Touch of Tenderness (Nurses of New York Book 3)
Touch of Tenderness
Nurses of New York Book Three
by Amelia C. Adams
With thanks to my beta readers—Catherine, Cissie, Erin, Jeene, Jennifer, Meisje, Nancy,
Renee, and Tracy. Your sharp eyes and encouragement mean a lot to me!
Dedicated to those who touch our lives for a small moment, but who are never forgotten.
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
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
New York City, 1875
Libby Green pulled back the lace curtain of her second-story window and looked down at the street below. “Sophie, Dr. Gregory’s here.”
Sophie Jones came bounding in from her room across the hall and joined her. “Sure enough, there he is. Right on time, too, which is annoying because I’m not ready. Would one of you go down and entertain him for a minute? Maybe two minutes? I promise—I’m almost done.”
“I’m amazed that he’s still so patient with you,” Millie Forsythe said from where she sat in the corner. “One of these days, he’s going to give you a stern lecture on the importance of punctuality.”
“Oh, he’s already done that,” Sophie said. “It didn’t do him much good. Please, will one of you go down?”
“I will,” Libby said. “I don’t think Millie’s quite finished writing her letter.”
“Thank you,” Millie replied. “I’m not sure I’m in the entertaining mood right now.”
“What’s the matter?” Libby asked, pausing as she walked across the room toward the door. Her roommate wasn’t the cheeriest girl in the world, but she wasn’t usually prone to being outright glum.
“It’s nothing, really. I’m just having my weekly bout of wondering if I really should be here, and that’s such an old story, there’s no reason to bore you with it. Please, go entertain the doctor. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll go, but I do want to talk to you later,” Libby said. She hated seeing anyone upset, and Millie had become a good friend in the short time they’d known each other. She wished there was some way she could help, but she knew she couldn’t solve Millie’s problems for her. That was something Millie was going to have to do for herself.
Dr. Gregory was waiting in the foyer when Libby came down the stairs. “I’m sent to entertain you,” she said by way of greeting. “Sophie will be down in a minute, and I’ve had a wonderful idea.”
“Oh?” he asked, giving her an amused look.
“Yes. On your wedding day, tell your guests to arrive at ten thirty, and tell Sophie the wedding’s at ten. Then when she’s half an hour late, everyone will be perfectly happy.”
He laughed. “That does sound like a good plan. Now, how do you mean to entertain me?”
“Actually, I thought I’d ask you some questions instead. When I worked with you last week, you used a different method of tying off the suture thread than I’ve ever seen. Can you tell me more about that?”
The two were deep in a conversation about thread and needles when Sophie finally came down the stairs. Dr. Gregory stood up from the parlor sofa and glanced at his watch. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Green, but we have tickets for a play, and we’ll be late if we don’t leave now. May we continue this later?”
“Of course, and thank you.” When things were so rushed at the hospital, the nurses didn’t always have the chance to ask questions. She was glad for this chance to clarify some things in her own mind—it was handy that Dr. Gregory came around as often as he did, and he was much nicer now that Sophie had tamed him somewhat.
Libby climbed the stairs and returned to her room to find that Millie had just finished her letter and was writing the address on the front. “All right, I’ve done my duty, and now I’ve come back to chat with you. What happened today?” She flopped down on the edge of the bed, ready to listen.
Millie sighed as she put away her paper and pen. “It’s Dr. Saul. He keeps pushing me and pushing me to get more involved with the patients, and I’m not doing a very good job of it. Every time I think I’ve made progress, it turns out that I haven’t. If I must be in medicine, why can’t I just keeping running my father’s office? At least he understood that blood and . . . all those other things . . . make me squeamish.”
Libby nodded. She knew all too well how her friend felt about those aspects of nursing. “But didn’t your father send you here so you could learn to overcome your squeamishness?”
“Yes.” Millie sighed again. “Is it something you can really overcome, though? Aren’t some people just born with stronger stomachs than others?”
“Of course, but I do think it can be conquered. And I believe you will someday.” Libby stood up and gave Millie’s arm a squeeze. “You’re going to do well at this—I just know it.”
“Thanks for your faith in me. I’ll try to remember it next time I feel faint.”
***
“Nurses, we’ve spent quite a lot of time so far studying the treatment of emergencies,” Miss Cantrell said as she began their morning class the next day. “You’ve dealt with lacerations and broken bones and all kinds of issues that must be dealt with immediately and quickly. We’re now going to discuss what goes into nursing a patient who is at the hospital for long-term care, either for a few days or a few weeks, possibly longer. You will learn how to monitor your patients several times a day, how to prepare their trays, how to develop relationships and yet maintain professional boundaries, and how to assist the doctor on his rounds.
“The nurse is often the one the patient turns to with their lingering pain or concerns, and the nurse either alleviates the problem or refers it to the doctor. You’ll need to learn what you can and cannot do, how to tell if a patient really is in pain or is perhaps becoming dependent on their painkiller, and the most fun of all—bed pans.”
All the girls in the room groaned.
