Touch of Tenderness (Nurses of New York Book 3) Read online

  “I’d best be getting back,” she told Mrs. Everett after Lewis was settled. “Dr. Wentworth asked to see me as soon as I was free.”

  “Well, scoot then!” Mrs. Everett made a shooing motion with her hands. “You can’t keep a doctor waiting like that.”

  “Yes, I know.” Libby told Lewis good-bye, then walked back the way they’d just come. She had no idea what Dr. Wentworth was going to say, but she had a sick, foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Chapter Ten

  When Libby arrived at Dr. Wentworth’s office, she was startled to see both Dr. Saul and Dr. Russell there as well. She’d been expecting a one-on-one conversation, not to be brought up against a committee of sorts.

  “Please, have a seat, Miss Green,” Dr. Wentworth said. There was barely enough space in the room for so many chairs, but she sat, and so did the men. A moment later, a rap sounded on the door, and Miss Cantrell entered. Dr. Russell gave her his chair and leaned against the wall.

  “Now, Miss Green, I know this must seem intimidating, but please be at ease,” Dr. Wentworth said. “I’ve asked my colleagues to join me here so we can discuss your situation openly and frankly.”

  “What situation is that, sir?” Libby asked. Her mouth had gone so dry, she could hardly form the words.

  “Once again, I don’t believe you’re cut out for nursing school,” Dr. Wentworth said.

  “And I couldn’t agree more! Taking over my patient, telling me what to do—this girl is a danger!” Dr. Saul interjected.

  Libby thought she might vomit right there in front of everyone.

  “Now, wait a moment,” Dr. Wentworth said, holding up both hands. “I believe she’s not meant to be a nurse because she’s meant to be a doctor.”

  “A doctor?” Miss Cantrell echoed. “My goodness, Miss Green, that’s quite a compliment.”

  “It is, but I’ve already told Dr. Wentworth that I’m perfectly happy being a nurse. I honestly don’t aspire to anything else.”

  “And I’ve told you I think that’s a bunch of poppycock,” Dr. Wentworth retorted. “I dislike wasting time on repetitive conversations just as much as you do, Miss Green, but this is one worth having. Dr. Russell, Miss Cantrell, surely you’ve noticed your student’s aptitude.”

  “Yes, we have,” Miss Cantrell said. “There are a few other girls who came to us highly recommended, and we believed they would excel beyond the rest. However, Miss Green’s test scores and reports from her mentors have put her far ahead of the class.”

  Libby’s gaze flew to Miss Cantrell. “Ahead . . . of the class?”

  Miss Cantrell smiled. “That’s right, Libby. We’ve had our eyes on you for a few weeks now, wondering what amazing things you were going to achieve.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Dr. Saul interrupted. “You’re all taking the side of this impertinent young woman?”

  “What exactly did she do that was so impertinent, Saul?” Dr. Wentworth asked. “She identified the patient’s condition, treated it accordingly, and told you what she’d done. That hardly seems impertinent to me. Perhaps if you were to take your pride out of the equation, you’d see that she did a very good thing today.”

  “I don’t even know why you asked me to be here unless it was to continue to chastise me,” Dr. Saul said. “Far be it from me to have something negative to say about your star pupil.”

  “I invited you here for one reason,” Dr. Wentworth replied. “Did you diagnose that man with pneumonia when he arrived here today?”

  “Yes, I did, and we were to begin treatments this afternoon. It’s all in his chart.”

  “So Miss Green did correctly diagnose him.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Very good—that’s all I needed. You’re welcome to go now, if you wish.”

  Grumbling with every step, Dr. Saul left the room.

  Libby had no clear idea what was going on. “Sir, I’m a bit confused,” she said to Dr. Wentworth. “What are we accomplishing by all this?”

  “One thing,” Dr. Wentworth said, motioning for Dr. Russell to take the newly vacated seat. “I’d like you excused from the nursing program and sent to medical school at your first opportunity. You may squawk and protest that you’re not meant for greater things, but again, that’s poppycock. To waste a natural talent is one of the greatest crimes that can ever be committed. You have a gift, Miss Green. Don’t squander it.”

