The first thing I wanted to do was check on my patient and see if he had lived through the night.
My heart sank at the thought. Perhaps he had died, as fate had planned, and that was why I was still here.
Rushing through my morning toilette with Saphira’s help, I dressed as quickly as possible in a simple morning gown, leaving my hair in a braid to rest over my shoulder, and left my room.
Papa stepped out of his own bedchamber with a desperate look on his face and ran into me. He braced me with his hands as pure relief washed over him. Pulling me into a hug, he held me tight. “Margaret, you’re alive.”
I returned his embrace, tears filling my eyes and spilling onto my cheeks. “I’m still here.”
He pulled back, and I saw the moisture in his eyes. “I hardly slept last night. I checked on you several times to make sure you were still breathing. I’ve never prayed so hard in my life. I don’t understand what you told me last night, but I believe you. And I’m so relieved you’re still here with me.”
I hugged him again, thankful I was back and that he finally knew the truth.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To check on my patient.”
He shook his head, his expression troubled. “I’ve instructed Joseph to see to the soldier’s needs. You are not to be in his room again.”
“I must see him.” Desperation stole over me. “I need to checkhis vital signs and make sure he’s not suffering any complications from the surgery. I performed a very delicate procedure, and I need to make sure he’s stable. I do this all the time in my other paths, Papa. It’s completely acceptable.”
“Perhaps in a different time and place,” he said quietly, lifting his chin as he removed his hands from my arms. “But not here. I’m still trying to comprehend what you told me last night, but it changes nothing. You are a senator’s daughter, my hostess, and a rising figure in Washington society. I cannot have your name muddied with talk of injured soldiers or convalescing patients. I’m already worried about what Mrs. Wilson might tell others.”
“Please.” I put my hand on his forearm. “This is my calling. I was born to be a healer. I will not go into his room alone. I’ll bring Saphira with me at all times. Will that appease you? I must check on him, or he may die from complications I could prevent.”
His exhaustion showed as he studied me. Finally, he sighed in resignation. “Fine. But you must take care, Margaret. I cannot abide gossip or slander about you, and if anyone knew what you have done, they would say vile things—perhaps even report you to the authorities.”
“I know. I will take utmost care with my reputation. You have my word.”
“We have much to discuss, but for now, I should get to the White House. Yesterday was a disaster, and the president will need all the support he can get.”
I nodded. “I will make sure everything is taken care of here.”
Saphira was still in my room, making my bed, so I asked her to come with me into the soldier’s room. My heart pounded hard as I slowly opened the door, not sure what would greet me.
I was completely surprised to find Gray, sitting in one of the chairs near the bed, asleep.
My heart softened as I wiped away the last of my tears. I had forgotten that he said he would stay with the patient overnight.Papa probably didn’t realize he was still in the house either, or he would have never left.
Saphira stood by the door as I slowly walked across the room and leaned over the still body of the soldier. I held my breath, praying that he was alive, and laid two fingers over the radial artery in his wrist to feel for a pulse.
It was there—faint but steady.
Tears of joy filled my eyes as Gray stirred and looked up at me.
“How is he?” Gray asked, his voice husky from sleep.
“Alive, thank God.”
“And thanks to you.” He stood and rubbed his hands over his face, then stretched.
“Did you get much sleep?” I stayed on the opposite side of the bed, still amazed that I had returned to 1861 and that Gray had held vigil over the soldier throughout the night.
“I dozed off a few times, but I didn’t get much sleep.” He was still wearing the suit he’d had on the day before, though his stained coat hung over the back of a chair and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. In 1861, it was considered a state of undress—but to my twenty-first-century eyes, it was completely acceptable, and Gray didn’t seem to notice.
“You should go home to sleep,” I said. “Saphira and I can see to the soldier’s needs today.”
“I must go to work. We have a mess on our hands, and we’ll need to strategize and pick up the pieces.” He started to roll down his sleeves as he looked around the room. “May I have some water to freshen up?”
