Cora tucked her chin, pulling away from his hot breath. The smell of salt and brine was replaced with the overwhelming scent of dust and raw coal. This is not that place. I’m safe. I’m fine.
“Mrs. Martin? Are you all right?”
Cora closed her eyes, shook her head. “I don’t like crowds,” she managed to choke out. Roger immediately extracted her from the press of people. She tried to catch her breath as he swung her back and maneuvered below one of the hanging lifeboats. The cool shade and space were an instant relief. She leaned into the wall, Roger’s hand on her arm.
“Shall I fetch the doctor?” he asked urgently.
She thought of Dr. Cunningham, and her breath caught. “No!” Much too loud. She swallowed, throat dry. And then, softer, “No, thank you, Mr. Conant. I’ll be fine now. Really.”
Conant’s eyebrows pressed together at the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sure I believe you, Mrs. Martin. You can’t catch your breath, and your face is dreadfully pale.”
A flush of embarrassment broke through her panic. Her eyes flitted up to check Mr. Conant’s expression. “I’m sorry. I—”
“No need to apologize. My mother hated crowds. I’ve seen her face look just like yours many a time. But I feel I should fetch a doctor to be safe.”
She shook her head, gripping his arm as he moved to turn away. “Mr. Conant, may I remind you that I’m a nurse and more than capable of taking care of myself? I do not require the doctors. I just need a moment to recover.”
The edge of Roger’s mouth quirked up. “How dare I forget?” He settled beside her. “Any better?”
She straightened, dropped her hand from his arm. “Yes, better.”
The ship’s horn blew, and a chug of movement made them both shift their footing. Cora felt Roger’s penetrating gaze. “It will not be easy to find open space on this crowded ship,” he said with concern. “I’m afraid it will always be a bit tight quarters.”
She knew that fact all too well, and she had been preparing herself to face the crowded, small rooms. “I know. I promise I’ll be fine.” Cora waved toward the railing. “Please don’t miss the fun on my account. I’ll be content right here.”
Mr. Conant pressed his lips together, looked back over his shoulder at all the laughing, waving women. Cora knew he couldn’t resist it, and she was relieved it would pull him away.
“You’re certain?” he asked.
She smiled. “Yes, Mr. Conant. Off you go.”
“I’ll check on you later.”
“Thank you, but no need.”
He gave her a dashing smile and then bounded off into the waiting attention of several young women. Cora watched the bustled skirts and feathered hats huddle around him like hens to a pile of corn, and she smiled.
She didn’t want to miss this moment bogged down by old panic. Those days are long past. I’m not a frightened child locked in a basement room for hiding books under my pillow. With a long breath, she squared her shoulders, moved a few steps from the wall, and watched the pier slide away.
No turning back now.
She gripped the shape of her suture kit through her purse. Time to move on. From so many things. Her mind tried to stray back to bloody battlefields and dark basements, but she anchored it to the present. A thrill she’d never experienced swelled in her gut as they broke out into the open harbor. She looked around at the crowd, all these women daring for a different future. A sudden grip of kinship brought happy tears to her eyes.
“We are on our way, ladies,” she whispered.
A tight group of men went hurrying past her, their faces grim, conversation hushed. Two women trailed behind them, obviously listening, but then veered off when they saw Mr. Conant. Cora stepped forward to listen. “Oh, Mr. Conant, you’ll not believe it,” a young woman in a baby-blue skirt and white coat began dramatically.
“What is it, my dear lady?” Conant asked, eyes alight with intrigue.
“There’s talk on the ship of . . . of people who have not paid their passage. Mercer has demanded proof from everyone. We may even stop to let off the guilty.”
“Stop the ship? But we’ve just started,” Conant exclaimed. “Surely this is a mistake.”
“Everyone is to gather in the saloon to have their tickets examined.”
“That’s preposterous! Everyone’s tickets were checked as we boarded.” Conant shook his head. “I’ll find Mercer and sort it out. Has anyone seen him?”
Several women shook their heads.
