“Ah, you’re awake, then.” A nurse entered the room.
Although Claire sensed no malice, she drew away from the woman, one of the ones who had waited with Nanette on Wednesday evening for their dinner escorts. She had some sort of English accent.
“Don’t worry, Doctor, I won’t hurt you. I didn’t know who you were when I first saw you. I’m Lillian, one of the nurses here at the women’s hospital.”
“So now you know I’m a doctor, you’re going to be nice to me?” Claire wrinkled her nose. I’ve no use for people who aren’t generally respectful of others.
Lillian shrugged. “You can choose what to believe about me, but I meant no offense the other night. Now let’s take your temperature before you heat yourself up with your redheaded temper.”
I don’t really have one. But rather than argue, which she didn’t have the energy for, Claire allowed Lillian to help her to a sitting position. She opened her mouth, and the nurse placed a thermometer under her tongue. Claire watched as Lillian walked around the room and lit the two oil lamps, one on the table beside her and one on a dresser across the room. They plus the golden light from the setting sun gave the room a warm glow, but Claire didn’t relax until Lillian took the thermometer and pronounced her temperature normal.
“Doctor Perkins will be by later to give you a listen and make sure you’re good to go back to your room at the general’s house. Doctor Radcliffe’s orders are for you to take it easy through tomorrow.”
Ugh on both counts. What must Radcliffe think of me? Did I faint in his office? “I’d rather Doctor Radcliffe see to me.”
“You and the rest of the base, dearie. I won’t let you be in here alone with him, don’t worry. We women have our reputation to keep, although the rules are more relaxed here. If you go into town, though, be sure you have an escort.”
Claire wasn’t sure what to make of this unsolicited advice, but her rumbling stomach replied before she could.
“Oh, you missed lunch, didn’t you? Hang here a trice, and I’ll be back with some soup.”
Lillian disappeared, and Claire sat back to watch the shadows outside change. Her pocket watch said it was a little after five when Lillian returned with a tray, on which there was a bowl of soup, a piece of bread, and a glass of juice.
“Thank you,” Claire said. “It smells wonderful.”
Lillian placed the tray on Claire’s lap and pressed a button on the side. Little wooden legs lowered so the tray stayed even and didn’t warm Claire’s lap too much.
“Clever,” Claire said.
“Sometimes our boys in tinkering actually make something useful. Do you have everything you need?”
Claire nodded, and Lillian turned to leave, but something she’d said made Claire say, “Wait.”
“Yes?”
“Are you familiar with the tinkerers? I mean, do you talk to them regularly, know what they’re working on?”
“Why, do you need something?”
Claire thought to the glowing thing in the glass globe that O’Connell had thrown a sheet over. “No, I was just curious.” Her vision fogged, and she heard her voice as though she stood on the other side of an echoing tunnel once. “I knew a tinkerer once. In Boston, I think.” She blinked the strange film away. Lillian studied her with a frown.
“I don’t know that any of them except that Irishman have ever been to Boston,” the nurse told her. “And whatever he’s working on is some sort of big secret. No one is close enough to him to find out what except Doctor Radcliffe, and he’s certainly not telling.”
“I see. Well, thank you.”
“I’ll check on you in a bit, dearie.”
Claire picked up the spoon and tried some of the soup. Like that morning’s breakfast, it tasted very salty to her, but not overly so. Her mother and aunt had treated her like an invalid, which meant a bland diet, so she supposed she just wasn’t accustomed to normal food. She hoped that would change.
Meanwhile, she wanted to know what Patrick O’Connell worked on. Something about the strange device in the workshop fascinated her. Things like that often did and filled her with a wistfulness, but for what, she didn’t know. Her intuition told her she would find out, though, if she pursued knowledge of the Irishman’s secret. It would probably be safer than going after her own.
