When the Heart Heals

by Ann Shorey

  “We should be there soon.” She pointed out the window at sunbeams sketching charcoal shadows over the landscape. “Before dark, the stationmaster in Noble Springs said.”

  “I’m so glad.” The woman’s cheeks rounded when she smiled. “I’m going to visit my daughter. I miss her since she moved to the city.”

  “I expect she misses you too.” She knew the words were true of herself. In her situation, many girls would run home to their mothers. But she could not.

  The woman reached over and patted her shoulder. “Thank you, dear.” She returned to her seat, leaving Rosemary alone to stare out at lengthening shadows.

  Within another thirty minutes, the train chugged into the Pacific Railroad depot. The wooden building glowed persimmon orange in what remained of the daylight. On the cobblestone streets, carts and covered vehicles awaited freight or passengers.

  Rosemary descended to the platform carrying her valise. The distance from the downtown depot to the address Alice had given her was close enough that she could walk, but a glance around at several men loitering near the station sent her in the direction of a parked cab.

  “Take you to a lodging house, missy? There’s a clean place for ladies not far from here.” The driver removed his cap, revealing close-cropped black curls. His eyebrows bristled in an almost-straight line across his forehead.

  “Thank you, but I’m going to visit a friend.” She consulted the paper she’d brought. “Her home is at the corner of Twelfth and Jardine streets.”

  “Have you there in a trice.” He took her valise and plopped it on the floor of the cab, then offered his hand. “Up you go.”

  The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, past lamplighters illuminating the city for the night. She leaned back and watched the streets roll by until they turned on Twelfth and traveled toward Jardine. Here, the houses were closer together and modest in stature, some in need of paint or fence repair.

  The driver stopped the carriage in front of the address she’d given him. The building had apparently been divided into two dwellings, since there were two front doors a few feet apart. Lights glowed from the windows on the left side.

  After tying the horse to a hitching post, he again offered his hand and helped her down, then put her valise at her feet. “Want me to wait?” He cocked his head.

  She looked at the dark windows on the right, surveyed the neighborhood, then turned her gaze to the cabdriver’s questioning face. “Perhaps you’d better.” She hoped the cost wouldn’t be too high.

  After mounting the steps, she turned to her left and rapped on the door. In a moment, a man responded, buttoning a wrinkled shirt over baggy gray trousers. His sandy hair appeared rumpled, as if she’d awakened him from a nap. Could he be Alice’s brother or father? She squinted through the gloom, unable to decide how old he might be.

  “If you’re selling something, I don’t want it.” He started to close the door.

  She motioned for him to wait. “Is this Miss Broadbent’s home? I’m a friend from out of town.”

  He pointed at the darkened half of the building. “She ain’t Miss Broadbent no more. Got married last Saturday. Her and her man went on one of them wedding trips. To Niagara Falls, up in New York, if you can credit that.” He shook his head. “Lived here quiet-like for a couple of years. Now all of a sudden she’s a traveler.”

  The collar on Rosemary’s bodice suddenly felt too tight. She should never have counted on Alice as the answer to her difficulties—at least not without contacting her first.

  She arranged her face in a polite smile. “Thank you for the information. I apologize for bothering you.”

  “Pretty lady like you ain’t no bother.” He opened the door wider. “Care to rest yourself before you leave?”

  “I have a cab waiting. Good evening.” She backed toward the edge of the porch, thanking the Lord she’d asked the driver to linger.

  The driver met her at the foot of the stairs. “Your friend’s not home?”

  “No. She’s traveling.” Fatigue threatened to buckle her knees. She’d get a night’s sleep, then consider her next step. “Would you please take me to the lodging house you mentioned?”

  “Right away.”

  She handed him her valise and followed him to the street. He walked with a rolling gait, favoring his right leg.

  “You’re hurt. Did you sprain an ankle?”