One woman began to cry, which drew more attention. “I must go west,” she sobbed. “There’s nothing left for me here. I must go! I know I paid, Mr. Conant. I saved every penny.”
“I’m sure you did, my dear. We’ll sort it out.”
Despite Conant’s attempts to calm the women, soon the whole deck buzzed with panic. Cora watched one woman fly past her, vowing to lock herself in her room. “I’ll not leave this ship! They’ll have to break down my door.” A few more followed her. Cora frowned as she felt the crowd’s energy shift.
This is not good.
One of the running women tripped and fell at Cora’s feet. Cora reached to help her. The woman lifted her face, eyes wide and mouth pouring blood. “I’ve got you,” Cora said confidently, pulling the woman to her feet and examining her face. “You’ve split open your lip.” Cora pulled her hankie from her sleeve. “Press this to your mouth.”
The young woman blinked tears onto her cheeks. “I paid,” she mumbled. “I swear I did.”
Cora sighed. “Don’t worry about that right now. We’ve got to get you to the doctor.” She pulled back her hankie to check the cut, and the girl finally saw the blood.
She began crying in earnest. “I’m bleeding! My lip!”
“Yes, I know.” Cora grabbed the girl’s hand and pushed it to the hankie. “Hold that!” The command in her voice got through, and the girl’s eyes focused on Cora. “Now, come with me.” Keeping a hand on the girl’s arm, Cora started for belowdecks.
“What’s all that racket?” Dr. Barnard grumbled, looking up from a stack of papers. He sat behind a simple oak desk, in the small office area of the medical rooms. A matching oak cabinet with a lock stood to his left, filled with medicines and the doctor’s personal alcohol stores. To his right, a small sunlit porthole.
Albert stuck his head out of the medical office into the hall. The pounding of feet echoed all around him. “Sounds like everyone is coming belowdecks.”
“That’s odd. We’ve just started, and it’s a fine day.”
Albert nodded, equally confused. He watched and listened for another moment, an instinct telling him something was wrong. “I’ll go find out, sir.”
“Good man.”
Albert had made it halfway down the hall, the noise increasing considerably, when two women burst from the stairs, coming his way. He recognized Cora right away and then registered the bloody cloth at the second woman’s mouth. “What happened?” he called out, jogging to close the distance.
“She fell,” Cora called back. “Her lip requires two stitches.”
The injured woman whimpered, eyes big and glossy with tears. Albert took her weight, lifting her into his arms, and turned to take her to the exam room. “What’s going on up there?”
Cora quickly explained the cause of the panic and asked, “Have you seen Mercer? Do you know anything about this?”
“No. I haven’t seen him since this morning at his office,” Albert grunted. “I hope he’s not trying to cheat anyone.”
“You don’t trust him?”
Albert glanced back at Cora. “I don’t know him. So no, not entirely.” He easily lifted the young woman into the room and put her on the exam table. Her whimpering had not stopped. He turned to reach for some fresh strips of cloth and found Cora already holding them out to him. He blinked, surprised, but then quickly moved back into action. He eased the woman’s hand away. “It’s all right; I need to inspect the wound.”
“Her name is June,” Cora
said, appearing on the other side of the table.
Her presence flustered him; Albert tried to focus on his patient. “Miss June. You’ve opened your bottom lip just a bit. It’ll need . . . two stiches. Just as Miss Martin said.” He met Cora’s eyes. She looked back stoically, her left eyebrow quirking up slightly in the smallest of I told you so expressions. Albert cleared his throat. “This will only take a moment, Miss June. Nothing to worry about.”
Cora pulled off her coat, draped it over a chair, and rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt. She quickly washed her hands in the basin. Albert dabbed at Miss June’s lip—the bleeding had slowed a bit—and watched Cora out of the corner of his eye. She pulled something from her drawstring purse and crossed back to the table.
“You’re doing very well, June,” Cora smiled sweetly. “We’ll have you back to your friends soon.” June, still wide-eyed and nervous as a cat, nodded. Cora held out the small bundle to Albert.
He recognized the piece of yellow buckskin leather instantly. “A suture kit?”
