Thursday
Jim waited until he was sure the medicine had taken hold, then slid off the bed. He’d been unable to sleep and had come to work early so he could spend some time with Ginny. He would rather have been able to talk to her, but at least he could make himself useful.
He could hardly look at her without feeling sick with grief and guilt. This was his fault. He’d known. On some level, he’d known this was coming.
Who could have done this to her? Who would be willing to risk her life this way? She might have died or been left alive, but brain dead. Who would risk that?
Not anyone at the hospital, where she was well liked. Not any of the Scots. Not Hal.
Jim frowned. Much as he wanted to think ill of his rival, if Hal wanted Ginny, he would want to protect her. She should be safe with him.
Quite apart from wanting her for himself, he didn’t like the idea of Ginny marrying Hal. Why not? Why wasn’t his old school chum good enough for this woman he hardly knew?
Because Hal had misbehaved in college? Everyone did that. Most settled down to boring, respectable lives.
Because he was rich? Jim was, too (if you didn’t count the school loans), and for the same reason, having inherited his parents’ estates, and being gainfully employed, of course.
Because he manipulated people? Jim hadn’t even thought about that in years. It had been a running joke. Hal was always the one sent in to sooth the savage breast of whatever sort; professors, administrators, parents. He’d always gotten the girl, too, because of it.
Obviously, Jim had been right to worry. Ginny had an enemy, a bad one. Who? Who had access? Who had the skills necessary? Who would be willing to hurt her like this?
He turned away, moving restlessly around the room, the questions tumbling over one another in his mind.
If he’d wanted her to trust him, to listen to him, he’d been going about it all wrong. He’d known she would take it badly, about Hal being in that lab. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut?
That business with Mrs. Campbell had surprised him. Ginny’d been fine until the screwdriver surfaced. Then not. She’d sounded more than simply relieved. That had been a gut reaction, not an intellectual one. Then she’d taken off without his finding out why she looked so distressed.
He’d followed her around the lake the next day. Okay, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she’d seen him watching her, stalking her. That couldn’t have looked good. He should have spoken to her, made up some excuse, tried to explain.
She’d been like a skittish colt during the power failure. Worse, as if she expected someone to attack her. He’d tried to warn her to be careful, but he hadn’t seen this coming.
On his third circuit of the room, Jim’s eye fell on a paper lying on the bedside table. He didn’t recognize it. Something out of her chart, perhaps? Or some handwritten notes left by one of the physicians? About patients? That would be a HIPAA violation. He picked it up and looked closer. It was like nothing he had ever seen before.
February 22, 1777 – Called to see Mercy Allen,
Reverend Allen’s youngest, for a stomach ailment. The girl is with child by a British soldier quartered in her father’s house, but otherwise healthy.
March 4, 1777 – Called to see Benjamin Williams. His
wound is infected. He suffers from fever and may die. Perhaps that would not be such a bad thing. It is a shame he had not already gotten sons by his poor Rachel for it is certain that he can sire none now, even should he live to remarry.
August 12, 1777 – Born today to Mercy Williams,
a fine,healthy boy.
He took the paper over to the window, to get better light on it and squinted at the unfamiliar images. At first, he thought it was written in another language, but some of the words seemed to be English. February, for instance. He could read the dates. Well, not the year. He struggled a while longer, then gave it up and started to set it back down where he had found it, but there was another underneath this one.
The second item appeared to be a letter. This one was easier to read.
Saratoga
My dear Prudence:
Forgive my long silence. I take this opportunity to write to you at last and tell you all our news.
Well, it is all very satisfactorily concluded. Mercy was wed last June to Benjamin Williams and has since given birth to a son. You will remember Squire Williams, I think, from your last visit, him that was wed to Rachel Canon, may she rest in peace. A decent, God fearing man who will be glad enough to get a son, even if not his own flesh and blood, and a mother for his three small daughters. We have received news that the Tory boy who bedded Mercy was killed in the fighting. She is unhappy, of course, but that will pass. She is reconciled to her new life and will do her duty. Benjamin, God bless him, has given the child a name and Mercy will not do anything to hurt her sweet son.
Jonathan has raised a house on that hill overlooking the river. It is a fine building with two sleeping chambers off the great room and the kitchen out back. The town has had an outbreak of cholera so we are all glad to be here and safe. I pray the good Lord will continue to spare our lives as He has done so far, in spite of the conflict.
