The Path To Her Heart

“This is home now. Besides, if we leave, you won’t be able to hear the rest of Miss Emma’s story.” Boothe couldn’t believe he’d used Emma as a reason to stay. Only for Jessie’s sake.

Jessie rubbed his arm and gave Boothe a watery, defiant look. “My arm hurts. I want Auntie Vera.”

Alarm snaked up Boothe’s spine. Were Jessie’s cheeks flushed? Was he fevered? He pressed his palm to his son’s forehead. Did he seem warm? Boothe didn’t know.

He pulled the covers down and looked at the dressing. A spot of pink stained it. He touched the skin on either side of the white cloth. Did it seem hot? Or was it simply warm from Jessie having his arm under the covers?

Boothe eased the blanket back to Jessie’s chin. He had Emma to thank for stirring up unnecessary fears. The wound would heal just fine. Jessie was safer without the interference of any nurse or doctor.

He’d seen Emma eye Jessie’s arm several times throughout the meal and afterward. She would do well to respect his wishes for his son. He would not allow an interfering woman—no matter how kind she seemed—to put his child at risk. Nor let his heart wish things could be different.

Chapter Three

Her bedroom lay in late fall darkness. Emma rolled over, turned on her bedside lamp, pulled her Bible to her chest and read a few verses. She prayed for her parents and her brother. Lord, make sure they’re warm and have enough to eat. Last winter they’d run low on coal and used it so sparingly that the house was always cold. While she was grateful for a warm, safe place to live, she felt guilty knowing Sid and her parents did not enjoy the same luxuries.

As soon as she finished her prayers, she’d run down to the basement and stir up the furnace. She paused. Was the house already warm? Had Boothe already stoked up the fire? How pleasant to waken to a warm room. She returned to her prayers, bringing her patients before God. A couple had been in the hospital for several weeks, fighting dust pneumonia. Lord, a good snowfall would put an end to the dust. But You know that. Just as You know everything we need. She prayed for friends and neighbors. Finally, when she couldn’t put it off any longer, she prayed for Boothe. There was something about him that upset her equilibrium. She didn’t like it. Lord, help him learn to trust again. And heal Jessie’s wound. She’d heard Jessie crying in the night. It was all she could do not to run down and check on him. That wound was nasty and no doubt painful. But Boothe had forbidden her to do anything for his son.

She took time to thank God for all the good things in her life. Unable to avoid the truth, she thanked her Lord for Boothe. He’s an answer to prayer for Ada, even though he is certainly not the man I would have sent to help. But again, You know best. Perhaps he needs something he will find here.

She jumped from bed, dashed across the hall to the washroom and splashed water over her face. Back in her room she pulled on white stockings, slipped into her uniform and pinned a clean apron on top. She toed into her white shoes, tied them neatly then headed downstairs to help Ada with breakfast.

At the kitchen door, she halted.

Boothe presided over the stove, frying bacon. Ada tended to the toast. A pot of coffee bubbled. Emma turned to the dining room, intent on setting the table. She stopped at the doorway. “The table’s set.”

“Boothe did it,” Ada said. “He’s catching on quickly.”

“I noticed the house is already warm. That’s nice.” Emma glanced at Boothe. He looked smug as if expecting he’d surprised her.

She shifted her gaze away. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself nor where to look, and headed for the window. The square of light revealed the yellowed grass scattered with dried leaves. Emma shivered then turned to catch Boothe watching her.

“It’s going to be cold today.” He offered her a cup of coffee.

She took it and cradled her hands around its warmth. “I heard Jessie in the night. Is he okay?”

“He’s sleeping. I’ll leave him until he needs to get ready for school.”

“Was his cut hurting him?”

Boothe glowered at her. “He had a nightmare. It will take him a few days to feel secure here.”

“It’s got to be hard for him.” Losing his mother and moving to a strange place. “But please keep an eye on that wound. Infection can be deadly.”

“I know enough to take care of my son without your help, if you don’t mind.” His expression grew darker but she refused to be intimidated. As a nurse, she faced disagreeable patients and families and dealt with them kindly, realizing their anger wasn’t directed at her personally. Only with Boothe, it felt personal. She smiled as much to calm herself as to convey kindness to Boothe. She would act professionally even with a man who despised her profession.

The boarders trickled in for breakfast. Loretta never joined them. She had no reason to be up so early. The others gathered round the table, for the most part eating without speaking.

“No snow. That’s good,” Betty said. “Do you know how much mess snow makes on the floors?” She seemed to be the only one who woke up bright and cheerful.

