Of Flesh and Blood (35 page)

Evan’s life had changed almost as dramatically as the construction site. Renowned specialists—who had only existed for him in their writings in textbooks, journals, and correspondences—arrived in the flesh. Evan was starstruck; he could not have been more thrilled had he met his childhood heroes from his favorite Wild West stories.

Evan finally sold his house in Seattle. And after Grace and he wed in August, they moved into a house of their own in Oakdale. By the end of October, Grace had begun to show the first glow of pregnancy. Evan was so
excited by the prospect of fatherhood that even the news that Olivia had given birth to another man’s son did not dampen his newfound contentment.

The Alfredson Clinic opened on the morning of the first of November, 1896, to far more fanfare than Evan had anticipated. Marshall had lured the recently elected third governor of Washington State, John Rogers, out to the site along with a slew of Seattle’s prominent civic, social, and business leaders. The photo of a beaming Marshall standing beside Governor Rogers as he cut the opening ribbon made the front page of both
The Seattle Times
and the
Post-Intelligencer
.

The last few months of the year passed in a blur for Evan. He was frantically busy in the weeks after the Alfredson opened. Despite the painted walls, ornate stonework, and modern interior, the clinic was largely a skeleton. Equipment had yet to arrive or be installed. The new staff, many of whom were unskilled laborers, needed to be trained. And the nine specialists who had already relocated to the Alfredson had yet to set up their offices.

Evan was so consumed with organizing his new clinic that almost a month passed before he recognized its most glaring challenge and greatest threat: aside from the denizens of Oakdale and the outlying areas, how was the clinic to attract patients from larger centers such as Seattle, Spokane, and beyond?

The Alfredson had drawn a unique collection of medical talent in the Pacific Northwest and it boasted one of the first diagnostic laboratories in western America. Evan had naïvely assumed that as soon as the doors opened, patients would find their way to the clinic. But by early January, the realities of geography had begun to set in. The clinic was located sixty miles outside of Seattle, and the long, meandering train trip was an arduous journey for ill patients to make.

By the end of January, the physicians at the Alfredson Clinic were collectively seeing fewer than ten new patients per day, most of whom lived in Oakdale or the scattering of towns in the vicinity. The large wards housed only a handful of patients, sometimes fewer.

While the camaraderie and spirit of intellectual collaboration still ran high among the Alfredson’s specialists, unrest was growing. They had come to Oakdale expecting to step into a center of medical excellence but instead
found themselves manning a largely empty rural hospital. They were not accustomed to having time on their hands. Eventually, even the collegiality began to wear thin, especially when the clinic’s most renowned physician, an intestinal specialist named Dr. Nicholas Ames, resigned with only a day’s notice. Other physicians threatened to follow suit.

The doctors were not the only ones threatening. Marshall Alfredson, who had bankrolled the underutilized clinic and idle doctors, vented his ire to Evan in a series of letters with escalating rhetoric. By the end of February, Evan feared that his dream clinic might close before the spring had even arrived.

But March blew the winds of change in the Alfredson’s favor. Word of the clinic’s medically superior care—free of charge to those who did not have the means to pay for it—had spread beyond Oakdale. New patients began to trickle in via train, horse, and carriage from towns and centers farther away, including Seattle. Then, on March 12, the Alfredson’s fortunes took a dramatic turn for the better when the brilliant but temperamental eye surgeon, Howard Nilsson (who had already informed Evan of his intent to leave this “ghost town hospital”), performed groundbreaking surgery on Miss Gertrude Iles. The sixty-year-old Seattle heiress had been prematurely blinded by cataracts. Using a technique he had perfected for excising the cataract from within the lens, Nilsson was able to salvage the woman’s eyesight. Iles was so grateful to Nilsson that she presented the Alfredson with its first donation.

Her substantial twenty-five-thousand-dollar endowment eased the immediate financial burden facing the clinic and Marshall Alfredson. More significantly, the news of the gift, and the reason for it, hit the pages of the Seattle newspapers. The publicity was better advertising than Evan could have imagined. He was delighted, and desperately relieved, when the dribble of patients turned into a steady flow, some of whom came from Oregon, Idaho, and even beyond.