  He tossed her bag inside the carriage. “No, missy. I was in the cavalry during the war. My horse fell on me down at Sikeston. Busted my ankle all to—” He bit back whatever he’d been about to say. “. . . pieces. Time the doc got to me, I was lucky they didn’t cut off my foot.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Could be worse. I made it back. Lots of ’em didn’t.”

  During the trip to the lodging house, she wondered if Elijah had been one of the surgeons at Sikeston, then chastised herself for allowing him to enter her mind. Gas lamps threw circles of flickering yellow flame over the corners as they retraced their path to the depot and traveled on south. Soon after the driver crossed Chouteau Avenue, he stopped the cab in front of a two-story house. Light glowed from several of the windows.

  “Miz Kenyon will see to your comfort, missy.” He stepped down from the driver’s seat to help her to the boardwalk. “I’ll carry your bag.”

  She smoothed her skirt as she walked along the brick pathway behind him, praying there’d be a room she could rent. After a long day’s travel, she didn’t think she could face a second disappointment.

  A sign next to the door read KENYON’S LODGING FOR LADIES. A woman who must have been Mrs. Kenyon opened the door at the driver’s knock.

  “Joseph. How good to see you.” A wide smile softened her angular face.

  “You too, ma’am.” He placed Rosemary’s valise in front of the threshold. “This lady’s in need of lodging.”

  The woman swung the door wider. “Fortunately, I have space right now. Please come in.” Sconces on the walls brightened a spotless white apron tied over Mrs. Kenyon’s dark blue calico dress.

  Rosemary paused before entering to hand the driver the fare. “Thank you for watching over me.”

  “Glad to help.” He tipped his cap and limped back to the cab.

  Once in the entry hall, she dropped her bag and blew out a heavy sigh.

  “I’m Mrs. Kenyon, but you probably guessed that.” The landlady held out her hand, and Rosemary clasped warm fingers.

  “I’m Miss Saxon. Rosemary.” She glanced around the entry, noticing a wide flight of stairs to her left. A worn rug covered the center of the polished wood floor.

  “Well, come on upstairs, Rosemary, and I’ll show you your room.” She lifted a lighted candle from a nearby table. “Then if you’re hungry, we’ll see what’s left from supper.”

  Tears threatened at the kindness in her tone. “Thank you.” She tried to keep her voice from wobbling.

  A hallway divided the second floor into halves, with three doors on each side. Mrs. Kenyon stopped at the first doorway on the right. “This will be your room.” She took a ring of keys from her apron pocket and fitted one of them into the lock.

  A narrow bed, covered with a white spread, stood against a wall opposite the entrance. The washstand held a pitcher and bowl. White-painted hooks halfway up another wall lined one side of the space, and an upholstered slipper chair filled a corner.

  Mrs. Kenyon crossed to the window, drawing ruffled curtains closed against the darkness outside. “I charge a dollar and a quarter per night. That includes breakfast and supper, of course. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

  Rosemary reached into her handbag, trying to hide her dismay at the cost of the room. Holding up her hand, Mrs. Kenyon said, “No need to pay me now. I can see you’re exhausted. Tomorrow morning will be fine.” She paused at the doorway. “Can I bring you a tray from the kitchen?”

  At that moment, the thought of food was more than Rosemary could bear. She wanted to crawl into bed and pull th
e blankets over her head.

  “No, thank you. I’m afraid I’m not hungry.” This time she knew her voice wavered.

  37

  After Mrs. Kenyon closed the door behind her, Rosemary drew a shuddering breath and sank onto the chair. Her body ached from the jostling of a day’s travel, and her head throbbed with the decisions that lay before her. She’d hoped to spend two weeks with Alice and return to Noble Springs with only four days remaining before the wedding. That way she’d lessen the likelihood of seeing Elijah with Miss Mason.

  One thing was certain—she needed to find employment soon. She had scarcely enough funds for more than a few nights in the lodging house. In the morning she’d start her search. St. Louis was a growing city. There were bound to be nursing jobs available.

