Unexpected Love

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Despite the fact her eyelids threatened to close, Renna finished her Bible reading. She turned down the lamp as a breeze ruffled the curtains. Somehow Renna knew that John Webster would not be in her sick ward tomorrow morning. Nor would his family be there. Somehow Renna knew that John was with the Savior already.

  But Mr. Blackeyes . . . why, he might not be a believer. It pained Renna to think of him spending an eternity apart from God.

  Please heal him, Lord, she prayed as she crawled into bed. She allowed her eyes to finally shut, and the darkly handsome stranger who lay fighting for his life was the last person on Renna’s thoughts as she drifted off to sleep.

  TWO

  Renna took purposeful strides down the hallway to the ward the next morning, taking care that she didn’t slip on the polished brown tiled floor. In Ward Two she checked on her patients and was pleased to learn from Dr. Hamilton that Mr. Blackeyes’s fever had broken.

  “His thrashing has ceased,” the doctor said, “and he seems to be emerging from his delirium.”

  Renna was speechless. Answered prayer to be sure!

  “Close the shades, Nurse Fields,” Dr. Hamilton barked. “The sun is shining right in the poor fellow’s eyes.”

  Renna went to do as she was told when Mr. Blackeyes weakly said, “The sun . . . what do you mean it’s shining in my eyes?”

  His voice sounded dry and hoarse, but his words alone stopped Renna in her tracks. With eyes wide, she looked to Dr. Hamilton.

  “You can’t see the sun shining in your eyes?” he asked the patient.

  “No, and I would venture to say it’s the middle of the night.” The man turned his head toward the sound of Dr. Hamilton’s voice. “Why are you questioning me in the dark, man? Are we in the bowels of a ship?”

  “No, no, you’re at Mercy Hospital in Chicago.” Dr. Hamilton waved his hand in front of the patient’s eyes. Then he looked at Renna and mouthed, “Blind.”

  Her heart sank.

  “What’s your name, my dear fellow?” Dr. Hamilton pulled various gadgets from his medical bag, waving them in front of the patient. No reaction.

  “My name?” The question seemed to stump him.

  “Your name . . . what is it?”

  “I–I don’t know . . . ”

  “Oh, come now,” Dr. Hamilton said on a note of impatience. “Everyone has a name. What is yours?”

  The dark-featured patient seemed to grope for a reply. Finally all he said was, “I–I really don’t know.”

  Renna’s jaw momentarily slacked as she realized the implication. Looking to Dr. Hamilton, she mouthed, “Amnesia?”

  He nodded. Clearing his throat, he ordered her to fetch some salve and bandages from the supply cabinet. Renna hurried to get them. When she returned to the sick ward, Dr. Hamilton was in the midst of explaining the situation to Mr. Blackeyes.

  “It’s a result of your head injury, I’m afraid. Now the blindness may or may not be temporary. However, I’m inclined to believe that your memory will come back within a relatively short period of time.”

  Renna assisted Dr. Hamilton in applying the salve to his eyes. Next they bandaged them tightly.

  “Since you can’t see sunshine in your eyes, you won’t be able to see other harmful things either,” Dr. Hamilton explained. “The bandages will protect your eyes until your sight comes back.” He paused before adding, “If it does.”

  Mr. Blackeyes fell back against the bed, seemingly exhausted by this news.

  “He’ll sleep now, Nurse Fields.” Dr. Hamilton sent her a look from beneath his bushy brows. “But when he awakens, feed him and clean him up. See if you can jog his memory loose too.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Renna stepped away from Mr. Blackeyes’s bed. As she went about her business, she noted he slept all day. It wasn’t until the end of Renna’s shift when he finally felt strong enough to eat something. A coddled egg and milk toast were on the menu tonight, and Mr. Blackeyes grimaced at every spoonful Renna slipped into his mouth.

  “Roast beef and potatoes would suit me just fine,” he complained.

  “Then you must be feeling much better.” Renna spooned in another bite.

  He grimaced and swallowed. “What is your name?”

  “I’m Nurse Fields.”

  “Are you Miss or Missus?”