  “Would you like to go to medical school, Miss Green?” Dr. Russell asked. He seemed genuinely curious to know, without any opinion of his own attached.

  “I . . . think I would like to, but I don’t know if that’s an option for me,” Libby said slowly.

  Dr. Wentworth held up a sheet of paper. “I promised you a letter of recommendation, and in fact, I wrote it while I waited for everyone to arrive. In addition, I’ve written another letter, one to a Mrs. Cecelia Banks, the widow of a very wealthy businessman, who donates vast sums to the advancement of young women. I think she’d be delighted to sponsor you.”

  “Sponsor me?” Libby blinked several times. This was happening too fast—she had no idea what to say or even to think.

  “Her name is Banks, and she’s wealthy?” Miss Cantrell asked, a smile threatening to take over her face.

  Dr. Wentworth smiled in return. “That’s right. Rather serendipitous. Think about it, Miss Green, just as I’ve been encouraging you to do all along.”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to keep encouraging me until I come around to your way of thinking,” Libby said, shaking her head.

  “Perhaps. Would that be so terrible?”

  “It’s not that I’m ungrateful. I’m more grateful than I can even explain. I’m just stunned.” She pressed her hands together, trying to keep them from trembling.

  “I have to say, Miss Green, that I agree with Dr. Wentworth,” Dr. Russell said. “Now is the time for female doctors to start making advances in the world. A small, humble group is growing to become hundreds and hundreds of women who have unique compassion and insight into the needs of their patients. My only fear is that they’ll put all us male doctors out of business.”

  “You said I could have some time to think about this. May I please go on with my nursing studies as usual until I decide?” Libby asked.

  “Of course,” Miss Cantrell replied. “You’re doing excellent work here, and we can use your hands for as long as we have access to them.”

  “Thank you.” Libby rose, but grabbed the back of her chair, feeling a little woozy all of a sudden. “Your confidence in me is overwhelming. I appreciate each of you and your kind words, and I’ll try not to take too long in making this decision.”

  As she stepped out into the hallway, she realized that Dr. Russell probably didn’t keep opium at the house, and Lewis would need his regular dose shortly. She turned back to ask if she should requisition a bottle to take with her, but a cry froze her in place. Two men were coming down the stairs, one carrying Tommy, and the other holding Mrs. Hart’s arms while she struggled against him.

  Libby stepped into their path. “Excuse me. What’s going on here?”

  “Ma’am, we’ve been charged with bringing this little fellow to the asylum.”

  Anger rose in Libby’s chest so quickly, it burned. “On whose orders?”

  “Mr. Hart arranged it with the family physician, ma’am. Now, if you’ll pardon us—”

  Libby stood her ground. “Mr. Hart did this? The child’s own father?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but we take our orders from the doctor, and he feels the boy would be better off with us. Please let us past.”

  Libby looked at Mrs. Hart, who was pounding the other man’s chest and trying to rip away from him. “And what of the mother?”

  “She’s to stay here or go home—it doesn’t matter. But she’s keeping us from doing our job.”

  Libby glanced around frantically. Wasn’t there anyone here who could do something? Dr. Russell and Dr. Wentworth stood off to the side
, neither one coming forward. Dr. Russell met Libby’s eye and shook his head, and she slumped. He wasn’t going to help, and he wanted her to stand down. How was this fair?

  Well, she might not be able to stop it, but she could make it a bit less traumatic. She reached out and wrapped Mrs. Hart in her arms. “It will be all right,” she said into the woman’s ear. “I’m going to help you any way I can, but for this moment, we need to make this less scary for Tommy. Can you do that?”

  Mrs. Hart grew still, and Libby kept talking. “Let them take him just for now, and we’ll work on putting together a compelling argument to get him released. These men sound kind, like they really want what’s best for him. I believe they’ll take good care of him.”

  The man holding Tommy nodded. “That’s right, ma’am. Our nurses are very considerate, and we’ll see to it that he’s well cared for.”

