Read Online Crossing on the Paris by Dana Gynther - Free Book Online

Julie could see that had this woman been a third-class passenger, she wouldn’t have passed the health inspection. She’d seen the exams given at the port hotel, doctors and nurses checking for lice, scabies, and contagious diseases, weeding out those ticket holders too weak or too ill to travel. It was plain, even to her, that had this frail, old woman been poor, she would not have been allowed to board the Paris.
    The other woman, on the contrary, was young and healthy, beautiful even, with shell-pink skin and loads of thick hair half-hidden under a huge hat. Tall, buxom, without a flaw. Life must be easier for women like that, thought Julie.
    As the elderly trio slowly made their way out of the office, the ringed woman paused, leaning on her cane; she browsed Julie’s face, then nodded pleasantly. Julie bowed slightly, surprised. Unless they were needed—arms for doing chores, legs for running errands—the servant class was usually invisible to the rich. When the door had closed behind them, Julie turned to the younger woman, who was clearly waiting to see the doctor.
    â€œOnly a moment, madame,” she said, her hand raised in apology.She then addressed the doctor, speaking quickly in French.
    â€œSir, Madame Tremblay sent me up here to tell you that dozens of passengers in steerage are suffering from mal de mer. It’s stuffy down there and the ship’s roll is so unpleasant. . . . They’re nauseous, just miserable! If you could come down when you have time, we’d really appreciate it.”
    Julie did not mention that she felt terrible herself, a condition that had not been improved by mopping up vomit.
    â€œUsually I have a nurse or two on board to see to such things, but it seems on this crossing I’m on my own. I hope this will all be worked out in New York. I don’t know what the deuce has happened here!” He shook his head and sighed. “Of course I’ll come. I’ll just see to this lady here, then I’ll be down there directly.”
    â€œ Merci, monsieur, ” Julie said to the doctor, who gave her a fatherly nod, then bobbed a quick curtsy at the pretty woman. “And thank you, madame.”
    She left the infirmary and quickly went back to steerage, afraid Mme. Tremblay would think she was dawdling.

    Alone in the office, Dr. Chabron reached out for Constance’s elbow and escorted her into the inner chamber.
    â€œNow then, come into my office. Tell me what’s troubling you.”
    Constance, pleased to finally have the doctor’s full attention, was grateful to hear his fluent English and was charmed by his slight accent. In Paris, she couldn’t communicate with most of Faith’s friends and, not wanting to appear dour or disapproving (which oftentimes she was), she’d sat there smiling. She felt like a simpleton, smiling without understanding, and knew that, on occasion, they were talking about her, mocking her. She was relieved to find she would not be reduced to pantomime with this man.
    â€œHello, Doctor,” Constance began shyly, then suddenly felt silly.“Well, you see, sometimes, I get terrible headaches. When I was on deck earlier, I felt one coming on. And I don’t have any powders with me. I was just afraid—” She stopped short, surprised by the fact she was on the verge of tears. “Heavens! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
    â€œThere, there,” he said, his voice comforting and warm. “These long voyages tend to make people nervous, though I think you’ll find it quite pleasurable once you get used to it.” He handed her a clean handkerchief with a smile. “Now, tell me, what’s your name?”
    She paused, dabbing her eyes. She had the sudden impulse to give him her maiden name, but after a moment’s hesitation replied dully, “Constance Stone,” omitting the “Mrs.” and feeling foolish. “And you,