by Paty Jager
Rachel grabbed the tray of dishes and headed out the door. She needed time to herself and her wayward thoughts. In the kitchen, she took her time washing the dishes. Everyday chores had a way of easing tension. The simplest of tasks done with rote actions allowed her mind to untangle her emotions. She dried the dishes, placing them in their respective spots.
Crossing to the stove, she filled one pitcher with warm water from the reservoir and pumped fresh water into another pitcher.
She carried the pitchers back to the infirmary, setting the warm water on the counter next to the wash basin and the other in wait for her patient. Who evoked emotions she shouldn’t harbor. She would remain in this room until she was certain he slept. She’d grudgingly told him she’d visit, but in truth, the more she learned about him the deeper he burrowed into her emotions.
Used instruments sat in a metal bowl of hydrogen peroxide. She pulled them out one by one, drying and wrapping them in clean cloth. Her thoughts wandered again to the man in the next room.
She’d keep a friendly distance. Once his leg healed and his stay in the infirmary ended, she’d make it a point to go the other direction when she saw him. Encouraging more than a formal relationship would only make things worse when he left.
The thought of him leaving weighed heavy on her. He was the first person since her accident who’d treated her like a normal woman. Of course, he couldn’t see her hideous scar. She sighed. If he could, he’d shun her like all the others.
She’d missed several years of school due to the scarring and countless visits to doctors in her mother’s quest to make her pretty again. During that time she’d lost touch with the few children who had been her friends.
When the doctors said nothing more could be done, her mother had hired a tutor. That’s when she learned the art of stage makeup and began hiding her scar under lard and powder. There wasn’t a day during her schooling she didn’t get up earlier than everyone else and spend an hour making her face look normal. To keep her secret hidden, she remained aloof to anyone who tried to befriend her. Loneliness was easier than revealing her scar. She’d worked hard to graduate at the top of her class. All that mattered was becoming a doctor and helping others.
Upon her return to Salem, she’d hoped to form old alliances and meet new individuals and had, until William revealed her scar and deceit to anyone who would listen. Her hands shook as she put the instruments away in the cupboard. How could she have even considered marrying such a callous, hurtful man? She poured warm water into the wash basin.
The gas lights filled the room with a soft friendly glow. She glanced out the window at the sparkling night. The rain and clouds had moved on, leaving a dark sky filled with twinkling silver stars. Rachel returned her attention to the wash basin and quickly cleansed her face, neck, and hands. The pins used to hold her hair dug into her scalp. She pulled her hair out of the bun and brushed the dull brown strands. She didn’t plan to put on her bed clothes, but she would braid her hair.
Clean, her hair braided, she turned the knob on the lamp, lowering the flame, leaned on the windowsill, and stared at the stars. A lifetime ago she’d made a wish on a falling star. She snorted. Her wish for a loving husband and family would never come true. Her mother’s warnings that no man wanted to marry a career woman had turned her to medicine. If no man wanted a smart wife or one set on a career, she didn’t need to bother with a husband.
A deep snore drifted from the other room. She glanced at the door. When she was engaged to William, why hadn’t her heart raced at his nearness the way it did thinking of Clay? She’d been engaged for six months, and never once had she responded to him like she did to the man she’d only known a few weeks.
The blinking stars blurred and wobbled. Her head drooped, and her eyelids grew heavy. She pushed away from the window and stared at the hard wood table. Sleep here or curl up on the cot next to Clay. Even in her tired state her body heated at the intimate thought of sharing the same room with him.
She shuffled across the floor and into the other room. The cot creaked when she sat down. She held her breath. Clay didn’t awaken. She didn’t want to visit, she wanted to sleep. Careful not to make noise, she untied her boots and set them on the floor. Rachel slid in under the covers, settled her head on the pillow, and tried to ignore the manly snore coming from the next bed.
****
“Doctor Tarkiel! Doctor Tarkiel!”
Mrs. White’s panicked shout drove Rachel straight out of the bed onto her stocking feet. The bed next to her creaked and swearing ensued.