“I think I just remembered why I was reluctant to come here,” Meg said. “I’ve never touched a bed pan in my life.”
“You will be touching a great many of them over the course of the next few weeks, and, I imagine, throughout the rest of your life. There are ways to deal with them that are more efficient than others, and you will learn about them all. Now, let’s start with an easier subject for this morning, and that’s establishing a good relationship with your patient.”
Libby listened carefully as Miss Cantrell outlined what was and was not proper etiquette when it came to dealing with patients. Some of the girls giggled when she suggested that one should never accept a marriage proposal from someone who had just received a dose of opium.
“Well, that does it. I’m never going to find a husband if that’s against the rules,” Phoebe said, and everyone laughed.
Miss Cantrell seemed to enjoy the joke as much as the rest of them. “Be that as it may, it is against hospital policy to fraternize with patients, and it’s also just common sense. Illness and emergencies make us into different people than we are ordinarily, and if we formed any sort of romantic attachment during that time, we’d most likely find ourselves disillusioned.”
After the class session
ended, the girls went into the dining room and had their lunch, then got ready to go over to the hospital. Libby spent an extra minute making herself tidy. She was assigned to Dr. Wentworth that week, and he, even more than the other doctors, preferred his staff to look immaculate at all times. Sometimes that wasn’t the most convenient mandate, especially when they had a full patient load, but that’s just how he liked things.
When she arrived at the hospital, she found Dr. Wentworth in his office. “Good afternoon, Miss Green,” he said, laying down his pen and standing from his desk to greet her. “I understand that you young ladies are now studying the various facets of long-term care.”
“That’s right, sir,” Libby replied. “Our first lesson today was about proper relationships and boundaries.”
“Excellent. Your Miss Cantrell seems to be addressing the most important topics first—I appreciate that about your training. Let’s take a walk and visit the patients who are on the second floor. They’re here anywhere from two days to a few weeks, depending on their conditions and the severity of them. I think you’ll find this quite enlightening.”
They climbed the stairs to the second floor, Libby going a little slower than she usually would because Dr. Wentworth had an arthritic knee, and she didn’t want to leave him behind.
“Our first patient in this ward is Mrs. Stanford. She had abdominal surgery a week ago, and will most likely be released tomorrow.” Dr. Wentworth entered the room first, and Libby was right behind him so she wouldn’t miss anything.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Stanford,” he said as he drew near the bed. As Libby approached, she caught a faint aroma, something that smelled like infection. Her nose always had been sensitive, something that could either be an asset or a liability, depending on the situation. “This is Miss Green. She’ll be assisting me today. How do you feel?”
“Well, I was doing all right for a while, but now I just feel awful. I’m all hot, and my stomach is itchy and aching.”
“I see. Did you tell your nurse?”
“No. She seemed pretty busy, and I knew you’d be by soon enough.”
“Well, let me examine your incision, and we’ll go from there.” Dr. Wentworth lifted back the blanket, and the aroma became stronger. As he removed the bandage, Libby saw a line of pus oozing from the incision site. Oh, she wished Mrs. Stanford had called for help sooner.
“Miss Green, would you please take her temperature?”
Libby took a thermometer from her pocket, wiped it clean on a fresh towel, and reached out to place it under Mrs. Stanford’s tongue. She didn’t expect the woman to recoil like she did.
“What’s that?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“This is a thermometer, Mrs. Stanford. It measures the heat in your body and allows us to tell if you have a fever,” Libby replied.
“I’ve never seen anything like that. And you want to put it in my mouth? My mother just kissed our foreheads—that’s how she knew we had a fever.”
Libby smiled. “Mothers are wonderful, aren’t they? But this device tells us just how high your fever has gotten. It helps us measure the effect the infection is having on your body. You just hold it in your mouth for about five minutes, and then we’ll know.”
Mrs. Stanford looked at it like Libby had just asked her to cuddle a live snake. “How does it work?”
“This liquid inside of it is mercury, which is very heat sensitive. When it gets warm, it expands, and moves up the tube. The warmer you are, the higher it will move, and these markings along the side tell us how high your fever is.”
“Hmm. Well, our family doctor never used such a thing.” She spoke as though that decided everything.
“I believe this is a fairly recent development, isn’t it, Dr. Wentworth?”
The doctor looked up from his further examination of the incision. “Quite right. This particular variety has only been in use for about nine years. That’s long enough to prove its value, isn’t it, Mrs. Stanford?”
“Oh, I suppose. So it just goes in my mouth?”
“That’s right. We’ll put the tip under your tongue, and the rest sticks out like this.” Libby helped Mrs. Stanford get it situated, then reminded her to keep it in there for five minutes without talking. She had found their class discussion on fevers absolutely fascinating and had nearly hung on Miss Cantrell’s every word. She’d had no idea the human body had so many defense mechanisms built right into it.
“Miss Green, while you’re waiting for that temperature, please fetch me a basin of water, some towels, and some chlorinated lime solution.”
