An Unexpected Love (23 page)

Why must he torment me? It’s almost as if he hopes to interfere in my time with Wesley. But why? Why must Paul be so—

“I don’t believe you heard what Paul said, Sophie.” Her father’s voice jarred Sophie from her thoughts.

“No, I’m sorry. My mind was on all that we’d just seen.”

Her father smiled. “Paul was suggesting that perhaps given your desire to help the poor, you might want to come here more regularly. Maybe run the interview desk.”

Sophie looked at Wesley and then at Paul, whose amused expression seemed to challenge her to answer. Sophie was used to dealing with pushy people, however. She could very well handle Paul Medford.

“I think I might be better qualified to encourage the giving of donations from some of our acquaintances and friends, Father. A number of holiday parties are being held, and I believe I can influence our social equals to consider this charity.” She smiled sweetly at Paul and even batted her eyelashes just a bit for effect.

“There are many in your family and society who are capable of giving money,” Paul countered, “but not so many are willing to give of their time. I thought given your great interest in the Home, you might enjoy working with the people face-to-face.” His smile was now more of a smirk.

Sophie started to answer, but it was Wesley who championed her cause. “I hardly think it safe for a lady of Sophie’s status to work here in the Home for the Friendless. There are too many . . . well . . . of lesser fortune who might take advantage of her good nature and sweet spirit. I would hate to see her hurt.”

“Her father and I would be here to see to her safety.”

Wesley shook his head in disapproval. “But that would take you away from the needs of the very poor you seek to aid. It would prove most inefficient—of this I am convinced.”

Sophie leaned against Wesley’s arm and threw Paul a self-satisfied look. In that moment, she’d never been more in love with Wesley Hedrick. He was truly her knight in shining armor.

A short time later Quincy strolled into Paul’s office and dropped into one of the wooden chairs. He rubbed his hands together. “This is altogether exciting, don’t you think?”

“Has he given you a commitment of funds?”

“Not yet, but he will.” Quincy tapped his foot on the hardwood floor. “He appeared particularly interested in the training program and the addition to the medical facilities he said you’d mentioned earlier.”

Paul scooted forward in his chair. “Did he offer any ideas of his own? He seemed somewhat reluctant to divulge much about the organizations he’d worked with in New York and England.”

Quincy rubbed his jaw. “We didn’t go into details. I don’t see the need. Every organization operates differently. Wesley did mention a bit about his dealings in New York City. He tells me the charity that has become dearest to his heart is the Indigent Harbor Society, a group that assists in relocating and assisting homeless widows and children of deceased sailors.”

Paul arched his brows. His mother had volunteered at the Indigent Harbor Society for many years. In fact, for the past several years she’d taken charge of the Seafarers’ Ball to raise money for the organization. He’d heard her mention the names of many influential men who had donated money to that organization. Strange that his mother had never spoken Mr. Hedrick’s name.

“I believe your daughter has become dearest to his heart, as well,” Paul said with a frown.

“You sound as if you disapprove.” Quincy looked at Paul with a confused expression. “Is there a reason you should find yourself at odds with this man? Has he acted out of line with Sophie?”

“I have no way of knowing. I’ve not observed anything overly inappropriate, but they have only just met, and already it’s said that they are considering marriage.”

Quincy shook his head. “Hedrick has not asked for her hand, although he did give her an expensive pair of earrings for Christmas. I know Sophie cares deeply for him, but I believe they are simply exploring each other’s company.” Quincy turned his attention to the papers on his desk, and Paul knew there would be little else said on the matter.

“Let us hope they show restraint in how well they explore each other,” Paul muttered.

“I’m telling you that you’re making a mistake.” Sophie entered the parlor, shucked her coat, and plopped down beside Amanda in the parlor. “There’s time to rethink your decision before morning.”

Amanda gave her cousin a sidelong glance. “I have already given it sufficient thought. You know I’m determined to dedicate my life to medicine. Working with Dr. Carstead is an excellent way for me to learn before I attend medical school.”

“You cannot believe the illness I saw this morning—why, there was a little boy who sat in the waiting room with the croup, or perhaps it was tuberculosis.” Sophie clapped a hand to her mouth. “I covered my mouth as soon as he began to cough. I’ve been worried ever since. What if he infected me?” She pointed a finger at her cousin. “You’ll be around those people all day long—and you won’t be able to cover your mouth, either. You’re certain to become ill.” She shivered.

Amanda patted her cousin on the shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, but you must remember that doctors and nurses have been caring for ill people for many years. Some of the books I’ve read say that it actually helps build one’s immunity when working with the sick on a regular basis.”

“Oh, I don’t believe such a thing! That is pure nonsense somebody has propagated in order to entice people to care for the sick and infirmed.” A curl dropped across Sophie’s forehead, and she brushed it aside. “Please reconsider your decision, Amanda. If something should happen to you while you’re working at the Home for the Friendless, I don’t think I could ever forgive my father.”

“My medical training has nothing to do with Uncle Quincy. I doubt he even knows of my arrangement with Dr. Carstead, so you need not concern yourself. Moreover, I have no intention of becoming ill. Now tell me, what did Wesley think of the Home. And where is he?”

Sophie moved the needlepoint cushions to the far end of the divan and scooted closer to her cousin. “Wesley is extremely interested, which is both good and bad.”

Curious, Amanda leaned closer and cupped her chin in her palm. “How so?”

