An Unexpected Love
Page 17
“Lord, it’s so hard to bear this time of waiting. I miss Michael so much. I pray that you allow the time to pass quickly.”
Fanny smiled as she remembered times when as soon as Christmas had passed, she would tell her grandparents how she wished that it could instantly be summer.
“Do not wish your life away,” Grandfather would tell her. “None of us know the number of days we are allotted. It would be foolish to discard any of them.”
She sighed again. “I suppose he was right, Lord. Still, I can’t help but think that trading this winter and next spring for Michael’s return would be worth the loss of time. Even one day spent in his company would be better than a hundred here alone.”
13
Monday, December 27, 1897
Sophie’s father arrived at the front door of Uncle Jonas’s home early Monday morning as she and Wesley bundled for the cold. She detected the look of surprise when her father saw her donning her coat. “Where are you off to so early, my dear?”
“Why, I’m coming with you and Wesley. I wouldn’t consider remaining here while you take him on a tour of the Home.”
Her father tipped his head to the side. She could see confusion register in his eyes.
“But you never—”
“Don’t you worry about my time, Father. I truly want to come along with the two of you.” She hoped her frown would quell any further discussion of the subject.
He shrugged and waved them forward. “The carriage is waiting.”
The snow crunched beneath the carriage wheels as they traveled the snow-blanketed streets, and Sophie scooted closer to Wesley. While the men discussed the assets and liabilities of the Home, the current programs, and the new ideas her father hoped to initiate, Sophie permitted her mind to wander. She had little interest in any of it, yet she wouldn’t want to disappoint Wesley. From what she’d learned, he was passionate about aiding the needy and had donated a great deal of money to a variety of charities. She wouldn’t begrudge her father a bit of Wesley’s time or his fortune. One day she hoped to share in both.
“Here we are,” her father announced.
Wesley helped her down from the carriage, and the three of them walked the short distance to the front door of the Home.
“This is the reception area, where we must first gain information from each person who seeks our assistance,” her father explained.
The room was small but clean and bright. Crisp curtains hung at the two windows, and chairs were arranged in rows—most of them already occupied by those waiting their turn to receive food or medical care. A young boy sitting on his mother’s lap barked a deep croupy cough. The flush of his cheeks resembled the deep shade of summer beets, and Sophie wondered if he might die. She retrieved a handkerchief from her reticule and covered her mouth. Whatever the boy suffered from was likely contagious. Did Amanda truly realize the disease and infection she would encounter in this place? Her cousin wasn’t to meet Dr. Carstead here at the Home until tomorrow morning. Sophie would have to warn her against such folly.
They stopped in her father’s office long enough to remove their coats and had just begun to make their way out of the room when Paul rushed in. “I’m glad you’ve finally arrived, Quincy. You’re needed across the hall to meet with Mr. Wilfred. Did you forget?”
Quincy slapped his palm to his forehead. “How could I forget? Please forgive me, Wesley, but it’s imperative I attend this meeting. I’ll rejoin you as soon as possible.” He grabbed some papers from the corner of his desk. “I promised Wesley a tour of the Home, Paul. Would you be so kind?”
“Indeed. Take your time. If I can’t answer Wesley’s questions, we’ll make note of them, and you can respond after your meeting.” Paul swept back his straight brown hair in a casual manner, then brushed his hand over his brown wool coat. “I’m hardly dressed for a formal presentation, so I ask that you forgive me.”
“Nonsense. Your work here is the focus, not your attire,” Wesley replied.
“That’s right,” Sophie said, forcing a smile. Paul met her eyes and pierced her with a stare. She refused to be intimidated and clutched Wesley’s arm tightly. “Wesley’s nature dictates that he do what he can for the poor and despised. Just as Father does.”
“I see,” Paul said, his gaze never leaving her face.
Sophie quickly turned away to focus on the room around her. This place had stolen her father’s attention and love. It seemed only fitting she learn more about her rival.
The cracked plaster along one edge of the wall caught her eye. She would have preferred to reschedule their visit rather than have Paul conduct the tour. But the decision had already been made, and to voice a complaint would appear rude. Though she cared little what Paul might think, she wouldn’t want Wesley to think her impolite.
They marched down the narrow hall single file. When they entered a large dormitory-style room, Sophie grasped Wesley’s arm again. “This is where the women and some of the children sleep at night,” she told him. “They also—”
“I didn’t realize you were so familiar with the operation, Sophie. Perhaps you’d like to lead the tour, and I’ll listen. I’m always prepared to learn something new,” Paul said.
Sophie felt the heat rise in her neck. Although her father had talked of nothing else since first opening the doors of the Home for the Friendless, she’d listened little and had seldom been inside the building. She noted the glint in Paul’s eye. He was obviously relishing her discomfort. Granted, she’d been acting the know-it-all, but he had no right to embarrass her in front of Wesley.
Regaining her composure, she forced her lips into a demure smile. “Absolutely not, Paul. I’ve been traveling, and I know you and my father have been working tirelessly. I’m certain there have been many changes.”
