The Doctor's Undoing (6 page)

He was almost afraid to ask the next question. “And the business with Matthew Hammond?” Romantic entanglements—even on the most basic teenage levels—were one of the most difficult parts of his job. Young hearts deprived of familial affection often looked for love in inappropriate places. It seemed at least once a week he, Mrs. Smiley and Mr. Grimshaw had to sit down and strategize how to keep Boy A from finding a few minutes alone with Girl B out behind the dormitories. Mr. MacNeil had even once suggested they install a hive of honeybees in that corner to deter “trysts.” While Daniel applauded the groundskeeper's creativity, he also knew young hearts would simply seek out another secluded corner. Since then, however, “beehiving” had become the staff code word for teens getting a bit too sweet on each other.

“Settled for now,” Mrs. Smiley said wearily. This particular couple had been caught “beehiving” multiple times, making Daniel wish Donna would indeed focus her clever mind on math rather than Math
ew
. “But it won't be the last, I'm sure.” Her eyes squinted in analysis, as if the pair were a mathematical equation. “Properly chaperoned, they might make an appropriate couple.”

Daniel sat back in surprise. “Really?” While still eminently clinical, this was the first time he'd ever seen Mrs. Smiley offer anything close to an endorsement of any couple. Just because his curiosity refused to let go, he asked, “How so?”

“When they're not making eyes at each other over supper, their characters do suit each other well.” She folded her hands in front of her. “Donna coaxes him out of that shell of his, and Matt calms Donna down. Matt turns seventeen next month, and Donna two months after that. I believe they might actually fare well if they chose to make a go of it after graduation.” Again, Daniel couldn't shake the notion that she looked as if she'd just solved an algebra problem, not brokered a match.

Still, Mrs. Smiley claimed to have been happily married for six years before her husband died. As a bachelor himself, Daniel had to at least respect her opinion as the more experienced on the subject of courtship and matrimony. He certainly brought no expertise to the subject; women had mostly bored or baffled him. Not that Mother ever ceased to offer up suitable bridal candidates—that woman's pursuit of a Parker family heir could never be called subtle.

It served him well that most women, while enamored of his social standing, quickly grew tired of the time and devotion he gave to the Home. And for all of Mother's rants about his duty to the Parker legacy to pressure him to find a bride, wasn't
this
the true Parker legacy—this orphanage that his father had built? Daniel knew he didn't measure up to his father in many ways, but he would not cease in striving to give his best to the Home, come what may.

“And what, in your opinion, should we do about that?”

An actual smile broke over Mrs. Smiley's face—a rare sight indeed. “Much as we should do with Nurse Landway—temper their
enthusiasm
.” She gave the final word a tone of disdain.

“Perhaps the September picnic could grant them an appropriate social outing.”

She considered the suggestion with a hesitant grimace. “Grimshaw and I will discuss the idea and let you know what we decide.”

Daniel did indeed feel as if Grimshaw and Smiley outnumbered and overrode him some days. The two of them had been mastering the students longer than he'd been director. Should they ever come to a disagreement, Daniel could never imagine how he would reject either of their suggestions. By God's grace, it had never yet occurred.

There was one subject that might end up testing that theory, however. “Mrs. Smiley?”

“Yes, Dr. Parker?”

“Nurse Landway has asked me for permission to arrange for the girls to receive hand-knit socks from a corps of volunteers.” He steepled his hands and chose his words carefully. “I've told her I'm in favor of the project so long as each child receives an equal gift. While I don't much care what color socks the girls wear, I do think the influx of new volunteers could be of use to the Home. I trust you have no objections?”

“Socks? Like Meredith's little ones that caused such a fuss the other day?” She looked as if she found that a ridiculous idea.

“Yes. Socks. In colors, apparently. I know it seems...unusual...but I can't see the harm in trying, provided no one child is singled out. Any new donations—even if they are time and talents—would be a very good thing for us. And I believe the girls would enjoy it.”

“Socks?” Mrs. Smiley repeated, clearly trying to wrap her sensible mind around so ludicrous an idea.

“So it seems. I intend to give my approval, unless you have a reason I shouldn't.”