Cora’s gaze reached out to him, a challenge, a desperate request. “Yes. It’s the one I used during the war.” She unrolled it to reveal a set of eight pristine needles of various lengths and curvatures, two neat rolls of silk and wire, and a triangle of butter-yellow bone wax.
Albert’s heart rate quickened. He’d only ever seen experienced surgeons carry such a kit. His own was not as nice. Why does she have that? He smoothed his expression, focused on his patient. “You know how to perform sutures, Miss Martin?”
“Yes, sir. And it’s Mrs. Martin. Not Miss.”
Albert blinked, a hook of disappointment grabbing his throat. She’s married. “I’m sorry. Mrs. Martin. Is your husband aboard, then?”
“No. I’m a widow.”
He couldn’t help the wave of relief, and then he instantly scolded himself. You’re not looking for a wife, remember? Focus on your work. He lowered his chin and looked at June but was still too curious about Cora. “Which hospital did you serve during the war, Mrs. Martin?”
“I didn’t. I worked in the field, sir. With Dr. Stephen Rand.”
Albert’s hand slipped as he dabbed a wet cloth over Miss June’s lip. “Dr. Rand—who cared for the men at Chaffin’s Farm?”
“Yes.”
Albert stilled, straightened up slowly. This is impossible. He had a split second of cold doubt, which was quickly swept away by her penetrating eyes. He leaned slightly toward her. “You’re the surgeon nurse who worked for Rand at Chaffin’s Farm?”
“Yes,” she repeated, with a conviction that took his breath away.
His heart beat into his ribs. Extraordinary. “I heard about you.”
Cora’s lips twitched as if she wanted to smile but suppressed it. She held his regard for a brief moment and then looked to June. “Are you doing all right, dear? We are ready to suture now.”
“Will it hurt?” June whined, her words a bit mushy from her swollen lip.
Cora took the girl’s hand. “Yes, but not terribly. It’ll be over quickly.”
June’s face collapsed. “I don’t think I can . . . it hurts so much already.”
“Of course you can!” Cora gave her a wide, genuine smile, and Albert held his breath. Cora went on, her voice light but commanding. “You are a woman, June. Your body is built like a warrior’s. It can give birth, chase little ones, and wear a corset every day. What’s a few pinches of the lip?”
Albert immediately thought of the Viking shield-maiden from Grandma Dolly’s story. His face heated, and he turned away to hide it under the guise of cleaning up the cloths.
June gave a little laugh. “It’ll be over quickly? You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Might I have a tiny drink to help steady my nerves? My father had several of his teeth pulled, and he could laugh through it after a few glasses of whiskey.”
Cora laughed and then looked up to Albert. He’d been so intently thinking about the nurse that he barely registered what the patient had said. “Uh . . . yes. Of course, Miss June. Dr. Barnard has some bourbon in his office. I’ll fetch it.” Albert bolted out into the narrow hall and hurried into the office next door.
Dr. Barnard looked up from his desk. “Did you discover what’s happening?”
“Yes, sir. Mercer claims some passengers have not paid; they’re checking tickets. It’s caused a bit of a panic. A woman fell, split her lip. I’m treating her in the exam room.”
The older doctor frowned. “You look a bit flustered, Cunningham. Do you need any assistance?”
Albert almost laughed. “No, sir.” I have more than enough assistance.
“Then I guess I’d better go check on the situation. Make sure Mercer is handling this correctly.”
“May I take some bourbon for the girl? She’s a bit anxious.”
Barnard waved to his cabinet as he stood. “Help yourself; it’s unlocked. I’ll check in later.”
Albert grabbed the liquor and a glass, his mind wheeling. Cora Martin is the surgeon nurse I heard rumors about during the war. The woman who performed battlefield amputations. Cora Martin is no ordinary nurse. No ordinary woman either.
Stepping back into the exam room, Albert stole a glance at Cora while she chatted with June. A flash of heat moved through him. He swallowed hard. “Here we are, Miss June.” He offered her a finger of bourbon; she accepted it with shaky hands. Albert turned to the nurse. “Mrs. Martin . . . would you care to perform the sutures?”
