Julia’s hands twisted. She’d been the most devoted attendant since Aunt Wilcox brought the child in last week, even placing the girl’s cot in her own room at night, emerging in the mornings with bleary eyes and nervous questions. But despite her care, there was undeniable fluid in the newborn’s lungs, and Daniel had warned them not to get too attached.
“What’s wrong with her?” Julia gripped her embroidery hoop like a life rope.
Horace gave her a level stare, fathomless, bracing. “She’s orphaned.”
Julia stammered, “I—I know that, but what did you find—”
“The lungs are quite clear now. The poultices and warm wraps have worked.”
Harry sat up, exclaiming with surprise, but Horace waved him back.
“It’s her heart.”
Nora held her breath, her hurrah cut in half. She’d missed something. She hadn’t heard any murmurs or irregular beats. “Her heart?” she asked, tamping down nausea. They’d spent the whole afternoon discussing why nothing could fix a defective heart.
“It’s broken,” Horace continued. “She’s lost her mother. There’s nothing more dangerous for a child than losing the will to live.” Horace stepped forward with the too-small bundle in his arms. “She’s past the pneumonia, but she’s not strong enough to be taken to a foundling home.”
“Then we’ll keep her longer,” Harry offered. “Mrs. Nugent gives her plenty of milk every day, and we have the goat’s milk—”
“Play nursemaid?” Horace lifted the corner of his lip in disapproval. “With your schedule? You don’t know how much trouble a newborn makes.”
“It’s not playing,” Julia shot back, her voice scolding. Her eyes glistened defiantly in the lamplight. “And she’s no more trouble than burn patients or amputees or cholera or diphtheria—”
“And then what?” Horace demanded, cutting her off.
“Then?” Harry asked, perplexed.
“Would you throw her back like a fish once you get her well?” Horace asked. “Mrs. Phipps was horrified when I proposed that with our last orphan.”
Nora narrowed her eyes.
Horace approached Harry and held out the child, folding back the mint-green blanket to reveal her sleeping face. “She shouldn’t be our patient.”
“Please don’t send her away,” Julia pleaded. “Not until—”
Horace held up his hand, stopping her. “It seems a simple calculation for anyone with half a brain. A child with no parents. Parents with no child. She shouldn’t be a patient. She should be your daughter.”
Harry’s already pale face grew starkly white against his orange beard.
Horace pushed the child closer. “True, she’s not a very lovely specimen, but she’s the only one we have to choose from currently.”
Julia yelped, “What do you mean? She’s beautiful.”
Nora—who knew Horace better—couldn’t hold back a wince. He was such a clumsy meddler.
“A daughter?” Harry whispered as Horace transferred the sleeping baby to his arms. It took a moment to tuck her into place, and Harry looked at Nora for confirmation he was holding the little patient correctly.
“I can’t promise she’ll survive,” Horace remarked offhandedly. “She’s as scrawny as—”
“Survive?” Julia finally leaped to her feet as if jerked from a dream. She tucked the blanket under the infant’s chin with shaking hands. “She’ll live to be older and stronger than you,” she declared with eyes as fierce as Horace’s before she softened her tone. “Don’t tease.”
A smile so small only Nora caught it flicked across Horace’s face, quickly replaced by a sober frown sent to Harry. “I wasn’t teasing. Truly, she’s weak. You have to prepare yourself—”
Julia’s hand went up inches from Horace’s mouth, blocking the words. She looked only at the fragile girl. “She’s perfect.”
They were all on their feet now, crowding forward.
Harry at last caught his wife’s eye, his own face stunned and blank. “What do we…” he asked Julia with strangled words. “What if she—”
