When the Heart Heals (32 page)

A
fter Mrs. Kenyon closed the door behind her, Rosemary drew a shuddering breath and sank onto the chair. Her body ached from the jostling of a day's travel, and her head throbbed with the decisions that lay before her. She'd hoped to spend two weeks with Alice and return to Noble Springs with only four days remaining before the wedding. That way she'd lessen the likelihood of seeing Elijah with Miss Mason.

One thing was certain—she needed to find employment soon. She had scarcely enough funds for more than a few nights in the lodging house. In the morning she'd start her search. St. Louis was a growing city. There were bound to be nursing jobs available.

Sounds of footsteps and women's voices woke her the next day. For a moment, she wondered where she was, then her memory flooded with images of Elijah, the railroad car, and Alice's neighbor. The voices in the hall must belong to other lodgers.

Her stomach grumbled with hunger. She hurried to dress, slipping a clean bodice over her chemise before covering her
crinolines with her paisley skirt. Once her braids were arranged in a coiled chignon, she descended the stairs, following the sound of clinking china to the dining room.

Mrs. Kenyon stopped in the act of stacking soiled plates. “Good morning. I was afraid you were going to miss breakfast. My other guests have already left for the day.” She pointed to covered dishes on the sideboard. “There's ham and gravy left. Maybe a biscuit or two. Please help yourself.” She swished through a door that Rosemary assumed led to the kitchen.

She filled her plate, her mouth watering at the sight of gravy puddling around a ham slice. A good meal would fortify her for the day's activities.

The landlady returned with two cups of tea, and sat across the table while Rosemary ate.

“What brings you to St. Louis, Miss Saxon? Do you have family here?”

She let the second question pass. “I want to find a position as a nurse—the sooner the better. I hoped you'd be able to give me the names of doctors you might know.”

“A nurse?” Her eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “I wouldn't have any idea of a doctor who'd hire you. Surely there's something else you could do that's not so outlandish.”

Rosemary swallowed a bite of ham. She'd fought for respect in Noble Springs. Apparently she'd have to begin the process again in St. Louis. “I spent the war years at Jefferson Barracks Hospital. I'm well qualified for nursing duties.”

“That may be, but the Barracks is back to being an Army post now. One of my guests married a soldier from there.” Mrs. Kenyon planted her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. “There's other hospitals here. City Hospital's not far away, but that's for poor folks. Then there's that new place out west on Arsenal Road. It's got a mouthful of a
name.” She stared at the ceiling and recited, “National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers.” She chuckled. “Lord have mercy. Couldn't they have called it something shorter?”

“I've heard of the facility. A friend of mine from the Barracks mentioned it in a recent letter. She sounded quite enthusiastic.”

“Maybe you could find a job there since you're used to caring for soldiers.”

“I appreciate the suggestion, but the western end of Arsenal Road is too far from town. I don't know how I'd get there.” She buttered half a biscuit. “I'll go to City Hospital. How close are you to a horsecar line?”

Rosemary stood in front of an iron fence surrounding a three-story brick building that filled half a city block. Stone steps rose to an arched entryway at the center of a row of windows on the main floor. Buggies clattered past on cobbled streets. She pushed away a brief longing for the quiet of Noble Springs. In time, she'd adjust to living in St. Louis again.

She touched her hat brim to be sure it rested squarely above her coiled braids. Keeping her shoulders straight, she marched up the steps and into the next chapter in her life. The familiar hospital odor of lye soap mingled with human suffering greeted her when she entered the austere reception area. An open corridor stretched ahead of her through an arched opening.

A middle-aged clerk seated at a desk near the corridor rose when he saw her. “We don't allow visitors in the morning, miss. You'll need to return after one.”

“I haven't come as a visitor. May I please speak with the resident physician?”

“You mean Dr. Harding?”

“Yes.” She kept her chin up and her voice steady.

The clerk surveyed her, one eyebrow raised. “I'll see if he's available. May I give him your name and the nature of your visit?”

“Miss Rosemary Saxon. I'm seeking employment.”

“Ah.” His expression softened. “This is a big hospital. He can probably find work for you. Please wait a moment.” He bustled down the corridor.

Rosemary remembered Mrs. Kenyon's words that this institution was a charity hospital. Apparently the charity extended to providing jobs for those in need. She took a step after the clerk, intending to correct his assumption, but he turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

Floorboards creaked overhead, and she heard occasional bursts of voices from behind closed doors along the corridor. A man pushing a cart left one room and entered another. As the minutes ticked by, her anxiety rose. What if the doctor was too busy to be bothered by another petitioner?

“Miss Saxon?” An elderly man wearing a tidy brown jacket and trousers stepped toward her. He bowed in her direction. “I'm Dr. Harding. You're in need of a job?”

“Yes. Specifically, I'm seeking a position as a nurse.” She held her breath, waiting for his response.

Dr. Harding glanced between her and the clerk, who stood nearby pretending not to listen.

“Please follow me. We'll be more comfortable in my office.” He strode ahead of her and passed through an open door around the first corner in the corridor. The small book-lined room contained a worktable with chairs on both sides, framed diplomas on the walls, and a parlor stove in one corner.

