pale as death, Sarah is as quiet as she was when she first came to us, and I’m at my wit’s end. That boy has to be made to see reason.”
“If he doesn’t want to regain his health, no power on Earth will convince him to apply himself,” Michael said grimly.
Mary frowned. “Then what can we do?”
“If I knew the answer to that,” Michael sighed, “I wouldn’t be here right now.”
T HOMAS drove Emma to the train station that afternoon, and over the course of the following two weeks, he ferried three other nurses back and forth from the house. Two of them lasted barely longer than Emma, though the third made a valiant attempt, staying a full four days before giving up. Elizabeth was, Michael learned, a highly trained nursing sister from England, and she had considerable experience with convalescing patients. Her looks, Michael noted with some amusement, were best described as plain. Apparently Seward’s aunt had finally abandoned her attempt to appeal to her nephew’s aesthetic sense.
“I thought a bit of time in the country would do me good, but they’re not paying well enough to put up with his cheek,” Elizabeth told him as they strolled through the garden. “He needs an alienist before he needs a nurse.”
“Did his aunt tell you anything about his injury?” Michael asked.
She eyed him speculatively, silently. Of course, it was not her habit to share her patients’ medical histories with the gardener. Michael hesitated for a moment, reluctant to bring her into his confidence; then, his dusty conscience reminding him of his promise to Sarah, he took a deep breath and spoke. “I was in my first year of medical school when the war broke out. Before that I was trained as a rubber. I joined the ambulance corps and was at the front until 1917, then returned to England and spent the remainder of the war working in an American convalescent hospital, where I implemented physical therapy routines for the men.”
Elizabeth came to a halt and stared at him. “Bloody hell,” she said quietly, “I thought you looked familiar. I was stationed in a base hospital near Ypres in 1916. Were you—”
Michael nodded. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?” He didn’t bother to tell her he didn’t remember her. At the front, one had soon learned not to look too closely at faces. Each face you recognized was one that could be missed.
“Too small,” she agreed. She looked away, contemplating the nearest flowerbed, and after a moment Michael joined her in her study of his work. Satisfied that the danger of frost had passed, he’d transplanted the annuals yesterday. Neat rows of snapdragons and pansies stretched out in front of them, the buds just beginning to sprout.
“Damn,” Elizabeth murmured, arms wrapping around herself despite the warmth of the day. “Even flowerbeds remind me of cemeteries now.”
Michael led her away gently, and they walked slowly toward the back of the property. Once they were safely in the wilder terrain, he saw some of the tension leave her body. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” Michael admonished her gently. “I know how it feels to have everything you touch seem tainted.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “That’s it. That’s exactly it.” She waved a hand to indicate the garden beyond the woods. “If I’m not being too forward, has this—working at something so completely different—helped you?” she asked.
“Not precisely,” Michael hedged, thinking of Sarah’s haunted eyes and Seward’s broken body. “Though I suppose I was hoping it would at least be restful.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t think you’ll get much rest with that one under the same roof.” Sobering, she said, “Why do you want to know about him?”
“I made a promise,” Michael admitted, spreading his hands. “And like it or not, I have to do what I can to keep it.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you believe in fate?” she asked.
Michael’s gut
“If he doesn’t want to regain his health, no power on Earth will convince him to apply himself,” Michael said grimly.
Mary frowned. “Then what can we do?”
“If I knew the answer to that,” Michael sighed, “I wouldn’t be here right now.”
T HOMAS drove Emma to the train station that afternoon, and over the course of the following two weeks, he ferried three other nurses back and forth from the house. Two of them lasted barely longer than Emma, though the third made a valiant attempt, staying a full four days before giving up. Elizabeth was, Michael learned, a highly trained nursing sister from England, and she had considerable experience with convalescing patients. Her looks, Michael noted with some amusement, were best described as plain. Apparently Seward’s aunt had finally abandoned her attempt to appeal to her nephew’s aesthetic sense.
“I thought a bit of time in the country would do me good, but they’re not paying well enough to put up with his cheek,” Elizabeth told him as they strolled through the garden. “He needs an alienist before he needs a nurse.”
“Did his aunt tell you anything about his injury?” Michael asked.
She eyed him speculatively, silently. Of course, it was not her habit to share her patients’ medical histories with the gardener. Michael hesitated for a moment, reluctant to bring her into his confidence; then, his dusty conscience reminding him of his promise to Sarah, he took a deep breath and spoke. “I was in my first year of medical school when the war broke out. Before that I was trained as a rubber. I joined the ambulance corps and was at the front until 1917, then returned to England and spent the remainder of the war working in an American convalescent hospital, where I implemented physical therapy routines for the men.”
Elizabeth came to a halt and stared at him. “Bloody hell,” she said quietly, “I thought you looked familiar. I was stationed in a base hospital near Ypres in 1916. Were you—”
Michael nodded. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?” He didn’t bother to tell her he didn’t remember her. At the front, one had soon learned not to look too closely at faces. Each face you recognized was one that could be missed.
“Too small,” she agreed. She looked away, contemplating the nearest flowerbed, and after a moment Michael joined her in her study of his work. Satisfied that the danger of frost had passed, he’d transplanted the annuals yesterday. Neat rows of snapdragons and pansies stretched out in front of them, the buds just beginning to sprout.
“Damn,” Elizabeth murmured, arms wrapping around herself despite the warmth of the day. “Even flowerbeds remind me of cemeteries now.”
Michael led her away gently, and they walked slowly toward the back of the property. Once they were safely in the wilder terrain, he saw some of the tension leave her body. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” Michael admonished her gently. “I know how it feels to have everything you touch seem tainted.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “That’s it. That’s exactly it.” She waved a hand to indicate the garden beyond the woods. “If I’m not being too forward, has this—working at something so completely different—helped you?” she asked.
“Not precisely,” Michael hedged, thinking of Sarah’s haunted eyes and Seward’s broken body. “Though I suppose I was hoping it would at least be restful.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t think you’ll get much rest with that one under the same roof.” Sobering, she said, “Why do you want to know about him?”
“I made a promise,” Michael admitted, spreading his hands. “And like it or not, I have to do what I can to keep it.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you believe in fate?” she asked.
Michael’s gut
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