Aunt’s party was one of his favorite traditions. One of his best childhood memories was the year he was finally deemed old enough to attend. He’d only missed one, when the weather was too wretched to permit him to travel from Paris, where he was studying.
It was easy for Nora to imagine, as Daniel’s eyes grew shadowed and dejected, that she alone didn’t outweigh the things he had lost.
Aunt Wilcox had never even allowed her to present a defense, and as one day succeeded another, Nora’s arguments swelled and rankled inside her. Not that they’d do her any good.Aunt Wilcox would never listen, and that certainty rankled even more, as niggling and impossible to ignore as a chipped tooth. Between rounds, Nora tried to immerse herself in articles, but the words ran away from her and forced her to corral the same paragraphs over and over. A dull ache in her head sanded down her thoughts until they had no handholds.
Finally, she sighed and set her journal aside, irritated by the persistent queasiness brought on by the pregnancy.
“You know, I think there’s something to that transfusion idea you mentioned,” Julia said from the sofa, making Nora start. The room was so quiet, her bitterness so strongly brewed, that she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.
“Pardon?” Nora straightened in her chair.
“The article you mentioned about transfusions. I took it to Harry, and he explained the terms that were obscure to me.”
“Dr. W. Pepper’s article? The transfusions of milk?” Nora’s brow creased.
Julia shook her head. “No. The other doctor who used that solution. Lady’s—”
“Latta’s,” Nora corrected.
“Yes, that’s right. It sounded much more promising than the milk one.”
Nora frowned. It had sounded promising, but as Daniel had pointed out, Torrance, the Rugby-based surgeon advocating transfusion therapy in a single, brief article, was referencing cases from the first epidemic, years and years ago. Nora had written to Mr. Torrance, care of the journal’s editors, requesting further details but had received no response.
“It did sound interesting,” Nora admitted. “But there havebeen plenty of deaths after putting foreign substances into a patient’s veins.”
“Yes, I know. But that surgeon…Torrance?”
Nora nodded.
“Says six of his seven cases recovered. It sounds almost miraculous…”
Nora grinned at her friend, calmly conversing as she drew her silk thread into a neat French knot. “Julia?”
She stopped talking, lifting her eyebrows.
“Are you becoming a doctor?”
Julia’s cheeks bloomed pink as she bit down on her bottom lip. “It’s the fault of living in this house. I have no other conversations to overhear.” Her eyes fell, and Nora swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing Julia could have the half-dozen or so children she longed for. Nora knew her friend would far rather hear the prattle of little ones than referee disagreements between surgeons.
“I admit, I like siding with you when the discussion gets heated.” Julia’s fingers played with the needle. Then she looked up, lips twitching with a faint smile. “The profession is awfully catching.”
Nora grinned. “I certainly contracted a lifelong case from Horace.”
“I’m enjoying the nursing more than I thought,” Julia admitted. “If I could have my own children…” She cut off, pain apparent in her face. “I like that Harry and I have work to do together. I like being able to help and understand the arguments at the dinner table. I enjoy compounding salves and tinctures with you and Horace.” Her voice strengthened and grew morepointed. “I certainly have no desire to venture into the surgical theater. You can keep the blood to yourselves.”
Nora studied Julia’s confident smile. She was a different woman from the girl Nora first met when she returned home. Nora swiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “You know what a watering pot I’ve been lately. I just—” She swallowed. “I’m glad you’re here. You keep us all sane.”
Julia scrunched her nose. “I would never go that far.”
“I should get back to work,” Nora said, tickled by the unexpected exchange with her friend. She’d never realized before Harry married, but this house had always needed at least one more female.
Nora returned to the ward, where Daniel was struggling with the drinking tubes, more tired than ever. When one of the recovering women hummed “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” between spoonfuls of broth, he flinched, making Nora’s eyes burn. He shouldn’t be cast off from his family right before Christmas; it was needlessly cruel for a man expecting his first child. And keeping him from seeing his sisters… In the past two weeks, the only word he’d received from the Gibsons was a furious missive from his father, dripping with feelings of betrayal. She knew he wanted to drive out and see them, but he couldn’t disappear for days in the middle of this outbreak.
“Please go upstairs and get something to eat. Maybe lie down,” Nora pressed, and Daniel complied so easily and silently that her worries only multiplied as she watched him drag his feet up the narrow staircase.
Nora closed her eyes, willing away the nausea and aching head that plagued her. There was no time for pregnancysymptoms amid so many other pressing needs. After a deep breath, she placed her stethoscope on the patient’s chest and listened carefully. Miss Bagnell’s pulse was improving.
All the patients had been fed and now were sleeping or resting, buckets in hand for the vomit. A catalog of bleak emotions—fear and hopelessness, fatigue and pain—was displayed across their quiet faces.
