Sarah’s pale eyes narrowed coolly on Grace.
Grace returned the icy stare in full measure. “Do I make myself clear?”
Sarah lifted her chin pertly. “Perfectly.”
“Good.” Grace stood, and smoothed her hands down her apron. “Once you’re through here, check in with Dr. Schaffer. He’s due to make afternoon rounds.”
Grace didn’t wait for a response, and quickly quit the room. She made it a point to avoid political arguments, especially with fellow nurses or the officers in the hospital. No good could come from bickering with one another. This war had torn her family apart, and at this point she strove only to provide comfort to any man crossing her path. She could only hope that somewhere someone would do the same for her father, brother, and brothers-in-law.
Unsettled after her meeting with Sarah, Grace dodged around a deserted corner and leaned against the wall. The stress of fighting with those supposed to be on her side was wearing on her, but she refused to let it show. She sucked in a long steadying breath.
A flash of movement down the hall caught the corner of her eye. She turned and spotted a child running for the door.
“Hold right there, lad,” Dr. Connors barked. He rounded the corner and closed the distance to the child in two long strides. He looped an arm around the boy’s middle and lifted him right off the floor.
“Oh, dear,” Grace muttered under her breath. She lifted her skirts and took a step toward them. Lord only knew what Connors would do to that boy.
“Let me go!” The boy fought with a vengeance.
Connors calmly held the child. “Show me what’s in your hand.”
“Nothing!”
“I can clearly see the medicine bottle you stole, lad. You’re lucky I caught you and not someone else.” With that statement the boy stopped struggling, and Connors gently lowered him to the floor without releasing him.
Grace stalled, watching in silent awe as Dr. Connors knelt to the boy’s eye level, his face a study of patience and… kindness.
“Tell me, lad,” Connors said softly. “What do you need that for?”
The child lifted wide watery eyes to Connors and sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “My ma’s sick,” he finally confessed. “I thought the hospital would have medicine to help her.”
Connors nodded. “Aye, it does. There are doctors here too. You were wise to come here.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“I am. Now, why don’t you tell me what ails your mama, and I’ll help you find the right medicine for her.”
The boy’s eyes lit with happiness. “You will?”
“Of course, laddy. All you need do is ask.” Connors smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and the boy beamed right back at him.
Grace’s heart melted. The simple act of goodwill was like medicine for her battered spirit.
“Thank you, Mister. I mean, Doctor.”
Connors reached out and mussed the boy’s hair affectionately. “Call me Everett.” He stood, and held a hand out to the boy. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Cody,” the child replied without hesitation and took Everett’s hand.
“Well, Cody, let’s see if we can’t find something for your mother.”
Grace watched the pair disappear around the corner, stunned by the scene she’d just witnessed. Who would have guessed Everett Connors had a soft spot for children?
Everett… She’d known the grumpy surgeon’s given name, but this was the first time she’d thought of him so. As a man… a person with a name like Everett.
She bit her lower lip, puzzling over what she’d seen, and went back to work. A short while later, she peered through an upstairs window and spied little Cody sprinting down the drive with a burlap sack grasped in one hand and an apple in the other.
Grace couldn’t help but smile.
What a strange day. In all the months she’d worked with Dr. Connors, she’d never seen this other side to him. Or… maybe she hadn’t been looking.
Contemplating this revelation, she ambled to the Confederate ward to check on their surgical patient from that morning. “Good afternoon, Corporal West.” She flashed the guard a friendly smile and passed into the smaller ward occupied by a handful of rebel soldiers.
She grabbed a stool from the corner and carried it over to Private Thomas’s cot. His eyes opened as she sat. “How are you feeling Mr. Thomas?”
He shifted on the bed but made no effort to sit. “Well enough I suppose.”
Grace nodded. “You’ve been through a great deal, but you’re on the mend now,” she encouraged brightly. “Have you had any water or broth?”
“I have, ma’am.” He raised up on his elbows.
“That’s good. You’ll need your strength.”
He shrugged.
Grace hated to see him lose hope. “Do you like to read, Mr. Thomas?”
“It’s all right, I guess.”
“I have something for you.” Grace pulled a small book from her apron pocket and presented it to the young solider. “It’s called Moby Dick. It’s about Captain Ahab and his quest to take revenge on the giant whale that bit his leg off at the knee.” She pressed the book into his hands. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Private Thomas stared down at the closed volume and then looked up to Grace, a glimmer of interest sparking in his eye. “Ahab captained a ship with only one leg?”
She winked at the young man. “Yes, he did.”
A man approached on her left side, and abruptly demanded, “Are you the nurse responsible for sending my patient to surgery with Dr. Connors?”
Grace startled and turned to find Dr. Schaffer glowering down at her. Unease slithered down her spine. “Uh, no, Captain Schaffer.” She swallowed. “I’m afraid that transpired before I came on duty this morning.”
He rolled his tongue over his teeth, continuing to glare at her. “As the head nurse you should know that I will not tolerate the nurses going behind my back.”