By the beginning of April, Evan was feeling more optimistic than ever. His wife had ballooned with an uncomplicated pregnancy, and Evan anticipated the birth of their baby with childlike enthusiasm. His marriage to Grace had evolved into a comfortable relationship, though it lacked the deep affection he had shared with Virginia or the consuming passion he had
experienced with Olivia. Still, Evan was content with the prospect of raising a family and growing old with Grace.

However, he could not suppress the memories of Olivia. They came with unexpected frequency, often tormenting his nights. With all that had happened in the sixteen months since he had last laid eyes on her, the recollection of their stolen time together, while still deliciously vivid in detail, had assumed a dreamlike quality.

Evan never expected to see Olivia again, so he was shocked one gloomy overcast April morning to step out the front door of the clinic and find her standing at the bottom of the steps. Wearing a long-sleeved navy jacket with a flowing skirt, she leaned on a closed umbrella as though it were a cane. Her red hair was pinned up underneath her feathered bonnet. She stood studying the facility with an awed expression. His heart skipped a beat. She looked as radiant as she had the last time they were together at the Sherman Hotel.

After a moment, Olivia’s gaze turned to him. Their eyes locked. Evan felt immobilized by the contradictory mix of affection, self-consciousness, and desire. After a faltering moment, Olivia stepped forward and climbed the stairs toward him.

When she reached the landing, Evan saw that her face was flushed. She offered him her gloved hand and a tentative smile. He took her hand in his and bowed his head, partly to hide his own embarrassment. “Good day, Mrs. Grovenor. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise, Dr. McGrath,” she murmured.

He let go of her hand, but his heart ached at the brief contact and her unexpected proximity. “I hear congratulations are in order on the birth of your son. I trust he is well.”

“He is wonderful.” Olivia’s green eyes lit, but she looked away. “Junior is eight months old and growing like a stalk of corn. He was born early, you know.” In profile, her face reddened deeper and she cleared her throat. “Thankfully, he has shown no ill effects.”

Evan nodded. “I am so very glad. As it happens, my wife and I are expecting a child next month.”

“Oh?” Olivia’s shoulders twitched with surprise. “I did not . . . um . . .” She sighed. “I meant to tell you how very sorry I was to hear of Mrs. McGrath’s passing. And, of course, to congratulate you on your recent marriage.”

A ripple of melancholy swept through him. “Thank you,” he murmured.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Olivia spoke up. “Dr. McGrath, I do apologize for arriving without advance notice.”

He smiled. “Really, Mrs. Grovenor, there is no need.”

“You see, we were off to visit close friends in Spokane,” she sputtered to explain. “And Oakdale was not far out of our way. I had heard and read so much about your clinic. Honestly, I did not expect to run into you. I so wanted to see the clinic for myself. I left Junior with Arthur and the nursemaid and I caught a train—”

“Olivia.” Evan laughed, resisting the urge to touch her again. “You do not need to explain. I am delighted you have come.”

“I did so want to see the clinic. I would have liked to have come for the opening ceremony, but the timing . . . um . . . with the baby and . . .”

“Of course.”

Olivia swallowed again. “Ever since you first described the idea, I have always felt a part—an absolutely minuscule part, mind you—of this place. Your clinic.”

Evan shook his head. “It’s your father’s clinic, not mine. And your role could not have been further from minuscule.”

Olivia adjusted her hat as her eyes scanned the front of the building again. “I still remember every word of your description.” She turned back to Evan. “Did it turn out as you envisioned?”

Evan broke off the eye contact, concerned he would lose himself in those eyes. “It is still very early of course, but the clinic is taking shape. Your father has built us a wonderful facility. And we have been fortunate to attract such brilliant and talented physicians. And now that the patients are showing a willingness to travel here . . .”

Olivia’s smile broadened. “You have realized your dream, haven’t you?”

“It is premature to say, but—” He chuckled. “Oh, bother, Olivia. I truly have!”

Beaming, she gazed at him with unconcealed affection. “I am really so happy for you, Evan.”

The look sent his spirits soaring. “May I offer you a tour of the facility?” he asked.

