Mercer's Belles

by Heather B. Moore

  Albert shook his head. “You should assist Dr. Barnard and me during the journey.” He took another step toward her, his expression earnest. “And you must tell me all about your work during the war.”

  Cora swallowed hard, trying to calm the response of her body with his so near. “That was my intention, but . . . Dr. Barnard said no.”

  The shock on Albert’s face endeared him to her even more. “Why? That doesn’t make sense. Was it the money?”

  “I offered to work for free. It’s because . . .” She paused, took a breath, but then found she didn’t have the energy to finish the sentence. She met Albert’s gaze and gestured to her skirts.

  His brushed-metal eyes narrowed, turned gloomy. “I see.”

  Miss June gave a soft snore, and they both turned. The room suddenly felt too small, too crowded. Cora reached for her coat. “I’d better go.”

  Albert lifted a hand toward her and then dropped it to his side. “I’ll talk to him. Once he sees those sutures—”

  She shook her head. “Please don’t compromise your own position, Dr. Cunningham.”

  “It wouldn’t. I’ll simply—”

  Hurried footsteps sounded in the hall. Dr. Barnard stepped into the office, another young woman behind him. “Cunningham, I have another patient for you. What a mess! Everyone is crammed in the saloon—” His eyes surveyed Miss June, passed out on the table, and then snagged on Cora. “What’s going on? Are you injured, Mrs. Martin?”

  A lightning flash of guilt went down her spine. Cora gripped her coat and her purse. “No, sir. I . . . I was just leaving.”

  Albert stepped slightly in front of her. “No, wait.” He turned to Barnard.

  Cora’s panic fluttered. “Don’t,” she whispered, but Albert didn’t listen.

  “Mrs. Martin brought this patient to me and performed those smartly done sutures. She’s a brilliant nurse. We really ought to—”

  Barnard lifted a halting hand, his face red. “You allowed this woman to suture a patient? My patient, in my exam room?”

  Albert blinked slowly and then folded his arms, using his solid size and thick arms to emphasize his stance. “Dr. Barnard. Miss June is my patient, and we share this exam room. I am not your employee; Mr. Mercer pays my salary.”

  “That may be, but I am head surgeon. You work under me, and I have final say in all medical matters. Mercer gave me that privilege, and I have his ear; he only met you this morning. The man is a simpering fool, yes—he’s hiding from the current drama as we speak—but he is still the leader of this voyage and will do whatever I ask of him. Including letting go of my assistant if he does not meet my standards.”

  Albert’s jaw clenched. “Mrs. Martin is no ordinary nurse. Did you even look at those stitches?”

  Cora was certain she was about to faint. The room had shrunk three sizes, her corset five sizes, and she couldn’t calm her heart. I’m trapped. Albert and the exam table blocked her way to the door. She couldn’t escape without crawling over June or plowing past Albert’s considerable size. I climbed up the coal shoot the second time Mrs. Boomer put me in the basement. Climbing over June would be easy. Awkward and improper, but easy.

  June shifted in her sleep, a sigh escaping her swollen lip.

  Barnard scoffed. “Nurses do not perform suturing of any kind. It’s just not allowed, Cunningham. You know that.”

  “With all due respect, Barnard, that’s old thinking,” Albert said harshly.

  It was a step too far. The room stilled. The woman behind Dr. Barnard inhaled sharply, reminding everyone of her forgotten presence. The dark-haired woman cradled her arm. Cora knew instantly she had a sprained wrist and knew exactly what to do to help her, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t the nurse here.

  Cora watched Barnard’s whole body stiffen and his eyes burn. “We are pulling up along Staten Island to let off the scoundrels who didn’t pay their tickets. You both will join them.”

  Cora lunged forward. “No, wait!” She leaned over June, no longer worried about waking her. “Please, Dr. Barnard. No, please don’t. I’m so sorry. I asked Dr. Cunningham if I could do the sutures. It’s my fault—” Albert grunted in protest, but Cora whipped him a hard look of warning, and he pressed his teeth together. She went on, “I had no idea you’d be so angry. I promise to stay away from your offices and your patients for the rest of the journey. I promise. Please don’t punish Dr. Cunningham; he was simply being kind.”

