Chapter Twenty-Two

“If they should be held liable in civil suits for damages it is probable that many, if not all of them, will be financially ruined.”

~New York Sun, referring to the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club members

SUNDAY, JULY 7

Every inch of Monty’s body hurt. His face felt lumpy and distorted, like creek bubbles building against a rock. He could eat a bear but suspected food wouldn’t stay in his stomach. He peeled one eye open, the one that wasn’t swollen shut, and took in his surroundings.

Beds were lined up in rows, some occupied, some empty. Nurses flitted about the space. He was in a Red Cross tent. Where was Annamae?

The sun beat down on the canopy, making the air thick with heat. Sweat and grime coated his skin, and his clothes stuck to him. What he wouldn’t give for a swim in a cool stream. What had happened to him?

His attempt to sit up sent pain slicing through his ribs, stealing the air from his lungs. He hadn’t hurt this badly since the time a horse threw his cocky hide during equestrian lessons. Had he learned this instruction the hard way too?

Staring at the peak of the tent, he searched the memory in his pounding head for the cause of his predicament. He remembered spending a glorious day with Annamae and walking her back to her tent. The sun was setting. He looked forward to retiring to his room. Then—

His uncle’s henchman.

Panic seized Monty. He thought he’d covered his trail to the church, but …

Every punch, every swift kick to his vital organs had caused suffering, but when Knuckles had threatened to lay his hands on Annamae, Monty’s heart had torn in half, and he’d pushed through the pain to fight back even harder. He would not allow the tentacles of his uncle’s evil to harm her. No matter what he had to do to prevent it.

Monty needed to tell her who he was. Even if it meant losing her.

He’d come to Johnstown with little money and plain clothes to blend in with the very congregation he’d hoped to build. So he could assimilate with the people most like the man at his core. To prove he wasn’t that arrogant apprentice to Henry Clay Frick anymore.

If he was honest with himself, he didn’t quite fit in either world.

“You’re awake.” Annamae’s smiling face hovered over him. Her fingers entwined with his for a moment before she released them.

A twinge of misery shot through his hip, and he flinched. “I think I’d rather be asleep.”

At least then the pain was tolerable.

She placed her hand on his forehead. Relief lifted her lips. “Your fever has finally broken. You’ve been asleep for four days.”

Her fingers brushed back the hair sticking to his forehead in the gentle, loving way of a mother to a child. Or a wife to her husband. Her eyes glittered with too many emotions to decipher. Not that he had the energy to do so anyway. One thing he was sure of. He’d like for her to go on touching him like this for the rest of his life.

He wanted to pull Annamae into his arms and keep her there until the threat passed. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Her face grew somber. “If you’re going to confess how you ended up here, I already know.”

“Have you run into any trouble?” He tried to sit again.

Gentle pressure pushed him down, inciting more pain. “No. You woke just enough during the worst fits of your fever to mumble about the spillway and dangerous men come to harm me. And you kept talking about your knuckles.”

He’d laugh at the last sentence if the agony of the action wouldn’t kill him.

“I’m sorry I involved you in my crusade,” she said. “For pushing you to be as passionate about it as I. Your condition is my fault, and I’m very sorry.”

He frowned, which made his eye hurt. Despite the consequences, he needed to tell her the full truth. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I haven’t told you that—”

“The patient’s awake.” A man Monty didn’t recognize approached the bed. Professionalism held the man stiff. The doctor, Monty presumed. He would not have this conversation with anyone but Annamae. It would have to wait.

“How do you feel?” the doctor asked.

“I survived.” Monty took a careful breath. “What’s the damage?”

The doctor’s close-clipped mustache, a blend of red and brown, twitched as he looked at Annamae. Had his hand settled on Annamae’s back, or was Monty hallucinating?

Her lips flattened, and she slid sideways. He wasn’t hallucinating.

