4
THE NEXT DAY, Matthew exited the private hospital room where Phoebe now rested and walked down a long corridor to a bank of windows overlooking College Street. He stared at the people passing on the sidewalk below, the autumn wind blowing their overcoats out behind them. How he wished he could join them and let the fresh air clear the cobwebs from his mind.
Phoebe had spent an uncomfortable night, yet thankfully her condition hadn’t worsened. But after enduring the endless snipes and disapproving looks from Miss Shearing, Matthew had finally sent the irritating woman home. She acted as if he were to blame for Phoebe’s illness. How could he have known she would develop a high fever as soon as he left for work yesterday morning?
Still, guilt and fear held him in a chokehold as memories of Priscilla and Phoebe, stricken with tuberculosis, rose up to haunt him. Matthew had resisted sending them to a sanatorium, believing his skills were enough to cure them. His arrogance had cost Priscilla her life—and nearly Phoebe as well.
Now, exhausted after another sleepless night, his mind swirled with doubt. Had he once again waited too long to seek proper treatment for his daughter? He rested his forehead against the cool windowpane in an effort to soothe the ache in his brow.
The sound of footsteps on the tiled floor didn’t register until they stopped beside him. He lifted his head and startled at the sight of Miss O’Leary’s clear green gaze.
What was she doing here?
She gave him a tentative smile. “Uncle Victor wanted to check on Phoebe. He’s gone to find her specialist.” She laid a hand on his arm. “How is she doing?”
The sincere sympathy on her expressive face was almost his undoing. He stiffened, desperate to gain control of his emotions that were far too near the surface. “Her fever remains high, which in her condition is less than desirable.”
“I daresay.” In an almost unconscious gesture, she rubbed her hand over his forearm.
Warmth radiated up to his elbow. He pulled away as though scalded and strode down the hall. Did the woman know no boundaries?
Clearly not, for she followed him like a stray puppy.
“Matthew, wait.”
He halted out of sheer shock, hearing her use his Christian name as if . . .
She came around in front of him. “You’re exhausted. You won’t do Phoebe any good if you get sick as well.” Her eyes widened in earnestness. “Uncle Victor and I will stay with her. Go and get a few hours of sleep.”
He stared down into her face, noting the tiny beauty mark beside one eyebrow. Warmth suddenly surrounded his hands as she took hold of them and massaged his stiff fingers.
“Your hands are freezing. Have you eaten anything lately?”
She peered down the hall. “Ah, here he is. Uncle Victor, can your driver take Matthew home? He needs to rest.”
“Of course. My car is parked near the front entrance.”
Matthew seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Exhaustion weighted his limbs like the iron dumbbells in his therapy room.
Victor motioned for him to follow. “I’ll walk you down. Deirdre, will you sit with Phoebe?”
“Certainly.”
A cold breeze seemed to envelop Matthew the moment she took her hands from his and headed toward Phoebe’s room.
Matthew blinked. Perhaps he did need sleep. A lot of sleep.
He walked with Victor to the end of the corridor, where Phoebe’s specialist stood waiting.
Victor shook hands with the other doctor. “I hope you don’t mind, Matthew. I asked Dr. McElroy to join us.”
Matthew tried to focus his thoughts. “Do you have any news on my daughter?”
Dr. McElroy fingered the stethoscope around his neck. “I can’t deny I’m concerned. This is Phoebe’s third serious episode in the past six months.” He shook his head. “I hate to say it, but her lungs have deteriorated further, and if things continue in this manner . . .”
An ache spread through Matthew’s chest. He’d suspected as much, but hearing it spelled out so bluntly made it all the worse. “I’ve done my best to keep her isolated, away from potential germs. I don’t know what else I can do.”
Victor laid a hand on his shoulder. “Dr. McElroy has suggested a possible move to the country, where the air is cleaner and the population less congested.”
Dr. McElroy nodded. “I believe this is the best way to improve her condition. Take some time and think about it. But not too long. The sooner you act, the better. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have rounds to make.”
Matthew attempted to process the man’s advice. How would he ever be able to move to the country when his work kept him in the city?
Victor clapped Matthew on the shoulder. “Come on. My car is outside.”
They made their way down two flights of stairs and exited out the main door.
Victor halted on the walkway below, his brows drawn together. “I hope you’ll give Dr. McElroy’s suggestion serious consideration. The timing of this can’t be coincidental.”
“What do you mean?” The breeze whipped Matthew’s hair across his forehead, and he realized he’d forgotten his hat in Phoebe’s room.
“The O’Learys’ estate on Long Island would be the perfect place for Phoebe. Irish Meadows is surrounded by acres of meadows and woods. It would do her a world of good to get away for a while. I’ve already mentioned to James that you have a daughter, and he was more than willing for her to accompany you.”
