Author's Note: Thanks, Old Soul in Wonderland and Awed.

Blood typing was not known in this era. Research had just discovered that human blood killed dogs in transfusions. What Mark discusses happening is someone receiving incompatible blood type, which can be fatal.


Another moan.

She smiled. The massage seemed to help his poor back. The man had neglected himself so much the past week while tending to her and Charles that he'd ended up bedridden with back spasms. Leaning all her weight onto her hands over his heavily muscled shoulder blades, she pressed. His poor back cracked and popped.

"Oh dear god, marry me," he gasped. "This is better than sex."

A giggle escaped. "You are funny. But I hope you still do not think that after we actually make love. I don't know how you aren't in tears with your back so out of alignment." Another press on the middle of his back to force out the muscle knots.

"Ohhh, god, Tanya," he moaned at the pain relief. Then he released a deep sigh. "You think highly of yourself?"

Another smile broke free and she massaged the thick muscles. "Husband, all embarrassment has fled after you seeing me give birth. And I'm still very much enjoying being able to move without a huge belly in the way."

He frowned. "I miss your belly."

"I promise that you won't miss it once we're both healed," she whispered in his ear and nipped his earlobe.

He slowly rolled into his back. "I think I'm cured. Will I have an enthusiastic wife on my hands?"

Climbing onto the bed, she straddled his hips, moving slow so as not to make the stitches protest. Then she leaned her hands on the bed on each side of his shoulders and smiled, letting her loose hair create a curtain. "Not at all," she purred.

The man grinned like a fool and rested a hand on her hip as his eyes dilated with desire. "A shame. I should think I'd enjoy it."

She pulled off the dress and leaned down to kiss his neck. "Your voice is still deeper from the smoke," she mumbled.

He breathed faster and squeezed her hip. "It's been nearly three weeks - odds are it's permanent," he said breathlessly.

"Does it hurt?" She pressed a kiss to where his heartbeat pulsed in his neck.

"No," he breathed, his body melting under her hands.

"Then it makes me want you," she whispered in his ear and flicked her tongue over his earlobe.

He shuddered and gasped. Then he looked down as she kissed her way down his chest. "At this rate, we'll never make it to a wedding."

She gave a naughty smile as he grew restless with her trailing kisses down his stomach.

"You play with fire," he panted, his breathing growing faster. "The - " His body tensed and his eyes rolled back as the kisses trailed down. His hand clutched a fistful of the sheets as she explored.

"Oh my," she smiled a few minutes later. "You are a man of passion." She pressed a kiss to his heaving chest.

"You are the best pain medicine I've ever had," he sighed. His eyes drifted closed as she reached under and massaged the sides of his shoulders, back and hips.

"Sleep," she whispered.

"I don't want to sleep," he sighed again. "I don't hurt right now."

"Then you should fall asleep before you start to hurt again." She sprinkled kisses on his neck.

"Then I have to miss you," he whispered and kneaded her back with his good hand. The man looked so relaxed with his eyes closed.

"Ohh." A smile and blush arose. "You get just a little bit sentimental when you're unwell, did you know? It's so very sweet." She brushed a kiss over his lips.

His eyes cracked open, the pain returning in them already. "It's easier to bear the pain with you near," he replied quietly, his voice already falling soft and flat like when he'd draw into himself from the pain.

She stroked his hair as her heart broke. "Oh, my love," she sighed, "whatever am I to do to get you better?" Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his brow and sat back. He looked miserable again, with that withdrawn dullness in his eyes again like all he could think about was the pain. "I don't understand why your back still hurts so much."


While nursing the babe, she sat on the edge of the bed and kept an eye on Mark. His back spasms seemed to grow worse all day, and Grandfather couldn't find anything causing it.

Mark's breathing picked up to rapid pants.

"What's wrong?" Her heart beat faster as his face contorted in pain.

"Get the ship's surgeon," he gasped and clutched the sheets.

He was so worried about compromising her reputation that something must be terribly wrong for him to blow their cover. "Why? What is it?" She pulled off Charles and set him on the floor where he'd be safe as she pulled up her dress.

"My legs are going numb," he gasped. "A spinal - "

She tore out the door before he could finish. His medical books had mentioned spinal injuries. Numbness usually meant paralysis. Only a page had been dedicated to the little known yet about the spine. Sending up a prayer that the surgeon had more experience than Grandfather, she burst into the infirmary.