“Mrs. White. Here.” Rachel found the gas light on the wall and turned the knob, lengthening the flame. The matron stood in the doorway, Sylvie’s small body sagging in her arms.
“She’s not breathing!” the woman wailed.
“Put her on the bed,” Rachel ordered, running past the woman to the other room for her instruments. She grabbed the bag and towels and hurried back to the child.
She dropped to her knees alongside the cot and opened the child’s mouth. Her throat had swollen shut. Rachel opened her bag, grabbed a scalpel wrapped in sterile cloth, a small piece of rubber tubing, and peroxide of hydrogen. She tucked a towel under the child’s neck, poured the liquid over the skin, and used the scalpel to make an incision an inch long through the skin and trachea tube. Inserting the tubing, she watched the small chest. Sylvie’s body shuddered and her chest expanded.
Rachel exhaled.
Air had reached the child’s lungs.
“That’s it, Sylvie, take in all the air you want.” Rachel smoothed the child’s hair and felt her forehead. No fever. “You’re going to be fine.” She glanced up at the white-faced matron.
“Tell me what happened.” Rachel dabbed at the blood trickling down the child’s neck. She gently spread petroleum around the incision and placed small strips of cloth over it.
“Marcie came and got me, said Sylvie was making strange noises.” Mrs. White let out a long gush of air. “When I got there she was gagging, and I headed down the stairs with her. Right before I got to your door she went quiet and limp.”
“You did the right thing by bringing her right down.” Rachel stood and put an arm around the woman’s shoulders. “If she’d gone without air any longer, I couldn’t have saved her.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Clay’s question made them both jump.
Rachel swung to the cot and the man leaning up on one elbow. “She came to me this morning with a rash. Tonight her throat closed off. But she doesn’t have a fever or any other symptoms. I’ve been reading my medical journals, but I haven’t found anything.” She studied the girl. Her unseeing eyes were open.
“Sylvie—” Rachel sat on the side of the cot. “It’s Dr. Tarkiel.” She picked up the child’s small hand. “I had to put a tube in your throat so you can breathe. Please don’t touch it. When your throat isn’t swollen any more, I’ll take it out.” Small fingers squeezed her hand.
“You’re in the infirmary. Mr. Halsey is in the bed next to you with a broken leg. Tomorrow morning you two can entertain each other with stories. Right now, I want you to try and sleep.”
Sylvie nodded and closed her eyes. Rachel tucked the child’s hand under the covers and kissed her on the forehead. “That’s a good girl. Sweet dreams.” She gathered her instruments and bag from the floor and stood. Mrs. White remained at the end of the cot.
“Go back to sleep, I’ll keep watch over her now.” Rachel drew the woman into the other room.
“I’ve never lost a student.” The matron’s shaking statement ended in a whisper.
“You aren’t going to lose one. Sylvie is fine now. Go back to bed.” Rachel put an arm around Mrs. White, leading her out of the infirmary and into the hall. “She’ll be fine. Go on.”
The matron shuffled down the hall in her flannel nightgown and bare feet. Seeing the matron so distraught over the child warmed Rachel’s heart to surly Mrs. White.
She slipped back into the infirmary,
placed a chair against the wall between the two beds, sat, drew a blanket over her body, and closed her eyes.
Clay heard Rachel settling in. How could she sleep on a chair? He lay awake listening to the slight whistle of the child and the slow deep breathing of the doctor. The chair creaked, and Rachel moaned.
He reached toward the sound. His knuckles skimmed over her hair. He twisted, grimacing from the pain shooting up his leg, and used his hands to determine her position. She leaned sideways. He slipped the closest arm around her back, grasped the arm farthest away from him, and gently tugged.
She mumbled, pulling back.
“Shh, Lie down here and get some sleep.” He spoke softly. “You’ve had a busy day. Lie down.”
“Sylvie.”
Her soft feminine mumble tugged his lips into a grin. She wiggled from his grasp starting to stand. He found her hand again and tugged.
“She’s fine. Lie down. Rest.”