  Sounds of footsteps and women’s voices woke her the next day. For a moment, she wondered where she was, then her memory flooded with images of Elijah, the railroad car, and Alice’s neighbor. The voices in the hall must belong to other lodgers.

  Her stomach grumbled with hunger. She hurried to dress, slipping a clean bodice over her chemise before covering her crinolines with her paisley skirt. Once her braids were arranged in a coiled chignon, she descended the stairs, following the sound of clinking china to the dining room.

  Mrs. Kenyon stopped in the act of stacking soiled plates. “Good morning. I was afraid you were going to miss breakfast. My other guests have already left for the day.” She pointed to covered dishes on the sideboard. “There’s ham and gravy left. Maybe a biscuit or two. Please help yourself.” She swished through a door that Rosemary assumed led to the kitchen.

  She filled her plate, her mouth watering at the sight of gravy puddling around a ham slice. A good meal would fortify her for the day’s activities.

  The landlady returned with two cups of tea, and sat across the table while Rosemary ate.

  “What brings you to St. Louis, Miss Saxon? Do you have family here?”

  She let the second question pass. “I want to find a position as a nurse—the sooner the better. I hoped you’d be able to give me the names of doctors you might know.”

  “A nurse?” Her eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “I wouldn’t have any idea of a doctor who’d hire you. Surely there’s something else you could do that’s not so outlandish.”

  Rosemary swallowed a bite of ham. She’d fought for respect in Noble Springs. Apparently she’d have to begin the process again in St. Louis. “I spent the war years at Jefferson Barracks Hospital. I’m well qualified for nursing duties.”

  “That may be, but the Barracks is back to being an Army post now. One of my guests married a soldier from there.” Mrs. Kenyon planted her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. “There’s other hospitals here. City Hospital’s not far away, but that’s for poor folks. Then there’s that new place out west on Arsenal Road. It’s got a mouthful of a name.” She stared at the ceiling and recited, “National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers.” She chuckled. “Lord have mercy. Couldn’t they have called it something shorter?”

  “I’ve heard of the facility. A friend of mine from the Barracks mentioned it in a recent letter. She sounded quite enthusiastic.”

  “Maybe you could find a job there since you’re used to caring for soldiers.”

  “I appreciate the suggestion, but the western end of Arsenal Road is too far from town. I don’t know how I’d get there.” She buttered half a biscuit. “I’ll go to City Hospital. How close are you to a horsecar line?”

  Rosemary stood in front of an iron fence surrounding a three-story brick building that filled half a city block. Stone steps rose to an arched entryway at the center of a row of windows on the main floor. Buggies clattered past on cobbled streets. She pushed away a brief longing for the quiet of Noble Springs. In time, she’d adjust to living in St. Louis again.

  She touched her hat brim to be sure it rested squarely above her coiled braids. Keeping her shoulders straight, she marched up the steps and into the next chapter in her life. The familiar hospital odor of lye soap mingled with human suffering greeted her when she entered the austere reception area. An open corridor stretched ahead of her through an arched opening.

  A middle-aged clerk seated at a desk near the corridor rose when he saw her. “We don’t allow visitors in the morning, miss. You’ll need to return after one.”

  “I haven’t come as a visitor. May I please speak with the resident physician?”

  “You mean Dr. Harding?”

  “Yes.” She kept her chin up and her voice steady.

  The clerk surveyed her, one eyebrow raised. “I’ll see if he’s available. May I give him your name and the nature of your visit?”

  “Miss Rosemary Saxon. I’m seeking employment.”

  “Ah.” His expression softened. “This is a big hospital. He can probably find work for you. Please wait a moment.” He bustled down the corridor.

  Rosemary remembered Mrs. Kenyon’s words that this institution was a charity hospital. Apparently the charity extended to providing jobs for those in need. She took a step after the clerk, intending to correct his assumption, but he turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

  Floorboards creaked overhead, and she heard occasional bursts of voices from behind closed doors along the corridor. A man pushing a cart left one room and entered another. As the minutes ticked by, her anxiety rose. What if the doctor was too busy to be bothered by another petitioner?