  Barnard put his hands on his hips and let out a huff of breath. “At the hotel this morning, I informed you I didn’t need a nurse. You had no right.”

  “Yes, sir. I only wanted to help during a chaotic moment. It won’t happen again.” Cora lowered her eyes sheepishly, wishing with all her soul that she could rage at this arrogant surgeon. But years of experience had taught her to pander when she’d pushed too far. She could not allow Dr. Cunningham to be punished. She felt the tension coming off Albert in hot waves and hoped he’d control his temper.

  Barnard sighed. “This is your only warning and your only chance. If I catch you in this room again for any reason other than your own medical needs, I will have Mercer drop you at the nearest port. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  “And you, Cunningham—you wouldn’t want to be responsible for the lady being left in a foreign place all alone, would you? Or risk your own future as a surgeon?”

  Albert was silent for a long moment. Then, voice low and vibrating with resentment, “No, sir. I understand perfectly.”

  Cora breathed a sigh of relief. She scooted to the edge of the table, her shoulder nearly touching Albert. He leaned ever so slightly toward her. She wanted badly to look up at him but didn’t dare. Just move, Albert. Get out of my way. He finally stepped aside.

  Cora ducked out of the room and ran all the way up the stairs and to the railing, where the sounds of the engine drowned out the sound of her crying.

  January 18, 1866

  At sea

  Albert lay in bed in his stateroom, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. His body was exhausted but his mind intent on turning those moments in the exam room over and over. Two days later, Albert was still furious with Dr. Barnard—and himself. He hadn’t seen Cora since she’d fled the crowded exam room.

  I should have fought harder. But I would have lost my position. What good would it have done to get tossed off the ship and destroy my plans? But she’s an incredible nurse. She deserves to work.

  With all the seasick women, he didn’t have time to go searching for her. Part of him hoped she’d be among the sick and come to him. But so far she hadn’t.

  Outside, a chopping wind and heavy cross sea churned up, snatching at the ship, tossing it side to side like toddlers fighting over a toy. Any chance of sleep for him and the whole ship vanished with that wind. Albert heard the women stirring. He climbed out of bed, bracing his arms against the wall to keep from falling. After dressing, he made his way to the medical offices. He heard women pounding on Mr. Mercer’s stateroom door, calling out in frantic voices. “Mr. Mercer! Get up, get up. We will all be drowned. You must save us!”

  Albert scoffed. Mercer probably wouldn’t even come out. In the last two days Mercer had hidden from problems, forced people off the ship, yelled at crewmen for laughing with the ladies, and taken to lecturing like a father-preacher. Albert hoped the man did stay in his room.

  An hour later, the whole ship smelled of vomit. The moans of women drifted on the air like the complaints of ghosts in an old house. Dishes clattered on the shelves, and furniture banged into the hull. Even Albert’s seaworthy stomach felt uneasy. Dr. Barnard had never shown up to help with the patients, probably too sick himself.

  Roger Conant staggered into the exam room with a half hysterical woman in his arms. “Cunningham, my good doctor, you’d best give this woman something to make her sleep, or she’s going to jump off the ship.” The woman wore a white nightdress, her black hair falling out of its braid.
Her face was astonishingly pale and her arms flailing about at random so that she looked like some horrid specter.

  “Please!” the woman begged, reaching clawed hands out at Albert. “I can’t take another moment. Put me in a row boat, and I’ll make my own way back to New York.”

  The men exchanged an incredulous glance over her head. Albert shook his head at the absurdity of it. He said, “I have some laudanum. Hold her while I fetch it.”

  Roger nodded. To the girl, he said, “My dear, we’re one hundred miles from New York. Rowing is quite out of the question.”

  Albert wished Cora were here to assist him, to help divide the turmoil. He wondered how she was faring in the rough seas. He wanted badly to go find her. What if she needed help?

  Laudanum in hand, Albert went back to his hysterical patient.

  “I’ll swim. Let me swim!” she yelled, voice raw from screaming and vomiting.

  “No, my lovely, you’ll drown.” Even on such a horrible night there was humor in Conant’s eyes.

