4

Not cancer, praise God! Mary smiled as she perused Corporal Donovan’s chart. The unfortunate soul had apparently contracted serum hepatitis while serving in France, the symptoms only now presenting. His condition should improve with bed rest, but the remainder of his life he must take care to neither spread the disease nor inflict more damage on his liver.

Prohibition couldn’t have come at a better time for the corporal.

Mary only hoped the unavailability of alcoholic beverages would bring about a positive change in Gilbert as well. She thanked God every day Gilbert had overcome his morphine addiction—another consequence of his battlefield injuries. Unfortunately, he’d come to rely too heavily on strong drink instead. Mary had privately celebrated when Prohibition was announced, for she couldn’t help worrying Gilbert’s taste for liquor might someday come between them.

Ah, but yesterday had been sweet indeed. She’d never seen Gilbert so relaxed, never heard him laugh so freely and so much. To think a simple chore like hanging laundry could awaken even deeper feelings for this man with the irresistible claim on her heart.

A secret smile curling her lips, she jotted a note on Corporal Donovan’s chart before moving to the next patient.

“Why, Mary McClarney.” Lois came alongside and nudged her elbow. “Aren’t you just the picture of sweetness and light. I’ll wager you’ve been making time with your handsome lieutenant.”

Heat rose in Mary’s cheeks. She hurried Lois to the other side of the ward. “I’ll thank you not to embarrass me in front of the patients. Worse, what if Mrs. Daley had overheard?”

“Oh, the old bat.” Lois flicked a hand. “If she had her way, we’d be spinsters the rest of our lives—which is definitely not in my plans.” She leaned closer, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. “Listen, honey, if you ever grow tired of your beau, make sure I’m the first to know, okay?” With that, she marched away.

And what, exactly, did Lois mean by that remark? Refusing to give it a second thought, Mary hiked her chin and strode in the opposite direction, only to run headlong into Mrs. Daley.

“Watch where you’re going, young lady!” The hoary-haired chief nurse seized Mary by both wrists to keep her from toppling over. Then, with a caustic look beyond Mary’s shoulder, she added, “And I’d watch my step with Miss Underwood as well. You could do much better in your choice of friends.”

Mary released a nervous chuckle as she found her footing. “I’m sure Lois means no harm.”

“Humph. I’d be happy if she had even half your skills and work ethic.”

Mary felt another blush coming on. A compliment from Mrs. Daley? Would wonders never cease! “I—well—thank you.”

“Now, now, don’t look at me as though I’ve never once said a kind word to you.” With a flinty glare, the woman set her arms akimbo. “I’m not the ogre you and half the other nurses on this floor make me out to be.”

“No, ma’am, of course not.” Mary crossed her fingers behind her back and adopted her most placating smile. She sent subtle glances to either side in search of some urgent task to remove her from Mrs. Daley’s scrutiny. “If you’ll pardon me, I should really—”

“Not so fast, Miss McClarney.”

Mary couldn’t refrain from flinching at the chief nurse’s crisp command. “Yes, ma’am?” Her voice was little more than a squeak.

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you about this research assignment you did for Dr. Russ. Did you find it enlightening?”

“Quite, ma’am.” Mary relaxed slightly, recalling how she’d relished the thrill of discovery while paging through Dr. Russ’s medical books. “The study of pathology is fascinating. That—and, of course, using the knowledge to help others—is why I chose to become a nurse.”

Mrs. Daley half-closed her eyes as she nodded thoughtfully. Then, hooking her arm through Mary’s, she ushered her toward the exit. “Come to my office, dear. There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

Almost before she could catch her breath, Mary found herself seated across the desk from Mrs. Daley. Perched on the edge of the chair, she clenched her hands and tried to still the nervous jumping of her right foot. She thought she’d lose her mind while waiting for Mrs. Daley to adjust her glasses just so, then page through a sheaf of papers with excruciating slowness.

Finally, the woman looked up, a benevolent smile carving deep parentheses around her mouth. “You may not be aware I’ve had my eye on you for quite some time, Miss McClarney.”

Oh, Mary had been aware, all right. But she had the eerie sense, at least today, Mrs. Daley’s attention was for reasons other than Mary’s relationship with Gilbert Ballard. Uncertain about the direction of this conversation, she simply nodded.

Lacing her fingers atop the desk, Mrs. Daley tilted her chin. “I have concluded you are ready for increased responsibilities. You may have heard Mrs. Hatcher is retiring at the end of the month, which leaves me with a position to fill.”

