Good night.”

  “Good night,” Kate said softly, closing the door behind Vance as she stepped out into the night.

  “Oh,” Rose said after Vance was gone. “Isn’t she the most fascinating and exciting individual!”

  “Yes, she’s very strong and brave,” Kate agreed, but for far different reasons, she suspected, than Rose, who seemed desperate only for a glimpse of anything outside the everyday routine of New Hope. It wasn’t what Vance had achieved that drew Kate to her. It was the terrible sorrow that clung to her like a heavy cloak. Kate understood now why Mae had spoken of wounds unhealed.

  *

  Vance walked back to the hotel through the dark streets, relieved to have left the gathering that had seemed foreign to her. She hadn’t realized how poorly she had fit that social niche until she had left it, first peripherally, when she began her studies, and finally, completely, when she’d left for the war. She’d never felt completely comfortable with the conventions and restrictions that her sex and social status had dictated for her as a child and young woman. While her mother had been alive, she had done all the usual things that a well-bred young lady should do, including attending the required social events with young men of her class. Then, her happiest times had been the summers spent at her family’s country estate. Her mother had paid far less attention to her comings and goings then, and she could ride, hunt, and secretly gamble with her brother and his friends without incurring her mother’s censure. The young men had welcome
d her as one of them, because they had all grown up together. By the time she was a teenager, she knew she wanted to be a doctor. Had her mother not died when she was fifteen, she might have had more of a battle convincing her father of her desires, but with no one to strenuously object, she had had her way. However, it wasn’t until she had dressed in Victor’s clothes and accompanied him to the recruiting station that she’d truly realized what freedom felt like. She’d never felt as comfortable or more like herself in her life.

  Vance slowed at the mouth of the alley beside the Golden Nugget, having returned without realizing it. Briefly, she considered going back inside for one last drink and one final glance at Mae. However, at this time of night, Mae would certainly be working, and Vance wasn’t certain that was something she wanted to witness. She was staring at the side door, contemplating the long evening ahead, when it opened and a woman stepped out. Her heart gave a lurch as she imagined that Mae had somehow conjured her thoughts and had slipped out to meet her. She took one step forward, then stopped, realizing her error. Pleasure was rapidly eclipsed by disappointment, a cycle that left an ache not totally unwelcome. It had been a long time since the anticipation of anything had pleased her. As she was about to turn and continue on her way to the hotel, a voice called out to her from the shadows.

  “Dr. Phelps, wait, please.”

  Once more, Vance halted. This time she recognized the young blond woman, a younger but somehow more hardened version of Mae, and strode down the narrow passageway to meet her. “Sissy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Sissy said. Although she wore a shawl over her shoulders, she made no effort to pull it closed over the extremely low-cut bodice of her dress. Rather, she straightened her shoulders, which lifted her breasts even closer to the top of the confining fabric. “Must be fate. Mae sent me to fetch you.”

  Vance’s chest tightened, and this time the pain was very real. She forced a breath and ground out the words that threatened to choke her. “Is she hurt?”

  Sissy frowned. “Mae? No. It’s about Lettie.”

  Lettie. Not Mae. Mae is all right. Vance struggled to make the connection, carefully averting her eyes from the display of flesh that was obvious, even by moonlight. “Lettie. I’m afraid I don’t…wait.” Her voice took on an edge. “Isn’t she the young lady who is pregnant?”

  “Well,” Sissy snorted, “I won’t vouch for the lady part, but she is pregnant sure enough.”

  “What’s the problem?” Vance asked, already hurrying down the passageway toward the door.

  “She’s bleeding some and Mae said to see if you could come.”

  “Of course. Take me to her.”

  *

  The room was far smaller and plainer than Mae’s, although clean and well furnished with a bed, dresser, chair, and even a small bookcase tucked into one corner. Lettie, dark-haired, pale, and clearly frightened, lay beneath a thin patchwork quilt. Vance removed her coat and folded it over the back of a nearby chair. Her cuff, which she never buttoned, she pushed upward by sliding her arm across her chest as she approached the bed.

  “Hello, Lettie, do you remember me?”

  The young girl nodded. “You were here before with Mae. You’re the doctor.”

  “That’s right. Are you having any pain?”

  Lettie shook her head.

  “How about earlier? Did anything unusual happen?”

  Again, a head shake.

  “All right then, what about the bleeding? When did you notice that?”

  Lettie cast an uncertain glance in Sissy’s direction.

  “Go ahead, girl, tell her,” Sissy said with a touch of impatience.

  “Round about three days,” Lettie said quietly.

  Vance looked at Sissy. “Would you please pour a basin of water for me.” Then she smiled encouragingly at Lettie. “All right, then, I’m going to take a look at you and then we’ll talk. Okay?”

  “Yes,” Lettie whispered.

  Vance went to the sideboard and used a cake of soap and the water Sissy had poured to wash her hand. She was aware of Sissy watching her curiously, and when she reached for the towel and dried her hand with the towel pressed to her chest, she met Sissy’s eyes. “You must tell them not to wait when there’s a problem. I will always come. There is nothing for them to be afraid of.”