She stood. “I’m certain there was no—”
“It will not happen again,” he interrupted harshly. “Do I make myself clear?”
Grace held her ground even though she quaked on the inside. “My nurses will serve the best interest of the patients as always.” She inclined her head toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Schaffer, I have work to do.”
He refused to step aside. “You shouldn’t befriend these, rebs, Sinclair. Your duties are better served caring for our soldiers.”
Grace gazed up at him but said nothing. She held his gaze, refusing to waiver until he finally stepped aside. Head held high and shoulders back, she marched past him.
Rattled and confused by Schaffer’s blatant rudeness, she rushed to the back door of the hospital, more than ready for a brief moment alone. She’d never seen Schaffer behave that way. He could be rather pompous, and she didn’t always agree with his decisions, but their interactions had always been perfectly agreeable.
Before anyone could seek her out, she threw the door wide and hurried into the late afternoon sunshine. She sucked in a breath of fresh air, and exhaled the stress of her day. Desperate to cool down, she unbuttoned the top three fastenings of her gown, and followed the narrow dirt path winding away from the back of the hospital to a little pond hidden by a cluster of leafy green trees. She wanted nothing more than to strip off her shoes and stockings and plunge her legs into the cool water. She liked to go there to be alone, and surprisingly not many seemed to visit the little spot. Three birds fluttered above her and she wished to take flight with them, lift up on the breeze and drift far away. She sighed and trudged down the path, keeping her face turned to the clear sky.
“Nurse Sinclair, did you follow me down here?” Dr. Connors’s all too familiar Irish brogue disrupted her peace.
Grace’s spirits plummeted. So much for soaking her feet in the cool water. She glanced in his direction, still unsettled by their encounter that morning, and the kindness she’d witnessed him pay the smal
l boy.
“Tumbling into my arms, following me to the pond, I say, Nurse Sinclair, should I be flattered?”
Grace rolled her eyes, her usual irritation with him returning. “Certainly not. I can’t imagine willingly seeking out your company.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him from the top of the rise. He stood at the water’s edge with a smooth stone clutched between his finger. “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He shifted his gaze from her to the water. He drew his arm back, and effortlessly skipped the stone across the water’s surface.
One… two… three… four… five… six…
“Six hops,” Grace said, lifting her skirts and making her way to the shoreline. “Not bad.”
Connors cast her an incredulous sidelong glance. “Not bad? That was bloody well impressive.” He tossed another stone up and then caught it in his fist. “I’d like to see you do better.”
She held her hand out. “I accept your challenge.”
He smirked, a twinkle of good humor lighting his eye, and dropped a small flat rock into her palm.
Grace gently fingered the stone and turned to the water. Expertly she curled her first finger around the curved edge, cocked her arm, and sent the stone sailing across the water. It skimmed the surface sending a flutter of ripples across the pond.
One… two… three… four…
After the fourth hop the stone sank beneath the surface.
Dr. Connors laughed aloud, the sound taking Grace by surprise. She’d never heard him laugh before. The sound was startlingly rich and deep… melodic even. “Only four, lass.” He glanced at her, eyes twinkling. “A respectable number, but two skips shy of my toss.”
“I’m a bit out of practice.” She stooped and found another smooth rock. “My record is ten.”
“Ten? I find that very hard to believe.”
She lifted a brow. “Are you calling me a liar?”
A smile stretched his lips as he gazed down at her. “I believe I am,” he quipped with a surprising amount of good humor. “If you can achieve ten skips, I will bow down and concede you’re the master.”
She found herself smiling back—truly she couldn’t help it—and then sent another rock sailing out over the water.
“That was five,” Dr. Connor’s said. “Better, but I still won.”
Grace squinted back at him, beginning to feel a bit playful. “Just you wait, it may not happen today, but I’ll best you yet.”
Connors ambled slowly toward her. “Is that an invitation, Miss Grace?” He stopped directly in front of her, much closer than propriety allowed, and stared down at her with those captivating eyes.
Grace’s breath caught in her throat and her pulse quickened. What was happening? Dr. Connors was intolerable most of the time, and yet here she was having fun with him at the pond and… was he making advances? Hinting at a romantic interest?
The intensity of his gaze sobered slightly. “Or should I call you Mrs. Sinclair?”
Completely flustered by his closeness, she struggled to form a coherent response. It had been so long since she’d been this close to a man. “Uh, actually, it is Mrs. Sinclair.”
His face fell, disappointment eclipsing the glimpse of the jovial man that had briefly shone through his stern and rigid façade. “Forgive my forwardness, Nurse Sinclair.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I should have realized you were married.”
“I, um… No.” She shook her head, collecting her jumbled thoughts. “What I mean is, he died. Three years ago at Bull Run. I’m widowed.”
Connors gaze raised back to hers. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, lifting a hand to her cheek and brushing a stray hair away. “He was a soldier then?”