“Of course.” Libby moved to fetch the desired things, then came back to Dr. Wentworth’s side. He pressed gently on either side of the incision, and pus oozed out onto one of the towels. He shook his head, but didn’t speak.
With Libby’s assistance, he washed the incision with the solution, then put on a fresh bandage. “There you are,” he said. “All tidied up. And I imagine it’s time to check that temperature.”
“You’re right.” Libby took a moment to wash her hands, then removed the thermometer from Mrs. Stanford’s mouth. “She has a fever of one hundred and three, Doctor.”
“So noted.” Dr. Wentworth gave a nod. “I’ll be by to look in on you again, Mrs. Stanford. Your regular nurse will come around in a moment with some medication for you, and you should concentrate on getting some rest.” As he stepped away from the bed, he spoke in an undertone. “Take those towels outside and burn them, wash up again, and then meet me in my office, please.”
“Right away, Doctor.”
Libby wrapped the used towels up in a larger, unused towel and carried the whole bundle outside to the barrel where they burned any materials they felt could spread contagion. She made sure the basin was boiled and her hands were once again scrubbed, and then she went to find the doctor. He sat behind his desk, busily scribbling notes on a piece of paper that already seemed quite covered with handwriting.
“Have a seat, Miss Green,” he said, not looking up. He continued to write, and she occupied herself by glancing around the room. It was quite small, as were all the doctors’ offices in this hospital—they had given more space to the patient care areas, which seemed appropriate. He was obviously a well-read man. She wondered how old he was—he must be over forty-five, although she didn’t think he was over fifty. She wished she were a better judge of things like that.
“Miss Green, thank you for your help with Mrs. Stanford. I believe you are learning your lessons well, and the way you spoke to her was courteous and informative.”
Libby’s cheeks grew warm at the praise. Not all of the doctors bothered to be positive. “Thank you, sir. I enjoy the things I’m learning, and also sharing what I’ve learned.”
“Your commitment to this program does you credit.” He paused. “I wanted to speak with you for a moment before we visit our other patients. You know, of course, why we burned the towels and so forth.”
“Yes, sir. We don’t want the infection to spread.”
“Quite right.” Dr. Wentworth expelled a long breath. “I find myself in a bit of an agitated state. Over and over again, we perform surgeries that are intended to prolong the lives of our patients, and yet we lose more patients to infection than we do to the thing we were trying to cure. I don’t know if that’s the case for every doctor in the world, as I haven’t spoken to every doctor in the world, but that’s certainly been my experience, and I’m frustrated, to put it mildly. Tell me, Miss Green, in your lessons, have you been studying the work of Dr. Lister?”
“Yes, sir, we have. His findings are fascinating.”
Dr. Wentworth looked at her curiously. “You really are enjoying this process, aren’t you?”
He spoke as though he was surprised, which in turn surprised Libby. Weren’t most of the nurses who studied here interested in their field? She knew Millie was struggling, but she’d assumed her roommate was the exception.
He continued, apparently not waiting for a response. “
We’ll be implementing those ideas more and more here at the hospital, but I’m still concerned about the effect carbolic acid has on the skin. Dr. Lister says in his research that it kills the bacteria that causes infection, but it’s an extremely painful process.”
“I know that one of the nurses in our program has seen it used—Miss Anderson.”
“I’ll speak with her. I’m quite curious.” Dr. Wentworth rose from his desk. “Now that the towels have been burned and we’ve both washed up, let’s continue with the other patients.”
“A moment, please—what will become of Mrs. Stanford?”
Dr. Wentworth pressed his lips together. “Sadly, I fear we may lose her. It’s impossible to tell without opening her incision, but I believe the infection is deep—if it were only on the surface, she would have perhaps a small bit of fluid, and not the large quantity we extruded. If I did open her back up, that would mean an almost certain death. We’ll watch her, continue to bathe the wound, and see.”
Libby hated waiting to see. It was one of the most frustrating things about this field of study—she liked seeing results right away. But that rarely happened in medicine, and she was having to learn that a little more every day.
Chapter Two
Lewis Franklin handed his room key to the desk clerk of the hotel where he was staying, then stepped out onto the New York City street. Three days certainly hadn’t been long enough to see everything he wanted to see, and he planned to extend his visit by another week at least. Already, he could feel the city calling to him, inspiring him with threads of music that danced through his mind and lifted his senses. The mountains of Colorado were also inspiring, their majestic beauty rising above the plains like kings upon their thrones, but they brought out a different kind of music, something wild and untamed. Here in New York, amongst the art galleries and museums and concert halls, he felt as though he had unlocked the spirits of the masters, had resurrected Mozart and Bach and Beethoven.
He decided to turn away from the bustle of the street and head down a side road, eager to see homes and gardens rather than businesses and commerce. It took a moment of walking to leave the large buildings behind, but then there he was, in a quiet neighborhood, and he inhaled deeply of the summer smells of grass and flowers warmed by the sun. There were a few varieties of plant life he’d never seen before, as well as a kind of tree he was relatively certain didn’t grow in Colorado. He wished he’d brought his sketchbook along on this little outing.