“Thank you. I would like that very much.”

“Please.” He held his hand out toward the door.

Bursting with pride, Evan led Olivia into the marble-floored foyer. He guided her down the main floor hallway and through the large ward, of which over half the beds were full. He toured her through one of the operating theaters but could not show the other as it was in use. On the second floor Evan introduced Olivia to a few of the specialists, including the eye specialist, Howard Nilsson. She hardly said a word, but Evan could tell from her wide-eyed expression that she was starstruck.

Excited as a child showing off his favorite toy, Evan rushed Olivia down the hallway to the room at the end. She was bowled over by what was waiting inside the small dark room. The Alfredson boasted the first and only medical X-ray machine in Washington. Evan tried to explain how the bulky machine and its complex series of vacuum tubes worked, but he barely grasped the principles himself. The theory didn’t matter to Olivia once he showed her the series of plated X-rays. Most of them were images of human hands, revealing the bones underneath the skin, which were covered only by the outline of rings worn over them.

“I have never even heard of this X-ray before,” she sputtered, overawed.

“The German physicist Roentgen invented it only two years ago.”

“It is like magic, Evan,” she breathed as she ran a finger over the plate.

“Can you imagine how much this technology will help us for setting fractured bones or visualizing internal organs without having to cut the patients open?”

Olivia glanced at him with an impish grin. “It might just put you out of work, Dr. McGrath.”

He chuckled. “It will only create more work for me. Better work, too.”

Examining the plates together, their heads were so close that Evan could feel Olivia’s breath on his cheek. His nostrils filled with her familiar lavender perfume. Closing his eyes for a moment, he fantasized that they were back in the Sherman Hotel.

Olivia looked up from the plates. Evan was not certain in the dimly lit room, but he thought he read invitation in her expression. His breath caught in his throat, but he fought off the impulse to grab her shoulders and pull her lips to his. Too much had happened in both of their lives in the past year. The stakes went so far beyond them now. It would no longer simply be about romantic betrayal; there were the children to consider, hers and his soon-to-be.

Holding her gaze, Evan still relished the moment of intimacy he never expected to experience again. Then, reluctantly, he straightened up. “Perhaps we should finish the rest of our tour?” he said.

She pulled back and lowered the X-ray plate to the table. “Yes, of course. I . . . um . . . need to return to Junior soon.”

Heavyhearted, Evan led Olivia through the rest of the hospital, deliberately stretching the tour as long as he possibly could. Reaching the foyer again, he walked her out the front door and down the steps. They stood in front of the expanse where the newly laid grass had only begun to sprout through the soil that had been sown six weeks before.

“Thank you, Olivia, for taking the time to come visit our clinic,” he said awkwardly. “It was an honor and a privilege.”

“The honor and privilege were all mine, Dr. McGrath,” she said with a distant smile. “However, I really must be going.”

“Of course.” He bowed his head again. “Good-bye, then.”

Olivia nodded, turned away, and headed briskly down the pathway.

Evan watched her take a few strides and then called out: “Mrs. Grovenor, I will be in Seattle at the end of May on business. Perhaps our paths might cross again in the city?”

She answered without turning back to face him. “Oh, I think not. Arthur has planned a sailing trip for us in May. He does so love to sail.”

The memory of Olivia’s unexpected visit haunted Evan for weeks. He threw himself even more deeply into his work, but it didn’t help. Even when Grace reached the ninth month of her pregnancy, he had trouble shedding the thoughts of those few intimate minutes spent with Olivia in the dark room. The regret for his inaction—for letting reason prevail over emotion—was so strong that he ached inside.

A week before Grace’s expected delivery date, Evan received another unannounced visitor. That morning a windstorm had blown out of nowhere and battered Oakdale. Evan was sitting at his desk in his office and reading through the hospital’s latest inventory report as the remnants of the storm continued to rattle his window. A loud throat-clearing drew his attention. He glanced up to see the massive frame of Marshall Alfredson filling his doorway.

“May I have a moment of your time?” Marshall grunted without a word of greeting.

Evan rose from his seat and indicated the chair across from him. “Please.”