The surgeon looked up from where he checked a patient's ankle on the exam table.

"Come! A man with back injuries is having leg numbness! Come!"

He had enough brains to realize the urgency and grabbed his bag and ran after her. In the room, he dropped to his knees beside the bed. "Help stabilize his back, and we'll roll him over."

Mark all but screamed from the pain.

The surgeon pulled back when he saw the bruising and sutures in Mark's back. His eyes flew to her in horror.

"I found him beaten on the ship when we left port." She dumped whiskey on Mark's back and washed him since the surgeon seemed too dumbfounded. "He had a plank of wood embedded in his back here to here," she explained and then grabbed his hands to scrub with hers since he seemed too much in shock. "It was angled right at his spine. I'd wager something is still in there pressing on it." She pressed a scalpal into his hands. "Get it out." Then she leaned down to Mark. "I'm sorry, but I'm hoping if we pull it out, you'll have instant feeling again. I need you awake to say if not."

He gave a tiny nod as he panted and sweat ran down his brow from pain.

She looked at the surgeon who didn't move. "Go! Paralysis could set in!"

"I'm not going to just hack him open! I've never heard of such a theory that it's spinal compression! He needs hot rags and - "

"You've operated on a back? Know the anatomy?"

"Yes, but - "

"Then cut!"

"You are insane!"

"Do it. If you get in there and there's nothing, then you can try your way."

"Do it," Mark whimpered.

Grabbing a strap from Grandfather's bag, she put it to Mark's lips and he bit down on it.


Holding the babe as he wailed and holding Mark as he wept from pain after the surgery that didn't yet restore his feeling, she burst into tears too. Lying in bed and getting the babe settled to nurse away his hunger from an interrupted meal, she cradled Mark's head on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

The surgeon had come to believe her when he'd found a piece of wood pressing against Mark's spinal cord. And then he had given Mark chloroform and made several incisions along the path of the plank, pulling and lifting muscles to check for more debree rather than cut through muscle. He had been an excellent man of science and found more wood that had been causing Mark pain most likely. But his method would leave Mark in terrible back spasms for days until the muscles calmed from the trauma. Sedating Mark was unadvised - he wouldn't be able to tell anyone if the numbness grew worse.

"You'll get better now." Tears ran down her face almost as much as Mark's. The hot stones didn't seem to help him at all. So she held him as he wept for hours until he exhausted himself so much that he fell into a fitful sleep.

Whenever he was awake the next two days, he was in tears from back pain. She wept as much as him.


It'd been days since Mark had eaten, and he just laid in bed and panted.

"The pain is exhausting him." She brushed at her eyes and laid more cold rags on his back. "He needs sedation."

"What's his name?" the surgeon asked.

"Mark." Then she froze. Shoot. No going back now.

"Do you want to be sedated, Mark?" But Mark just panted and seemed so focused inward with his eyes closed that he didn't respond. The surgeon leaned down to be eye level and set a hand on Mark's bare shoulder. "Mark? Do you want sedation? I prefer not because you have some swelling that concerns me yet, but Mrs. Debonairo is concerned that you're growing too exhausted."

He slowly shook his head. "If Tanya...stays." A low moan of pain finished and his grip on her hand tightened.

The surgeon looked up at her and his eyes narrowed. "What's going on? You found him three weeks ago and are on first name basis and your dress was unbuttoned when you came for me." He gave a pointed glance at where the neckline had gaped from not buttoning it in her hurry to the infirmary while nursing the babe. "If this is some kind of affair - "

She knelt beside the surgeon. Mark was in no condition to help spin the story, so she took a deep breath. "My husband was a known madman. It was an arranged marriage. I didn't see the madness until a couple months ago. I left him and he burned himself alive in a fire the night before the ship departed." She looked at Mark, whose brow furrowed as he panted and kept his eyes closed. "I found Mark with my Grandfather the night the ship left port - he was thrown in the cargo crates at the back of the ship and unconscious with all of his injuries. He says a robbery. My grandfather practiced medicine somewhat in America." Then she looked at the surgeon. "I'm a widow, which gives me liberty to care for a sick man in my cabin without scandal. I've never known gentleness or kindness like what he's shown me. He's a gentleman when I must nurse the babe while tending to him. He helps with the babe when he's able - like my babe is his own child." Tears welled. "He's a good man...I love him. He understands the compromise all this has caused, and he's asked for my hand. But being a new widow, it would ruin him if I accepted. He's nothing but a soldier and would not be able to overcome such scandal. He refuses to leave my side, promising he'll wait until I can accept him. I beg you, don't tell anyone he's in here."