If Monty could move without help, he’d pummel the man for his bold gesture and for making her uncomfortable. Her gaze softened on Monty. “You have three cracked ribs, a burst blood vessel in your eye, a broken nose, and numerous cuts and bruises,” she said. “We feared the worst regarding internal injuries, but now that your fever has passed and there’s no sign of complications, we believe you’ll make a full—though painful—recovery.”

The doctor clung to her every word, looking as proud as a mother hen with her chicks. Who was this guy? In all the time Monty had spent at the Red Cross tents and around town helping train folks to use the disinfectants, he didn’t recall seeing this doctor before.

“How long do I have to stay in this bed?” Monty asked Annamae, since the doctor seemed to prefer that she speak for him.

“It would be best to get you up and moving as soon as possible. Though you’ll want to ease into your routine. Start with sitting up today. Eat and drink what you can manage. Each day you can add a little more activity and food if you promise to rest plenty in between. Rest and hydration is the fastest course to healing.”

“Will you help me sit up?”

Annamae placed one hand beneath his sweaty back and one beneath his armpit. The doctor did the same on his other side, and they pulled him to a sitting position. Teeth clenched, Monty fought a groan.

They let him catch his breath before releasing him. His surroundings spun like a top.

“If the pain gets too bad, I can administer laudanum.” Annamae lifted his eyelids to check his pupils. “Though I’d prefer to wait until it’s absolutely necessary. You’ve had a fair amount the last few days.”

Monty nodded. It was about the only thing he could do on his own.

“Do you have any recollection of what happened?” the doctor asked.

Annamae answered for Monty. “Still not clear.”

Strange. Her statement wasn’t fully true, and it seemed as if she didn’t want him and the doctor speaking to each other.

She turned to the man. “How about we get some broth inside him before he falls asleep again? Would you mind getting some?”

“Uh, sure.” The man searched her face a little too long before stalking away.

Annamae sagged with relief.

“Who’s he?” Monty cleared his throat. His head pounded like a war drum.

“Doctor Martin.” She dipped a rag into a basin of cool water, squeezed it out, and bathed his face and neck.

“Doctor Martin is smitten with you. Is he with the Philadelphia Red Cross? I haven’t seen him here before.”

She made dipping the rag in the basin and wringing it out an art, as if every movement would make a difference in his healing. “Mr. Parkes and Mr. Townsend have checked on you daily. Ernie stopped by once. Poor thing shook like a sapling in a windstorm. You were sleeping, but he told me to tell you he was staying strong for you, so you needed to stay strong for him.”

Something stirred in Monty’s chest. He hoped Ernie meant he was staying away from the bottle.

Annamae ran the cool rag over his dirty arms. He closed his eyes, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he whispered.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else for all the money in the world,” she whispered back.

He cracked his eyelids open. The worry lines on her face eased, and she gave him a coy smile. This bond they had created, this attraction—was it as strong for her as it was for him? Maybe almost losing him had forced her to examine her feelings.

“I return bearing gifts.” Doctor Martin broke the spell. He held a cup of broth. Jim and Robert followed on his heels.

“How are you, Pastor?” Jim planted his hands on his waist the way he always did when wanting to get a rise out of Monty. “You’re certainly looking better than you were yesterday.”

“Can’t keep a good man down,” Robert said.

A little girl’s voice from outside the tent brought Joanna to the forefront of Monty’s memory. “Oh, no.”

He tried to wiggle off the table, but his injuries wouldn’t allow him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Annamae scolded.

A draft rushed up Monty’s leg, and he realized he wore a nightshirt. What in the world? He yanked it over his knee, but the wadded fabric underneath him wouldn’t allow it to fully cover his calf. “Joanna. The adoption.”

Annamae’s hand lowered to his shoulder. “The meeting was four days ago. I went for you.” Intense eyes explored his. “Joanna didn’t find a home. She’s at the Blessed Hope Orphanage in Philadelphia. I spoke to her before she left.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me about her mother. How she’d dreamed of being a Red Cross nurse. I sent her away with my brassard in memory of her mother and gave her the same advice I thought you might give.”

Monty reached his arm across his chest to grip her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Annamae.”