“As long as they mind their lessons, I can't say it matters what's on their feet.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I think it's silly.”

“I doubt the girls find it so. But I shall keep my eye on things in any case.”

“You'll need to do that, Dr. Parker. Mark my words.” With that, Mrs. Smiley turned and left the room, muttering something about colors and nonsense and enthusiasm.

Daniel stood and closed his ledgers, glad to now have a task to divert him from midmonth invoices.
Who knows?
he mused to himself as he headed for the hallway.
It might be rather fun to tell Miss Landway she could go ahead with one of her ideas instead of having to constantly rein in her imagination.

Chapter Seven

D
aniel found Miss Landway carrying a load of clean white examination table covers down the hallway toward her office. Her hair, wild as usual, was striving mightily to release itself from the knot she'd wound it in at the back of her neck. Her auburn locks continually struck him as on the verge of escape—which might explain the three different-colored pencils currently sticking out of her bun. Colored pencils. It seems the woman could not even conduct basic correspondence in black and white.

He'd stopped in her office the other day and, finding her gone, allowed himself a moment to take in the scattered collection of sketches and tiny drawings that decorated her papers and notes. He'd also noticed the bright yellow matting with which she'd framed her profession's oath. Daniel couldn't quite decide if he found the bits of color she always left in her wake enjoyable or ridiculous. Perhaps they were both.

He caught up to her and took the laundry load from her hands before she could utter a syllable of protest. “Allow me.”

She stopped, sitting back on one hip with—and there was no other way to describe her expression—an annoyed smile. “I'm able to fetch my own linens from the laundry room.”

“Oh, I'm sure of that. Still—” he continued walking toward her office “—what kind of example for gentlemanly behavior would I be setting for the boys if I were to be found walking next to you while you carried such a load?”

Nurse Landway darted ahead of him, reaching the infirmary door before he did and standing in front of it. “There are no gentlemen in training to be found here. So I'll be fine and dandy.” She reached out her hands for the pile of folded cloths.

“I can at least place them in the cabinet for you.” He reached for the doorknob.

She angled in front of him. “I'll be fine, really.” With her chin tipped up at him—for he had perhaps half a foot on even her statuesque figure—she looked defiant.

Daniel had the distinct impression she was hiding something. Her eyes darted back and forth and he watched her hand tighten on the office doorknob. He stole a glance over her shoulder to notice faint shapes of color through the thin curtains she had strung over the door's glass window. Rather a lot of color.

“Miss Landway, allow me to enter.”

Were she a child, he would call her stance squirming. Given that she was a fully grown woman, Daniel didn't know quite how to describe it. She winced. “You don't want to do that.”

Ida Lee Landway was most certainly hiding something. “I'm quite sure I do.”

She hesitated again, this time giving a pitiful tug on the table covers, which Daniel was now sure he would not surrender even at gunpoint.

“Kindly open your office door, Miss Landway.” He kept his words polite but his tone firm.

She gave a small whine, ducked her head like a guilty child and pushed the door open.

A riot of color greeted his eyes. Boxes and baskets of yarn in a kaleidoscope of bright hues filled every available surface of the office. It was as if the circus Mrs. Smiley was just bemoaning had arrived and subsequently exploded in the infirmary.
His
infirmary.

Miss Landway cut in front of him. “I can explain.”

Knowing he had come to deliver his approval for her little project, he found the entire situation amusing. Still, the sight before him only proved Mrs. Smiley's point: someone needed to mind Miss Landway's limits. And that someone was him. “I expect you shall.”

She began rearranging the boxes, as if that would somehow render them invisible. “My dear friend Leanne—Mrs. John Gallows, that is—had the most extraordinary luck when she went looking for donated yarn.” She turned to him and laid a hand on her chest in a theatrical gesture. “We had no idea she'd get such enormous and immediate replies when she went asking. It's a blessing, really.”

“You sought donations?” He looked around to find someplace to deposit the linens, and couldn't see a single empty surface.

She moved a box to the floor, gesturing for him to put down the stack of cloths, which he did. “Well, not exactly. I was telling Leanne about the whole business with Meredith's booties and the idea I had. I was asking her if she'd help me. There are twenty-six girls after all, and we'd want each of them to have more than one pair of socks, so—”

“We?” he cut in.