"Gossip has already spread with passengers who saw him exit your cabin. I should say that a public engagement is less likely to ruin both of you." He sighed and gave a long look. "I married for love. When she passed, I took an arranged marriage so my son would have a mother. He's grown now, and the sea as my mistress brings me more pleasure than my wife ever could. So, I spend eleven months of the year at sea and dread the month each year when I must return home." He looked away. "It is not my place to deny you the happiness you've found. We will sedate him for an hour at night so he can fall asleep." He dug out a syringe. "This will work better than chloroform."

She leaned forward and kissed Mark's cheek, still holding his hand tight. "I'll be here the whole time."

"I'm sorry," he breathed and forced his eyes to squint open.

"Whatever for?"

His eyes said it all - sorry for leaving her the sole caregiver after giving birth, for not being able to offer her a better life...and for possibly becoming a paralyzed husband.

She stroked his hair. "You've been unwell. There is nothing to be sorry for. And you'll get better."


She walked in with a bowl of soup two days later. His pain had improved, but he still picked at food. She stopped in her tracks. "You're up."

Mark reclined against pillows. Grandfather stood near the bed. The surgeon sat on the edge and listened to his chest.

And Mark moved his feet under the blanket.

Her jaw dropped. "You can move your legs?"

Mark smiled.

"The feeling is coming back!" She practically screamed and shot forward and threw herself into his lap, crying with him in happiness.


"And she thinks this will do what?" Mark asked the surgeon as she slipped into the cabin that evening. The middle-aged surgeon and Grandfather stood on each side of Mark and kept him steady.

"She thinks that walking will help you get leg function back faster," she answered and set down a full dinner plate. "Plus, you've been bedridden almost two weeks, and it's good for you to start getting up."

He gave a look. "I think I regret giving you medical books," he said dryly and took a slow, shuffle walk around the room with help.

A huge smile bloomed and she walked over, taking Grandfather's place.

Mark scowled. "You are to be resting. Mama," he added pointedly.

"I am fine from childbirth. How do your legs feel?"

"Just a little bit of residual tingling."

Once everyone left, she went to the tray of food just as Charles began to fuss.

"Let me. I won't pick him up if I'm dizzy." Mark pushed himself to the edge of the bed and managed to get up as she refrained from jumping to his aid. He got over to Charles's pallet and leaned against the wall to sink to the floor. "Maybe too much for one day," he said a bit weakly.

She hurried over, but he picked up Charles and cradled the babe in his arms. A tear rolled down his cheek and stopped her in her tracks.

He looked up. "There are days I know happened but don't remember them. Everything's a blur. How old is he?"

Tears burned for how heartbroken Mark looked at having to ask how old his son was.

Walking over, she knelt beside them. "You've been very ill, honey. He's two weeks."

That answer seemed to physically hurt him. "Two? Have I been checking if he's alright?"

"You have." She stroked Mark's whiskered cheek. "You don't remember holding him? You try to at least once a day."

He shook his head. "I remember pieces of things." The tips of his fingers rubbed a tiny circle over Charles's belly that soothed the cries. "Does he suffer colic?"

Oh dear. Mark really didn't remember much. But, being in that extreme pain, it was a wonder that he remembered anything. "No, honey. He usually cries like that when his nappie is wet."

"Oh." The poor man looked devastated like he'd just failed at being a father.

Taking Charles, she set him on the floor and changed him as Mark watched. She glanced at him again. He concentrated like trying to learn how to do it. "Fold it up like this and then across. Then pin it at the front." She handed him the pin.

He copied and tried to carefully maneuver the pin.

Charles's face scrunched up and he let out a wail to high heaven, tears instantly rolling from his cheeks. Mark must've pricked him.