He shook his head. “No, not really. We haven’t had sufficient funding to make the changes we’ve discussed just yet, so you are welcome to—”
“Please continue. I insist.” Sophie clenched her jaw until it ached. Paul was definitely enjoying her discomfort. Thankfully, he didn’t force her to plead any further. Instead, he took up where she’d ended, going on to describe the housing arrangements for the temporary residents of the Home.
“We have much more we’d like to accomplish. With additional funds, we hope to develop ways to teach new skills and better equip these folks to earn a living. Most of them want to work, but they simply can’t find employment or don’t have the proper skills or references. Of course, the widows and orphans have special needs of their own.”
Sophie sighed with relief when her father returned a short time later and completed the tour. They didn’t see Paul again until they were preparing to depart. He stood in one of the side rooms, apparently occupied with helping someone. To Sophie’s surprise he was laughing and talking to an older gentleman, all the while helping him button his shirt and secure his tie. Sophie thought at first Paul was rather ill-mannered to ramble on and on, but then she realized something. He was purposefully keeping the old man occupied with his story to keep him from being embarrassed about having to receive help. She was mesmerized by the scene, but for the life of her she couldn’t understand why. Not two feet away her father and Wesley were deep in discussion, but Sophie couldn’t pull her gaze away from Paul and the old man.
Laughing, Paul reached out and shook the old man’s hand. The man smiled and tottered off toward the end of the room. Then Paul turned and caught Sophie watching him. She felt her cheeks flush as he moved toward her, but he seemed unconcerned that she had observed him.
“Ah, here you are, Paul. Mr. Hedrick and Sophie were just preparing to leave,” Sophie’s father announced.
“I’m glad I had a chance to say good-bye. I hope you found satisfaction in our establishment,” Paul said.
“Very much so,” Wesley answered. “I thought it a fine example of what can be offered to the less fortunate.”
Paul shook hands with Wesley. “I hope you’ll come again.”
Why must he torment me? It’s almost as if he hopes to interfere in my time with Wesley. But why? Why must Paul be so—
“I don’t believe you heard what Paul said, Sophie.” Her father’s voice jarred Sophie from her thoughts.
“No, I’m sorry. My mind was on all that we’d just seen.”
Her father smiled. “Paul was suggesting that perhaps given your desire to help the poor, you might want to come here more regularly. Maybe run the interview desk.”
Sophie looked at Wesley and then at Paul, whose amused expression seemed to challenge her to answer. Sophie was used to dealing with pushy people, however. She could very well handle Paul Medford.
“I think I might be better qualified to encourage the giving of donations from some of our acquaintances and friends, Father. A number of holiday parties are being held, and I believe I can influence our social equals to consider this charity.” She smiled sweetly at Paul and even batted her eyelashes just a bit for effect.
“There are many in your family and society who are capable of giving money,” Paul countered, “but not so many are willing to give of their time. I thought given your great interest in the Home, you might enjoy working with the people face-to-face.” His smile was now more of a smirk.
Sophie started to answer, but it was Wesley who championed her cause. “I hardly think it safe for a lady of Sophie’s status to work here in the Home for the Friendless. There are too many . . . well . . . of lesser fortune who might take advantage of her good nature and sweet spirit. I would hate to see her hurt.”
“Her father and I would be here to see to her safety.”
Wesley shook his head in disapproval. “But that would take you away from the needs of the very poor you seek to aid. It would prove most inefficient—of this I am convinced.”
Sophie leaned against Wesley’s arm and threw Paul a self-satisfied look. In that moment, she’d never been more in love with Wesley Hedrick. He was truly her knight in shining armor.
A short time later Quincy strolled into Paul’s office and dropped into one of the wooden chairs. He rubbed his hands together. “This is altogether exciting, don’t you think?”
“Has he given you a commitment of funds?”
“Not yet, but he will.” Quincy tapped his foot on the hardwood floor. “He appeared particularly interested in the training program and the addition to the medical facilities he said you’d mentioned earlier.”
Paul scooted forward in his chair. “Did he offer any ideas of his own? He seemed somewhat reluctant to divulge much about the organizations he’d worked with in New York and England.”
Quincy rubbed his jaw. “We didn’t go into details. I don’t see the need. Every organization operates differently. Wesley did mention a bit about his dealings in New York City. He tells me the charity that has become dearest to his heart is the Indigent Harbor Society, a group that assists in relocating and assisting homeless widows and children of deceased sailors.”
Paul arched his brows. His mother had volunteered at the Indigent Harbor Society for many years. In fact, for the past several years she’d taken charge of the Seafarers’ Ball to raise money for the organization. He’d heard her mention the names of many influential men who had donated money to that organization. Strange that his mother had never spoken Mr. Hedrick’s name.
“I believe your daughter has become dearest to his heart, as well,” Paul said with a frown.
“You sound as if you disapprove.” Quincy looked at Paul with a confused expression. “Is there a reason you should find yourself at odds with this man? Has he acted out of line with Sophie?”
“I have no way of knowing. I’ve not observed anything overly inappropriate, but they have only just met, and already it’s said that they are considering marriage.”
