The Physician's Irish Lady

by Susan Macatee

  “Of course, my dear.” Millie rose. “I’ll show you to your room and prepare a bath in the bathing room.”

  “Bathing room?” Miss Fagan glanced at Elliot who rose and stepped to the doorway. “Yes, Miss Fagan. We have a pulley that brings fresh water from the well. The used water is drained out through pipes and empties beyond the garden.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Well, I’ve never seen the like.” She turned toward Millie.

  “Come, Miss Fagan. I’ll show you how it works after you’re settled in your room.”

  Once Millie had led Miss Fagan upstairs, Elliot settled in his favorite chair, the one Miss Fagan had taken. Her scent still lingered. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, trying not to imagine Miss Fagan disrobing in the bathing room on the second floor.

  ****

  Keara loosened the pins from her hair and reveled in the feel of warm water and the scented soaps Elliot’s aunt had provided for her bath.

  Allowing the loose strands to drop over her shoulders, she worked soap into her hair and murmured with delight at the luxurious feel. She’d not had the chance to bathe like this in years. Even back in Ireland, she’d always end up bathing after the bath water was used and cold, often opting for the stream in warmer weather.

  The door to the small room opened as Millie bustled in carrying towels. “I see you’re getting on well enough. Here are some fresh towels and a nightgown, unless you have your own in your bag.”

  Keara’s face heated. “No, ma’am. I’m afraid I don’t own one. I sleep in me chemise.”

  Millie laid the towels on a small table by the tub. “It’s no bother.” She held up the gown. “This belonged to Elliot’s mother. She was a tall, curvy woman, close enough in size I thought you’d fit. I’ll wash the clothes you were wearing tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have to launder me clothes,” Keara protested. She didn’t want to put the poor woman out. Surely, she had enough work to keep her occupied.

  “Nonsense,” Millie said. “It’s my regular wash day, anyway. I have to take care of my nephew’s soiled clothing from his trip. Might as well add yours.”

  Keara blushed at the thought of her clothes intermingling with the doctor’s. But she only had one change of clothing in her bag. “If you insist, but I was thinking Dr. James would be setting me up at the boardinghouse tomorrow.”

  Millie leaned toward Keara. “I’ll have a talk with him. I think it would be for the best if you stayed at least for a few days. And he still has a few of his mother’s dresses packed in a trunk. If they fit, you could wear them while you’re staying with us.”

  “But I don’t want to impose on the doctor,” Keara protested.

  Millie shrugged, stirring a log in the stove’s embers to ward off any chill. “It’s only my nephew and I, since my poor sister passed. I miss having others in the house to talk to.”

  Keara leaned back and scrubbed her toes. “Doesn’t Dr. James have any brothers or sisters?”

  “He had three. Two died young of fever, and the brother who survived died in the war…in the very regiment where Elliot served as camp surgeon.”

  “How terrible!” Keara exclaimed.

  “And his father died shortly after of a weak heart. It left Elliot all alone, except for his mother. After the war, he returned and took care of her.”

  “He never married?” Keara twisted her hair in an effort to wring out the moisture.

  “No. He did have a girl here in town before the war, but she married another man and moved out west. I suppose his heart was broken, although he never showed it. Just devoted himself to his mother until her death.”

  “It’s so sad,” Keara said. “At least he still has you.”

  Millie sighed. “He needs a good woman who’ll be his helpmate and give him children. I never had children of my own and never will at this point. I’d love to be around to care for a new generation of little ones.”

  Keara’s soaped skin tingled at the thought of being that woman, but no respectable man like Dr. James would want the likes of her for his wife. He deserved a sweet, gentle, refined woman to be the mother of his children.

  Once she stepped from the tub and dried herself off, Millie held out the nightgown. “Wear this to sleep in. If you don’t have a change of clothes for tomorrow, you can help yourself to one of the dresses I left hanging in the wardrobe in the guest room.”

  “You’re very kind, Miss…” Keara hesitated, realizing Dr. James had introduced his aunt by her given name as she slipped the soft gown over her head.