  Wordlessly, Sissy took the towel and finished drying Vance’s hand. When Vance tried to pull away, she shook her head. “I can do it faster.” As she carefully patted each finger, she said, “Girls who are sick, who can’t work, are used to being put out on the street.”

  “Surely not here. Surely, Mae would not…”

  “Mae can’t be everywhere, all the time,” Sissy said, regarding Vance with blazing eyes. “And even if she was, she don’t own the roof over our heads.”

  “Who does?”

  Sissy shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t make any difference to me.”

  “Nevertheless,” Vance said firmly, “if they’re sick, I need to know. Tell them they’ll get back to work faster if they let me see to them.”

  “You’re not going to tell us to change our evil ways?” Sissy asked sarcastically.

  “That’s not for me to say. My job is to treat the sick.”

  “Ain’t that what we are?”

  “No,” Vance said gently. “Now let me see to Lettie.”

  Vance was in the midst of palpating Lettie’s distended abdomen when she felt a subtle shift in the air in the room, as in the sky before an electrical storm. Then she caught a whiff of wildflowers on hot summer afternoons, and she smiled. Without looking up, she said, “Good evening, Mae.”

  “Looks like we’re keeping you busy,” Mae said, coming up behind Vance and brushing her shoulder in greeting. “Sorry to trouble you.”

  “No trouble,” Vance murmured, sliding her palm over the outline of the uterus, pressing gently to discern the position of the developing head. Then she sat back and carefully pulled up the covers and gave Lettie’s hand a reassuring pat. “I’m going to speak with Mae for a few minutes. Everything seems to be fine, but you’re going to need to stay in bed for several more days until I examine you again.”

  “Oh, but—”

  Vance shook her head. “No buts. It’s important.” She stood and followed Mae outside into the corridor. It was less than two hours since she’d last seen her, but she was aware of having missed her.

  “Thank you for coming,” Mae said.

  “There’s no need to thank me.” Vance resisted the urge to capture a golden ringlet that had escaped from the mass of curls and now dangled enticingly onto Mae’s breast. It fluttered with each breath, a taunting invitation as it danced over ivory skin.

  Mae followed the direction of Vance’s gaze, wondering how much of what she saw in Vance’s eyes Vance was actually aware of. Despite the pleasant flutter in the stomach the thought gave her, it was something best pursued another day. There were more important things to attend to now.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Possibly nothing. She has had some bleeding, which is not completely unheard of at this stage in the pregnancy.” Vance watched a well-dressed man in a business suit accompany the redheaded Annie down the hall and disappear into a room. “But it could be the first sign of something serious. She needs to be at complete bed rest for at least the next several days.”

  “I’ll see to that.” Mae traced a line with her nails up and down Vance’s forearm, which was bare below her pushed-up cuff. She smiled to herself when she saw Vance visibly shudder. “Maybe you can look in on her tomorrow before dinner.”

  “I’ll do that,” Vance said hoarsely, stunned by the twist of excitement that slivered through her.

  “Good,” Mae said, smiling sweetly. “Now you go on home.” She touched Vance’s cheek fleetingly. “And you have sweet dreams.”

  Vance leaned against the wall watching Mae as she glided away, wondering if any pleasure would ever have the power to replace her nightmares.

  Cha
pter Twelve

  “Are you feeling ill?” Martha Beecher asked, studying Kate with concern as they cleared dishes from the table. “You ate very little for breakfast, and now nothing for lunch.”

  “No, I feel wonderful,” Kate replied with forced brightness. “I’m quite recovered by now.”

  “Of course you are,” Martha said, although she wouldn’t believe the truth of that until many more weeks had passed. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to take care of yourself. It’s important that you eat and get plenty of rest—”

  “I know.” Kate poured water into the dish basin. “Really, you needn’t worry.”

  “You forget I’m your mother.” Martha crossed her arms, frowning. “I can tell when you’re not yourself.”

  “I never forget that.” Kate sighed and set the dishrag aside. “I had hoped that Jessie would be here by now. She said she’d come into town as soon as she brought the horses down from the high country.”

  Martha’s expression darkened subtly. “Your father and I are always happy to have you here, so staying another night—”

  “That’s not the point. Jessie always keeps her promises to me,” Kate said, her eyes flashing. “She said she would be here today. The only reason she wouldn’t be is if something happened.”

  “I’m sure you’re worrying for nothing,” Martha said dismissively. “She’s been off on these…roundups…frequently lately.”

  “I don’t think you understand what life is really like beyond the borders of this little town.” Kate’s unease made her forget her usual patience, and her mother’s offhand rejection of her anxiety over Jessie—and more, her persistent criticism of their life together—angered her. “She could be hur—”

  “I know some of the things that could happen out there,” Martha snapped. “I traveled for weeks across this hellacious countryside in that ungodly wagon the same as you and your father, only I didn’t find it to be the great adventure of my life.” She glanced around the kitchen, grand by New Hope’s standards but humble compared to what she had been used to. “I’m trying hard to make this place my home, only to find my daughter has deserted me for a life that…”