  “I must get off this awful boat before it sinks to the depths.”

  “The waves will calm soon, I assure you,” Albert soothed.

  She put her hands over her face and wailed loudly.

  “I see you’re not bothered,” Albert said to Roger as he measured out the medicine.

  “I’ve spent many hours on ships. Though these conditions will rattle even the strongest sailor.”

  “Indeed. I wonder if Captain Winser will have to change course.”

  “I think he already did.”

  Albert nodded, turned to the patient. “Miss, this will help. Can you open your mouth?”

  She dragged her palms from her face. “If I open my mouth, I’ll drown.” Her icy-blue eyes pulled unnaturally wide, and Albert suppressed a shiver. He put a hand on her arm. “The medicine will put you to sleep, and you won’t feel the boat anymore. It will make everything better.”

  She blinked quickly; Albert doubted he’d reached her sanity. But then she opened her mouth wide. He quickly slipped in the medicine, and she swallowed.

  “Fantastic work, my friend,” Roger said with a chuckle. “I’ll get her back to her room.”

  “Thanks, Conant.” Albert turned away but then stopped. “Roger?”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you seen Mrs. Martin in all this mess?”

  Roger flashed him a knowing smile, which only made Albert frown with discomfort. “Oh, yes. Our valiant nurse is flittering from victim to victim, making them all drink water. She’s got the cook staff churning out endless plates of dry toast, as well, so that no one starves to death. She tasked me with bringing this poor creature to you.”

  Albert wanted to smile, to sigh with relief, but he kept his face blank and said only, “She’s not sick?”

  Roger grinned. “I think she’s the strongest of us all.”

  Albert nodded, in full agreement. “Thank you.” A crack of jealousy marred his relief. He wished he could follow Roger up to find Cora. Stop acting like a lovesick fool. Your place is here. Forget her.

  Roger gave him a sly wink and then swept the already calmed woman out of the room.

  Cora dragged her sleeve over her forehead to clear the sweat. She longed for some fresh air and silently prayed the waves would soon give up tossing the ship. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. She bent down over yet another pale, sick woman, and helped her to take a few sips of water.

  “Good girl. Try to rest.”

  “Thank you,” the victim murmured. Cora gave her a weak smile, though it always warmed her to hear thanks. She hurried to the next stateroom. Two women were huddled together in the small bed. One lifted her head at the sound of Cora’s footsteps, her blond hair in disarray and eyes rimmed red.

  “Why doesn’t Mr. Mercer do something?” she complained.

  “Not even Mr. Mercer can command the waves.” Cora smiled calmly. “It will pass soon. Have some water?” The room pitched suddenly to the left, and Cora scrambled to keep her feet. The two women screamed and latched onto one another. Cora banged her elbow on a chair back, spilled a little water, but otherwise managed to survive the ship’s efforts to knock her down. As she helped the women drink, her mind strayed to Albert. How’s he faring in all this? She’d heard someone say Dr. Barnard was too sick to leave his room.

  Poor Albert, all alone down there.

  But there was nothing she could do. She’d kept to the other side of the ship for the last two days. She’d taken her meals in her room and kept a watchful eye whenever she walked the decks, not daring to even be seen by the doctors. She felt much like her younger self, hiding from Matron Boomer when her mood turned stormy, but Cora refused to bring harm to a doctor’s career. And she did not want her own chances of reaching Seattle taken away.

  Yet Albert’s handsome face refused to leave her mind, despite her best efforts.

  I must forget him. He was kind and curious, nothing more. He means nothing to me, and I nothing to him.

  Cora took a quick look at the two women and then made to turn, but an instinct stopped her. She stepped closer to the bed. “Is everything all right?” she asked, trying to see the second woman better.

  The blond woman adjusted to block Cora’s view, which answered her question: something was not right. “Just the sea sickness. She’s fine,” the blond hurried to say.

  Cora leaned closer over the second woman, small, thin, and hair the color of late-autumn pumpkins. “Miss, I’m a nurse. Is there something I can help you with?”

  The girl shook her head, curled into a ball. Cora eyed the way she seemed to clutch at her stomach. Oh dear. Not that. She sighed, put down her bucket, and crossed her arms. “When is the baby due?”