“Good, because I think he will spend more time in Rochester, and bad, because I grow weary of hearing about the Home for the Friendless from my father. All who come to visit can speak of nothing else. That’s one of the reasons I enjoy being here at your house. I have the benefit of having you and Fanny close at hand. Here, the conversation entails more than the plight of the homeless or the prospect of finding a new donor.”

“Right. We discuss weighty issues such as the latest hairstyles or the recent arrival of fabric at Mrs. Needham’s Dressmaking Shop.” Amanda giggled. “Did Wesley remain at the Home?”

Sophie shook her head. “He said your father invited him to the men’s club for a late lunch, and then he had several business matters needing his attention.” Sophie tightened her lips into a pout. “I had hoped he would spend the entire day with me.”

“You must remember that he’s not a college boy home on Christmas vacation. He has obligations to fulfill. Business seems to come first with older men.”

Sophie curled her lip. “You make him sound ancient. He’s not so old. I think he’s quite perfect.” She jumped up from the divan and tossed her coat over her arm. “I’m going upstairs to decide what I’ll wear for dinner tonight, but do consider what I’ve told you about caring for those sick people.”

“Ah, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to appear, Miss Broadmoor.”

Amanda instinctively looked around the reception room of the Home for the Friendless, hoping to locate a clock. Seeing none, she pointed to Dr. Carstead’s watch fob. “Please check the time. You said I should arrive at nine o’clock.”

He didn’t make any attempt to remove the watch from his pocket. “Did I? Hmm. Strange, since I always arrive promptly at eight o’clock. You’re certain?” His dark hazel eyes held her captive.

“I, well . . . yes, I distinctly . . .”

“Do you remember or don’t you, Miss Broadmoor?” He waved her forward without awaiting her response. “One of the first rules of medicine: be certain before you speak and then don’t waver. Indecision breeds fear among patients, and they are already frightened when they seek the aid of a physician. You may hang your coat in my office.”

Amanda squared her shoulders and marched into his office. She may have failed Dr. Carstead’s first test, but she’d pass any further hurdles placed in her path. He wouldn’t be able to fault her attire, for she’d chosen an old frock, knowing her dress might be ruined. He looked up from the paper he’d retrieved from his desk as she withdrew an apron from a bag she’d carried with her.

“I thought it would be wise to have an apron.” She pointed to the tapestry bag. “I also brought several books for any of the young children you might need to treat.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Their mothers can read to them while they wait, to help pass the time.”

He grunted. “The apron was a wise decision. As for the books?” He shrugged. “Most of the people we see in this clinic cannot read.”

There was little doubt he was attempting to thwart her enthusiasm. Well, he’d have to do better than a few offhand remarks about tardiness and decision making if he planned to discourage her.

After knotting the apron around her waist, Amanda rested her fists on her hips and looked Dr. Carstead in the eye. “Now what?”

“This way.”

He brushed past her, and she followed him to the small room next door. A weatherworn man wearing a frayed shirt and tooshort trousers sat on the wooden table. “Mr. Hewitt, this is Miss Broadmoor. She’s assisting me today.”

Mr. Hewitt bobbed his head and grinned. His smile revealed a row of broken, tobacco-stained teeth. He pointed to his leg. “The doc’s gonna take a look at my leg and change the bandage, ain’t ya, Doc?”

“That’s exactly right.” Dr. Carstead motioned Amanda forward. “Mr. Hewitt injured his leg and didn’t seek immediate medical treatment. The wound is now badly infected. I’m not so certain you should help.”

“If you’re not going to permit me to help, I’ll never learn a thing. I insist.”

With a shrug the doctor proceeded to unwrap Mr. Hewitt’s bandages. Amanda took a backward step as greenish yellow pus oozed from the open wound. The smell of rotting flesh assaulted her. Grabbing the corner of her apron, Amanda hastened to cover her nose, but the thin piece of fabric provided little protection against the overpowering stench that permeated the room. The breakfast she’d devoured before leaving home roiled in her stomach, churning to be released. A gag rippled in her throat, and she forced herself to swallow, lest she embarrass herself.

Mr. Hewitt glanced at her and offered a pitying look. “Stinks, don’t it?”

Another wave of the putrid stench assailed her as the doctor removed one final bandage, and she could no longer hold down the contents of her stomach. She grabbed an enameled bowl from the nearby table and retched until her stomach ached from the pain. She swiped the perspiration that dotted her upper lip and forehead and returned to the table.

“I apologize, Mr. Hewitt.” She unrolled the fresh bandage and cut a length. “Will this do?” she asked the doctor.

He nodded and offered a half smile. “It will. Welcome to the glamorous life of medicine, Miss Broadmoor.”

14

Saturday, March 19, 1898

It was unusual for there to be two parties in the month of March, even for members of the Broadmoor family. March was the gloomy month that hung between Rochester’s biting winters and the budding flowers of springtime. Save for the St. Patrick’s Day parade and Fanny’s birthday, little occurred in the month.

Near the end of February, Fanny had requested a small dinner party with only family present to celebrate her March first birthday. Surprising all of them, Aunt Victoria had complied. It wasn’t until the Saturday following Fanny’s birthday that her aunt surprised Fanny with the huge birthday celebration she had hoped to avoid. With Michael still in the Yukon, Fanny hadn’t desired a large party, especially one in her honor. She had been completely taken aback when she’d returned home to find the house overflowing with well-meaning guests prepared to celebrate her eighteenth birthday. For once, Sophie had understood Fanny’s dismay. Wesley’s inability to attend the birthday party had rendered the evening a failure for her, as well.