Julia’s expression was more tortured than triumphant. As she struggled for words, Horace laid a heavy arm on Nora’s shoulders, his skillful fingers firm and sure. She looked into his aged face, expecting to find more tired lines, but something animated his sharp eyes in a way she hadn’t seen since his stroke. Nora closed her grateful hand over his.
“You’re sure it would be legal? That no one will come for her?” Julia asked through trembling lips.
“My solicitor will take care of it,” Horace offered. “I’m quite sure this child has no rich grand-uncle waiting to claim her. She was left to die in a prison.”
“And I could keep her? Always?” Julia’s eyes raked over each of them, begging them to confirm for certain. Mrs. Phipps’s wet eyes were answer enough.
“The thought of taking in an orphan had crossed my mind.” Harry’s husky whisper nearly undid Nora. “In theory. But we still hoped—”
“She still doesn’t have a name,” Julia whimpered. “I wonder if her mother called her anything before she—”
“Holly?” Mrs. Phipps offered.
They all turned to her.
“She was born Christmas week.”
“I’ve never heard it used as a name,” Nora admitted, thinking of the glossy leaves and crimson berries. “But I like it.”
“Holly?” Harry tried the word on his tongue as he waited for Julia.
“Holly,” Julia whispered. “It’s lovely.” Her head dipped, her small nose grazing the baby’s.
Horace slid his hand from Nora’s and paced to the zebra, resting his arm on Enzo’s striped rump. “But don’t let emotion cloud your judgment. You can’t be overly hasty. She’s just an urchin, perhaps endowed with questionable morals. Are you certain you want her?” he asked, a strange tilt to his mouth.
Every eye turned to the old man in varying degrees ofoutrage. He drummed his fingers against the stubbly hide. “I’ll be the first to warn you—orphans bring more than their fair share of trouble and expense,” he said as Holly stirred and mewed in Harry’s arms. “Nora nearly bankrupted the entire household with this little hospital of hers. Now midwives and students are always underfoot, on top of the clinic—”
Daniel scoffed and circled Nora’s waist, the strength of his arm sending a cascade of warmth down her spine. “Horace, I think your other little acquisitions cost far more than bandages and quinine, if you’re worried about ledgers,” he rebutted, pointing to the zebra and a fossil of some ancient bird beside a pickled Honduran bat floating in a jar of alcohol. “I suggest you stop buying specimens.”
Mrs. Phipps huffed in agreement.
“I do,” Julia choked, one tear hanging on her cheek as she ignored their exchange. “I want her very much. Holly Trimble.”
At the sound of his surname attached to the baby, Harry blinked several times. “Holly Trimble,” he repeated.
Julia pressed the soft head into her neck, holding the fragile baby against her chest. “Can we? Harry?”
Nora half wanted to flee the room and leave them alone in the staggering moment, but she was too selfish. Her stomach quivered with suspense as Harry swallowed several times, his face shifting through emotions too quickly for Nora to anticipate his next words.
“You heard Horace. It sounds as if orphaned girls can be ruinous.” He tried to complete the joke, but his voice caught and ended in tears, which he wiped away as they all waited.
“A daughter,” Julia breathed.
Harry could only nod as he closed his arms around his wife, the child buried between them.
Horace cleared his throat. “I wasn’t finished.” He paused, his limitless eyes locked on Nora. “Despite the risks—” His voice snagged. “Speaking purely as a scientist, I must recommend the experiment. The results, thus far, are promising.”
Chapter 45
“Well, I can’t smell the sickness,” Ruth admitted, appraising the copious arrangements of pink and purple hyacinths overtaking every bedside table and windowsill in the crowded ward.
Nora snickered. Though Julia strictly avoided the cholera patients to protect Holly, the new mother still found ways to make her presence known—immaculate linen smelling of lilac, lemon, and starch, and now bouquets so abundant Ruth wrinkled her nose in dismay.
“I can slip a few upstairs later. But it looks like the little ones like them.” Nora nodded to a pair of children strong enough to climb off their cots and inspect the blooms. They’d be going home soon.
“I don’t want the new nurses to think this is a flower market,” Ruth justified. “We must keep it scientific.” She tilted her chin defiantly, a slant of pride.
Nora grinned. “Science with a woman’s touch,” she countered, watching one boy pluck off a soft, bright blossom. “Just like you taught me in the birthing room.”