“Snow would settle the dust and perhaps end the drought.”

Emma jerked her head up at Boothe’s soft voice, surprised by the emotion hidden in his words. His eyes darkened as he looked deep into her soul. She felt a connection, a shared sorrow at the sad state of the economy, an acknowledgment that life was difficult. Then he shuttered his feelings and his brow furrowed as if she’d overstepped some boundary.

She turned back to her breakfast. He didn’t need to fear she’d be intruding into his life. She had more important things to attend to. Besides, she did not want to feel a connection to this man. He was dismissive almost to the point of rudeness and refused medical attention for his son. He’d branded her and the whole medical society because of a terrible accident. Tears stung her eyes at the stupidity that caused the death of his wife. She blinked them away and forced her thoughts to other things—like her responsibilities. She would do all she could to make life more tolerable for Sid and their parents.

Don spoke, thankfully pulling her from her troubled thoughts. “Boothe, did you want me to ask about a job at the factory?”

“Not yet but thanks for offering. I’m hoping to find a job that allows me to be home until Jessie leaves for school. I don’t expect I’ll be able to be home right after, but I’m grateful Aunt Ada will be here.”

The smile he sent his aunt filled Emma with alarming confusion. A man of such contrasts, full of tenderness to his son, warmth to his aunt, cold disapproval to Emma.

Betty jumped up and gathered her dishes. “Gotta run.”

Ed followed hard on her heels. Emma grinned after the pair. Ed moved in a couple months ago, fresh off a dried out farm, and had fallen instantly in love with Betty. Betty, although kind to the boy, did not encourage him. She vowed she’d spent enough years on a farm and stuck in a small town. As soon as she saved enough money, she was off to the city.

Boothe asked Don about other job possibilities. He spoke in an easy, relaxed manner, his tone warm, his expression interested.

Emma’s errant thoughts repeated her initial reaction at her first glimpse of him approaching the boardinghouse. A strong, caring man. She slammed a mental door. She had her duties. They excluded useless dreams, especially ones that included a man. Emma sobered. She would not let herself be another Ed, longing for something that was impossible.

“Don’t worry about the dishes,” Ada said as Emma hesitated at the sink. “Boothe will help me.”

“Do you want me to bring up a basin of potatoes?” She normally brought whatever vegetables Ada needed to prepare during the day.

“Boothe will do it. I expect to make him work for his keep.” Ada’s voice held a teasing note.

Emma realized how good this arrangement would be for Ada.

“I’ll see you later, then.” She wrapped her cape about her and headed out into the cold darkness. The sun breathed pink air over the horizon as she entered the hospital.

At the end of her shift, Emma hurried back to the boardinghouse, shivering in the cold wind and coughing in protest of the dust particles in the air. The endless dust grew tiresome. It would be worse for Mom and Dad and Sid on the farm. Relentless. God, please send snow. Please end the drought.

She was getting home later than she should have been thanks to the demands of her job. And she was exhausted—more so in mind than body. It had been one of those days that made her wish she could change people’s thoughts.

Two elderly patients died—their deaths not entirely unexpected, but the woman might have survived if she hadn’t refused to see a doctor until she was too weak to protest when her daughter insisted she must.

And then a woman came in to have her baby. She’d been in labor seventy-two hours before she finally decided she needed medical intervention. The baby had been delivered and both were alive, but Emma wondered about the long-term effects on the baby. The infant girl had been slow to start breathing and seemed sluggish in her responses.

Emma wished she could erase the mental images of the worst scene of all—a young man who had been ill for some time but only when he could no longer respond did his parents decide to seek help. By then the skin on the young man hung like a sheet draped over a wooden rack. His eyes were sunken. She couldn’t help thinking of Sid, remembering how vigorous he’d been at that age. She smiled past tears. Sid had been so eager for life and adventure—with an attitude that led him to take reckless chances just for a thrill. She stilled a shudder. The consequences of taking such risks had gone beyond harmless adventure.

She’d worked feverishly over the young man in her care, determined she would not let his life slip away. He showed little improvement, even with all her efforts.

Later, in private, Dr. Phelps shook his head. “He’s so dehydrated I wonder if his kidneys are even functional.”

“I don’t understand why people wait so long to get help.” Emma’s voice was sharp with frustration. “So much of this suffering is unnecessary.”

Dr. Phelps sighed. “The greatest disease of all is ignorance.”

The young man had still been alive, struggling for each breath, when she’d finally left the hospital, chased away by the matron who insisted Emma was of no value to them if she wore herself out.