  Mrs. Hart nodded jerkily, then allowed Libby to help her walk the four steps to her son. “I’ll come see you right away,” she told him. “I love you.”

  “Can’t you come too, Mama?” he asked.

  Mrs. Hart’s eyes immediately filled with tears, but she smiled anyway. “I’m sorry, honey, I can’t. But I promise, I’ll come see you as soon as I can.”

  “All right. And bring me some licorice?”

  She laughed, but it came out as more of a choking sob. “Of course.”

  She stood there in Libby’s arms as the men carried Tommy from the building, and then she collapsed on the floor in a heap, her sobs wrenching from her throat.

  “How? How could he do this?” she wailed. “He was listening to his parents again and not listening to me. Now our son’s been carted off to who knows where, and I just . . . Who’s going to tuck him in at night? Who’s going to sing him to sleep? Who’s going to make him bread with butter and honey, just the way he likes it?”

  Libby knelt down next to Mrs. Hart and gathered her up in her arms again, rocking back and forth. After a moment, she glanced up and motioned to a nurse who was watching on sympathetically. “I think a tranquilizer might do her some good,” she whispered.

  “I’ll check with Dr. Wentworth,” the other nurse whispered back, moving off quietly.

  Moments later, Mrs. Hart was sleeping peacefully in a bed in the women’s wing, and Libby had all but tumbled into a chair in the hallway.

  When Dr. Wentworth joined her a moment later, Libby turned on him. “I don’t understand. We were supposed to help him, to keep him safe. To find a way to treat him. Now . . . now he’s in that horrible place. I lied to his mother, Doctor. I’ve seen asylums. They’re filthy, awful, dirty places, and I told her he’d be just fine there. Why can’t we do anything about this? Why?”

  Dr. Wentworth put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to write up my findings, and I’ll send for their family doctor. We’re not going to give up so easily. Now, to more immediate things. Are you feeling all right? You look pale, and you’re trembling.”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” And with that, Libby fell sideways, only vaguely aware of Dr. Wentworth catching her before she hit the floor.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lewis was aware of some sort of commotion out in the hallway of Dr. Russell’s house. He rose from the edge of the bed where he’d been sitting and felt his way over to the door, where he stood and listened, hoping he could figure out what was going on without interrupting anyone. He couldn’t tell for sure, but it sounded as though Libby had come down with something and was being taken upstairs.

  Finally, Mrs. Everett bustled along. “And what can we do for you? It’s about four o’clock—would you like some tea or something to eat?”

  “I’m all right, thank you. I’m more concerned about Miss Green.”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine. Just a little overworked. Dr. Russell said she’s had a trying day, so she’s now tucked up in bed.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it is? She’s not becoming ill, is she? With all the sicknesses she treats at the hospital . . .”

  Mrs. Everett patted his arm. “You’re a sweet boy. No, she’s just exhausted, and I’ll take you up to see her later, if you like. For now, we’ll let her rest.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that very much.”

  “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering what you’ll do between now and suppertime. I have just the thing.”

  Lewis heard tentative footsteps approaching. “Hello, Mr. Franklin. It’s me, Millie Forsythe. We met before, remember?”

  “I do remember. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Or hear from you, rather.”

  She gave a little cough. Apparently, she didn’t see the humor in his statement. “I’d like to read to you for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? That would be very nice.”

  “Let’s go into the parlor, where the comfortable chairs are.”

  She led him down the short hallway and helped him find a place to sit. “Would you like me to read the newspaper or a novel?”

  “The newspaper, please. It would be good to catch up on the world.”

  “Very well.”

  He heard some papers rustling, and then she began to read. Her voice, although pleasant and mild, didn’t show any kind of excitement for what she was doing, and after a moment, he stopped her.

  “Pardon me, Miss Forsythe, but I wonder something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you enjoy reading to patients?”

  She sighed and put the newspaper down with a crinkle. “Am I that transparent?”