  A smile toyed on her lips. “I’m Nurse Fields, and that’s all you need to know.”

  A sardonic grin curved Mr. Blackeyes’s mouth. “You’ve got some spirit, Nurse Fields. I like a spirited woman.”

  “You remember that much, do you?” Renna retorted.

  Before he could reply, she spooned the last bit of his supper into his mouth.

  He nearly gagged. “See here! That’s not fair, Nurse Fields. I couldn’t see that coming.”

  Renna laughed inwardly and moved off the side of the bed where she’d been sitting.

  “Nurse Fields?” He managed to grab hold of her white smock. “Would you stay and talk with me awhile?” The dark brows above his bandaged eyes drew together in earnestness. “Tell me what you know of me and my condition. Will you? No one’s told me a thing. It’s quite aggravating.”

  Renna unloosed her apron and considered the request. “All right.” She supposed she had time to do that much. “But I have to finish writing up my charts and check on my other patients. Then I’m off duty and can sit with you.”

  Mr. Blackeyes grinned. “Your husband won’t mind?”

  Renna expelled a weary sigh. She was glad her patient felt better, although she, herself, was wilted from the heat and exhausted from twelve hours of working. She certainly couldn’t muster the energy to play cat and mouse.

  “I am not married, sir,” she said, sounding a little too harsh to her own ears. She forced herself to soften her tone. “Now let me go and finish up, and I’ll sit with you awhile.”

  Strolling from bed to bed, Renna quickly wrote up her charts, checking on each patient as she did so. John Webster’s cot had been, as she suspected, empty this morning. He had died during the night. Mr. Taylor was much better and would go home tomorrow, and Mr. Anderson . . .

  Renna felt his forehead and realized the man burned with fever! Quickly she ran from the room and fetched some cool water along with a fever rag.

  “What is it, Nurse Fields?” Nurse Rutledge asked as Renna whizzed by.

  “It’s Mr. Anderson. He’s fevering from his wounds.”

  “The man who lost his arm in a farming accident?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “You’ll have to stay until that fever is down, Nurse Fields. I’m short of nurses tonight.”

  Renna nodded, figuring that would be the case. With Mr. Blackeyes momentarily forgotten, she set out to sponge down Mr. Anderson.

  He moaned and protested having the cool water on his body, but Renna fought to do her job.

  Hours later Nurse Rutledge summoned Dr. Hamilton. Upon examining the wound, the aging physician shook his head, his expression grave. “It’s a blood infection.”

  “No . . . ” Renna’s heart sank. “I kept the wound clean, Doctor.”

  “Well, at times, Nurse Fields, that’s not enough.”

  Renna tried to think of what more she could have done but thought of nothing.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Dr. Hamilton said as if divining her thoughts. “You did what you could. So did I.” He lowered his gaze and pressed his lips together. “Give him a spoonful of this if he’s in pain.”

  Renna accepted the brown bottle filled with an opium elixir.

  Dr. Hamilton packed his medical bag and left for home. Renna resigned herself to sponging off her patient and keeping him comfortable—until death set in.

  She dabbed the man’s forehead, wondering if he had family. He wasn’t an old man. Did he have a wife? Certainly someone should be called. Taking a few minutes, Renna scoured his chart, but no one else had been named in case of emergency.

  “I’m dying, ain’t I?”


  He’s conscious. Renna set down the clipped paperwork and hurried to Mr. Anderson’s bedside. His eyes were bright, and she could only soothe his burning brow and try to smile. “It’s God who controls life and death. Not me.” She thought for a long while then asked, “Is there anyone you want me to send for? A wife? Children?”

  “No one. Just me on the farm . . . along with a few hired hands.”

  Renna thought it so sad that he should die alone.

  “My wife left me years ago.”

  “That’s a shame, Mr. Anderson.” Renna continued sponging his forehead.

  “She said I was a no-account drunk, and I suspect she was right. I left her alone far too much of the time.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” Renna rinsed the fever rag again, and her heart grew burdened for this man. He’d apparently alienated everyone in his life. “Is there a minister I can call?”

  “I said there’s no one,” he ground out. Then he muttered more, but Renna couldn’t discern it.