Chapter Eight
Distillery Hospital, 24 February 1871
Chad ran into Perkins as he was leaving. The smug smirk on Perkins’s face made Chad pause. He swallowed his pride—apologizing to the ass would be best for the hospital, and he’d need Perkins’s cooperation once Claire started working with the boys. If being too near Chad made her ill, she’d have to work with Perkins.
“About yesterday,” Chad said and held out a hand, “I’m sorry. I lost my head, and I shouldn’t have.”
Perkins nodded and took Chad’s hand for a limp shake. “Apology accepted.”
“Just to let you know, though, Doctor McPhee is going to be working with us, and I expect everyone, including myself, to maintain a professional air about it.”
Perkins raised his eyebrows, which echoed the curve of his glasses. “I’d heard a neuroticist was coming. That’s her?”
Chad tried to erase the comparison to a fish opening and closing its mouth without anything useful coming out. “Yes, I got the telegram from the general today. It was held up at the post for a week.”
“Typical,” Perkins said with a sigh. “It’s a good thing we don’t need those messages in a timely manner. It’s not like we’re at war or anything.”
“True.” Chad appreciated the other doctor’s attempt at humor. Things would always be tense around him, but he could at least try to be civil.
They walked out into the dusk, but Perkins didn’t turn toward the dining hall.
“Aren’t you going to have dinner?” Chad asked.
“Yes, but I have to check on your girl first. Apparently she had some sort of fit today?”
Chad sighed. Great, just when I thought we’d reached a peaceful point. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”
“It’s quite all right. I’ll be a gentleman, don’t worry.” Perkins lengthened his stride. His legs were longer, so Chad had to jog to keep up with him.
“I admitted her, so I’d like to see how she’s doing,” Chad said. They reached the women’s ward, a converted house, at the same time.
Perkins opened the door and went through. Chad had to catch it before it slammed in his face. What was Perkins’s problem? Well, beyond that they were both coming to see the reason Chad had shoved him and ruined his second best suit. Perkins was an army doctor—he couldn’t afford to be a peacock in any sense.
While Perkins checked the book and talked to the nurse, Chad went up the stairs to Clair’s room. She sat in the bed and braided her long copper penny-colored hair, which was even redder in the gentle light coming from the lamps. A book lay open on her lap, and her lips moved as she read. He caught his breath at finding her in such a personal moment. He’d only seen her with her hair down a few times, when they’d managed to sneak away from her parents and steal a few kisses. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands out of it, and they’d laughed as they tried to find all the pins. Now he couldn’t move, only watch her slender gloved fingers tame the red-gold strands into the braid. Thankfully she was fully dressed. Otherwise there was no way he’d let Perkins near her.
“Ah, there you are,” Perkins said. He approached with the nurse Lillian at his heels.
“Hello, Doctor Radcliffe,” she said.
Claire looked up, her eyes wide behind her glasses. Then she schooled her expression into a smile. Was she happy to see him? Or was he allowing himself foolish hope?
“Well, hello, Doctors. Are you here to release me from this gilded cage?” With swift movements, she finished the braid and pinned it up into a bun at the back of her head. Ch
ad felt like he’d been spying on her and stepped aside to let Perkins into the room. Claire watched him warily. Perkins listened to her heart and lungs and pronounced her fit.
“Just try to avoid whatever landed you here,” he said and stepped back. Chad relaxed the death grip he had on the door frame and flexed his fingers.
“That might be tough, but I’ll do my best.” Claire met Chad’s eyes with a little grin. It was the same look she’d given him back when they shared their love with its secrets and inside jokes.
Chad couldn’t smile back lest he trigger her memory of those moments, so he scowled. She looked away, a blush coming to her cheeks and neck.
“Then if we’re done here, she can go back to the general’s house. She needs to eat, and I trust Mrs. Soper to feed her better than the mess hall cooks.”
Perkins nodded and looked from Claire to Chad. He put his stethoscope in one pocket and walked out of the room without saying another word. Chad wondered what he was thinking but didn’t ask. He was sure he’d find out soon enough.