He drew one of the chairs away from the table and held it until she was seated. Resting his slight form against the table,
he tipped his head to one side and studied her. “So you want to be a nurse?”

“I am a nurse, Dr. Harding. I spent most of the war years at Jefferson Barracks.”

A smile crossed his face. “Then I expect you know your way around a hospital ward.”

“I do.” She felt a surge of hope.

“We always need nurses here, but I prefer to hire men. They have families to support, and as a rule, don't run off to get married and have children.”

She tightened her jaw. “I have no plans in that direction.” Unbidden, a lump rose in her throat.

He paced to the window and stood looking out, his veined hands clasped behind his back. Several moments ticked by. Rosemary looked down at her green paisley skirt, wondering whether she should have packed her rust-colored calico to wear when applying for a nursing position. Perhaps she appeared too frivolous.

The silence lengthened. Sure that he was trying to find a way to discourage her, she fidgeted in the chair. When she returned to Mrs. Kenyon's, she'd consult a city directory for the names of physicians and go from one to another until she found someone who was willing to hire her. Her shoulders drooped at the prospect.

Dr. Harding faced her.

She braced herself for his rejection.

“Miss Saxon, I'll consider hiring you on a trial basis. If you can handle the duties, I'll make your employment permanent. How soon can you begin?”

“In around ten days.” At his astonished expression, she hurried on. “I . . . I didn't expect such a quick response. I need time to . . .” Her voice trailed off. She needed time to adjust to the idea of living away from Elijah and Noble Springs,
but that was none of Dr. Harding's concern. She cleared her throat. “Currently I have a home elsewhere. I'm sure I can be settled in St. Louis within that amount of time.”

He flipped through a notebook on the table and ran his finger down a page. “Very well. This is only a trial, mind you. I'll expect you on the eighth of July.” He dipped a pen in an inkwell and wrote her name next to the date.

Finding employment was one of the reasons she'd come to the city. She left the hospital wondering why she felt bereft.

When a horsecar stopped at the corner in front of the hospital, Rosemary paid the fare and climbed aboard with no destination in mind. She'd ride while she planned everything she needed to do in the next two weeks. First of all, she needed a permanent place to live. She'd ask Mrs. Kenyon for suggestions when she returned to the lodging house.

Beyond that, she had to pack her belongings in Noble Springs, along with as much of her garden as she could transport. She stared out the window of the car, overwhelmed at the idea of uprooting her plants, along with her life.

A longing for Faith's companionship surged through her. If only she were at home, she could walk to the mercantile and pour out her worries. She shook her head. Leaving Noble Springs meant beginning a new life. Might as well start now. She fished Cassie's address out of her handbag.

Street names rolled by as the tram traveled north through St. Louis. When the driver stopped at a corner, she walked forward with the address clutched in her fingers.

“Excuse me. Does this car go to Pratt Avenue?” She showed him the paper.

“Yes, ma'am. Toward the end of the line. I'll stop.”

He flicked the reins over the horse's back and the car jolted
forward, its metal wheels rolling smoothly over iron rails set in the cobblestones.

Rosemary's heart thudded when they passed a sign pointing toward Roubillard Street. Her parents' home lay in that direction. So close. She closed her eyes and didn't open them again until the driver stopped the tram.

“This here's Pratt Avenue, ma'am,” he called over his shoulder.

She stood on the sidewalk and watched as the horsecar continued north, then looked at the row of narrow three-story brick homes. Cassie's uncle lived on a street not unlike that of her parents'—similar houses distinguished primarily by pocket-sized lawns and individual shrubbery choices. Relieved that the first address she noticed was close to Cassie's, she tucked her handbag close to her side and hurried down the block.

A tired-looking blonde woman answered Rosemary's knock. Two children peered around her skirts. “You're the laundress they said was coming?” Her tone carried disbelief.

“No, I'm afraid not.” Rosemary held out her gloved hand. “I'm Rosemary Saxon, a friend of Cassie's from Noble Springs.”

“Rosemary!” Cassie ran through the entry hall to stand next to the woman. “You came to see me! Aunt Eloise, this is the friend I stayed with before Mr. Bingham passed.”

“Pleased, I'm sure.” Eloise didn't smile. She stepped to one side. “Come in. Show her to the parlor, Cassie. I'll try to keep the children busy so you girls can have a nice visit.” She plodded toward a door at the back of the hallway, one hand on each child's shoulder.

Cassie tucked her arm under Rosemary's. “Parlor's right here in front.” She slid a pocket door open and stepped into an overfurnished room that smelled of dust and disuse. Scarves and shawls covered the tables, which in turn were strewn
with bric-a-brac. The sofa was buried in plump satin pillows. Cassie waved her hand at the clutter and giggled. “The children are never allowed in here. You can see why.”

“How many children does she have?”

“Six. I told you we were crowded.” She swept the pillows to one side and patted a place for Rosemary to sit. “I never dreamed you'd come to see me, though. What a blessing.”

Cassie's face shone with the same joy Rosemary felt at seeing a familiar face. “It's a blessing to me too. These past few days have been . . . trying, to say the least.”

“Tell me, please. We'll have to talk fast, before Mother learns of your visit. I know she'll stop her incessant letter writing and want to join us.”