Instead of Mark giving up, he scooped up Charles - not seeming to care about dropping the pin and letting the nappie fall off in his lap as he picked up his son. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He cradled the babe's head and brushed a kiss over the tiny cheek. "Don't cry," he cooed and reclined the babe in his good arm. His other hand stroked the tiny tummy. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Shhh," he cooed and swayed the babe. "Don't cry, son. Don't cry."

Tears welled. Mark was so perfectly tender and patient with the babe. And then he absolutely melted her heart.

He shrugged off his shirt and curled up the naked babe onto his own bare chest like a bed. Then he used his shirt as a blanket to cover Charles. The wails stopped. "You need Mama for that, love," he chuckled.

The babe's head wiggled. Mark's shirt slipped down to reveal Charles rooting with his tiny mouth wide open like a baby bird. Mark smiled - his first truly happy smile in many days - and handed the babe over.

She unbuttoned the front of her dress and then hesitated. Charles needed to nurse from the scarred breast this time. Timing had worked out up until now so Mark had never needed to see the babe nurse on that side - never had to see her help Charles keep the deformed breast in his mouth and help get the milk out. Grabbing Charles's small blanket, she draped it over her shoulder to keep covered.

"You won't nurse him from that breast in front of me?" he growled, as he tended to do when hurt.

Pausing and looking up in surprise, she flushed. "It doesn't work as it should - "

"If the goddamn shit hadn't tried to do a fucking mastectomy, it would!" He must've noticed her widened eyes because he ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. "I hate that you still have to deal with the things he did." Scooting closer, he pulled off the blanket. "Teach me what to do," he said, his voice and eyes suddenly so compassionate. And he took her free hand in his.

Her eyebrows rose. "You want to help me nurse him?"

"If you'll let me. I wish for us to be intimate enough that we will trust each other with even things that might shame us," he said with such tenderness. "It is your decision, but I wish for you to let me help you carry these burdens from him."

Tears welled at his beautiful declaration of love. "I want you to if it..."

"If it what?" He scooted closer and slipped his good arm around her shoulders.

"If it doesn't make you look at me differently." Her voice cracked.

"Never." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "You have seen me in illness and ways that absolutely mortify me, but I know you do not look at me differently. You deserve to feel that same security." He rested his temple against hers. "I find you most beautiful when I see you face your hardships with grace and strength. When you let me within those walls, I understand the courage and trust it takes. And I love you all the more for it." Another kiss to her temple. "Feed the babe." Then he moved to get up.

She caught his hand. Charles fussed in need of his meal.

He looked at her and sat down again, questions in his eyes.

"The scars try to pull my breast out of his mouth, so I have to hold it for him..." Her voice quivered with shame. "And it won't let him have milk, so I have to massage it out for him." She didn't meet his eyes.

"Does it pain you?"

"He gets frustrated," she continued, ignoring his question.

"Where does it hurt?" he urged.

She bared it and pointed. "Under the scars," she said softly. "Like the milk can't ever get out."

He reached around from behind with his hands. "Don't be embarrassed. Let me see if there's something we can do. Help Charles keep hold." The way he did it got enough milk flowing for Charles to be content, and he massaged so there was only discomfort, not pain, under the scars. He didn't seem to mind helping the entire time Charles nursed. "As he gets older and is able to hold your breast in place himself, you'll be able to nurse without aid, if you wish. In the mean time, you're in need of three hands. Fetch me when he needs to nurse." He said it so matter of fact.

A shy glance up at him was all she could muster. "Thank you."

"I regret not being coherent sooner to help you. One would think it should arouse a man to help his wife breastfeed, but it makes me ache somewhere else." Then he got up, almost like he'd embarrassed himself.

How odd. She frowned. "Where?"

He looked down and met her eyes. "My heart," he said very quietly, very intimately.

That completely stole her heart.

The man cleared his throat. "Up. There is a bed to sit on rather than the floor, woman," he grunted to cover up his sentimental emotions. He took her hand and pulled her and the babe up. "Give me him to burp while you eat. The whole plate," he grunted.

She handed over the babe and buttoned up. "I love you." A smile tugged.

The big cuddle bear scowled. "It certainly behooves you because as soon as we land in America, I'm dragging you to a church," he snapped and gave soft pats on Charles's back. "I don't care if you change your mind. You had ample time to protest a marriage and didn't, so now you're stuck with me forever," he barked.

"Yes, Mark." She grinned and folded her hands behind her back. "Forever and ever?"