She plopped onto his body. He winced at the pain of her weight forcing his injured leg downward.
Her head rested on his chest, one arm across his middle. He grasped her leg pushing down on his injured one and draped it over his thighs. He breathed in the citrus scent of her hair and waited for the throbbing in his leg to abate. The weight of her limbs comforted him in a way he hadn’t experienced since childhood. Her warm curves pressed against him, fitting to his body perfectly.
Clay brushed a hand over her silky hair. Dull brown, she’d said. It was too downy and sweet smelling to be a dull brown. He traced her small ear hidden under soft, short curls. His fingers followed her velvety skin up along her hairline, down the middle of her forehead, so smooth and warm, over a small bump of a nose and pouty, supple lips. He traced the pointed edges at each side. What would it feel like to taste them? A puff of warm air misted his fingers, and she mumbled.
Clay continued his exploration, moving down her chin and the side of her face. The pads of his fingers ran over a ridge. He held his breath and traced the ridge from just above her jaw all the way to her temple. The narrow pucker of skin lay two finger widths from her hairline and ran the length of her face. A scar? How had it happened? And when?
This was why she pulled back from his touch and gave such a disparaging view of herself. Had someone left this scar on her? If so, he’d find that person and make him pay. His hands fisted. He flexed his aching knuckles and squelched his rage. It wouldn’t do to show how her disfigurement riled him. His limbs gradually relaxed, and he pondered how to help her overcome her poor view of herself. How did he bring up the topic of her scar without upsetting her?
Clay wrapped his arms around Rachel’s middle and clasped his hands, holding her from rolling off the bed. Her warm breath puffed across his chest. His heart expanded at the latest knowledge about the woman. He was falling for Rachel’s caring nature, her witty conversation, and her touch that heated his body like no other. He’d give up on ever getting his sight back if he could end each day with her wrapped in his arms.
Chapter 9
“Doctor Tarkiel!”
The shriek jerked Rachel out of a deep sleep. She shoved her body off the bed and dizziness struck. Her eyes sprang open at the warm skin and hair under her hand. She glanced down. Clay’s bare chest lay beneath her hand, and her leg sprawled wantonly across his blanket-covered thighs.
Embarrassment and a curling of heat in her abdomen shot her off the bed. She stumbled and nearly fell onto the child in the adjacent cot.
“I-I, please don’t say anything to Mr. Griffin.” She righted herself and raised a pleading hand to Mrs. White.
“She was falling off the chair. Rather than have her fall on the floor, I held her on the bed and let her sleep.”
The monotone ring of Clay’s voice nearly twitched her lips into a smile.
“I didn’t know I was sleeping on—with—him.” Rachel took a step toward the matron. Mrs. White’s narrowed eyes and crimson face gave no indication of forgiveness.
“It won’t happen again. I’ll have a cot put in the other room for tonight.”
“You’ll not stay here tonight. I will.” Mrs. White glared at Clay and walked to the child’s cot.
Rachel’s face heated with rage rather than embarrassment. “I will remain here until I deem the patients no longer need monitoring.” No one would toss her out of the infirmary. Mrs. White may think she ruled the school but she wasn’t about to rule how things worked in here.
She slid a glance to Clay. He listened intently but didn’t butt in. Any more comments from him would send the matron to the superintendent.
The matron’s lip curled in a sneer. “How well did you monitor your patients last night?”
Rachel’s cheeks flamed. She should have awakened rather than slip into the Clay’s arms. She glanced at the handsome man, his bare chest teasing her senses.
“I was exhausted and evidently short of someone yelling”—she gave the woman a direct stare—“I required the sleep. My patients are well, and had they needed me, I would have heard them.”
The matron motioned to the child and pointed to the other room. Rachel agreed, her cheeks heating again. This conversation should be held out of the young girl’s hearing.
Rachel followed the woman into the next room. She crossed the threshold and Mrs. White spun on her.
“I saw the way you were sprawled all over that man,” she hissed. “What if someone other than me had walked in?”