Matthew’s shoulders slumped. “What about my patients here?”
They’d reached Victor’s automobile, and the driver hurried over to await his instructions.
Victor gave Matthew a frank stare. “Most of your patients are long-term ones who know the exercises by heart. Would you be willing to apprise Dr. Marlboro of some simple procedures he can use while you’re gone? They may not make huge strides, but at least their progress won’t be set back.”
Matthew released a weighty sigh. If it were simply a matter of Mrs. O’Leary versus his own patient load, he wouldn’t consider leaving. But how could he pass up this opportunity to help his daughter? Surely his patients would understand. “I will give it serious thought and have an answer for you soon.”
The tension in Victor’s brow released, and he smiled. “I’ll be praying God guides you to make the right decision. Now go and get some rest. Things are bound to look brighter when you’re feeling refreshed.”
“Thank you. And please thank Miss O’Leary for me as well.” Matthew realized how much it helped to have someone share his burden, if only for a few hours. He couldn’t say why—perhaps it was Miss O’Leary’s fierce devotion to her mother, or the fact that Victor held her in such high esteem—but he trusted her implicitly with his daughter’s well-being.
He got into the car and sank back against the seat. As the driver navigated the crowded streets of the city, Matthew drifted into a quiet dream in which his daughter ran over green meadows and played amid an array of wildflowers, laughing and twirling, with sunlight dancing off her hair.
“And how is little Phoebe faring today?” Seated beside Uncle Victor at the long dining table, Aunt Maimie addressed her husband with a look of concern.
Deirdre leaned forward in her seat, eager to hear the answer as well. After taking turns sitting with Phoebe for the better part of the previous day, she’d grown attached to the frail child. The few times the girl had awakened, she’d stared at Deirdre with wide blue eyes, communicating with nods and head shakes. Deirdre had wondered if the child was too weak to speak or if being in the hospital had filled her with fear.
Uncle Victor’s features brightened. “You’ll be pleased to know there’s been a marked improvement. Her fever has lessened, and the cough is much better.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.” Aunt Maimie heaved a great sigh and poured some coffee into Uncle Victor’s cup.
The tension eased in Deirdre’s shoulders as well. “Dr. Clayborne must be greatly relieved.”
“He is. Though they’ll keep Phoebe in the hospital until the danger of a relapse has passed.” Uncle Victor patted a napkin to his mouth. “I offered our services to share the watch again tonight, but he insisted he’d be fine on a cot in the room.”
Deirdre admired Matthew’s devotion to his daughter, yet it seemed at odds with his often brusque manner. “Tell me more about Dr. Clayborne,” she said as she sipped her after-dinner coffee. The rich flavor burst onto her tongue, a welcome complement to Aunt Maimie’s apple pie, which topped off their meal.
Uncle Victor set down his cup and glanced over at her. “You know most of his history. Matthew was a medic in the war. He was wounded and sent to England for treatment before being shipped home. He became passionate about helping injured soldiers and started working for me about four years ago.” Uncle Victor released a sigh. “Such a shame. The war changed Matthew. He hasn’t been the same since.”
Deirdre sensed there was far more to the story. “What about his wife?” she asked.
Uncle Victor pressed his lips into a firm line. She thought he was about to reprimand her for her question, but then Aunt Maimie laid a hand on his arm. The robust woman’s pale blue eyes glowed with a mixture of sympathy and love as she gazed at her husband. They seemed to share an unspoken message, and he nodded as though giving permission.
She turned to Deirdre. “Priscilla Clayborne died of tuberculosis two years ago. She and little Phoebe both contracted the illness, and despite Matthew’s efforts, Priscilla succumbed. Thankfully, the Lord spared their daughter, although Phoebe spent quite some time in a sanatorium before they finally released her.”
“And her lungs now bear the permanent scars,” Deirdre murmured. “What a worry it must be for Dr. Clayborne.”
When he’d returned from his brief respite yesterday, Deirdre had sensed a shift in the doctor’s demeanor. A deep resignation—as though the fight had gone out of him.
Aunt Maimie sighed. “Phoebe’s health is a constant burden for him. I don’t know what he would do without the nanny to keep such close watch over her.”
“Did Mrs. Clayborne receive treatment in a sanatorium as well?” Deirdre kept her tone casual.
“She did, near the end, but by then it was too late.” Aunt Maimie’s gentle features were wreathed in sorrow. “I fear Matthew blames himself for not getting her treatment sooner.”
“Hush, Maimie. You don’t know if that’s the case.” Uncle Victor’s rebuke of his wife surprised Deirdre.
But Maimie didn’t seem fazed by it. She merely smiled. “I see it whenever Priscilla’s name is mentioned.”
