The Last Bloom

by Roberta C. M. DeCaprio

  It had been almost ten years since she’d last set eyes on him. He left to attend college in Boston when she was thirteen and at fifteen she left to attend to her studies in England. The first three years Brodie was studying away he didn’t come home. His schedule was too intense. So, the O’Claritys’ went to see him. Consequently, by the time Brodie could come back to Eagle’s Landing for visits, she had already left for England.

  After one glance she thought life had been kind to Brodie. Truth be told, life had been downright generous. The lean, baby-faced young man she bid farewell to had returned a well-built, muscular gentleman with a strong, handsome face. But the russet curls and large green eyes were the same, as was the genuine, kind smile that spread across his semi-freckled face when he spied her entering the door.

  In an instant he came to her, his strong arms circling her waist in a familiar embrace. She immediately, standing on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck and inhaled the clean scent of spice that was his aftershave. “Thank God you’re finally here,” she whispered, meaning her words more than even she realized.

  “Did you have any doubt I’d come?” He pulled back to search her face.

  Her cheeks warmed beneath his scrutiny. She stepped from his embrace, confused. What had changed between them? This was Brodie, the neighbor and friend who was more like an older brother—looking out for her and buying her ice cream with the first pay he earned mucking the local stables. He picked her up when she fell, wiped her tears, and carried her to his father when she’d skinned her knee. He kept bullies from teasing her as she walked home from school. Why did she now feel so strange in his presence?

  She cleared her throat nervously. “No, I had no doubts at all.”

  He arched a brow as he took in the length of her hair. “And what happened to all those long, golden curls?”

  She brushed back a wayward strand from her forehead. “Shorter hair is all the style now.”

  “So it seems.” He crossed his arms. “Well, at least it suits you. Really brings out those large baby blues of yours. Did you know your eyes always reminded me of my favorite marble?”

  His small compliment made her heart race and left her tongue-tied; therefore, she chose to make no reply to his confession. At this point she felt it was much safer to stay silent, for fear her voice would crack. But his approval, for some strange reason, left her self-conscious. Again she wondered why.

  The awkward silence filling the room brought an immediate change to Brodie. “Yes, well, I’d say we’d better get going on these house calls. I’ve picked up a schedule from Shailyn earlier. So, I trust you’ll fill me in on each patient, Nurse Holmes,” was his stern response as he turned to retrieve his bag.

  She wiped her sweaty palms on her nurse’s apron, worried she’d offended him. Not wanting to do any further damage, she also responded in a professional manner. “Yes, of course, Doctor O’Clarity.”

  He turned to face her. “Have you a bag?”

  “Yes, waiting for me in my bicycle’s basket,” she replied.

  “Well, that way of travel would be most inconvenient for the two of us, so we’ll be using a horse and wagon. I’ve one ready and waiting out back.” He walked in the opposite direction.

  “I’ll meet you there.” She hurried out the front entrance to secure her bike and get her bag. As the door closed behind her, she couldn’t help but feel this day was going to be a long one—very long indeed.

  Chapter Ten

  As Brodie went out the back way of the medical office, he hoped Cassia would take some time before joining him. He needed a moment to clear his head and regain his composure.

  Frowning now, he mentally chastised himself.

  How stupid of me to have expected her to be the same young woman I left.

  Suddenly, he must face the fact that Cassia was three years older than Dorothea. When he’d embraced her waist, which was much slimmer and shapelier, he was caught off guard. Then, when her full, firm breasts pressed against his chest and the delicious scent of lavender invaded his senses, a whole lot of other thoughts flooded his mind—thoughts he never pictured having toward Cassia. Her nurse’s pinafore, which draped over curvy hips, had a hemline reaching only to an inch below her knees, leaving in full few the remainder of two, perfectly shaped legs and dainty ankles.