Mary gulped. Surely, she wasn’t being considered for Mrs. Hatcher’s job. It would mean . . .

“I’m contemplating promoting you to the third-floor charge nurse position for ward two. It would entail changing permanently to the day shift, plus you would have weekends off.” Mrs. Daley arched a brow and cast Mary a questioning look across the top of her glasses.

Surely, she must be dreaming! Mary chewed her lip. “This is completely unexpected, ma’am. I . . . I hardly know what to say.”

“You’ll want to think it over, naturally. Give me your answer by Friday, or I shall have to offer the promotion to someone else.” Retrieving a folder from the corner of her desk, Mrs. Daley dismissed Mary with a nod toward the door.

Stunned and disoriented, Mary paused in the corridor and propped herself against the wall. A promotion would mean a small raise, and with her mother’s chronic health concerns, the extra income could make a huge difference. And no more worries about working swing shifts or leaving her mother home alone at night, not to mention every weekend off—what more could she ask?

Yes, indeed, Mrs. Daley’s offer seemed like the answer to a prayer Mary hadn’t even thought to pray!

“Miss McClarney? Are you all right?”

At Dr. Russ’s softly spoken query, she gasped and pushed away from the wall. “Oh, fine, sir. Just a wee bit flabbergasted.”

“You’re sure? You looked rather pale there for a moment.” The kind-faced doctor tilted his head with a probing gaze. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

“Perhaps I should.” Spying a bench on the opposite wall, Mary crossed the corridor and sank down with a thud, handfuls of her white apron bunched in her fists.

Dr. Russ plopped down beside her. “Dare I ask what has you so . . . I believe flabbergasted was the word you used?”

“Mrs. Daley just offered me a promotion.” Mary turned a wide-eyed gaze upon the doctor, her mouth stretching into an amazed grin as she explained about Mrs. Hatcher’s retirement and the change this new position would mean for Mary.

“Terrific! Mrs. Daley made an excellent choice.” Dr. Russ extended his hand in congratulations. “You’re going to accept, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am.” Mary nodded thoughtfully as she shook the doctor’s hand. “I truly didn’t believe you yesterday when you spoke of Mrs. Daley’s regard for me. Especially after . . .” She glanced away as she recalled stolen kisses with Gilbert, romantic trysts in hospital storage closets—and Mrs. Daley’s stern rebukes for Mary’s allowing herself to become romantically involved with a patient.

No matter by then Gilbert had been an outpatient. Nonetheless, though Mary had tried earnestly to keep their relationship from interfering with work, she couldn’t deny Gilbert’s relentless attention had distracted her to no end—until she’d forcefully put a stop to it, insisting he must no longer call on her during work hours.

“Mary?” Dr. Russ’s gentle tone returned her thoughts to the present. He pressed her hand firmly between his own. “Don’t for a second question your worthiness for this promotion. You’ve earned it. You’re a good nurse. A good woman. I consider it a privilege to work with you.”

Mary smiled her gratitude. If only all the doctors on staff were as cordial. Or, more to the point, more appreciative of the nurses who worked so tirelessly on their patients’ behalf. Certain doctors—Mary could name more than a few—treated the nursing staff as little more than housekeepers in white uniforms. Such old-school physicians considered a nurse’s “excess” medical knowledge a detriment to patient care. And they wouldn’t want a nurse to actually think, now, would they?

Thank heaven for physicians like Dr. Russ.

With a self-conscious sigh, Mary rose. “I should get back to the ward. I’ve dallied long enough.” She bade the doctor farewell then checked the time as she hurried along the breezeway. Less than an hour left on her shift. She could hardly wait to get home and share her good news with Mum!

But before then she’d see Gilbert. He’d promised to be waiting for her at the oak tree when she got off work. He’d drive her home, and she’d tell him all about Mrs. Daley’s offer. This highly respected hospital position would surely garner a measure of approval from Gilbert’s family—approval Mary desperately desired if she and Gilbert were ever to have a future together.

An hour later, when she rushed down the path and across the lawn to “their” tree, she found Gilbert conspicuously absent. Standing beneath the spreading branches, she strained her eyes in all directions, hoping for a glimpse of Gilbert’s glossy, dark curls. Was he perhaps repaying her for working late on Saturday and keeping him waiting? Reprisal certainly wasn’t outside Gilbert’s nature . . . but she dared to believe he’d changed.

