Heart of Hearts (Nurses of New York Book 4) Read online

  Heart of Hearts

  Nurses of New York Book Four

  by Amelia C. Adams

  To all those who know, deep in their heart of hearts, what they truly want and are brave enough to go after it.

  Thanks to my fantastic beta readers—Bobbie Sue, Erin, Jeene, Jennifer, Mary, Meisje, Nancy, and Renee. You save me from myself on a regular basis!

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  Chapter One

  New York City, 1875

  Irene Cantrell glanced up as Dr. Russell entered the parlor. He’d been at the hospital so much as of late that he hadn’t been able to stop by the classes they held every morning at his house, so this was a welcome treat. She gave him a smile and was about to yield the floor to him when he motioned for her to continue. He took a seat in the corner of the room and crossed one ankle over his knee as though settling in for a show.

  She took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. She’d taught in front of him dozens of times before, but knowing he was following her every movement, listening to her every word, always made her feel like a nursing student again.

  “Be sure that as you support your patient’s weight, you brace yourself properly so as not to hurt yourself,” she said, going back to the topic at hand and doing her best to ignore the solemn brown eyes that were studying her. “If they topple and pull you with them, you’ve just created two injuries instead of one. Keep your weight solidly over your feet as you lift. Miss Montgomery, would you mind coming up and helping me demonstrate?”

  Laura Montgomery smiled as she rose. “Am I the patient or the nurse?”

  “Whichever you’d like.”

  “I’ll be the patient. It’s not often someone waits on me.”

  Irene chuckled. “All right. Sit in this chair, please, and allow your body to be mostly limp.” She waited for the girl to situate herself. “Now, to help her into her wheelchair, I’m going to stand right in front of her and take a firm stance. Then I’ll bend over while also bending my knees, and I’ll wrap my arms around her waist. She’ll place her arms around my neck. I’ll lift up, take one step to the side, turn her, and ease her into the wheelchair I’ve placed right next to her.” She did each movement as she described it and moved Laura into her new seat. She didn’t have a wheelchair at the house, so she made do with another parlor chair.

  “Notice that as I lifted, I forced the weight into my legs instead of lifting with my back. If you injure your back, that can mean the end of your nursing career, so it’s important that you take care of yourself.”

  Phoebe Henderson raised her hand. “What if your patient is significantly heavier than you are?”

  “You would call for another nurse to help you, and you’d each support one arm. Let’s demonstrate. Miss Henderson, why don’t you come up and take that side?”

  “Now just a minute,” Laura said good-naturedly. “I’m not that heavy.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Phoebe said, becoming flustered. “I’ve just had several patients lately who are larger than myself, and I wondered what I should do.”

  “I know what you mean. I just needed to tease you a little, that’s all,” Laura replied.

  Irene smiled as she looked at the girls. She’d attended nursing school at a traditional college, and her professors would never have tolerated such banter between the students. That was one thing she enjoyed about the slightly less formal school she and Dr. Russell were conducting—they allowed the girls to make comments and be more interactive than confining them to their desks and demanding strict silence at all times. Dr. Russell believed, and she did too, that this created a better learning environment.

  “All right, Phoebe, are you in position?” Irene checked to make sure the girl had taken the proper stance. Then with Phoebe on one side and Irene on the other, they moved Laura back to her original chair without difficulty.

  Irene glanced at the clock on the mantel. “All right, our class time is up for today. Please get ready for lunch and then head out on your assignments. I won’t be here to see you off—I’m working with Dr. Russell this afternoon.”

  She watched as all the girls filed out, then turned to where Dr. Russell still sat. “How is our patient? Your note sounded a little terse.”

  “Did it? Unintentionally, I assure you. She’s doing well enough. We have time to eat before we begin her operation,” he replied, a smile on his face.

  “You seem amused by something.” She crossed the room and took the chair next to him. “Oh, it feels good to sit down.”

  “You have been working hard lately. I’m sorry so much of the burden of this school has fallen on you. I didn’t anticipate that I’d be so busy.”

  “Nonsense. I enjoy what I’m doing very much. But now you have to tell me what’s amusing you.”

  He smiled again. “You, actually.”

  She blinked, feeling her heart beat a little faster. “Me? What am I doing that’s so entertaining?”

  “I wouldn’t say that you’re entertaining, but rather, that you’re delightful. You have a gift with these girls, a way of speaking to them and explaining things that they can understand. I don’t believe any other nursing school in the country could provide such excellent instruction. You’ve exceeded my every expectation.”

  Irene’s cheeks burned. “Thank you, Doctor,” she murmured, looking down at her hands where they lay clasped on her lap.

  “Now, we’d better get something to eat—I believe we’re in for a long afternoon.” He stood up and strode into the dining room, completely oblivious to what he’d just done to her.