  She’d always been like a little sister. She grew up with his baby brother, the two playing and napping together on a quilt spread upon their parlor floor. He watched his older sister bathe Cassia when she was brought over to be looked after. She ran around their kitchen in diapers, laid down on his bed to take a nap while sucking on her bottle. He stood guard so she wouldn’t roll over and fall off. He carried her on his shoulders, wiped her tears, and bought her ice cream. This was the Cassia he knew and remembered—not this beautiful woman with golden hair framing an angelic face—a goddess in a nurse’s uniform.

  Saints preserve us, she’s completely undone me.

  The anticipation of working side by side with someone he knew well, felt relaxed and comfortable with, just clouded. Now, this day would be awkward and tense. Exquisitely profound womanhood radiated from her like the heat from a large bonfire. How would he sit beside her in the wagon, or work near her with thoughts of caressing her soft skin? Were her thighs as perfect as her ankles? How would those ample, firm breasts feel cupped in his hands? And those full, pouty lips had to be soft, taste as sweet as she smelled.

  Agitated by his thoughts, he raked a hand through his hair.

  I must get a grip on what’s important. The patients, helping those that are sick…other than that, nothing else matters.

  “I’m ready when you are, Doctor O’Clarity.” A voice from behind pulled him from his lewd longings.

  He turned to gaze into the light blue eyes of this gorgeous woman. And instantly he was disgusted with his mindset, embarrassed over the feelings she invoked within him. This was someone he once protected, cared about, and respected. Nothing needed to change.

  He smiled and softened his tone. “I’m still just Brodie, Cassia.”

  Her return smile melted his heart. “And I’m still glad for that.” When he took her hand to help her into the carriage, she squeezed it affectionately. “Welcome home, Brodie.”

  He paused, glancing down at how perfectly her tiny hand fit in his. And in that fleeting moment he knew he belonged…in a way he never did in Boston or with Dorothea.

  He’d learned, growing up with a doctor father, it was important to know the patient fully. Treating the person, both medically and emotionally, gave a clearer, well-rounded look at the malady troubling the patient. It also fostered trust. So, before visiting each name on the patient list, he asked Cassia to give him a brief insight into to what to expect of the person, the household dynamics, as well as the illness being treated. He could do this to some degree in Boston. However, the quick-paced, high-level turnover of sickbeds made it a time-consuming process, frowned upon by his superiors and many of the other hospital staff. So, his duties were done on an automatic speed—efficient, yes—personal, no.

  Now, this wasn’t the case. Though he had to keep to a schedule, time was there for his using. And making house calls more personal than professional, but still accomplishing the task at hand, seemed a better idea. His father had built the clientele of the town, and these folks built a trust in Sean O’Clarity. If Brodie was to successfully fill his father’s medical shoes, for whatever length of time needed, he had to come across in the same friendly, yet qualified manor.

  Cassia held the list while he drove the wagon. “Our first patient this morning is Mr. Ned Beachum. He’s suffering from rectal bleeding, can’t sit for long periods of time without a lot of pain and itching.” She lowered the list of names and began to give him a brief insight on the patient. “First, Mr. Beachum drives a milk wagon for Owen Morris. He and his wife, Clara, run a small dairy farm located a few blocks away from your house. Daily he covers a large route and spends long hours sitting on a hard, w
ooden seat.”

  “Sounds like Ned’s got a case of hemorrhoids,” he diagnosed.

  “That would be my idea on the matter,” she agreed. “And I’ve seen some very painful cases in pregnant women.”

  “Has Ned got a wife?” he inquired.

  She lifted the list to read further about the patient. “Yes, and four children, so I imagine taking time off from work is setting the family back financially.”

  “Then the problem needs to be addressed correctly, efficiently, and hopefully without having to schedule a surgical procedure. I haven’t a problem with you sitting and chatting with the wife while I take care of Ned.”

  “Well, I do…” she snapped.

  A quick glance in her direction found her frowning.

  His own brows furrowed. “Have I said something to offend you, Cassia?”