Please write and let me know how your family do. I am anxious for news of your dear self and your good man. I am sending this by the courtesy of young Joseph who is off to join the Continental Navy and will call upon you when he reaches Boston. Until we can meet again,
I remain, your affectionate sister,
Honoria
Jim set this one down as well, wondering what they were and what they were doing in Ginny’s hospital room.
Hospital room. Damn. This was his fault. If only he’d been more insistent, or more persuasive, or more something, she wouldn’t be lying here hurt, helpless.
* * *
Jim glanced up as Ginny stirred. He set down the magazine he’d been reading and watched her climb to consciousness. At this point, he was cautiously optimistic. The drugs had kept the swelling in her brain down and she had no sensory or motor deficits — nothing he’d seen, anyway. Her memory was intact, even for the accident, which was a positive sign. There was a good chance she’d escape with no permanent damage. She was going to feel like hell for a while, though. She opened her eyes and he smiled at her.
“Hello.”
She blinked at him, then sighed. “May I have some water, please?”
Jim raised the head of the bed and held the straw in place, making sure she could swallow, then let her take the cup from him. Every movement told a story. He was watching to see if her hand-eye coordination was intact, if she had muscle tremors, if her thirst matched her hydration level. Everything mattered.
She set the cup down and met his eyes. “Have you been here the whole time?”
He nodded.
“What can I do for you, Jim?”
Marry me, he thought. Send Hal away. He picked up the files he’d found on her bedside table. “Explain these to me, please.” He handed them to her.
She looked down at them. “They’re copies of primary source documents referring to Hal’s ancestry.”
Jim’s eyebrows rose. “These have something to do with Hal?”
“Yes. They tell us there was an adoption in his line during the Revolutionary War.” She indicated the physician’s log. “The attending physician discovers the pregnancy and delivers the child.”
Jim looked at the paper trail made by his Colonial counterpart. “I can’t read this.”
“I’m not surprised. The eighteenth-century fair hand wasn’t standardized. Some of the characters are very different from modern cursive.”
Jim looked at her. “But you can read it.”
“I’ve spent many years practicing. Most serious genealogists have to learn at some point.”
“What about the other one?”
“The other is a letter from one sister to another, explaining how the girl got pregnant and ended up as the second Mrs. Williams. By marrying her before the baby was born, Benjamin Williams made sure the child would be considered legitimate. Everyone knew the truth, but no one talked about it.”
Jim nodded. “Where did you find them, the documents?”
“Elaine found them under the driver’s seat in Professor Craig’s car, the one that’s been in the body shop all this time. Those are the two documents Hal’s been hunting for and that Professor Craig referred to in his article.”
“What article?”
“He was planning to publish this discovery in one of the genealogy journals. I found it on his home computer.”
Jim frowned down at the documents. Professor Craig was planning to expose a long buried secret in Hal William’s ancestry.
“So, does this help us?”
“Find Professor Craig’s murderer? No. It means Hal is not entitled to the coat of arms his family has been using for generations, which is going to be a blow to his ego, but it’s not a motive for murder.” She leaned back into the pillows and closed her eyes, putting her hand up to shade them.
Jim’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Is the light bothering you?”
“Yes, and trying to read that script can give you a headache even without a concussion.”
Jim set the two documents aside, closed the shades, darkening the room as much as possible, then picked up the flashlight. He took her through the neuro exam, then checked the dressings. No changes there. He flipped his stethoscope off his neck and settled it in his ears, then leaned down, placing the diaphragm against her chest.
“Breathe for me.”
Ginny did as asked, pulling air into her lungs as he moved the instrument back and forth. He watched as her hand stole to her side, protecting the area where the cracked ribs lay.
Not too bad. She’d been getting medications designed to pull extra fluid out of her system and could be considered ‘dry’ at the moment. He’d have to keep an eye on her over the next few days, though. He put the equipment away.
“My shift’s about to start, Ginny, but I’ll come check on you through the night. Let the nurses know if you need anything.”
“I will.”
He paused at the door, looking back at her over his shoulder. She lay where he had left her, her hand pressed to her forehead, her eyes closed.
Jim felt his heart contract. Only those who had been through it knew how hard it was to look at a patient and know you couldn’t do any more for her. He slipped out and went off to see if he could do some good elsewhere.
* * *