After giving him the benefit of the doubt and another twenty minutes’ grace period, Mary gave up and started home. She’d walked only half a block when an automobile horn sounded behind her.

The driver pulled up alongside her and leaned out the window. “Miss McClarney, wait.”

The man looked familiar, and he obviously knew Mary by name. She hugged her handbag at her waist. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“Sorry, I’m Thomas Ballard. Gil’s brother. Guess we haven’t officially been introduced.”

Mary relaxed slightly. “Of course. I remember when you visited Gilbert at the hospital.” Except why would he stop her on the street, unless . . . “Oh, my, something’s happened, hasn’t it?” She stepped to the curb, her imagination going wild with the possibilities.

“Nothing to panic about.” Waving his hand, Thomas offered a crooked grin. “Gil’s had a little accident. He’s home resting, but—”

Mary’s brain had shut down after the words little accident. “He’s hurt? How bad?”

“Just a little bumped and bruised after a near-miss on Central Avenue earlier today.”

“Near-miss?” Mary gulped air as she pictured Gilbert’s broken and bleeding body sprawled on the pavement. “Is he—”

“I assure you, he’s fine. He knew you’d be worried when he wasn’t waiting for you after work, so he asked me to meet you at the hospital gate. Unfortunately, I didn’t get there in time.”

A bitter taste clung to the back of Mary’s throat. She rubbed her forehead. “He’s seen a doctor, of course?”

“Dr. Lessman checked him over thoroughly. Our housekeeper’s making sure he takes it easy for the rest of the day.”

“Your housekeeper. You left your housekeeper in charge of an injured man?” Indignant, Mary started around to the passenger door. “Be so kind as to take me to see Gilbert immediately.”

“Now hold on here.” Thomas grabbed the door handle before she could pull it open. “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.” Glancing away, he muttered something under his breath, something about mother.

It was enough to snap Mary out of her headlong rush to reach Gilbert. Giving the door a yank, she wrenched it free of Thomas’s grip and climbed inside. “My mother will worry if I’m late getting home. Drive me there first, and then to see Gilbert. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Here’s a fresh cold compress, Mister Gilbert.” Marguerite lifted the dripping cloth from Gilbert’s head and dropped it into an enameled bowl before replacing the cloth with another.

“Thank you.” Gilbert groaned as he pressed the cool, wet towel against the goose egg on the back of his head. He supposed he should be thankful he’d had sense enough to leap aside before the delivery truck plowed into him. However, the lump on his head and the bruises on his backside would remind him of his carelessness for days to come.

“You sure you don’t want me sendin’ for your mama? She’ll be fit to be tied when she gets home to find you laid up like this.”

“I wouldn’t have you interrupt Mother’s spa appointment for anything. A mineral bath and massage at the Fordyce will leave her in a much better mood.” Gilbert shifted in the cushioned chair to ease the pressure on his left hip. At least he’d had the presence of mind—or perhaps the good fortune—to fall toward his bad side. No sense damaging his remaining good limbs.

Marguerite stood over him, arms crossed and a petulant frown twisting her mouth. “I swan, Mister Gilbert. How you can survive gettin’ all shot up in the war and then come home and near get yourself killed crossing the street—why, you must certainly have a guardian angel sitting on your shoulder. Looks to me like a message from the Almighty. He expects you to do somethin’ worthwhile with the life He keeps saving.”

Gilbert shot the family housekeeper a doubtful glare. “Or maybe He just wants to punish me for all my many sins.”

With a tsk-tsk, Marguerite rolled her eyes and marched out of the parlor, leaving Gilbert to mull over the sorry state of his battered body . . . and his battered life. Only hours ago, Thomas had tried to tell him he needed to find an occupation more worthy of the man he was.

Was being the operative word. Gilbert still hadn’t figured out who he was now.

And his latest stupidity had resulted in yet another failure. Realizing how disappointed Mary would be when she didn’t find him at the oak tree, he’d sent Thomas rushing over to the hospital. By now Thomas would have relayed the news of Gilbert’s accident, so at least Mary would know he hadn’t intentionally stood her up.

His insides curled in upon themselves with the sudden need to be near her. She would know what to do to soothe his throbbing head. She could make him feel like a man—a whole man—while the rest of the world seemed intent on reducing him to a crippled has-been.