  The red-haired girl jerked her head around, eyes instantly filled with terrified tears. “Oh, please, nurse. Please don’t tell. No one can know. Mr. Mercer will throw me off the side of the ship.”

  Cora scoffed. “He’ll do no such thing.” She took a step closer. “When was the last time you kept down any food? You and the baby must have enough to eat and drink, especially while the waves bother you.”

  The girl’s lip quivered. The blond spoke up. “It’s my fault. This was my idea. Please don’t tell.”

  “What do you mean? Are you stowaways?”

  “No ma’am! I paid fair and square. But . . .” Her eyes shifted to the floor. “The money I used for the tickets wasn’t exactly mine.”

  Cora looked between them. “I see.”

  The young woman took a loud breath and then launched into her story, a floodgate opened. “Our daddy brought us over from Ireland to New York when we were small. But . . . things were hard. We lost Ma years ago and Daddy this last fall. It was just Pearl and me—I’m Sally—and then . . .” Sally looked at her sister’s swollen belly.

  Cora blinked, a little overwhelmed by the purge of information coming from the poor waif.

  Sally went on. “Then Pearl . . . well, it was the landlord of the place where we had a small room. I had a job in a factory, but then the factory caught fire. We didn’t have money for rent, so he . . . always had an eye for Pearl. So he—”

  “I understand,” Cora said gently, relieving Sally from explaining further.

  “We hid it for months, but when he found out about the baby he beat poor Pearl. I managed to stop him before it was too bad.” She winced, swallowed hard. “So I packed our bags and stole money from his office. I’d heard about Mercer’s ship. I knew it was a risk bringing Pearl on like she is, but we . . .” A shaky breath—so much worry in one small sound. “Mercer promises there are men to marry in Seattle. We are good workers.” Sally blinked quickly, as if shocked by all her own words. She winced. “Please don’t tell Mr. Mercer. He thinks we are all . . . pure. This is our only chance.”

  Cora sighed, her empathy aching for the sisters. “Well, Mr. Mercer thinks a lot of things that aren’t true.”

  “Do you think we will find husbands in Seattle?” Pearl asked, her vo
ice weak. “Even with the baby?”

  Cora’s heart broke a little. “I don’t know, but lots of women and children lost their men during the war. So I think . . . perhaps.” She gave a little smile. “But right now, we have to get you through this voyage. How far along are you, Pearl?”

  She winced. “About eight months.”

  Cora’s eyes went wide, a stab of panic cutting her gut. The girl looked much too small for eight months, and that meant she’d deliver before the journey’s end. Cora rubbed at her forehead. “You realize that you will give birth on this ship?”

  Both girls nodded, eyes wide. Sally said, “I helped a few neighbors with births. I thought . . . I thought I could help her.”

  Cora held back a reprimand; the girl didn’t know any better and was only trying to make a better life for her and her sister. “Sally, many things can go wrong during a birth. This is not something you want to do on your own. I will help, if you’ll let me. I’m also an experienced midwife.”

  Sally and Pearl nodded again. Pearl whispered, “Yes, please. I’m so scared.”

  “I know, but you’re not alone anymore. My name is Cora Martin. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” The girls smiled shyly. Cora asked, “I assume you didn’t tell Dr. Barnard?”

  “No, ma’am,” Sally answered, her face still tight with guilt.

  “Good. And don’t. He’ll go straight to Mercer. Dr. Cunningham would likely help, but that’s still risky. I will keep your secret, as long as we can, anyway. And once the baby comes . . . leave Mercer and the doctors to me.” She knelt beside the bed. “May I listen for the baby’s heart, Pearl?”

  Pearl scooted closer, lifted her nightshirt away from her small, round belly. Cora put her ear to the skin and listened intently. It was hard with all the noise from the ship and the storm. She held her breath. Come on, little one. She laughed when the strong rhythm finally found her ear. Pearl and Sally smiled big. Cora then felt Pearl’s belly, checking the size and position of the baby. Small for eight months, but the mother was a tiny thing, so Cora reserved her worry for now.