  She met his gaze. “Would you expect the nurses at the hospital in Boston to sit out of a patient’s room and chat with the wife while you did an examination?”

  He brought his eyes back to the road. “I just thought, because you’re a midwife, that this case might be…would be rather…”

  She interrupted. “Awkward for me to handle?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, yes.”

  “Do you feel awkward when you are needed to handle cases involving female patients?” she shot at him.

  His frown deepened. “Of course not, I’m a doctor. I’ve taken an oath to care for the sick—period. No matter their sex or anything else.”

  “Exactly,” she snapped. “And I have taken the same oath.”

  He tried again to explain. “I just thought since you basically administered to women’s needs, you’d feel uncomfortable with this case.”

  “Brodie, I studied nursing as well as midwifery, and it was a blessing I did because while I was in England a war broke out. All available medical people were called upon to perform all duties that arose. Because of my dual training, I was able to answer that call.” She inhaled sharply. “To be perfectly blunt, I’ve seen more men minus their trousers—examined more genitalia and buttocks then I care to remember—in all stages of disease and lack of cleanliness, from a horrible case of poison ivy to bullet wounds. First and foremost in my mind was not my girlish virtue but to help that soldier the best way I could…hopefully, to save his life and definitely to relieve his pain.”

  “I’m sorry, Cassia,” he apologized. “I meant no disrespect.”

  The rest of the way to the Beachum homestead they remained silent. He spoke the truth; he didn’t mean any disrespect, but then, what did he mean? Certainly he’d expect any nurse he worked side by side with in Boston to help him administer to all patients. Why did he think differently when it concerned Cassia?

  Because I’m still thinking of her as the innocent little girl I used to protect. For God’s sake, she’s a professional woman now with an educated brain to go along with that woman’s body…a body I can’t take my eyes off of. Tormented, he briefly squeezed his eyes shut. She is a fellow colleague. Thinking of her as anything other than that is wrong. So, get a grip, Brodie O’Clarity before you make a fool of yourself.

  “We need to turn left here, Brodie.” She pulled him once more from his thoughts.

  The Beachum house, a small, clapboard framed, single story dwelling, was situated a mile down a very desolate and winding road. A woman in her forties answered the door. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck and dark circles colored the flesh beneath large, brown eyes. She wore a a well-worn green skirt and a faded, flowered shirt, stained with what looked like baby vomit. Her feet were bared and dirty. And the toddler she balanced upon her right hip was naked.

  While he introduced himself and Cassia, he took in the poor, unkept condition of the kitchen.

  The woman, somewhat embarrassed, also glanced around the chaos of the unorganized room, as she in turn introduced herself as Olivia Beachum. “Sorry for the mess,” she apologized. “Been tryin’ to bathe little Anna here before my other three youngin’s get home from school, and I keep gettin’ disturbed.” She sighed. “Ned’s really feelin’ poorly and needin’ a lot of my attention this mornin’.”

  Anna was indeed in need of being washed, as the strong odor of urine and vomit rose to meet him when they stepped farther into the home. “Is the baby ill?”

  Olivia frowned. “Just teethin’, I ’spect. Feelin’ fussy an’ all from sore gums.”

  “Still, after we have a look at your husband, I’d like to examine Anna,” he said.

  Olivia hoisted Anna farther up on her hip. “We ain’t got enough for ya to be lookin’ in on Ned and the baby. And right now, my husband is worse off. Can’t sit to do his job or on the pot to do his business without a lot of pain. If he don’t get back to workin’ soon, ain’t none of us gonna be able to eat.”

  It was Cassia who spoke, nearing Olivia and gently placing a caressing hand upon little Anna’s head. “You need not concern yourself with payment, Mrs. Beachum. Whatever we need to do for both Anna and your husband, will be done.” She turned her large, blue eyes to look at him. “Isn’t that right, Dr. O’Clarity?”