The rest of the world . . . or had Gilbert alone declared himself worthless?

Sounds from the rear of the house announced Thomas’s return home. Then Gilbert detected a second set of footsteps pounding down the hall, and a split-second later Mary rushed through the parlor door. Red curls spiraled around her anxious face as she jerked to a halt mere feet from Gilbert’s chair. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Gilbert, Gilbert!”

“Now, Mary, it’s not as bad as it looks.” Lowering the compress, he motioned her to come closer. When he could reach her hand, he pulled her onto the arm of his chair and buried his aching head in the folds of her sleeve. She smelled of starch and hospital antiseptic, commingling with the faintest scent of rosewater.

Heaven. Pure heaven.

He could tell the moment she shifted from anxious concern to clinical detachment. With practiced fingers, she probed the knot behind his left ear, eliciting a gasp through clenched teeth. “Sorry,” she murmured, gentling her touch. “Feels like a typical scalp hematoma—a good deal of swelling, but the skin isn’t broken. Where else are you hurt?”

“Not worth mentioning.” He’d just as soon avoid a discussion of his nether injuries. Capturing Mary’s wrist, Gilbert drew her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss into the soft center of her palm. “Doc Lessman already examined me thoroughly. I’m roughed up a bit, that’s all. By tomorrow I’ll be good as new.” In a manner of speaking.

Gilbert glanced up to see his brother standing in the doorway. Head cocked, Thomas set his hands on his hips. He spoke with quiet concern. “Not sure it’s such a good idea having her here. Mother will be home any minute now.”

Tensing, Gilbert sat straighter, punishing himself with the pressure on his sore left hip and shoulder. In his relief to see Mary, he’d conveniently pushed aside any concerns about his mother’s opinion. Another world war might break out if Mother found Mary making herself at home in the Ballards’ parlor—and practically seated on Gilbert’s lap!

Giving her hand another kiss, Gilbert looked up with pleading eyes. “You should go, Mary. I’ll see you tomorrow at the oak tree, and—”

Too late. Both their heads snapped up as Evelyn Ballard swept into the parlor. “Thomas! Someone heard a rumor—” Then her glance fell upon Gilbert, and her mouth dropped open, first in shock and then in confusion. “It’s true—you were in an accident.”

Gilbert lowered his head. “It was nothing. I’m fine.”

“Yes, so I see.” Arching a brow, Gilbert’s mother pinned Mary with a dagger-like stare. “I’m so utterly relieved to see you’re in the care of your private nurse.”

As if only now realizing her peril, Mary popped off the chair arm and stood primly at Gilbert’s side. “Mrs. Ballard, ma’am.”

Gritting his teeth against the pain and a brief wave of dizziness, Gilbert found his cane and eased himself to his feet. “This appears to be as good a time as any for formal introductions. Mother, may I present Miss Mary McClarney. She’s very dear to me, so I beg you to welcome her with utmost cordiality.”

For several long seconds, Gilbert wondered if his mother had lost her tongue. Her chin quivered with barely controlled annoyance . . . or was it disgust? Either way, a lowly nurse would never best Gilbert’s mother. Pride alone would prevent Evelyn Ballard from lashing out with the venom of self-righteous vanity that ruled her every thought.

Thomas edged forward. “You’ve had a long day, Mother. Perhaps you’d like to lie down before dinner is served?”

“I feel quite rested, thank you.” A semblance of a smile found its way to her lips. Not a particularly welcoming smile, but a smile nonetheless. “In fact, I have decided we should invite Miss McClarney to stay for dinner. We should get to know one another better, don’t you agree?”

Gilbert recognized the smile for what it was: treachery incarnate. “Mary was just leaving. Thomas, you’ll drive her home, won’t you?”

“Of course, if—”

“Tut-tut!” Gilbert’s mother moved to the entrance hall. “Marguerite! Set another place in the dining room, if you please.”

“No, Mrs. Ballard, I can’t stay, really.” Mary kneaded her hands. “My own dear mum will be holding supper for me. I told her I’d be home as soon as I made sure Gilbert was all right.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, dear child. Let’s send for your mother and you can both join us for dinner. Thomas, have Zachary take the Peerless and fetch Mrs. McClarney at once.”