"Yes! Go eat, woman!"

"I love it when you bark at me. When we are better, I should like you to bark at me and then have to make love to me to teach me a lesson."

His jaw fell open and his pantaloons began to strain. When she giggled, he composed himself with a straight face. "I shall have to make love to you in the woods." Then he leaned in, his gaze a caress in itself that set butterflies loose in her belly. He spoke in a voice so husky and low that his tone vibrated in her chest in a most delicious way, "So no one can hear your repeated cries of ecstasy as I claim you as my wife."

Oh dear heaven, her knees grew weak.

"Your sutures are due to come out. You cannot consummate for another month yet, but your body is healed enough should you desire me to make it a very pleasant exam," he purred.

A breathless gasp escaped at the scandal and the sudden rush of heat. His proposal was so forbidden. So erotic. "You are a wicked man," she scolded.

That rare, rakish smile made her blood even hotter. "My lady love, if only your eyes didn't tell me how much you truly want it," he purred, his voice so low and husky it was like a spell. He sat and swayed Charles.

If he hadn't been right there to see it and boost his ego, she would've swooned.


"What do you mean you have to cut and stitch again?!" she shrieked in a panic the next day.

He held her hands. "I didn't want you scared this whole time, so I didn't tell you. You have internal sutures because of what I had to cut. If left in, those will cause problems, and you certainly can't birth. This would be a superficial incision only down to the muscle sutures. I will see if I can do it in a few small incisions. It won't be as painful as before, sweetheart. That was reconstruction, this is just a skin-deep incision." He reached for her.

"No!" Stepping back, she shoved his hand away. "You made me think it's over! You lied!" Tears welled. It'd been hard not to cry the first several days from the pain, and now he talked about doing it again. "You didn't tell me it'd hurt to sit and stand and walk and laugh! It still hurts to use the washroom!" Panic made fear grow worse. "It's going to hurt like him when we consummate, isn't it?!" Tears fell.

"No! It won't hurt like that - " He took a step forward.

She took a step back, the tears coming faster more for the betrayal than anything. "You lied!"

"I didn't and won't lie. I didn't tell you certain things because I didn't want you terrified - "

The tears streamed down. "I learned my whole life to not trust men! To fear a man's touch! I trust you to do medical things to me that I don't understand because I thought you'd be truthful!"

"And what good would it have done to tell you how painful you'd be, or you'd need a follow-up surgery?! You'd have been terrified these two weeks!"

"I would still trust you!"

He froze, his face suddenly pale.

"I trusted you to always be honest," she wept. "Even if I'm scared, I'd go through anything with you because I thought you'd guide me truthfully. You know I'm scared of anything female related after him. I don't understand why you think a surprise surgery is alright." Her face crumpled. "I would've been scared, but when you explain things, it makes them less frightening. I don't understand why you tricked me."

"Oh god, Tanya, it was not meant as a trick," he pleaded and grabbed her hands. She tried to pull away, but he held fast. "Listen to me. Listen. I thought I was protecting you. You looked so terrified when I explained that you needed surgery to fit the babe that I thought I was doing the right thing to not tell you until the end that I have to go in after the internal sutures, or exactly what pain you'd have. That's all. It breaks my heart to see you have to bear everything he did. I thought this was a Cross I could bear for you for a little while. I vow I won't keep secrets again. Please, don't think you can't trust me. I love you and would die for you. I understand how hard it is for you to trust and not be frightened of men. I never meant to betray that."

She sniffled.

His eyes grew red from unshed tears. "I never thought I'd give you reason to look at me with betrayal and distrust in your eyes. I'm sorry."

Her face crumpled. "When he forced himself, I didn't even know what sex was. I didn't understand what he was doing, only that it hurt and he wasn't supposed to."

His lip quivered and a tear spilled over, as if it hurt to hear this.

"I didn't even know what he did was called so I could explain it to anyone. I didn't have a name for it until Dr. Englewood told me it was rape. When my belly swelled, I thought I was dying. I thought you had to be married to get pregnant. All of these things happened to me, and I didn't understand any of them." She choked on a sob. "Do not do something to my body and not tell me what's going on."

He crushed her in his arms and held fast. "I'm sorry," he sniffled. "Being a minor procedure that has to be done, I didn't understand that it was wrong to not tell you right away. I didn't mean to betray your trust or frighten or trick you. You're right - it's your body and you have a right to know everything."

