Читать книгу The Path To Her Heart - Linda Ford - Страница 11

Her bedroom lay in late fall darkness. Emma rolled over, turned on her bedside lamp, pulled her Bible to her chest and read a few verses. She prayed for her parents and her brother. Lord, make sure they’re warm and have enough to eat. Last winter they’d run low on coal and used it so sparingly that the house was always cold. While she was grateful for a warm, safe place to live, she felt guilty knowing Sid and her parents did not enjoy the same luxuries.

As soon as she finished her prayers, she’d run down to the basement and stir up the furnace. She paused. Was the house already warm? Had Boothe already stoked up the fire? How pleasant to waken to a warm room. She returned to her prayers, bringing her patients before God. A couple had been in the hospital for several weeks, fighting dust pneumonia. Lord, a good snowfall would put an end to the dust. But You know that. Just as You know everything we need. She prayed for friends and neighbors. Finally, when she couldn’t put it off any longer, she prayed for Boothe. There was something about him that upset her equilibrium. She didn’t like it. Lord, help him learn to trust again. And heal Jessie’s wound. She’d heard Jessie crying in the night. It was all she could do not to run down and check on him. That wound was nasty and no doubt painful. But Boothe had forbidden her to do anything for his son.

She took time to thank God for all the good things in her life. Unable to avoid the truth, she thanked her Lord for Boothe. He’s an answer to prayer for Ada, even though he is certainly not the man I would have sent to help. But again, You know best. Perhaps he needs something he will find here.

She jumped from bed, dashed across the hall to the washroom and splashed water over her face. Back in her room she pulled on white stockings, slipped into her uniform and pinned a clean apron on top. She toed into her white shoes, tied them neatly then headed downstairs to help Ada with breakfast.

At the kitchen door, she halted.

Boothe presided over the stove, frying bacon. Ada tended to the toast. A pot of coffee bubbled. Emma turned to the dining room, intent on setting the table. She stopped at the doorway. “The table’s set.”

“Boothe did it,” Ada said. “He’s catching on quickly.”

“I noticed the house is already warm. That’s nice.” Emma glanced at Boothe. He looked smug as if expecting he’d surprised her.

She shifted her gaze away. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself nor where to look, and headed for the window. The square of light revealed the yellowed grass scattered with dried leaves. Emma shivered then turned to catch Boothe watching her.

“It’s going to be cold today.” He offered her a cup of coffee.

She took it and cradled her hands around its warmth. “I heard Jessie in the night. Is he okay?”

“He’s sleeping. I’ll leave him until he needs to get ready for school.”

“Was his cut hurting him?”

Boothe glowered at her. “He had a nightmare. It will take him a few days to feel secure here.”

“It’s got to be hard for him.” Losing his mother and moving to a strange place. “But please keep an eye on that wound. Infection can be deadly.”

“I know enough to take care of my son without your help, if you don’t mind.” His expression grew darker but she refused to be intimidated. As a nurse, she faced disagreeable patients and families and dealt with them kindly, realizing their anger wasn’t directed at her personally. Only with Boothe, it felt personal. She smiled as much to calm herself as to convey kindness to Boothe. She would act professionally even with a man who despised her profession.

The boarders trickled in for breakfast. Loretta never joined them. She had no reason to be up so early. The others gathered round the table, for the most part eating without speaking.

“No snow. That’s good,” Betty said. “Do you know how much mess snow makes on the floors?” She seemed to be the only one who woke up bright and cheerful.

“Snow would settle the dust and perhaps end the drought.”

Emma jerked her head up at Boothe’s soft voice, surprised by the emotion hidden in his words. His eyes darkened as he looked deep into her soul. She felt a connection, a shared sorrow at the sad state of the economy, an acknowledgment that life was difficult. Then he shuttered his feelings and his brow furrowed as if she’d overstepped some boundary.