Quincy shook his head. “Hedrick has not asked for her hand, although he did give her an expensive pair of earrings for Christmas. I know Sophie cares deeply for him, but I believe they are simply exploring each other’s company.” Quincy turned his attention to the papers on his desk, and Paul knew there would be little else said on the matter.
“Let us hope they show restraint in how well they explore each other,” Paul muttered.
“I’m telling you that you’re making a mistake.” Sophie entered the parlor, shucked her coat, and plopped down beside Amanda in the parlor. “There’s time to rethink your decision before morning.”
Amanda gave her cousin a sidelong glance. “I have already given it sufficient thought. You know I’m determined to dedicate my life to medicine. Working with Dr. Carstead is an excellent way for me to learn before I attend medical school.”
“You cannot believe the illness I saw this morning—why, there was a little boy who sat in the waiting room with the croup, or perhaps it was tuberculosis.” Sophie clapped a hand to her mouth. “I covered my mouth as soon as he began to cough. I’ve been worried ever since. What if he infected me?” She pointed a finger at her cousin. “You’ll be around those people all day long—and you won’t be able to cover your mouth, either. You’re certain to become ill.” She shivered.
Amanda patted her cousin on the shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, but you must remember that doctors and nurses have been caring for ill people for many years. Some of the books I’ve read say that it actually helps build one’s immunity when working with the sick on a regular basis.”
“Oh, I don’t believe such a thing! That is pure nonsense somebody has propagated in order to entice people to care for the sick and infirmed.” A curl dropped across Sophie’s forehead, and she brushed it aside. “Please reconsider your decision, Amanda. If something should happen to you while you’re working at the Home for the Friendless, I don’t think I could ever forgive my father.”
“My medical training has nothing to do with Uncle Quincy. I doubt he even knows of my arrangement with Dr. Carstead, so you need not concern yourself. Moreover, I have no intention of becoming ill. Now tell me, what did Wesley think of the Home. And where is he?”
Sophie moved the needlepoint cushions to the far end of the divan and scooted closer to her cousin. “Wesley is extremely interested, which is both good and bad.”
Curious, Amanda leaned closer and cupped her chin in her palm. “How so?”
“Good, because I think he will spend more time in Rochester, and bad, because I grow weary of hearing about the Home for the Friendless from my father. All who come to visit can speak of nothing else. That’s one of the reasons I enjoy being here at your house. I have the benefit of having you and Fanny close at hand. Here, the conversation entails more than the plight of the homeless or the prospect of finding a new donor.”
“Right. We discuss weighty issues such as the latest hairstyles or the recent arrival of fabric at Mrs. Needham’s Dressmaking Shop.” Amanda giggled. “Did Wesley remain at the Home?”
Sophie shook her head. “He said your father invited him to the men’s club for a late lunch, and then he had several business matters needing his attention.” Sophie tightened her lips into a pout. “I had hoped he would spend the entire day with me.”
“You must remember that he’s not a college boy home on Christmas vacation. He has obligations to fulfill. Business seems to come first with older men.”
Sophie curled her lip. “You make him sound ancient. He’s not so old. I think he’s quite perfect.” She jumped up from the divan and tossed her coat over her arm. “I’m going upstairs to decide what I’ll wear for dinner tonight, but do consider what I’ve told you about caring for those sick people.”
“Ah, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to appear, Miss Broadmoor.”
Amanda instinctively looked around the reception room of the Home for the Friendless, hoping to locate a clock. Seeing none, she pointed to Dr. C
arstead’s watch fob. “Please check the time. You said I should arrive at nine o’clock.”
He didn’t make any attempt to remove the watch from his pocket. “Did I? Hmm. Strange, since I always arrive promptly at eight o’clock. You’re certain?” His dark hazel eyes held her captive.
“I, well . . . yes, I distinctly . . .”
“Do you remember or don’t you, Miss Broadmoor?” He waved her forward without awaiting her response. “One of the first rules of medicine: be certain before you speak and then don’t waver. Indecision breeds fear among patients, and they are already frightened when they seek the aid of a physician. You may hang your coat in my office.”
Amanda squared her shoulders and marched into his office. She may have failed Dr. Carstead’s first test, but she’d pass any further hurdles placed in her path. He wouldn’t be able to fault her attire, for she’d chosen an old frock, knowing her dress might be ruined. He looked up from the paper he’d retrieved from his desk as she withdrew an apron from a bag she’d carried with her.
“I thought it would be wise to have an apron.” She pointed to the tapestry bag. “I also brought several books for any of the young children you might need to treat.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Their mothers can read to them while they wait, to help pass the time.”
He grunted. “The apron was a wise decision. As for the books?” He shrugged. “Most of the people we see in this clinic cannot read.”
There was little doubt he was attempting to thwart her enthusiasm. Well, he’d have to do better than a few offhand remarks about tardiness and decision making if he planned to discourage her.
After knotting the apron around her waist, Amanda rested her fists on her hips and looked Dr. Carstead in the eye. “Now what?”
“This way.”