She curled up her arms against his chest and let the hurt come. "You're my best friend. When I don't know who to believe or trust, I look to you. You're the one who made me feel safe in every way." Another sob choked. "You're the only one I wasn't afraid to blindly trust in any situation."

His chest shuddered with a silent sob and he cradled her head against his heart. "You can trust me. I will stumble and fall, Tanya, but I will learn from my mistakes. I want to be the man you can trust, your shelter from anything." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sweetheart."


The cold, brisk air felt good on an aching heart.

"If I may speak frankly, my lady?" Brigands asked from her right as an escort on the walk.

She cracked a smile. "I've told you to not call me that. You certainly won't get away with it in Colorado. But, yes, you know you should speak your mind with me."

"If you and the mast-, um, Mr. Johnson have had a falling out, I'm sure he'd appropriately grovel rather than have you wear through the deck walking. I am honored to be your escort, but I do not wish to see you so sad."

Patting his arm that led her, she gave a small smile. "We did talk. I think he is wearing the cabin floor out himself waiting for me to return. Sometimes I need space to digest feelings before I can move forward."

He kept his eyes forward and nodded. "A good wife knows when she needs to put herself first to make a stronger marriage. Sometimes you are wise beyond your years, my lady. It took my wife and I some time to realize that space can be a blessing as much as a curse."

Passing the cabin again didn't lead to any sounds of Charles fussing, so she took another lap.

When she returned, Mark sat on the edge of the bed, his posture tense as he held the sleeping babe. He pushed himself to his feet, anxiety burning strong in his eyes.

The hurt was still there, but only as an ache now. She folded her hands and held his gaze. "Before you take the stitches out, you will tell me everything you have to do and what happens after the new stitches come out. And if you think here's reason for no more babies or anything else."

He nodded. "I wouldn't keep no babies a secret." The man slowly held out a hand.

She took it and sat down on the bed beside him as he explained everything.


She laid in bed the next day in pain.

Mark walked in with a poultice. "Here, sweetheart. Your grandmother says this herb will help with the bruising." He pulled down the blanket and applied it. "The tissue is still a bit traumatized from the birth, and adding in this surgery must've tipped it over the edge. I'm sorry, love. I've only seen this kind of swelling and bruising happen in one of the twenty-nine other women whom I have ever had to do this surgery on." Then he pulled up the sheet. "Do you want water, food, a backrub...?"

She shook her head and readjusted Charles laying in bed and nursing.

"I promise that if you need surgery again to fit a babe, it won't be this bad. I had to make extensive incisions to fit him because of the assault. There are stretches your body will be able to handle for the next birth to hopefully avoid surgery."

"If you try to put a babe in me, I'll cut off the family jewels," she whimpered.

"I'll make you a deal: one more babe and if you need surgery, I'll let you sterilize me. Then you can enjoy seeing me writh in pain beside you." A slight note of laughter filled his voice.

She held in a laugh. "Okay. Let me have you to grip for this round, though."

He shot off the bed. "I love you - I'll let you squeeze my broken arm or punch my bruised ribs or do anything else, but you can't grip those. We need those yet."

She frowned at him. "What are you talking about? Shut up and give me your hand."

"Oh." He blushed. Then he laid down and spooned as she laid on her side to accommodate Charles. His hand slipped into hers and held tight.

"Tanya? When you're feeling better, I'd like to talk to you about submitting a paper to a medical journal about your work with the surgeon on my spine."

She readjusted Charles. "What do you mean?" she asked. Lovely, Charles still seemed hungry and would need to nurse from the scarred side.

"The surgeon was very impressed with your theory, as was I. Your fast thinking and treatments likely saved me from being permanently paralyzed. It's something that is valuable to share with the medical community, and he wanted to include your name in it. He said that as your betrothed...?"

"I had to come up with some excuse for you being in my cabin," she explained.

"Ah. As your betrothed, he asked my permission. I told him that I would ask you." He stroked her hair back to expose the side of her neck. "Should you ever have an interest in attending medical school, tell me. I think you'd make an excellent surgeon."

"I want to work with you."

"You always can work with me. I may not even be able to find work as a surgeon."