Her hazel eyes flashed, head snapping up to gauge his sincerity. He relished the surprise and desire she couldn’t manage to hide. He watched her consider him, probably a bit suspicious of his motivations. He offered her a little more incentive. “Miss June is quite comfortable with you, and if you are who you say you are, you could do this with your eyes closed.”
She narrowed her eyes, but he knew she couldn’t resist. “Thank you, Dr. Cunningham. It’d be my pleasure.”
Cora pulled her suture kit closer, selected a curved needle and the thin silk. June held out her glass for more bourbon. Albert frowned but gave her another serving. Cora had the needle ready before he was finished. She turned to the patient. “June, lie down for me, all right?”
June grinned, the bourbon taking effect. “Of course, Cora. You are going to do my stitches? I didn’t know nurses did that. How fun!”
“I am. I’m very good and very fast.” Her eyes cut a glance at Albert, and he crossed his arms over his chest, hiding his anticipation and challenging her to prove it. She smiled down at their patient. “I have a clean needle all ready. I’ll make the two tiny sutures, quick as you like, and then you’ll be done. You’ll need to wash your lip with some warm water twice a day, keep it clean so it heals nicely. And you may not want to smile at the handsome crewmen for a few days.” June giggled. She started to bring a hand to cover her mouth, but Cora gently pulled it away from the clean wound. “I want you to look at Dr. Cunningham—”
“He’s handsome too.” Another giggle. “And he carried me like I was nothing! Look at those arms!”
“Yes,” Cora said, half smiling but not looking at Albert. “He’s much better to look at than this little needle, so keep right on looking and hold still. All right?”
Albert held back a grin. He stepped closer to help hold June’s attention while Cora set to work. “You’re doing very well, Miss June,” he said, though his focus was on Cora. Her hands moved with astounding agility. One stitch done, already on the second. “Mrs. Martin is almost done, Miss June.” And then she was done. Two even, expert sutures. No puckering of the skin, and clean, tight knots. Better than his own, which both thrilled and annoyed him.
Cora patted June’s shoulder. “All done. You did marvelously. Do you remember my instructions?”
June nodded slowly, her eyes drooping. “Clean it, and no smiling at men.”
“Good girl. Now, I want you to rest here. Take a little nap, if you please. Does that sound good?”
June’
s eyelids slid down. “Yes, Cora.” With that the patient fell asleep.
Cora’s pulse still hadn’t slowed. Hers palm were sweaty, her chest constricted in her corset. Holding the suture needle made the whole world fall away. Performing the simple procedure filled her soul with joy. She looked over at Dr. Cunningham.
And he allowed me to do it. Trusted me. Why?
“Doesn’t hold her liquor too well, does she?” Albert whispered, nodding to June.
Cora laughed and then caught the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth to silence the sound. “It made my job very easy,” she said quietly.
“You really could do that with your eyes closed.” Albert leaned down to inspect her work closely. “Excellent work. Truly.”
Cora blushed, busying herself with washing the needle. “Thank you, Dr. Cunningham. Dr. Rand was a gifted teacher.” She rolled up her kit and went to return it to her purse.
“And you’re an excellent student, it seems. You’re obviously a natural talent,” he offered. “You’d do marvelously at medical school.”
Cold bitterness filled her chest, her happy face suddenly rigid. “Yes, I would, but none would take me.”
Albert blinked, as if for a moment he’d forgotten she was a woman and not allowed to attend. His voice turned achingly soft. “I’m sorry for that. It isn’t right.”
Cora gasped quietly, the words—so unexpected but so longed for—hit her dead center of the chest. She studied him intently for a short moment. “Do you mean that?”
He took a step forward, rounding the exam table to close the distance between them. He took up so much space in the small room, his head barely missing the ceiling. “Yes, of course,” he answered sincerely. “Those stitches are better than mine, and I actually went to medical school.” He smiled again.
An unexpected laugh bubbled up her throat. “You’re kind to say it. I’ve yet to meet a doctor who would admit such a thing. Even Dr. Rand would not say when I became better than him.”
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