Miss Landway planted a hand on one hip. “You did say I could go ahead if I could guarantee each girl received equal gifts.” Sparks of defiance lit her eyes—she'd become much more invested in this than he'd realized.

Part of him liked that. Another part of him felt as if he was watching the year's greatest headache form right in front of his eyes. “I did. And I told you I'd think about approving your recruitment of a core of volunteers to assist.” He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I see you didn't find waiting for such approval necessary.”

She spun about the room, her hands flung wide. “Well, my stars, I didn't think it'd all happen this fast!”

When he didn't reply, she turned to face him with pleading eyes. It was obvious it would rip her heart out if he told her to send back the yarn. He wasn't going to do that, of course, but in many ways this was the baby booties all over again. Charity may be the heart of the Parker Home for Orphans, but procedure gave it the bones to endure. He had to make her understand that if she was going to last, and Daniel found he wanted this nurse to last.

He pinched his nose and pushed out a breath. “I'm pleased at your initiative, truly I am.”

She looked as if she were holding her breath. “And?”

“And I am not going to ask you to send all this back, but—”

“Thank You, Jesus!” She put her hand to her forehead in relief.

“But,” he continued firmly, “I would have liked for you to wait until I gave you permission to solicit donations. That was, in fact, why I was coming to see you.”

“Well, I would have, but—”

“But?” Daniel crossed his hands over his chest and gave his word all the disciplinary strength he could muster.

Her shoulders fell. “But nothing. You're right. I charged right ahead when I should have waited. I let my excitement run away with my good sense.” She folded her hands in front of her. “It's a problem of mine.”

“Miss Landway, however did you manage in the army of all places?”

She put one hand up to her hair in a sort of overwhelmed gesture, her eyes popping in surprise when she found a pencil there. She removed it and stared at it as if she had no idea how it had ended up in her chignon. Daniel pointed to her hair and raised two fingers, cueing her to find the two other pencils. Her cheeks flushed pink as she pulled those, as well. “You must think me a ninny,” she said with a sigh.

“Actually, I find you rather clever, if a bit...impulsive.”

“A bit?” Her eyes lit up at the compliment, and Daniel realized he had yet to tell her he was glad she had come to the Home. He was, mostly. She brought an energy he'd once had, even if it came without all the caution life at the Home had driven into him.

“Perhaps a great deal impulsive. In this case, it has worked out for the best. But I hope Meredith's booties have shown you it doesn't always end that way.”

“You're right. You're absolutely right.”

Daniel picked up a ball of yarn, one in a light green that reminded him of spring leaves, and held it up. “So you will come to me with any new ideas and wait for my approval in the future?”

“Absolutely.” She took the ball from him as if it represented their agreement. “Oh, in that case I should start right this minute. Do you know Mrs. Smiley's shoe size?”

Daniel couldn't quite follow that train of thought. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mrs. Smiley. I think she ought to get a lovely pair of socks, as well. I'll need her shoe size.” Catching herself, she corrected, “Provided, of course, you approve of my making her some. I was chatting with her about all the math in knitting and she didn't seem very taken with the idea, but perhaps some lovely socks could change her mind.”

That was an understatement. “Mrs. Smiley is very particular about her methods. She felt your ‘chatting' was an attempt to insert knitting into her mathematics curriculum.”

Miss Landway's face fell. “She complained to you?”

“She came to me with her concerns.” Then, against his better judgment, Daniel leaned in and said, “Mrs. Smiley's life is continually filled with concerns. I wouldn't take it personally.”

“Oh, a grouser, hmm?”

While he found the term a bit dramatic, it did fit in this case. “She's an excellent teacher.” After a second, he added, “But perhaps even an excellent teacher can use a pair of pretty socks.”

“Or slippers.” Miss Landway pointed at Daniel, suddenly taken with the brilliance of her improved idea. “I reckon she'd love a cozy pair of bright blue slippers. Who wouldn't?”

Daniel did not dare to venture a guess as to Jane Smiley's choice in private footwear. He simply smiled, nodded his goodbye and wondered how long it would be before Miss Landway's next outrageous idea.