  “Do you know the Lord, Mr. Anderson? Do you know Jesus Christ?” Renna normally wasn’t so bold, but the words seemed to tumble from her mouth.

  He nodded. “He’s the One who hung on a tree and died.” Mr. Anderson turned his fever-bright eyes toward Renna. “I heard a preacher man say that . . . once.”

  “It’s true.” She began to sing softly, a song she knew that was set to the biblical verse John 3:16. “God so loved the world that He sent His only Son. Only begotten Son. That whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. Everlasting life.” She set the cool rag on his forehead.

  Mr. Anderson closed his eyes. “Who wants everlastin’ life? Mine has been nothing but drunkenness, heartache, and pain.”

  “But, to the contrary, everlasting life with God will be free from all that we suffer in this world.”

  “I’d like that. Living free from sufferin’.” The little smile on his lips suddenly turned downward. He began to thrash and moan. “The pain . . . from the accident . . . ”

  Renna administered a dose of the elixir, and within minutes Mr. Anderson settled down.

  “There. That’s better.” Renna set the fever rag on his forehead and resumed her song. “For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that through Him the whole world might be saved.”

  “You think God’ll save a drunk like me?”

  “We’re all sinners, Mr. Anderson. Just some of us are sinners saved by grace. God’s grace.”

  His eyes fluttered closed, and then he grew quiet for a long while.

  Rinsing the rag in the bowl beside her, Renna continued to sponge his face, neck, chest, and arms. She hummed the same song and tried not to think of how tired she was. She ignored her aching feet and the pain in the small of her back from bending over her patients all day.

  “Oh, Christ, I’m sorry for the bad things I done!” Mr. Anderson’s shout echoed through the ward and scared Renna so that she pushed to her feet. When she realized Mr. Anderson’s deliriousness, she soothed him.

  “Shh . . . ” Renna thought he’d awaken the others.

  “I’m sorry . . . take me to heaven. Take me . . . ”

  The poor man writhed in pain, and his body burned so badly from the fever that Renna couldn’t keep the rag cool no matter how many times she rinsed it. She spooned more elixir into his mouth. His breathing slowed. Renna held his hand.

  By morning Mr. Anderson was dead.

  As Renna pulled the sheet over his head, her legs wobbled, partly from the sadness she felt but mostly from exhaustion. Lord, I can only hope that Mr. Anderson met You as his Savior.

  Nurse Rutledge suddenly stood beside her. “I’ll tell the orderlies to take care of the body. In the meantime, Nurse Fields, you’re going home. I’m replacing you with Nurse Thatcher.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Feeling so weary, Renna scarcely remembered the ride home in the hired hackney. She hardly felt the cool breeze against her hot skin as it blew in through the carriage window, and she was only vaguely aware of the towering masts of the vessels moored in the Chicago River. Normally Renna liked to watch for them as they peaked and dipped above many of the city’s buildings. But this morning she didn’t even think of them as she leaned her tired head back against the leather seat.

  And it wasn’t until later, after she arrived home, ate, washed, and had crawled into bed, that she remembered Mr. Blackeyes and his request that she sit with him awhile.

  She bolted upright in her bed and moaned. He had wanted to talk. Guilt assailed her, and she massaged her temples.

  Settling back against her pillows once more, Renna realized that she’d done what she needed to do. Mr. Anderson had needed her immediate attention, while Mr. Blackeyes was well enough to wait.

  I’ll make it up to him, Renna thought with a yawn. Perhaps she’d even bring him some of Mum’s apple pie . . .

  On that thought she closed her eyes and slept.

  THREE

  Renna slept most of Thursday, rising only to accept a light supper from Mum. Then she fell soundly asleep once more and didn’t awaken until the next morning.

  She yawned and stretched, seeing the pinks of dawn beyond her open windows. A cool breeze blew into her bedroom, and the sun steadily rose in the eastern sky. Birds began chirping, and suddenly Renna couldn’t stay in a bed a moment longer.

  Feeling refreshed, she washed and dressed, and, as she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She paused to examine her attire, the dark gray dress with white collar and cuffs. Once at Mercy Hospital she’d don her long white apron. Renna gave her reddish-brown hair a pat. She had pinned it up to fit under the frilly white cap she wore to work, another piece of her uniform.