"You're the best female-practice surgeon - "

"Dr. Johnson has no reputation," he cut in.

The words died on her lips. "But you will build your reputation fast."

"Not as a gynecologist/obstetrician. There would be too much suspicion of you remarrying someone so identical to your first husband. This isn't the topic," he grunted. "We will talk about you publishing a paper when you feel better - "

"Women cannot be published in medical journals."

"Tanya, America is the Land of Opportunity. If women can become surgeons, I'm sure they can be published in medical journals."

"Mark?" She rolled onto her back and tried to recline upright to burp Charles, but Mark sat up and did it. "Thank you." Buttoning up her nightgown, she continued, "When we get to America, promise that before we get on a coach or whatever is the transportation to Colorado, we get married."

He turned his head and looked down at her with a solemn expression. "I promise to marry you as soon as we can procure a special license, but I can't make promises of how soon. I don't know how things work in America." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Charles interrupted with a cry.

"Are you wet, my boy?" Mark got up and changed the diaper. "You are a good eater for Mama. I should say you've gained a little bit of weight. By the time we get to America, you might weigh almost as much as a newborn should. Now we have to figure out how to get Mama to put on weight." He washed his hands in the basin of cold water and then rested the nearly naked babe on his shoulder. Charles looked so tiny in his arms. He stopped in his tracks and leaned his ear closer to Charles. Then he felt the little forehead and dug out the stethoscope.

"What's wrong?" She pushed herself up a bit more as Mark laid him on the bed.

"Do you feel unwell in any way?" His tone was all business - that surgeon tone he took on when something wasn't good.

"No, why?" Her heart beat faster.

He listened for several seconds and then continued an exam. "He has respiratory congestion." Turning Charles over and tilting him downward, he patted the little back. A wet cough.

Her eyes flew to his. He handed over the babe and shot out of the room without his shirt.

Mark returned minutes later and leaned against the closed door, his eyes slightly scared. "Influenza is on the ship."

"What?! No, he just has fluid yet from the birth," she panicked. "He hasn't been around anyone who is ill." No, it couldn't be. Influenza was deadly enough for adults. A sickly new babe wouldn't survive it.

"Your grandparents have it." He headed straight for the whiskey bottle. "Have you ever had it?" he demanded and grabbed a syringe and tube out of the bag. Then he headed for the door.

"I think so. Years ago."

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her. "Not within the past years?" When she shook her head, he strode over and set everything on the bed. Then he doused his arm with whiskey. "You're going to learn how to do a transfusion. I do not catch influenza anymore nearly to the degree that others do. There must be something in my blood after being exposed so many years to infected patients. If we give you my blood, it might help protect you and leak into your breast milk. It might help Charles fight it off."

It made as best sense as any and was better than doing nothing. After connecting the very short tube to him, she gave her arm for him to connect.

"You are to drink extra water both to flush any infection from you and keep up with feeding him extra to flush his body. If we can keep him from dehydrating and a fever down, he'll pull through it. When you transfuse, it often clots in the tube. Use as short of a tube as possible and squeeze along the tube to keep blood flowing. Eventually it will clot, though. Keep the donor's arm higher and his fist pumping to delay the clotting."

"I didn't read any of this in your books."

"Because I made it up," he said distractedly. "It's the best method I've found so far." When he finished with the transfusion, he got up with the tube still in his arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Your grandmother has never been exposed. Your grandfather had influenza once when he went to England looking for you as a child, but not since."

"Mark." She caught his arm, her stomach churning with worry. "Do not give away so much that you harm yourself."

He cracked a smile, as if touched that she worried. Then he slipped out.

His madness seemed to work. The death toll on the ship rose. Mark gave small amounts of his blood to the ill over the next few days. The ones who accepted the transfusion still got ill, but few of those died.

Mark walked in one evening, his eyes glazed over and a frighteningly vacant expression on his face as he washed his hands and then checked her mild fever and Charles's cough. His shirt was soaked in perspiration.

"Mark, are you feverish?" He couldn't get sick. He was the only one who knew what to do.

"I think I killed a man," he whispered.

"What?" She blinked.