  “Miss Saxon?” An elderly man wearing a tidy brown jacket and trousers stepped toward her. He bowed in her direction. “I’m Dr. Harding. You’re in need of a job?”

  “Yes. Specifically, I’m seeking a position as a nurse.” She held her breath, waiting for his response.

  Dr. Harding glanced between her and the clerk, who stood nearby pretending not to listen.

  “Please follow me. We’ll be more comfortable in my office.” He strode ahead of her and passed through an open door around the first corner in the corridor. The small book-lined room contained a worktable with chairs on both sides, framed diplomas on the walls, and a parlor stove in one corner.

  He drew one of the chairs away from the table and held it until she was seated. Resting his slight form against the table, he tipped his head to one side and studied her. “So you want to be a nurse?”

  “I am a nurse, Dr. Harding. I spent most of the war years at Jefferson Barracks.”

  A smile crossed his face. “Then I expect you know your way around a hospital ward.”

  “I do.” She felt a surge of hope.

  “We always need nurses here, but I prefer to hire men. They have families to support, and as a rule, don’t run off to get married and have children.”

  She tightened her jaw. “I have no plans in that direction.” Unbidden, a lump rose in her throat.

  He paced to the window and stood looking out, his veined hands clasped behind his back. Several moments ticked by. Rosemary looked down at her green paisley skirt, wondering whether she should have packed her rust-colored calico to wear when applying for a nursing position. Perhaps she appeared too frivolous.

  The silence lengthened. Sure that he was trying to find a way to discourage her, she fidgeted in the chair. When she returned to Mrs. Kenyon’s, she’d consult a city directory for the names of physicians and go from one to another until she found someone who was willing to hire her. Her shoulders drooped at the prospect.

  Dr. Harding faced her.

  She braced herself for his rejection.

  “Miss Saxon, I’ll consider hiring you on a trial basis. If you can handle the duties, I’ll make your employment permanent. How soon can you begin?”

  “In around ten days.” At his astonished expression, she hurried on. “I . . . I didn’t expect such a quick response. I need time to . . .” Her voice trailed off. She needed time to adjust to the idea of living away from Elijah and Noble Springs, but that was none of Dr. Harding’s concern. She cleared her throat. “Currently I have a home elsewher
e. I’m sure I can be settled in St. Louis within that amount of time.”

  He flipped through a notebook on the table and ran his finger down a page. “Very well. This is only a trial, mind you. I’ll expect you on the eighth of July.” He dipped a pen in an inkwell and wrote her name next to the date.

  Finding employment was one of the reasons she’d come to the city. She left the hospital wondering why she felt bereft.

  When a horsecar stopped at the corner in front of the hospital, Rosemary paid the fare and climbed aboard with no destination in mind. She’d ride while she planned everything she needed to do in the next two weeks. First of all, she needed a permanent place to live. She’d ask Mrs. Kenyon for suggestions when she returned to the lodging house.

  Beyond that, she had to pack her belongings in Noble Springs, along with as much of her garden as she could transport. She stared out the window of the car, overwhelmed at the idea of uprooting her plants, along with her life.

  A longing for Faith’s companionship surged through her. If only she were at home, she could walk to the mercantile and pour out her worries. She shook her head. Leaving Noble Springs meant beginning a new life. Might as well start now. She fished Cassie’s address out of her handbag.

  Street names rolled by as the tram traveled north through St. Louis. When the driver stopped at a corner, she walked forward with the address clutched in her fingers.

  “Excuse me. Does this car go to Pratt Avenue?” She showed him the paper.

  “Yes, ma’am. Toward the end of the line. I’ll stop.”

  He flicked the reins over the horse’s back and the car jolted forward, its metal wheels rolling smoothly over iron rails set in the cobblestones.

  Rosemary’s heart thudded when they passed a sign pointing toward Roubillard Street. Her parents’ home lay in that direction. So close. She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until the driver stopped the tram.