  “Call me Millie,” she said.

  Keara smiled, but shook her head. “I couldn’t, ma’am. Wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Call me Aunt Millie then.” The older woman smirked.

  “Then you must call me Keara.”

  “What a lovely name!” Millie exclaimed. “You’re from Ireland?”

  “Yes.” Keara followed her host down the hall.

  “I’ve never been there, but I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

  “Aye, it is.” Her eyes misted at the memory of the place she’d likely never see again.

  As Millie turned down the bed, Keara examined the dresses in the wardrobe. She’d never seen the like of such fine material. She held one up against her.

  “Will be a perfect fit.” Millie smiled.

  “I shouldn’t.” Keara replaced the dress on the hanger. “It belonged to the doctor’s mother.”

  “Well…” Millie glanced away. “I don’t think he’ll mind at all.”

  Keara grinned. “Good night, Aunt Millie and thank you again for all yer help.” She slipped beneath the covers.

  “Before I go, I wanted to warn you.” Millie stepped to her side. “I had a dream last night about an evil man chasing you.”

  A shiver raced down Keara’s spine. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Aunt Millie.”

  The older woman shook her head. “Oh, no. My dreams often come true. Please take care.”

  As she left the room and gently closed the door, Keara huddled under the blanket. How could she know about Rogan? And what would she do if he found his way here? She blew out a sigh. She’d stay a few days then move on. He’d never find her.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday morning, Rogan Morrissey stepped off the train at the York station. He strolled down the planks on the lookout for the station master. If Keara Fagan had gotten off here, the man might remember the comely Irishwoman.

  The dark-haired, bearded man glanced up with a polite smile as Rogan approached his desk. “Me fine sir, might I inquire about a passenger who may have disembarked yesterday?” Rogan allowed his brogue to thicken. He used it when it suited his purpose. Otherwise, he tried to soften it, depending on circumstances.

  “I only recall a few who got off a train from Philadelphia late yesterday.”

  “Was one of them a young woman? An Irishwoman with red-gold hair?”

  The man sat back regarding Rogan. He would, of course, be suspicious. “And why would you be looking for such a woman?”

  “She’s me wife,” Rogan said. “She run off.”

  “Your wife?” The station master squinted. “As I recall, she left with a man.”

  “She likely conned one of your fine local men into helping her.” Rogan winked. “Playing the poor helpless woman. Likely swooned or fainted to get his attention.”

  “Ah…I don’t know if I can help you, sir.”

  Rogan spread his hands. “We’ve been married less than a month. Came over from Ireland into New York. She’s homesick, and that’s likely why she ran. I have to find her for her own protection, you understand.”

  The man nodded. “I can see your point. Wouldn’t want my wife running around in a strange country on her own.” He leaned forward. “The man she left with is a doctor who lives in Fairfield.”

  “Fairfield?” Rogan frowned.

  “It’s a small town surrounded by farmland, several miles north of here. Follow the signs and ask any farmers you see. They’ll be
able to point the way.”

  “Thank you, sir. I will be needing transportation, though.”

  “The stables are just down the street. You can rent a horse and carriage if you need it.”

  “Thank you again.” Rogan replaced his hat and strode down the street to the stables. He’d see if he could rent a wagon and hopefully be back in time for the morning train to Philadelphia with Keara.

  ****

  Rogan steered the covered wagon he’d rented along the winding country road out of town. Tranquil farmland stretched out in every direction. He’d just follow the road until he came across someone he could ask for directions.

  A lone farmer weeding his tobacco field, a plow horse before him, wound along the edge of the road Rogan traveled. He pulled up on the reins slowing the russet gelding. “Whoa.” He stopped and removed his hat as the farmer drew near.

  “Sir,” he called. “Might I be asking you a question?”

  The farmer, a tanned, light haired man with a sparse beard, halted his horse and tipped his straw hat. “What might that be, stranger?”

  “I’m looking for a town called Fairfield.”

  “Oh, just up the road. Stay on this path, and you’ll see the sign. In fact, you can’t miss it.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Rogan replaced his hat. “And might you be knowing a man by the name of Doctor James?”