Thomas looked askance at Gilbert as if pleading for his intervention, but Gilbert had already determined this was one skirmish he’d never win. As his mother ushered Thomas from the room and then hurried off as well, no doubt to issue more kitchen orders, Gilbert enfolded Mary beneath his arm and rested his chin against her silky red hair. “It’ll be fine, Mary. Your mother will be treated like visiting royalty.”

Leaning away, Mary craned her neck to give Gilbert a worried frown. “Ah, but don’t you know the Irish have little regard for royals. I fear you’d best be more concerned for your own mum than for mine.”

Nell McClarney may be frail of body, but she’d proved again tonight she could match wits with the best of them. Mary could do little but smile and nod as her mother faced off with Evelyn Ballard over a sumptuous dinner of broiled pork tenderloin, asparagus tips in a buttery sauce, and potatoes au gratin. Both Mary and her mother declined the offered wine. Gilbert acknowledged Mary’s raised eyebrow by stopping at one glass, but Mrs. Ballard didn’t exhibit the same restraint.

“They served wine at the wedding in Cana, you know.” Mrs. Ballard used a cream-colored linen napkin to dab a spilled droplet from the matching tablecloth, and Mary could only surmise the ever-present Marguerite knew the best way to remove such stains.

Mary’s mother gave a polite cough. “True enough, but I don’t think our Lord Jesus was much impressed with intemperance.”

“Mum . . .” Mary found her mother’s foot under the table and gave a warning tap with the toe of her shoe. “Perhaps we should be getting you home. You’ve had a long day.”

“Not to worry, lass. I had a good long nap after lunch.” Mary’s mother beamed her most charming smile in Mrs. Ballard’s direction, but the tone of her voice held an edge. “Besides, I’m just gettin’ to know our lovely hostess.”

The regal nod Gilbert’s mother offered in return set Mary’s insides aquiver. “Yes, do stay awhile longer, Mrs. McClarney. You and I have much we should talk about.”

“Ah, but only if you’ll call me Nell. After all, we’re nigh on family already, seeing as how our children have set themselves on the path to matrimony.”

“Mum!” Mary shoved her chair away from the table. “We’re no such thing, and you’ve no cause to assume so—much less be discussing my future with Mrs. Ballard.”

“Mary’s right, Mrs. McClarney.” Gilbert, seated at Mary’s left, set one hand on the back of her chair. “She and I are . . . well, we’re still exploring our feelings for each other.”

Across the table, Thomas cleared his throat noisily. “I just remembered some business I need to attend to.” Crumpling his napkin next to his plate, he stood. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you, Mother?”

“No need to rush off.” Mrs. Ballard motioned Marguerite over with the wine carafe. “We’re all family here, as Mrs. McClarney—pardon me, Nell—has so kindly pointed out.”

“You’ve had quite enough, Mother.” Gilbert’s pointed stare halted Marguerite before she could decant the wine. “I think it’s time we bade our guests good evening. If no one else is tired, I certainly am.”

Mary’s concern immediately shifted to Gilbert. Distracted by their mothers’ duel of words over dinner, she’d almost forgotten about his accident. Swiveling, she studied his face in search of any telltale signs of a concussion she might have missed earlier. But his eyes were clear, if dark and brooding, and the only outward evidence of his mishap was a grimace of pain as he shifted his weight.

She turned to Mrs. Ballard, gathering what little confidence remained after the subtle condescending glances she’d endured all evening. “My mother and I are indeed grateful for your hospitality, but it’s time we take our leave. We’d be most appreciative if you could spare your driver to see us home.”

“Most certainly.” With one snap of her fingers, the woman sent Marguerite to fetch the chauffeur. Then, directing her cool-eyed smile toward Mary’s mother, she said, “Nell, dear, we must get together again soon and continue this conversation. Are you a Country Club member? Their weekly ladies’ luncheon is delightful.”

The dig was not lost upon Mary—or her mother. “I’m afraid not, Evelyn. However, you’re most welcome to come to my home for tea some afternoon.”

Mrs. Ballard replied with a sniff. “I suppose I can’t entreat you to stay a little longer and have dessert. Marguerite has prepared a lovely Dutch apple pie.”

“You’re most kind,” Mary’s mother said with a dip of her chin, “but we’ve clearly stayed too long as it is.”

Far, far too long, in Mary’s opinion. What little dinner she’d managed to swallow now sat like a cold, hard rock in the pit of her stomach. She should have realized Mrs. Ballard would never accept her, never approve of her seeing—or being seen with—Gilbert. And tonight had been all about showing her exactly that.