She turned back to her breakfast. He didn’t need to fear she’d be intruding into his life. She had more important things to attend to. Besides, she did not want to feel a connection to this man. He was dismissive almost to the point of rudeness and refused medical attention for his son. He’d branded her and the whole medical society because of a terrible accident. Tears stung her eyes at the stupidity that caused the death of his wife. She blinked them away and forced her thoughts to other things—like her responsibilities. She would do all she could to make life more tolerable for Sid and their parents.

Don spoke, thankfully pulling her from her troubled thoughts. “Boothe, did you want me to ask about a job at the factory?”

“Not yet but thanks for offering. I’m hoping to find a job that allows me to be home until Jessie leaves for school. I don’t expect I’ll be able to be home right after, but I’m grateful Aunt Ada will be here.”

The smile he sent his aunt filled Emma with alarming confusion. A man of such contrasts, full of tenderness to his son, warmth to his aunt, cold disapproval to Emma.

Betty jumped up and gathered her dishes. “Gotta run.”

Ed followed hard on her heels. Emma grinned after the pair. Ed moved in a couple months ago, fresh off a dried out farm, and had fallen instantly in love with Betty. Betty, although kind to the boy, did not encourage him. She vowed she’d spent enough years on a farm and stuck in a small town. As soon as she saved enough money, she was off to the city.

Boothe asked Don about other job possibilities. He spoke in an easy, relaxed manner, his tone warm, his expression interested.

Emma’s errant thoughts repeated her initial reaction at her first glimpse of him approaching the boardinghouse. A strong, caring man. She slammed a mental door. She had her duties. They excluded useless dreams, especially ones that included a man. Emma sobered. She would not let herself be another Ed, longing for something that was impossible.

“Don’t worry about the dishes,” Ada said as Emma hesitated at the sink. “Boothe will help me.”

“Do you want me to bring up a basin of potatoes?” She normally brought whatever vegetables Ada needed to prepare during the day.

“Boothe will do it. I expect to make him work for his keep.” Ada’s voice held a teasing note.

Emma realized how good this arrangement would be for Ada.

“I’ll see you later, then.” She wrapped her cape about her and headed out into the cold darkness. The sun breathed pink air over the horizon as she entered the hospital.

At the end of her shift, Emma hurried back to the boardinghouse, shivering in the cold wind and coughing in protest of the dust particles in the air. The endless dust grew tiresome. It would be worse for Mom and Dad and Sid on the farm. Relentless. God, please send snow. Please end the drought.

She was getting home later than she should have been thanks to the demands of her job. And she was exhausted—more so in mind than body. It had been one of those days that made her wish she could change people’s thoughts.

Two elderly patients died—their deaths not entirely unexpected, but the woman might have survived if she hadn’t refused to see a doctor until she was too weak to protest when her daughter insisted she must.

And then a woman came in to have her baby. She’d been in labor seventy-two hours before she finally decided she needed medical intervention. The baby had been delivered and both were alive, but Emma wondered about the long-term effects on the baby. The infant girl had been slow to start breathing and seemed sluggish in her responses.

Emma wished she could erase the mental images of the worst scene of all—a young man who had been ill for some time but only when he could no longer respond did his parents decide to seek help. By then the skin on the young man hung like a sheet draped over a wooden rack. His eyes were sunken. She couldn’t help thinking of Sid, remembering how vigorous he’d been at that age. She smiled past tears. Sid had been so eager for life and adventure—with an attitude that led him to take reckless chances just for a thrill. She stilled a shudder. The consequences of taking such risks had gone beyond harmless adventure.

She’d worked feverishly over the young man in her care, determined she would not let his life slip away. He showed little improvement, even with all her efforts.

Later, in private, Dr. Phelps shook his head. “He’s so dehydrated I wonder if his kidneys are even functional.”

“I don’t understand why people wait so long to get help.” Emma’s voice was sharp with frustration. “So much of this suffering is unnecessary.”

Dr. Phelps sighed. “The greatest disease of all is ignorance.”