  “The Doc?” The farmer smiled. “He’s been treating my wife for dyspepsia and our young son for quinsy throat just last week.”

  Rogan smiled. “Is that so?”

  “Sure is.” The farmer frowned. “You’re not ailing are you, Mister?”

  Rogan shook his head. “No, sir. The doc’s just a good friend. Haven’t seen him in a while.”

  The farmer waved. “You’ll be there before sunset. I’m sure the doc’ll be glad to see you.”

  “Well, he will be surprised,” Rogan admitted.

  As he resumed his travel, he smiled. Wouldn’t be long before he had his prize back in his charge.

  ****

  At the town limits, Rogan drove his gelding into a canter. He’d inquire of the first townsperson he saw if he knew the doctor.

  An elderly man dressed in a fading military uniform stepped across the boards at the town center. He eyed Rogan, his full white beard lending him an air of authority.

  “Sir, might I inquire of somewhere I could be gettin’ a bite to eat?” Rogan asked from his perch in the wagon.

  The old gent pointed. “The boardinghouse is thataway. You can get a meal and a room if you so desire.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He drove his wagon toward the structure, then halted the gelding, tying him to the hitching post outside.

  A thin boy with wavy brown hair stood outside training a small dog. Rogan approached. “That dog won’t bite, will he?”

  The boy grinned. “No, sir. Not unless I tell him too.” He gazed at the small yipping animal. “Least ways, I don’t reckon so. He’s not fully trained yet.”

  Rogan smiled, offering his hand to the dog. He sniffed, then returned to the biscuit he’d been chewing. “Is this the boardinghouse?” He motioned to the green and white sprawling structure with a wide front porch. Several rockers sat beside the front door.

  “Yes, sir.” The boy nodded. “My ma runs the house. You need a room?”

  Rogan glanced around. “Well, I need a bite to eat. Might stay if I find what I’m looking for.”

  The boy frowned. “And what might that be?”

  A woman appeared on the porch. “Mind your manners, Benjamin Thomas Lang.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What can I do you for, Mister?” Her gray-eyed gaze traveled over Rogan.

  He put on his best Irish charm. “Ma’am, I’ve traveled all the way from Philadelphia and am in need of a good meal. The station master in York told me of your quaint town and suggested I could find a meal and lodging at the boardinghouse in Fairfield.”

  “Philadelphia, you say?” Her eyes widened.

  “Aye, ma’am. Before that I lived in New York City.”

  She smiled, working her fingers over her apron. “New York! I’d love to hear all about it. Why don’t you come on in? I’m setting the table for the lunch crowd.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Will me horse and wagon be safe here?” He motioned toward the hitching post.

  “Of course. We’re a small, quiet town. Nothing much happens here.” She nodded for him to follow. “I’m Mrs. Lang, by the way.”

  “Rogan Morrissey.” He introduced himself as she led him inside into a dining room with a long mahogany table with twelve chairs set around it. “This is a fine place you have here, ma’am.”

  She turned and smiled. “Have a seat. I’m just getting the luncheon ready. The other guests will be joining you. You can introduce yourself.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Rogan chose a seat at the end of the table, wondering how many other guests Mrs. Lang had.

  Shortly after, a short, balding man entered the room. Another dark haired man with a full beard followed.

  They introduced themselves as Mr. Barksdale and Mr. Wickham, both temporary boarders. Before Rogan could introduce himself, Mrs. Lang reappeared with a steaming tray of baked chicken, cole slaw, and red potatoes. She laid the spread on the table alongside a stack of plates. “Help yourself, gentleman.” She glanced toward Rogan. “We’re informal for the luncheon meal. If you’d like to rent a room, I’ll be serving dinner promptly at four.”

  She took a seat at the head of the table. “Mr. Morrissey has come all the way from New York City.” She beamed as if revealing a tantalizing bit of news.

  “New York City, you say?” Mr. Barksdale turned an admiring gaze on Rogan. “What is it you do there, sir, if I may ask?”