  Irene had never planned to get married. From the time she was a little girl, she had wanted to be a nurse, and nurses were always single women who devoted their lives to the care of their patients. So when her friends were rocking their dolls and pretending to be mothers, she’d rock her doll and pretend to be nursing it back to health after a bad case of colic.

  Later, when the other girls were giggling about the cute new boy who just started attending their school, she was analyzing his health by listening to the slight cough he gave once about every ten minutes, trying to decide if it was an allergy or a lung infection. She decided he was dying of consumption and refused to have anything to do with him because she didn’t want to catch it too. He stopped flirting with her, chose another student to be his girlfriend, and surprisingly, three months later, they were both still alive and excelling in multiplication.

  Because Irene didn’t plan to marry, she’d never even given young men a second look. She went to events with large groups, but didn’t pair off, and she’d never allowed herself to take a fancy to anyone. She had a different purpose, and it didn’t involve romance at all. That’s what she’d told the extremely handsome Patrick Washburn when he’d come calling, and while she hated disappointing him, she knew her choice was for the best, and she shut her heart off from all such feelings.

  Then she met Frank Russell.

  He was fourteen years her senior, tall and imposing, with dark hair and beard. His eyes were warm and brown, and he carried himself with an air of absolute confidence—you could trust whatever he said. He was looking for a new nurse, she was fresh out of school and looking for a position, and they worked well together right from the start. There were ti
mes when he accused her of reading his mind because she always seemed to know what he needed before he knew himself. No, that wasn’t a trick—it was just something that came from knowing him so well.

  And now . . .

  She sighed.

  It would never do. It would just never do. There was no point in thinking it, in wondering about it, because it would never happen and it was inappropriate anyway.

  But she had fallen in love with him, and that’s how it would always be.

  She would never tell him. That would ruin the partnership they’d formed over the years, making it awkward and uncomfortable. Just as she had devoted her life to nursing, he’d devoted his to being a doctor, and he had no intention of marrying. It was a shame, really, since he had inherited such a big, lovely house and had plenty of room for children, but at least now, by turning it into a nursing school, they’d found a use for it. A use and a purpose that would help fill the void Irene sometimes felt in her heart and caught her by surprise.

  “Miss Cantrell? Are you coming?”

  She looked up to see that Dr. Russell was waiting for her in the doorway. “Of course. I’m sorry—I was just enjoying the quiet for a moment.”

  He smiled. “You need some time off. I tell you what—after we finish this surgery, go to the theater or a concert. Relax and enjoy yourself for a few hours at least.” He snapped his fingers all of a sudden, making her blink. “And I have just the thing for this weekend. I was invited to attend a charity ball, and I’m to bring a companion. I wasn’t excited about going—you know how much I dislike shaking hands and being social—but if you were on my arm, it would be far more enjoyable. What do you say?”

  Irene nodded. He’d taken her to events before—it was much easier than asking one of the other ladies in town and getting the rumor mill started. “I’d like that.”

  “Excellent. Now come eat your lunch so we can get over to the hospital. I fear this one will be tricky.”

  She followed him and slid into her chair at his elbow. That’s where she spent a great deal of her time—at his side—and she was comfortable there. It was where she wanted to be most in all the world.

  ***

  Frank Russell tied a white apron over his crisp trousers, then flexed his fingers a couple of times before stepping toward the operating table. His patient was a thirty-year-old woman who had recently given birth to her fourth child, and she’d run into some complications that had made it necessary for her to arrange a consultation at Woman’s Hospital. The immediate consensus was that she needed surgery that very day, so they’d tucked her up in bed and prepared an operating room for her.

  Miss Cantrell had also put on a clean apron and was ready to hand him the surgical instruments he requested. He felt a large measure of relief at having her there—he’d been working with a series of other nurses as necessary while she taught their students, and it was enough for him to wish he’d never had that whole school idea in the first place. Miss Cantrell was his head nurse for a reason, and without her calming influence and her solid understanding of his process, he wasn’t the same doctor. He wasn’t the slightest bit ashamed to admit it, either, and many of his colleagues had expressed their jealousy over his fortunate find in her.

  “The patient has been sedated as requested, Doctor,” she now said, and he nodded.

  “We will begin by assessing how much blood the patient has lost in the hour since I first saw her.” This measure would help him determine how invasive he needed to be with the surgery. It had also given him time to eat lunch, which, for an ordinary man, might seem like a selfish request, but he would often go for hours on end without eating, to the detriment of his health and eventually to the detriment of his patients. Whenever he did have an opportunity to eat, he took it, and gladly.

  “It appears that the patient lost roughly one-quarter cup of blood since I saw her before. I believe Dr. Sims’ procedure will be the most useful in this case.”

  Miss Cantrell nodded and began to arrange the instruments on the tray in the order he would most likely need them.