“I didn’t know I was sleeping in the same bed with him.” Rachel crossed her arms and glared at the woman. What she did was her own business and no one else’s. “I don’t know how I ended up on his bed and had no idea I slept with a man.” The intimacy of the situation heated her blood. Had he just lain there, allowing her to use him as a mattress? Had he run his hands over her? Desire ripped through her body. She lowered her lashes, hoping the woman hadn’t caught sight of the carnal feelings building inside.
“Please ask Mrs. Daniels to bring up breakfast for the patients and me.” She took a step toward her patients and pivoted back to the woman. “When Mr. Smith comes in, have him come see me.”
Mrs. White’s outraged face deepened in color. She marched out of the room mumbling under her breath.
Rachel sighed. How long would it be before Mr. Griffin stormed up here and tossed her out?
No time to worry about that. She had patients to tend and they were her first priority. She marched into the room and found Clay sitting with his bare back against the wall. His powerful chest sprinkled with curls made her breath catch. She’d spent part of the night sleeping on that broad expanse. And so tired she didn’t know it.
“Are you going to lose your job because of me?”
The apology in his soft spoken words warmed her. She stepped toward him, but stalled her feet and shifted to the child.
“I don’t know.” She sat on the edge of Sylvie’s bed and inspected the child’s incision. “I hope you’re feeling better, Sylvie. Open your mouth, please.”
The swelling in her throat had gone down, which pleased Rachel. What had made it close up, and what had caused the rash? A visit to Dr. Runkle would be prudent.
Clay’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. “You were moaning and sounded uncomfortable so I tugged your hand and you just flopped onto my bed. I only wanted to make you comfortable.”
“What? Oh, I know you didn’t mean any harm.” She glanced at the man. Worry furrowed his brow and tipped down the corners of his full mouth. Quivers of desire vibrated in her lower abdomen and heated the juncture of her legs. She drew her gaze back to the child. “I’ll deal with the repercussions later. Sylvie needs attention now.”
She patted Sylvie’s arm. “Your throat is open again. I’ll take that rubber tube out and sew you up as soon as Mr. Smith arrives to help.” The child shivered and shook her head. “Shh.” Rachel drew Sylvie’s small body into her arms. “You’ll be good as new once the tube comes out and I stitch the incision closed. You won’t feel anything. Mr. Smi
th will help you sleep while I make you better.”
“Sylvie,” Clay said, “you want to sit with me while Doctor Tarkiel gets ready? I know some pretty good stories.”
Clay’s soft tone melted Rachel’s heart. “She can’t talk, but she’s nodding.” Rachel stood and carried Sylvie to the other bed. She placed the small child on the cot next to Clay. His size made the child appear even smaller. He wrapped an arm around Sylvie and smiled.
“Hi, Sylvie. I don’t think we’ve met before. I don’t take all the same classes the rest of you do.” His hand rested lightly on her blonde curls. “Do you like fairy tales?” Her head bobbed and a smile spread across his face. “I suppose being a girl you like ones that have princesses as opposed to dragons.” She nodded. “You’re lucky my ma told my brothers and me both.”
Tears burned Rachel’s eyes as she watched Clay interact with the child. He would be a wonderful father. She spun from the sight and into the main room, fighting the emotions he stirred up in her. He wasn’t looking for a scarred wife, and she had a career to build. Even if her heart longed to share her life with someone like the man telling the tale of Rapunzel.
“Dr. Tarkiel?” Mr. Smith called from the doorway.
“Mr. Smith. I’ll need your assistance with Sylvie this morning.” She shook away her dreary thoughts and set about preparing the necessary tools. The handyman stood at the door, his hat in his hands. “Come in and wash your hands. I need you to keep Sylvie asleep while I stitch her trachea.”
His eyes widened.
“You’ll be fine. It’s the same thing you did while I set Mr. Halsey’s leg yesterday. You have steady hands and a constitution of steel. That’s what I need.”
Mr. Smith straightened and squared his shoulders. He crossed the room, placed his hat on a chair, and began washing his hands.