Caroline sighed but didn’t slow her pacing. “I care about the school, but I’m not a teacher. I care about Ida, but I can’t move to Ohio, if she’d even take me.”
“You have to do something.”
“Why?” she demanded. “I have worked around the clock for eighteen months, and I’m tired. Maybe I want to take a week and do nothing more stressful than order from a restaurant menu. Or visit friends. Or the Smithsonian,” she couldn’t resist adding.
“Not the Smithsonian again.”
His tone rubbed her the wrong way. “Yes, the Smithsonian! Must you always work? Must I?”
The nurse behind the desk sent them both a warning glance. “Shhh.”
Caroline turned away, hurt by Nathaniel’s refusal to answer. There would always be something to keep him chained to work. While she admired his dedication, a small, selfish part wondered if she could live with it, because she didn’t think he’d ever change.
She took the seat beside him. “I hope you won’t go to Milwaukee.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
She held her breath, waiting for him to continue, but silence stretched between them. The ticking of the clock on the wall behind her was the only sound, and she supposed that was her answer. He would leave.
What should a good and loyal woman do? The logical part of her mind said a woman should do everything possible to support her man. Dr. Tisdale had even suggested how important it was for Nathaniel to get back up on the horse that threw him. He had failed in an epic manner before the entire nation. While no one knew his name, plenty of newspapers had lambasted the Secret Service for their failure to protect the president.
Being a detective was something Nathaniel excelled at. Ever since the challenge of tracking the Kestrel Gang rose before him, his spark of life was back. He needed the sense of accomplishmenthe could find in this work, and she ought to be the sort of woman who would support whatever he needed.
Should she help him pack his bags for Milwaukee? Or should she draw a line in the sand and order him to stay? She didn’t want to, because she was afraid of his answer.
As if confirming her suspicions, he stood. “Look, I’ve lingered too long already. I need to get back to the Holland house and help with the investigation. I just wanted to be certain you were all right.”
Did she look all right? Her heart was breaking, but she lifted her chin and affected a nonchalant air. “By all means, go. I’ll be fine. I always am.”
He nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and left. As she watched his tall, dark form walk away, she wished he hadn’t believed her so readily.
A few minutes later the doctor emerged from Luke’s room. “He’s got second-degree burns on both hands,” he reported. “He’s already blistering, and the wounds are seeping. The biggest problem was removing the bits of paper and dirt from the damaged skin. It was a painful process, but I gave him a dose of morphine to make the procedure bearable. I’ve covered the wounds with a salve and bandaged them. Now the best cure is time.”
“Can I see him?” she asked.
The doctor nodded. “He’s in decent spirits, considering. He had Nurse Rumstead laughing, and it takes a lot to crack that old battle-axe.”
That had to be good! Luke’s moods could always turn on a dime, and she prayed he would weather this latest disappointment.
He was sitting up in bed, wearing an awful white smock, with both hands heavily bandaged. Two nurses, a young redhead and an older woman, tidied the room to remove bandage clippings and bottles of antiseptic. Even weak, underweight,and suffering wicked second-degree burns, Luke was flirting with both nurses.
“Look at you,” she said, feigning good cheer. “You’ve got two women dancing attendance. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“Nellie is only here because she pities me. Isn’t that right, Nellie?”
The younger nurse blushed furiously, while Nurse Rumstead tried to look stern, but her eyes still twinkled in amusement. “I want you to call me when the morphine begins wearing off, do you hear me, young man? No heroics.”
There was a bit more banter as the nurses cleared out, and Caroline lowered herself into a chair at his side, watching his mood carefully.
“How are you feeling?”
“Pretty miserable,” he said, but he still sounded cheerful as he glanced at his hands. “The morphine helps, but it still hurts. The doctor calls them second-degree burns, but I call them first-degree torture.”
It looked like it took all his effort to turn his head on the pillow and manage a weak smile, but it reached all the way to his eyes, and he seemed at peace.
Perhaps it was the medication that had caused his mood change, and she still needed to put his mind at ease. “Nathaniel says he can build a case against Holland even without the papers.”
Luke gave a resigned nod. “I did the best I could. For the past year I’ve prayed, and tried, and prayed some more. It’s been a lesson in patience and humility. It’s in God’s hands now.”