  J. Marion Sims, founder of Woman’s Hospital, had developed a technique which allowed the doctor to repair a fistula in the birth canal. Prior to his research, there had been no cure, which led to a dramatic decrease of the quality of life for the patient.

  “Gauze, please.”

  As Miss Cantrell handed him the requested item, Frank couldn’t help but notice his fingers tremble as he reached out to take it. That wasn’t supposed to happen—he was supposed to have full control over his hands, which were his primary tool. Unfortunately, he’d noticed them trembling the previous week as well, but he’d been working with a different nurse who hadn’t said anything. With luck, Miss Cantrell wouldn’t notice either.

  “Scalpel, please, and then more gauze.”

  The abscess that had led to the creation of the fistula was still filled with pus, and that would be the first thing he’d need to address. He held the scalpel in position, ready to make an incision that would allow him to drain the fluid, but another slight tremor went through his fingers.

  “Doctor, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  His immediate instinct was to tell her no, but he knew she wouldn’t interrupt a procedure unless it was important, so he gave a sharp nod and stepped back. “Yes, Miss Cantrell?”

  “Sir, I’ve noticed your right hand tremble twice since we began this procedure. Are you sure you’re fit to continue?”

  He met her eyes, so soft and compassionate. He wanted to straighten his shoulders and approach this with the same confidence he put into everything he did, but this was about the welfare of his patient, and he couldn’t be so proud as to take a chance of anything going wrong. “No, Miss Cantrell, I’m not sure at all. However, Dr. Sims has a surgery of his own right now, and Dr. Dearing is away. I’m all this poor woman has.”

  She nodded. “Then we’ll do as we must. How can I help you?”

  Her trust in him was inspirational, but he hoped it wasn’t misplaced. “Stand by my side, as you always do, and we’ll make it work together.”

  She nodded.

  He lifted the scalpel and made a small incision in the abscess, catching the liquid in a piece of gauze. He then pressed the sides of the wound until he was sure he had expelled all the infection he could. Then he proceeded on to the fistula.

  After the surgery was finished, Frank wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “Would you please meet me in my office when you’ve finished up here?”

  “Of course.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the mess to her, as he always did.

  As he always did. How many times had Miss Cantrell been there for him over the three-quarters of a decade she’d been on his staff? He tried to count, but then realized that was impossible, as she’d never let him down. Not even once. She put her own feelings and her own needs to the side for the benefit of the patient at every opportunity, and he was sure she was quite exhausted. After all, she not only looked after the patients, but she looked after him as well. He simply, quite simply, couldn’t imagine where he would be without her.

  Chapter Two

  Irene had the orderlies wheel the patient into the recovery room, and then she set to work cleaning the instruments and preparing the operating room for the next procedure. She did this immediately after each surgery, hating it when an emergency presented itself and things weren’t organized as she liked.

  As she worked, she thought about the tremor she’d seen in Dr. Russell’s hands. He seemed to become steadier as the operation progressed, but still, she was concerned. She didn’t know much about what would cause such a condition, but for a man who had always been so consistent, so sure, it was rattling.

  After she was done cleaning up the room and had everything exactly how she wanted it, she scrubbed up in the corner and changed her apron. She took a moment to make sure her hair was neat, and then she walked the short distance down the echoing hallway to Dr. Russell’s off
ice. She rapped on the door, knowing she didn’t need to, but also knowing that she would always allow him that small courtesy.

  “Miss Cantrell. Please, come in.”

  She found him slumped behind his desk. The collar of his shirt was wet, and he looked as though he had not only washed up, but perhaps poured water over his head. She’d only seen him do that once before, when they’d lost both a mother and child. He’d felt utterly helpless, at a loss for what to tell the father, wishing he had more control. Was that how he felt now, or was he merely washing more thoroughly than usual?

  “Have a seat.”

  She took the chair he offered, wondering how she would broach this delicate subject with him. Before she could formulate the words, however, he began to speak, and she was relieved that the burden of breaking the ice had been taken from her.

  “Irene, I don’t know what to do.”

  He used her given name so infrequently, it caught her off guard. She surmised that he wanted to speak to her as a friend, not on a professional level, so that’s how she answered him.

  “Do you have any idea what’s causing it?”

  “I don’t, and that’s the most puzzling thing of all. I can’t describe it. One moment, my hand will feel normal, and the next, it’s numb or it’s trembling.”

  “How long do those sensations last?”

  “Generally just a few minutes, but I never know when they’re coming.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I believe I’ll go pay a visit to Dr. Wentworth over at St. Timothy’s. He’s a reasonable man, well educated, intuitive. He might have some suggestions for me.”

  “I think that’s a wise idea. Would you like me to send someone over with a note to let him know you’d like an appointment?”

  “I’d appreciate that. I don’t want to raise the alarm or cause any undue distress, but I do believe it’s time I attended to this.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Just how long has this been going on?”