“Then maybe if I keep working at strengthening my body...” She trailed off when she noticed his expression change.
“Pushing your body to the brink of your ability isn’t the answer,” he told her. “That’s only a path to breaking down faster.”
She dropped her gaze to the gloved hands in her lap. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But it rang true in a way her own wishful thinking never had. “Then what can I do to get better?” She had to get better. She must do something.
“Some ailments are of our own making, which means we can also unmake them. But this, Miss Reisner, isn’t one of them. You didn’t cause this. The minute I learn of something that you or I can do to improve your condition, I’ll share that. The best advice I can give now is to pay attention to what your body is telling you. Push less, not more. And please schedule follow-up appointments so we can track how you’re doing. Live within your limits instead of fighting against them.”
During the cab ride home, Elsa considered what Dr. Clay had said.
She might stay at this level of weakness for years.
She might possibly improve, although he hadn’t seen a precedent for that yet.
She might get worse. And there was nothing she could do about that, except possibly wear herself out quicker by being in denial of her true condition.
Elsa couldn’t see the future. She was tempted to feel like she was in that locked dark room all over again, but she held up the light of the truth. She hadn’t been abandoned by God in the secret den at Elmhurst, and she wasn’t now, either. If one door in her life was locked closed, God would lead her on another path. He would be with her the entire way.
Just because she didn’t know where it would lead didn’t meanshe couldn’t trust Him.Be my light, she prayed again.Show me the path.
The first step was obvious. There was one question she needed to ask herself: Knowing her mobility may decrease in the future, how did she want to spend the time she had now?
By early afternoon, Elsa had made up her mind about what to do with the information Dr. Clay had given her. She needed to tell Ivy, Luke, and her parents. She also needed to talk to her boss.
She rose when she spied Mr. Chapman pushing through the revolving door to enter the Beresford lobby. She had called his office requesting a meeting, and he insisted they hold it here.
“Miss Reisner.” He doffed his homburg. “Shall we sit?”
They moved to a pair of wing chairs, and she thanked him again for coming.
“After the ordeal you had last night, you should be resting. Having our conversation here is the least I can do.”
The American Museum of Natural History was such a short distance from here, but he was right that she was too worn out for it, not to mention the long walk required to reach his office once inside the massive building. In fact, after this meeting, she planned to go back to bed and wouldn’t mind staying there until tomorrow.
“You saw a doctor, I hope?” Mr. Chapman went on. “I must say I was shocked to hear you went back to Elmhurst after your work there was done. I’m sorry this happened at all, but I must ask, will you be blaming the museum for putting you there in the first place?”
“Not at all. I was there on my own time last night. My errand had nothing to do with work. If anything, Mr. Chapman, I owe you my gratitude for assigning me that project. It breathed new life into my passion for birds and people.”
He leaned back in his chair, likely relieved not to have the museum involved in a scandal. If anyone was to blame for the danger she’d been in, it was Archer for locking her away. But she didn’t have the energy to deal with him yet.
“Then what is this about?”
“My time. And my passion for birds and people.” She felt as confident in her decision as her boss appeared bewildered. “I recently asked you if I might serve as the museum’s guide for bird-watching groups in Central Park, and you said no. Would you reconsider?”
His eyelids flared, and his mustache twitched. “No. I still say no to that, Miss Reisner. I require your skills in skinning and dissecting birds and managing inventory.”
She smiled. “I thought you’d say that. In that case, I’m giving you my notice that I need to reduce my hours with the department and only work part-time.”
Color drained from his face. “Is this an ultimatum?”
“No, I promise you it isn’t. It’s the result of consultation with my doctor. I need to work fewer hours at the museum. I’ll lead bird-watching groups on my own, as my health allows.” She’d already been doing it.
But she couldn’t keep working so hard at the museum and have energy left to do what she loved most. She had no idea how many months or years she had left before her mobility might be further compromised. She didn’t want to spend all the time she had left in an office with dead birds. She wanted to be out with the living ones.
She had been asking God togetbetter, but He was showing her how tolivebetter. The answer wasn’t trying harder to do more and keep up with the razzle-dazzle, fast-paced city she lived in. It was doing less, to make room for what really mattered. She was placing her own priorities above any hope of promotion. She knew it. And she felt at perfect peace about it.
“Our department can scarcely keep up with the work as it is,” he pleaded.
She hadn’t expected him to place her health above the productivity of his department. That washerjob. No one else could do that for her.