  And here was the plight of a country doctor. How many times had his father been at a patient’s bedside throughout the night, only to come home with a dozen eggs, sometimes empty-handed? But he never went hungry nor was deprived of the essentials a boy needed to grow up strong and educated. He and his siblings had everything they needed—food, clothing, a good home to live in, and lots of love.

  “That’s right, Mrs. Beachum,” he said. “There’s no call for concern.”

  Upon his reply, Cassia’s features softened, a look of admiration shining in her marble-swirled orbs. And that one, brief but adoring look, caused his heart to skip a beat. In an instant he found himself addicted to her admiring glance. How perfect it would be to have this enchanting woman looking upon him in such a manner for the rest of time, in every instance. For all the times he looked into Dorothea’s eyes, never did he think to want such devotion from her.

  “I thank ya both, kindly,” Mrs. Beachum said. Then she indicated with the wave of a hand to a doorway at the far end of the kitchen, its frame covered with a curtain. “My Ned’s yonder, layin’ on the bed.”

  The room was dark, except for the dim glow of a small, oil lantern sitting on an old chest of drawers. Bad lighting was a doctor’s worst enemy. Cassia must have read his mind, because immediately she reached for the lantern and brought it to a rest on a small bedside table.

  The light shed a better look at Ned Beachum—a man of medium build, black hair peppered with gray, mussed up and longish. He appeared to be in or about his late forties and wore a blue striped night shirt that fell above a set of bony knees. Curled up on his side, facing them, the man slowly opened his eyes and then shielded them from the light.

  “Good day to you, Mr. Beachum,” he began. “I’m Doctor Brodie O’Clarity, and I’ve come to look at what ails you.” He gestured to Cassia. “This is Nurse Holmes.”

  Cassia gave the man a warm smile. “Please, call me Cassia.” She placed her bag on a nearby chair.

  Mr. Beachum frowned. “Ain’t the sight of my bleedin’ ass gonna scare ya any, Miss Cassia?”

  “It won’t bother me, if looking doesn’t bother you,” she said.

  “I just want this pain and itchin’ to stop,” he mumbled.

  “And that’s what we’re here for, Mr. Beachum,” she said softly.

  “If you could roll onto your stomach and get up on your knees, Mr. Beachum, I can examine the affected area,” he said.

  Cassia pulled from her bag a rubber sheet and placed it beneath Mr. Beachum as he turned onto his stomach. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time,” she promised. After the man crawled upon his knees and jutted out his buttocks, Cassia lifted the night shirt, rolling it to stay around the patient’s waist. “And back to work doing your deliveries.”

  “Yup, gotta get myself back on the job. Got mouths t
o feed and bills to pay,” the patient commiserated.

  “I understand completely,” Cassia continued. She kept Ned Beachum talking about his job, Olivia, and his children throughout the examination, even during the painful internal check necessary to see if surgery was needed. Her distraction not only helped the patient, but him as well. Her diversion put them all at ease and as comfortable as Ned could possibly feel, despite his painful, bared, hairy, and bloody backside in full view for all to see. Brodie was also pleased with the fact Cassia’s conversation with the patient took nothing away from the efficient way she assisted him.

  “I feel no internal problems, Mr. Beachum,” he said finally.

  The man groaned as Brodie removed a gloved finger from the area he probed. “What’s that mean, Doc?”

  “It means there’s no reason to anticipate surgery. But you need to get the outer problem healed, so there won’t be further complications,” he said.

  “I have something that will help,” Cassia offered. Referring to her bag, she pulled from it a small bottle and a packet of cotton sheets. “Jojoba oil is known to help in such matters.” She soaked a piece of cotton with a bit of the oil and applied it to Mr. Beachum’s affected area. “I’ll leave this bottle and several cotton balls, here for your use. Applying it three to four times a day will give you much needed relief, as will putting more fiber in your diet to help you move your bowels easier.”

  “We’ll return in a couple of days to see how you’re doing,” he promised.