* * *

Ida was carrying a box of medical records down from the attic Thursday morning when she heard it: what sounded like a herd of buffalo stomping at once, and one voice shouting...numbers? It sounded oddly like the military exercises that would wake her up at the crack of dawn back at Camp Jackson, but then there were also grunts and various cracking sounds.

It had to be some sort of calisthenics—she knew the Home had to have some form of physical exercise program, but she couldn't for the life of her guess what would make the sounds she heard. The girls took basic dance and posture, so this ruckus had to be the boys. A crash and a yelp—along with a rumble of laughter—piqued her curiosity and she tiptoed down the hall to take a look.

A dozen or so boys in trousers and white undershirts toed up to a series of lines taped along what was once the big old house's third-floor ballroom. Their foreheads and white undershirts were soaked in sweat—it was broiling up here despite the shutters being thrown wide open—but they looked enthralled as they thrust long sticks at one another. Ida was so shocked by the sight that it took a minute for her to work out that they weren't pummeling each other, they were fencing. Or at least, something like it, as they seemed to be using broomsticks rather than foils.

Their teacher stood at the far end of the room, his face momentarily buried in a towel, for he was as sweat-drenched as the boys. Ida's jaw nearly dropped to discover the man to be Dr. Parker. Shirt open several buttons, glasses off, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed up off his face by the towel and sticking up in all directions, Ida barely recognized him. It was as if someone had taken formal Dr. Parker and dropped him in the center of a wet hurricane for five minutes, then deposited him in the third-floor exercise room.

“No, no, Jerome,” he said, walking over to one of the boys. Even his walk was different up here, with longer strides and a freer swing of the shoulders. “Use your knees to advance on your opponent. That way you keep your balance. Like this.” And with that, he took a stance and worked his way across the room in a series of very dashing-looking sword-fighting moves. The boys were transfixed, not only because Dr. Parker was very good, but because Dr. Parker used an actual fencing foil.
Boys and swords
, Ida thought.
I'll be seeing the end result of this in the infirmary one of these days.

Bookish Dr. Parker suddenly didn't seem so bookish. Lengthen out the hair, add boots and a sash, and Ida could very well imagine the doctor alongside the Three Musketeers. Not quite a pirate, but certainly someone with a bit of swashbuckle in his blood. The image before her was so at odds with her notion of Daniel Parker that she had to catch herself before she laughed.

“A lady!”

Evidently she hadn't caught herself at all, for one of the boys—George, if she remembered right—had noticed her and currently pointed his broomstick broadsword at her as if she were an invading enemy.

Dr. Parker's demeanor stiffened up so fast, Ida could have sworn it made an actual sound. “Nurse Landway. You've discovered our Thursday fencing lessons.”

“I'm impressed,” she said, meaning it. “Looks like fun.”

“Girls don't like swords,” George proclaimed with all the manly bravado a second-grade swordsman could muster.

“I grew up in West Virginia. I can ride a horse bareback and I can shoot a gun. Why not use a sword?”

George's jaw dropped. “You can shoot a gun?”

“Girls in West Virginia need to learn to hunt, same as boys.”

When Dr. Parker raised a “you are not helping the matter” eyebrow, Ida backpedaled to, “Only we confine ourselves to small game like squirrel and possum.” She looked squarely at Dr. Parker when she added, “We leave the hungry bears and wild ferocious elephants to the big, strong menfolk.”

The doctor checked his pocket watch, conveniently deciding that three-twenty was an excellent time to end fencing lessons for the day. “That's it for today, boys. Rods in the canister in the corner. Use the extra time to wash up before science class—it was hot today.”

The older boys, smart enough to realize their lesson had been ended by her intrusion, shot Ida one or two foul looks as they filed out of the room.

“There was no reason to stop early on my account, Dr. Parker. I have four older brothers. I understand the idea of ‘no girls allowed.'”

“Quite frankly, I was getting a bit winded in this heat. Some days the boys' enthusiasm outpaces my stamina. They enjoy it so much, though, even if I do hurt the next day. Or day
s
.” He made quick work of buttoning up his shirt and cuffs.

“Fencing?” Ida couldn't help but ask.