  “Just a little inflection in your voice. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to—I’m all right, really.”

  “I appreciate your candor, Mr. Franklin. It’s been . . . well, it’s been a difficult week. No, a difficult month, if I’m being honest. How do you know that you’re doing what you’re really meant to do?”

  Lewis knew this was a rhetorical question, but he answered it anyway. “Does it make you happy?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I believe that the things that give us purpose will also give us a sense of satisfaction and yes, happiness. If what you’re doing does neither of those things, then why do it?”

  She was quiet for so long, he wondered if she’d somehow slipped off without him hearing her go. Then she spoke. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I could spend days and weeks and months wrestling with this and still never be happy—why go through all that misery when I know perfectly well what the outcome will be? Thank you, Mr. Franklin. You’ve been a great help.”

  He waved it away. “Thank you for your kindness, Miss Forsythe.”

  “I’ll have Tess bring you in some tea.”

  She was gone before he had the chance to tell her that he actually couldn’t stand tea.

  ***

  Libby opened her eyes and found herself staring at her own bedroom ceiling. How on earth—oh, no. She remembered feeling woozy at the hospital. Had she really fainted? How unprofessional. How embarrassing.

  Miss Cantrell stuck her head through the doorway, then came all the way in. A soft lamp glowed in the corner—it must be evening. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I fainted at work and humiliated myself.”

  Miss Cantrell laughed. “That sounds pretty accurate.” She took the chair next to Libby’s bed and handed her the glass of water that had been sitting nearby. “You’re just worn out, and did you eat anything today?”

  “I had breakfast, and then I took lunch with me . . . which I forgot to eat. No wonder I felt so lightheaded.”

  “And then the situation with the Harts was difficult for you.”

  “Yes. Today was just one thing after another.” Libby took a few swallows, then handed the glass back to Miss Cantrell. “They want me to be a doctor, but I can’t handle one stressful day? How would I handle a stressful week, or a year?”

  “You’re being far too hard on yourself. Rest up and try not to think about all that.”

  “So, um, how did I get back here to the ho
use?” Libby asked.

  “Oh, that was easy. Dr. Russell just scooped you up over his shoulder and carried you like a fireman would.”

  “What?” Libby tried to sit up, but didn’t quite make it, and fell back against the pillows. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Of course I am. We brought you home in an ambulance, but very quietly and discreetly. You’re to rest up. No hospital for you tomorrow, but you may attend class.”

  “No hospital? But Dr. Wentworth is already unhappy with me for all the time he’s given me to help Mr. Franklin. He told me I wasn’t to miss any more.”

  “It was Dr. Wentworth who said you’re to stay home. He recognized the signs of exhaustion as soon as he saw them. Or rather, as soon as you fainted on his shoulder.”

  Libby groaned and covered her face with her hand. “I’ll never be able to walk into St. Timothy’s again. I’ve utterly ruined my reputation.”

  “You’ve done no such thing. Now, I’m bringing a tray up for your dinner, but you may come down and have breakfast with us in the morning as usual. And Mr. Franklin would like to pay you a visit—he’s been worried about you.”

  Had she disturbed everyone, then? “I’m so sorry for causing all this chaos. Really, if I’d just eaten my lunch instead of getting distracted—”

  “Just eaten your lunch and just gotten enough rest and just been a little less emotionally involved with work and just been a little less diligent . . . Come now, Miss Green. You know that missing one meal wouldn’t do this to you—you’ve pushed too hard, and now it’s time to rest. No more arguing—you’re going to do as you’re told. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes, and I’ll send Mr. Franklin in to keep you company in the meantime.”

  “All right.” Libby shook her head as she watched Miss Cantrell leave the room. She supposed she’d have to be a good patient—surrounded by nurses as she was. They would make her behave whether she wanted to or not.

  A moment later, Jeanette came in, leading Lewis by the elbow. “Here you go,” she said as she guided him to the chair. “I’m told to remind you that Sophie and I are right across the hall and both doors are open and we’re very nosy.” She gave Libby a wink and stepped out of the room.