“Excuse me, Doctor?” The nurse made a shooing motion with her hands. “I’m going to help Doctor McPhee get ready to leave. Would you mind stepping fully out so I can close the door?”
Chad wasn’t sure what else needed to be done, but he complied. The click of the door closing squashed his heart. There would always be a barrier between them, at least unless he could figure out the Eros device.
* * * * *
As Lillian helped Claire with her boots, Claire pondered the strange visit from the doctors. What was Radcliffe’s problem? First he’d given off tender, caring emotions, and then they turned cold with an edge of frustration. As for Perkins, he was the typical male creature, but at least he had a screen of professionalism over his inappropriate feelings toward her.
As for how he felt toward Radcliffe, Claire needed to figure that one out. There was contempt, definitely, but also envy and something else she couldn’t tease out.
“Will you be all right walking to the General’s House, Doctor?” Lillian asked. The aroma of some sort of fish wafted from what Claire assumed was the direction of the mess hall. The odor turned Claire’s stomach, but Lillian sniffed the air and licked her lips. “Smells like the fishing expedition got back.”
“You go right ahead,” Claire said. She hoped Mrs. Soper would have something light, or at least not fishy, for her. “I’ll be fine. Just point me in the right direction, please.”
“Oh, it’s on the other side of the center of the base. Just stay on this road and you’ll see it on the right once you get to the middle of the square.”
Claire walked through the cool air, happy it wasn’t raining, but kept alert for any inappropriate feelings, or at least threatening ones—she was on a military base, after all—from the men she passed and those who might lurk in the deep early evening shadows between buildings.
A sliver of a moon showed beneath the clouds. Claire passed the workshop, which had a padlock on the door. A pity—she would like to get a closer look at O’Connell’s glowing orb device. Clouds obscured the moon, and she blinked. The darkness pressed in on her, the lamps of the fort bare flickers in the gloom. She held a hand in front of her face. In spite of her gloves being light-colored, she could barely see them.
What is this? I hope I’m not about to faint again.
Footsteps behind her startled her, and she whirled around, all her senses alert. Whoever it was passed by, and she was left with only the sound of her breathing. She blinked but still saw nothing but the flickers of distant flames. Was she dreaming again? Would O’Connell find her sprawled in front of his workshop like a drunken camp whore? And where was the workshop? Disoriented, she felt in front of her. If she could only find the side of the building, maybe she could right herself.
Arms outstretched, she took a tentative step. Nothing. Then another. Still nothing in front of her, and now her breath came bellows-fast, and her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings in her throat. Dare she call for help? Could she, or would it be like when she screamed in her dreams, a forced cry that came out as barely a whimper?
A third step brought her to the wooden wall of the workshop, and she collapsed against it. Her hip brushed the padlock. It dropped to the ground with a rusty clunk.
All the rain must have weakened it.
When the padlock hit the ground, the sounds of the night rushed back to Claire’s ears, and she wrapped her arms around herself to still the tilting feeling. She must have been tipping toward another flashback dream, and she allowed a curse to escape her lips. She blinked furiously. This time, the buildings and objects around her resolved into dim focus, and her heartbeat subsided. But what to do now? She couldn’t just leave the padlock on the ground. Someone might get into the workshop. Dare she go to find someone?
Or should she take the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity? Ordinarily she wouldn’t consider trespassing, but something about the glowing orb drew her to it. She picked the padlock up from the mud and felt for the door. It opened outward with barely a touch and thankfully no sound. She slipped inside, once again in the dark, but not the pressing pre-dream kind.
Perhaps Radcliffe was right. Perhaps it wasn’t good for her to be here at the fort, for whatever reason. Her brain kept playing tricks on her and trying to drag her into the past, then punishing her for being there.