Doctor Martin raised an eyebrow. “It’s nice to see that Annamae is as keen with her skills here as she is in Washington.”

He handed Monty the cup of broth. Annamae released Monty and put space between them.

Monty sipped the warm beef broth. It tasted better than any meal he’d ever had.

“I shouldn’t be surprised though. She’s quite a woman.” Doctor Martin inched closer to Annamae.

Monty didn’t like it.

“You’re from D.C. too? I’m surprised the city is giving up all their medical staff for the Red Cross.” Monty swallowed another sip.

“Oh, I’m not with the Red Cross,” Doctor Martin said. “We work together at the Jericho Square Hospital. I came to make sure Annamae was safe and settled. She had me worried when she didn’t respond to my telegrams.”

The broth churned in Monty’s gut. Why would her superior at the hospital send her telegrams and travel all the way here to inquire about her safety unless …

Annamae clenched her lip between her teeth and stared at the ground, her arms crossed over her middle.

Ah.

His heart hurt worse than the rest of him. Here he’d thought … It didn’t matter what he’d thought. Neither of them had declared any intentions. It made sense that she had a life before arriving in Johnstown with the Red Cross. That she’d made an attachment back home. She was beautiful in every way, and any man who didn’t see that was an idiot.

Monty couldn’t fault this man for appreciating her the same way he did. He swirled the cup of broth, his appetite gone. “How goes it at the church?”

Jim and Robert glanced at each other. “What is it?” Monty asked.

“A miracle.” Robert smiled. “Someone has anonymously donated money and supplies specifically to rebuild our church and your home.”

“Both?” Monty’s head spun.

“And grander than anything you can imagine,” Jim said. “Fifteen thousand dollars total.”

Annamae gasped.

Good thing Monty wasn’t drinking broth at the moment, or he might have choked. “Did I hear you right?”

“The men of the church decided after all you’d been through with saving little Gertrude Quinn’s life and helping us like you have, caring for Ben and Joanna, and now suffering physically, it was time we give to you. After we put you in Miss Worthington’s care, we rounded up a large crew and got started on your new house.”

No one owed him a thing. He’d served them gratefully.

Tears stung his eyes. That was the beauty of God’s grace, wasn’t it? Gifts given in undeserving circumstances.

Monty swallowed, and he turned his attention to drinking the rest of the broth. He was going to need his strength to work beside these fine men. To repair the broken church, the broken congregation that had become more family than the one he’d been born into. To repair the broken places inside his heart where he’d dared to imagine a future with Annamae.

Clenching his back molars, he forced his body to move and rose from the edge of the bed onto shaky legs. “If one of you gentlemen will fetch my boots, I’d like to seek solace in our church. If my calculations are correct, today is the Sabbath.”

Doctor Martin accepted the cup Monty held out to him. “That’s not wise this soon.”

Annamae touched his arm then recoiled in embarrassment. “Yes, Monty, I think you should stay under my care for a few more days.”

Monty didn’t miss Doctor Martin’s questioning look. There was something going on between Annamae and this man, and Monty wasn’t going to step in the middle.

“Thank you for all you’ve done, Miss Worthington. You’ve been a true friend in my time of need.” Monty lifted one leg to put on his boot, and torment radiated through his entire lower abdomen. Jim and Robert steadied him while he slipped his foot inside the shoe. He repeated the action on the other side. When he finished, sweat covered his entire body, and he was ready to go back to bed and sleep another four days.

Monty took a tentative step and knew it was going to be a long, excruciating walk to the church. In a nightshirt at that. At least now it fell past the top of his boots.

“Monty, please,” Annamae said.

Turning his head but not daring to turn his torso for fear that his broken ribs would puncture his lungs, he gave her a resolute glance. “It’s time for me to go.”

Her throat worked, and she seemed to shrink beside him. Doctor Martin’s gaze bounced from Monty to Annamae before his hand, once again, cradled the small of her back.

Monty looked at the long distance ahead of him to the church. Yes, it was time to go.