Read Online The Irish Healer by Nancy Herriman - Free Book Online Page B

Dr. Edmunds was destined to hear how his new assistant, who had claimed to have noknowledge of medical things, who had nearly fainted in his office, had known how to tend Joe’s wound. There would be more questions and more prevarications from her, adding to the stack growing like a refuse pile.
    Oh, Rachel, your soul is going to be black as a charred pot bottom before all is said and done .
    She suppressed the voice, reached for the rear door latch, and stepped into the cool darkness, away from Joe’s quizzical gaze.

    On the Monday after Miss Dunne had been too unwell to attend church services, James wandered down the hallway toward the library, a bundle of patient notes he had been consulting tucked in his hand. He needed to discuss with Miss Dunne how he wanted the paperwork handled for this particular patient—a crotchety old gentleman who his father had tended before handing him off to James. He paused before entering the library. How many times precisely had he found an excuse to come up here today? The first occasion, he’d come to check that she had fully recovered from yesterday’s headache. The next had been to relay some information on when the packing crates would arrive. Another had been to review her progress on her first full day of working in his library. So that made two . . . no, three times.
    Three times? Surely I’m too busy to keep finding reasons to talk with her .
    After all, he was not the sort of man who was normally intrigued by women he barely knew Especially those who worked for him.
    James peered into the library. Miss Dunne leaned over the ledger spread across his desk, a curling tendril of coppery hair come loose from her chignon to fall along her chin, and chewed her bottom lip as she concentrated on her entries. Who was she really? he wondered. She was well educated, her voice betraying only a trace of her Irish heritage, and she held herself as if she were used to possessing authority and being respected. But her clothes were worn, the material shiny in spots where it had rubbed against surfaces, the hems of her two dresses taken down more than once. Poor and Irish, Sophia would say with a disdainful sneer. Words that went together like cold and winter . Or patent medicine and unreliable .
    Miss Dunne backed away from the desk, retreating to the far bookshelves, and James inched closer to the doorway not to lose sight of her. She was humming quietly, some Irish country tune perhaps. She must miss home; he suspected she had never been away before.
    She brushed back the loose strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. Her fingers were long and elegant, and she kept them meticulously clean. A habit James had as well, vitally necessary when treating disease every day. An unusual habit for someone in her situation, though.
    “Sir?” Molly’s voice jerked him back from the doorway. Her eyes narrowed as they glanced between him and what she could see of the library. “Is there something you’re needing, sir?”
    “I was going to instruct Miss Dunne on a patient’s files,” he explained, waving the papers as proof even though he didn’t have to provide any reason to his house-maid for loitering outside his library.
    “Are you wanting me to help with your patients today?” she asked hopefully.
    “No. Miss Dunne will help if I need any assistance. You may continue with your chores up here.” He nodded at the dirty bed linens bundled in her arms.
    Her expression went rigid. “Yes, sir.”
    Briskly, James turned on his heel and headed for the stairs, his forgotten papers dangling from his hand.

CHAPTER 8
    I’m feelin’ right well, I am, miss,” said Joe, sitting atop Dr. Edmunds’s desk in the library, scuffing its polished surface with the backside of his woolen breeches. He grinned at Rachel, one of his wide grins that filled his face and showed the gap in his teeth. “Healin’ up clean.” He tapped his linen sleeve at the spot where he had cut his arm.
    Two days had