She placed the padlock on the ground inside the door and looked around for some sort of lamp. The only light came from a high window and—oh! There it was, shining dimly in the corner. She didn’t know how she got across the workshop, only that she now stood in front of the glass sphere in which the opalescent mass undulated to a rhythm. The glow reminded her of a demonstration of a new piece of equipment that used electricity, and she thought she felt a similar force moving along her nerves in response to being so close to whatever the thing was.
“What are you?” she whispered. The word “you” echoed around her, and she backed away, but she couldn’t resist the glow for long. Soon enough she stood in front of it again, and this time, she allowed herself to be bold and touch the glass. She tried to sense if there was any emotional energy, and the glass warmed as the mass took on a golden hue. Now she felt it, how it was trapped in there, but if it were to meet the air, it would die. She understood what it was like to be trapped in a glass prison, only able to sense but not see the shapes outside, in her case, her memories of the man she had loved.
“Loved.” The shadows murmured the word, or perhaps her heart beat in time with the mass now, and its thudding deceived her ears. That must be it—she hadn’t said “loved” out loud, had she?
“Yes, loved,” she said. “I know there was someone I loved, and who loved me, but I lost him along with my memories in the steamcart accident, and I can only trust that fate will bring us together again when it won’t destroy me.”
The door opened. All Claire could see was a dark blob. She ducked behind a table.
“Who’s in here?” an unfamiliar voice called. “Show yourself, or I’ll shoot!”
Chapter Nine
Fort Daniels, 24 February 1871
Chad found Patrick at the mess hall guarding two plates of fried fish and potatoes from hungry soldiers and staff people. The sharp fried smells turned his stomach while making his mouth water. Claire being there had him all mixed up.
“You could have given mine to one of the boys,” Chad said and slid on to the bench next to his friend. “They need it more than I do.”
“No, Doc, you need to keep up your strength,” Patrick told him. “Besides, these Southerners know how to fry things almost as good as my gram.”
Chad shook his head but took a bite of the fish. The cornmeal batter crunched on his tongue and released a sweet-salty flavor that brought him back to his childhood and his mother teaching their cook how to make a fried onion batter, also out of cornmeal.
“G
ood, eh?” Patrick asked and nudged him. “It’s hard to be grumpy with good food in your belly.”
“I’m not grumpy,” Chad said. But he admitted to himself he had been ever since Claire had walked through the doors of Distillery Hospital. Speaking of Claire… “I’m ready to start working with Eros again,” he said.
“And that’s more good news. Let’s go after dinner.”
“What?”
“I’m not letting you lose your nerve. We’re going to the workshop after dinner.”
“Let me stop by the room first. I need to drop something off.”
They finished their fish, and Patrick surprised the head cook, a round woman named Mathilda, with a peck on the cheek. Chad dragged him away from the teasing, and they trudged back to the barracks through mud and fog that swirled around them. The damp cold seeped through Chad’s overcoat and made for a spooky contrast to the warmth of the mess hall.
“What is this?” Chad asked, gesturing to the wisps of vapor. “I don’t remember fog like this, at least not outside of the mountains.”
“Whatever it is, we need to get inside,” Patrick said with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Something doesn’t feel right about it. Run your errand, and we’ll spend the night in the workshop if we need to.”
Chad chose not to tease his friend about being superstitious, at least not at that moment. Patrick was funny like that. He’d joke about mostly anything until a sensitive nerve was hit. He’d never talked much about his childhood in Ireland, although Chad had given him plenty of opportunity. He could worry about Patrick later, though.
Chad darted into the barracks and back to their room. He pulled the chest from under his bed and took the ring from his pocket. They’d kept the Eros Element aether at a neutral frequency, but if he were to turn it into an interventional form of energy, they’d have to bring it into a riskier state. He didn’t want his emotional attachment to the ring to interfere with what they were trying to do. He tucked the ring into a little jewelry box and didn’t have time to put it below the chest’s false bottom—it would require him taking everything else out—but he told himself he would later. He put everything back as neatly as he could and locked it before sliding it back under his bed. Then he joined Patrick in the yard.
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