  Next her gaze scrutinized her birthmark. How ugly she thought it was, that purplish horseshoe-shaped mark, as though someone had taken a hot iron and branded the side of her face. Renna had tried everything from creams to powders, soaps, and herbal teas. Nothing but nothing made the thing fade even slightly.

  On a small sigh of despair, Renna turned away from the mirror. She took a few more minutes with her appearance and then took time for prayer. Leaving her bedroom, Renna made her way downstairs. She ate some breakfast and then packed up the remaining half of her mother’s apple pie to take to the hospital with her. Renna wasn’t about to forget Mr. Blackeyes today. She also took a jar of milk, a napkin, and a fork along with the pie. It looked like a small picnic lunch.

  Renna kissed her mother’s cheek. “Bye, Mum.”

  “Don’t work too hard today, darling.”

  “Oh, I’ll work plenty hard. That’s for sure.” Renna strode through the parlor.

  Her father was just descending the stairs for breakfast. “On your way out already, are you?” His voice held a hint of a brogue, as Grandma Fields was full-blooded Irish. She married Grandpa Fields, an Englishman, and together they had made their way to America. Da had been born in the “New Country,” but he picked up the Irish accent, and it never seemed to go away. Mum said that was what drew her to him—that charming brogue and Da’s strong faith.

  “Good morning, Da.”

  “And the best to you, Renn—my little wren.” His hazel eyes twinkled just as they did each time he used her childhood moniker, wren—a derivative, of sorts, of her given name.

  “Have a good day.” Renna blew him a kiss.

  “I shall.” Wendell Fields sent her an affectionate wink as he straightened his tie.

  Still smiling, Renna left the house and walked the nine blocks to the hospital. As she planned, she arrived early for duty and crept silently into the sick ward. Two new patients had been added sometime yesterday, but Renna hadn’t met them yet. She checked on Mr. Blackeyes and suspected that he wasn’t sleeping.

  “Are you awake?” she whispered.

  He turned his head. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Nurse Fields.”

  “Nurse Fields.” Mr. Blackeyes grinned rather wryly. “I
had thought you fell off the face of the earth. You haven’t been around for days.”

  Renna smiled, although her patient couldn’t see it. “I went home yesterday morning and had the day off. A girl’s got to sleep sometime, you know.”

  “Feels like you’ve been gone for years.”

  Renna shook her head at the man, although he couldn’t see the gesture.

  “Nurse Hatchet has the coldest hands I’ve ever felt!”

  “Nurse Thatcher,” Renna corrected.

  “Hatchet suits her perfectly.”

  Renna pressed her lips together in an effort not to smile. However, his complaints told Renna that he was feeling better.

  “And Nurse Ruthless.”

  “Rutledge.”

  “I beg to differ! Why, I’d go so far as to say that . . . person isn’t even human.”

  “Now, now, I’ll have none of that. Both Nurse Thatcher and Nurse Rutledge are accomplished women.” Renna set down the basket and began to unpack.

  “And the food is awful!”

  Renna thought she might agree with at least that much. “Well, I brought you some of my mother’s apple pie for breakfast. How would that do? A special treat because I didn’t get a chance to talk with you the other night.” She paused in all seriousness now. “Mr. Anderson was, as you might know, deathly ill. In fact, he died the following morning.”

  “I heard it all,” Mr. Blackeyes said in a somber tone. He turned momentarily silent then asked, “Was that all true what you told him? About God and salvation?”

  “Yes.” Renna sent him a curious look. “I spoke of the gospel, straight from the Holy Bible.”

  Another pause. “I prayed to God that night, right along with Mr. Anderson.” Mr. Blackeyes’s voice was but a whisper. “I somehow knew you spoke the truth because Richard used to tell me about salvation and my need for it.”

  “Richard? Why, that’s wonderful!” Gladness soared inside of Renna. Her patient’s memory was returning. And that he accepted Jesus Christ the other night was as much a thrill to hear as it was a miracle! “And who’s Richard?”