The young man had still been alive, struggling for each breath, when she’d finally left the hospital, chased away by the matron who insisted Emma was of no value to them if she wore herself out.

Emma paused before the front door of the boardinghouse. She would not drag her frustration and sorrow into the house. Lord, take my concerns and replace them with Your peace. She waited until she had a sense of God’s comforting arms about her then stepped inside.

From the kitchen came the sound of Jessie’s crackling voice, high with some protest and Boothe’s lower, calmer response.

As Emma headed for the stairs, she could hear the conversation more clearly.

“Daddy, I want to go home.” The irritable note in Jessie’s voice alerted Emma’s instincts.

“This is home now.” Boothe explained in gentle tones with just an edge of impatience.

Emma smiled, guessing this conversation had gone on for some time and Boothe had about reached the end of his rope.

“I don’t like it here.” No mistaking Jessie’s stubbornness. “I don’t like the school. I don’t like anything.” She heard a small thump, as if Jessie kicked something.

Emma hesitated part way up the stairs, curious to know how Boothe would handle this.

“You’ll learn to like it. You’ll learn to be happy.”

“No. I won’t.”

Emma tilted her head toward the kitchen. Obviously, Jessie was finding the transition difficult, but it sounded like more than that. He sounded like a child who wasn’t feeling well.

She wanted to check on him, but Boothe had made it doubly clear he would tolerate no interference with his son, yet she could simply not ignore the needs of a sick child. Remembering the young man at the hospital, remembering an earlier time when she’d failed to intervene, she spared a moment to pray for wisdom then headed back down the stairs and into the kitchen, not giving herself a chance to change her mind.

Boothe peeled potatoes. He gave her a brief glance, his mouth set in a tight line. “Aunt Ada’s resting.”

Jessie sat at the other end of the table, a book before him.

Emma took a few more steps into the room so she could see Jessie better. He glanced at her, his mouth pulled back in an angry frown, his hair mussed as if he’d been pushing it back in frustration. There was no mistaking the glassy look in his eyes.

“Hello,” he murmured, his voice croaky as if it took effort to get the word out.

Emma itched to press her palm to his forehead, but she didn’t need to touch him to know he ran a fever. She turned to Boothe, undaunted by his glower. “Your son is sick. You need to look after him.”

Jessie jumped from his chair. “I want to go home,” he wailed and raced for the storeroom where they slept.

Boothe’s mouth pulled down into a fierce scowl. “I warned you to stay out of my affairs.”

“Strictly speaking, you said not to interfere with your son, but I can’t stand by and see him needing medical attention and not getting it. I’ve seen enough needless suffering for one day.” She stopped short of providing any details from the hospital. “Your son has a fever. You should attend to him. I’ll finish the potatoes as soon as I’ve changed.”

His eyes darkened with anger, but she met his gaze boldly, unflinchingly. They looked at each other a long time. She felt as if they dueled with unseen weapons. She would not let him win this silent war. This was not about him proving he didn’t need the help of a nurse. This was about a sick little boy needing care. She would not back down and let Jessie or anyone suffer needlessly.

Muttering under his breath about interfering women and controlling nurses, he tossed the paring knife on the table and strode after Jessie.

She called after him. “You might want to sponge him with cool water to lower the fever. And check his cut. If it looks infected, try an old-fashioned remedy like a bread poultice.”

She waited to hear Boothe murmur to Jessie. The shrill whine of Jessie’s answer sent skitters of alarm up her spine. She hoped home remedies would be enough.

Guessing Boothe might not want to return to the kitchen until she left, and knowing he needed to get water to sponge Jessie and probably prepare a poultice, she headed to her room to change into a warm sweater and skirt.

A wave of discouragement swept over her and she fell to her knees. God, I can’t stand to see so much suffering because of ignorance or stupidity. And it’s difficult for me to stand by when I see Jessie needing attention. He’s such a sweet boy and is dealing with so much. Heal his cut. Heal their inner hurts. She didn’t question that she meant both Jessie and his father in her last request.