  “I’m a bit of a businessman. I recruit workers at the docks when they arrive in America.”

  “You mean, immigrants?” Mr. Wickham bit into a potato.

  “Well, I’m an immigrant meself.” Rogan lifted his fork. “I understand how destitute and in need of work these people are. A lot of businesses in the city are in need of such workers.”

  “I see,” Mr. Barksdale went on, “but why are you in Fairfield? It seems the most unlikely place for a gentleman like you.”

  Rogan cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m in search of someone.”

  “You don’t say?” Wickham asked.

  Mrs. Lang didn’t join the conversation, but her eyes gleamed with interest.

  “Do you have a physician in town by the name of Dr. James?”

  “Why yes!” Mrs. Lang exclaimed. “Why are you searching for the doctor?”

  Rogan bit into a piece of chicken, chewing before replying. “It’s not the doctor I need; it’s the woman traveling with him.”

  “Woman?” Mrs. Lang shook her head. “The only woman he’d be traveling with would be his aunt. And I know for a fact, she’s been in town while he was away.”

  “His aunt?” Rogan asked.

  “Yes, sir. He’s not married, and his maiden aunt lives with him since his poor mother passed on.”

  Rogan shook his head. “I was told by the station master in York the doctor escorted a young woman from the train. She got into his carriage.”

  “Don’t know who the woman might be.” Mrs. Lang shook her head as the men looked on with interest.

  “I know who she is,” Rogan said. “It’s the reason I must find the doctor.”

  Mrs. Lang frowned as the men sat quietly.

  “She’s me wife, you see. She ran off, and I’m here to take her home.”

  Chapter Four

  Elliot drove his mare alongside the cornfields. He’d left Miss Fagan in the care of his aunt, so he could pay a visit to Dale Martin, one of his regular patients. His wife, Abby, had been stricken with dyspepsia, and he’d prescribed a moderate dose of bismuth. He’d promised to pay a visit in a few days to see if the remedy worked.

  Dale met him on the road and waved him up to the
house. “She’s doing much better, Doc.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Elliot tied his mare to the post outside the sprawling farm house and followed the man inside.

  Mrs. Martin still lay in bed but appeared anxious to be up and about. Elliot examined her and saw no signs of the indigestion and stomach upset that had plagued her.

  “You see…” She glared at her husband. “Doc James says I’m just fine.”

  “Wait just a minute, ma’am.” Elliot patted her hand. “I still prescribe another day in bed and two more days of rest before you resume your chores.”

  Dale nodded. “I’ll see she stays abed, Doc. Our daughter will be by to help for a few days.”

  “Wonderful,” Elliot said. “You’ll be up and about before you know it.”

  Mrs. Martin smiled weakly.

  “I’ll bring up some tea after I see Doc out,” her husband said.

  Once downstairs, Dale drew Elliot into the kitchen. “Before you go, Doc, I wanted to let you know an Irishman passed by around noon asking questions about you.”

  “An Irishman? What did he want to know?” Elliot’s spine tingled as he thought of Miss Fagan.

  Dale scratched his head. “Said he was a good friend of yours and wanted to pay a visit.” The farmer frowned. “Hope I didn’t do wrong by pointing him into town.”

  Elliot patted Dale’s shoulder. “Not your fault. But I will be on the lookout for him.”

  “Won’t be hard to miss, Doc. He’s stocky with a ruddy face and reddish hair. And he’s driving a covered wagon.”

  Elliot nodded. “Thank you, Dale. It’s likely nothing to worry about. I might’ve met him in the city and don’t remember.”

  But as he mounted his mare, Elliot bit his lip wondering if he’d brought trouble on himself by aiding Miss Fagan and bringing her home.

  ****

  Keara sank her hands into the dough laid out on the kitchen table. Since running from her servitude in Australia, she hadn’t had a chance to engage in such a domestic chore. And then she’d been working for a demanding harpy who found fault with everything she did. But even that paled in comparison to what the woman’s husband demanded. She’d kept out of his reach for the length of her sentence until the final day when she’d fought back and had no choice but to run and keep running.