Grace didn’t shy away from Connors’s gentle touch, instead she relished the sensation of his calloused flesh against her smooth face. “Albert was an army doctor like you.” She endeavored to remain calm. It wouldn’t do for him to realize the extent of his effect on her. “I don’t know that I’ll ever know what happened to him. I received a letter telling me that he’d been wounded by cannon fire during the battle. He said that he was being cared for in a field hospital, and not to worry because his injuries weren’t serious. A week later I received another letter informing me of his death. There were no other details.” The sting of tears threatened, but she quickly blinked them away. She’d spent so many hours crying, she hated it, and she refused to shed more tears now in front of Connors. “After that I Joined Ms. Barton to serve as a nurse. I wanted to do my part to get as many soldiers home as possible, and I want families to know what happened to those that don’t whenever I’m able.”
“That’s very admirable.”
Grace shrugged. “Maybe. I didn’t know what else to do with myself after he died. We never had any children.”
“Have you thought of what you’ll do after the war?”
“Not really. It’s not as if I have a husband to go home to. For now, I just take each day as it comes.”
Dr. Connor’s nodded. “I’ve thought of moving west,” he confided. “I have no family to speak of here in America. No wife or prospects.”
Grace tapped a finger on her chin. “No prospects?” She feigned surprise. “Given your sunny disposition I find that hard to believe.”
A small, self-deprecating smile turned his lips. “I sense we’ve come around to your reason for following me out here.”
Grace narrowed her gaze at him. “I did not follow you!”
“The lady doth protest too much,” he quipped.
“I’m ignoring that.” She drew a breath, knowing she should broach the subject weighing so heavily upon her, but uncertain if she wanted to ruin this moment of comradery. “But...”
“But?”
“I was hoping to speak with you about your treatment of the nurses.”
He sighed and backed away from her, the creases around his eyes deepening with exhaustion. “Must we argue about this?”
“Only if you insist on arguing.” She planted her hands on her hips and raised a brow.
“Fair enough.” He lifted his hands in defeat. “What do you want me to do?”
“Be a bit gentler with them. Try to remember that these women are volunteers. Most of them have no medical training or any real experience.”
“Then perhaps you should teach them. You are the new head nurse,” Connor’s replied. “I would have nothing to yell about if the hospital staff could adequately do their jobs.”
Grace gritted her teeth. He may have a small point. “Very well. Perhaps you could provide me with some examples of their inadequacies.”
“Gladly.” Connors clasped his hands officiously behind his back. “The staff has no knowledge of tourniquets, medicines, anesthetic agents, or the surgical instruments. Those are essential skills if they are going to assist with operations and care of hospital patients. Most are efficient with dressing changes, but even those often leave something to be desired.”
Grace nodded, mind already racing with prospects.
“This morning in the operating theater, we worked well together, yes?”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose? You were brilliant. You anticipated every need before I could ask right down to the need for more anesthetic. Think of how efficient this hospital would be if everyone could work that way.”
“I understand what you’re asking. I’ll provide instruction to the ladies and quiz their knowledge of medicines and instruments.” She lifted a finger, spearing him with her sternest glare. “In the meantime, you must promise to be less brutish.”
Connors looked genuinely wounded. “Brutish? That seems a bit of an exaggeration.
“It’s not.” Grace replied.
Irritation rolled across his face.
“I’ll do my part if you do yours,” Grace said matter-of-factly, and with that, she lifted her skirts and gave him her back. She was more than ready to end this bizarre, yet fruitful, interlude.
&n
bsp; “Where are you going?”
“Back to the hospital.”
“We aren’t finished discussing this.” He grasped her arm, tugging her back around to face him. He gazed down at her with a surprising amount of vulnerability in his eyes. “I am not a brute.”
Grace cocked her head to the side, unable resist the urge to payback his earlier treatment of her. “Dr. Connors, have I hurt your feelings?”
He snorted. “Not hardly,” he replied—too quickly. “But you make me out to be some kind of barbarian. An ogre!”
She looked pointedly down at his big hand on her arm. “If the shoe fits.”
He didn’t release her, but stepped closer, and stared deep into her eyes. Genuine anguish and something more… something almost sad… yearning… something that tugged at her heartstrings swirled within. “I’m not an ogre,” he insisted huskily.
She sighed, visions of him helping Cody that morning flashing through her mind. She shifted to face him full on. “Everett,” she said gently, surprised to find his given name sliding naturally from her lips. “I saw you helping that little boy this morning.”
He shuffled uncomfortably and glanced down at his feet. “Then you know I’m not an ogre.”
“You are a brilliant surgeon,” she went on. “I have seen you work miracles over the last few months, and I appreciate your desire for perfection, but… your temper. I fear it’s rather counterproductive at times.”
He sighed and dropped his hand from her arm. After a long moment he nodded, and raised his eyes back to her. The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You’ll be shocked to learn you’re not the first to chastise me for my temper.”
Grace offered a soft smile, his attempt at levity not lost on her. “What does shock me is your wicked sense of humor. I had no idea an ogre could possess such wit.”
He bowed his head. “I shall endeavor to be— What was the word you used? Gentler?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. I shall endeavor to be gentler with the nurses—”
“And the orderlies.”
True North Page 2