From the front area of the house, a bell rang. Seconds later, the butler appeared at the dining room entrance.
“Dr. Clayborne to see you, sir.”
Uncle Victor’s eyebrows rose, mirroring Deirdre’s surprise. “Send him in.”
Deirdre concentrated on her pie, attempting to ignore the flutters in her stomach. She wished she could continue her dislike of the man—much safer than this unsettled feeling he provoked in her.
Uncle Victor rose from his chair. “Matthew, come in.”
Dr. Clayborne hesitated in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were eating.”
“Nonsense. Join us for a slice of Maimie’s apple pie.”
He bowed to Aunt Maimie. “Good evening, Maimie.” His glance slid to Deirdre. “And you, Miss O’Leary.”
Aunt Maimie jumped up to retrieve a cup from the sideboard, not even bothering to summon a maid. “Please sit down, dear.” She poured his coffee and added a generous slice of pie to his plate.
With apparent reluctance, Dr. Clayborne pulled out a chair at the far end of the table. “I can’t stay long. I just wanted to apprise you of a decision I’ve made.” He directed his focus to Deirdre. “I’m glad you’re here, Miss O’Leary, since this concerns you as well.”
Deirdre set her fork beside her plate, lest she choke on a bite of pie.
“If you’re willing to have Phoebe and her nanny accompany me”—he paused as though the words had lodged in his throat—“I will come to Long Island and treat your mother.”
Deirdre hesitated, unsure how to process this sudden turnaround.
Matthew’s blue gaze did not leave hers. “Miss O’Leary? You don’t seem pleased.”
She lifted her chin. “May I ask what changed your mind?” Obviously it had nothing to do with her powers of persuasion. Yet something must have brought about this change of heart.
He gave a sheepish shrug. “I must confess to an ulterior motive. One that concerns my daughter.”
Deirdre waited for him to explain.
“Phoebe’s specialist recommended a move to the country, where the air would be better suited to her condition.” His expression became almost apologetic. “Victor told me your farm might be the perfect location.”
So his motives were not entirely altruistic. Still, if it helped her mother, did the reason for his coming really matter? “As long as you are as committed to restoring my mother’s health as you are your daughter’s, then I know my family will be most grateful.”
His hand stilled on his coffee cup. “Fair enough. I propose a trial period of one month, during which time I promise to do my utmost for your mother. At that point, we can reassess and determine the next course of action.”
The sincerity in his voice allowed Deirdre to relax. She had no doubt that once Dr. Clayborne committed to something, he would give it his all. “I look forward to working with you, Doctor.”
A measure of relief oozed through Deirdre’s tense frame. Her mother would get the therapy she needed after all. Thank you, Lord.
Dr. Clayborne lifted his head and exchanged a pointed look with Uncle Victor, who gave a subtle nod.
Matthew expelled a soft sigh. “There’s something else you should know . . . about Phoebe. My daughter suffers from several phobias related to the death of her mother. She sometimes hides in her closet for long periods, and most times, she barely speaks.”
Deirdre pressed her lips together, sympathy welling for the taciturn doctor. No wonder his disposition was less than sunny with so many worries to consume him. “I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know if I can help.”
Matthew shook his head. “I’m only telling you so you will treat Phoebe with sensitivity. She’s unused to strangers, due to being shielded for most of her life. I’m not sure how she will handle traveling to another country.”
Deirdre’s heart broke for the girl. “I’ll do whatever I can to make this a fun experience for her.”
He frowned. “I’m not sure Phoebe even knows the meaning of the word.”
Deirdre set down her cup. “Well, then it’s time she found out.”
Aunt Maimie laughed. “That’s our Deirdre for you. Ever the optimist. You’d do well to listen to her, Matthew. She’s very wise for her age.” She leaned back in her chair. “And for what it’s worth, I believe God has brought you together for a reason. Deirdre just might be the one to help Phoebe recover.”
Matthew rose from his seat, his pie almost untouched. “Thank you, Maimie, for your hospitality. Victor, I will see you tomorrow. I’ll take the next few days to apprise Dr. Marlboro about my patients.”
“Very good, my boy. I believe you’re making the right decision.”
From the pinched expression on Dr. Clayborne’s face, Deirdre feared he did not agree. Yet she couldn’t stop a prickle of excitement. Not only for her mother, but for Phoebe, too.
For the first time in a week, Deirdre’s spirits lifted. She wanted to become a pediatrician not only to treat children’s bodies, but their minds and hearts as well. Had God brought Phoebe into her life to show Deirdre where her true vocation lay?
If so, she vowed she would do her best to listen to the Lord’s gentle nudging during the brief time she would be associated with the Claybornes. She’d do everything in her power to heal little Phoebe’s emotional scars as well as her physical ones.