"When I gave him my blood, he started shaking and had chills and...and he stopped breathing eventually. I stopped the transfusion and even started bloodletting if my blood had done something to him. I did chest compressions for twenty minutes. I've given blood to many patients over the years. It happened in Africa to two patients. I stopped giving transfusions - I thought perhaps the skin tone difference made our blood incompatible. One theory is men's blood can only be transfused to men and women to women, but I've often given my blood to women in childbirth. I don't understand what happened." He ran his hands through his hair in distress. Tears welled in his eyes. "I widowed a woman with three little ones who all witnessed him die," he croaked.

She grabbed his hands and held his eyes. "You do not know for certain that it was something you did. You are not God. To the best of your knowledge, you did everything right. For all you know, the influenza might've killed him tomorrow. You are a good physician, but deaths are inevitable. What makes you good is you learn. You learned from him that bloodletting doesn't help. Once you get a clinic, figure out a way to study blood samples. Use one of those special magnifier machines..."

"Microscope?"

"Yes. See if the blood samples look different from each other. You are a good physician because you push the boundaries. They say you are mad and yet you've saved how many women and babies with your mad ways? I'm sure many physicians would've called you insane for these transfusions rather than bloodletting, but you have prevented multiple deaths. You will stumble and fall, but it is only the stumbles that make you better."

He processed those words for a minute. "There is still no way to right leaving her children fatherless and without income. We have little funds left ourselves. Based on gossip, I'm not sure it will even get us to Colorado." He picked up a rag and wiped cool water over her damp brow.

She cracked a smile. "Husband, you have much to learn. Even when you have nothing, there's always something to be found that a pawn shop would pay to have. Go to my trunk in the bottom."

He dug through and frowned. "What am I looking for?"

"The dress. I have no need for such a thing in Colorado."

Lifting out her evening gown, he looked at her with such sadness. "The dress you wore for our first dinner together."

It had been too precious to leave behind. How bittersweet that he remembered too. "Tell her a pawn shop should give her no less than twenty pounds. If she rips out the petticoat built in, she can take that to a different shop for an additional five pounds. The ribbons can be cut without notice and pawned as hair ribbons for an additional pound."

"I'm sorry, Tanya."

"I have you, Mark. I don't need a silly dress to remember our first dinner. Go take it to her."

He returned, his face still grief-stricken. "She said God bless you for giving her your dress."

The woman had probably cursed him to Hell for not saving her husband. Setting Charles on the bed next to her, she held out her arms. Mark sat in the edge of the bed and rested his head on her chest. She stroked his hair and held tight, the only thing to do as he had to figure out how to carry the Cross of another life lost in his hands. "I love you, Mark."


The ship docked at a quarter to noon. The sun shined bright in the February morning. Nearly a third of the passengers had been buried at sea. She huddled deeper in her cloak, slight chills from influenza still lingering. Mark swore it was from weakness of being underweight yet, as Grandmama and Grandfather had recovered for the most part two days ago. Charles had a slight cough left and was tied to her front under the cloak to keep warm. Mark put his arm over her shoulders, the splint no longer needed for the broken bone. A soft curse left his lips as he looked out over the railing at the first glimpse of America.

Coal smog filled the air and buildings crammed together. The dock overflowed with passengers from other ships. Streets in the distance were just as crowded. Ruckus and coughing filled the air. The Land of Opportunity looked like nothing but a dirty, overcrowded land of illness. A pang of homesickness for England hit.

"Stay here." Mark pushed through the crowd unboarding the ship and stepped down on the dock below. He looked around, as if scanning for something. Then he returned, stress creating wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. "There's tuberculosis and typhoid and who knows what else down there." His eyes met Grandfather's. "Tanya and Charles are already unwell. You and Lily have likely not been exposed to these 'white man' diseases." He ran a hand through his hair and looked around on the dock. "I have no idea how we walk through without catching something."

Brigands looked around. "Are handkerchiefs over our faces good enough, sir?"

Mark shook his head.

"We don't walk." All eyes turned to her. She pointed to a small boat hanging over the edge of the ship. "We take that boat and sneak into the city. Mark has no identity papers, so they wouldn't let him into America anyways."

He pressed a kiss to her lips. "I married a genius."

The men helped the women into the boat and began to lower it. "Get in before it gets much lower," Mark told Grandfather and Brigands.

"You're not coming?" She grabbed the edge of the boat in a panic.

"Someone has to lower the boat. Go along the south shore and find a pub closest to the shore. I'll find you."

"No! You can't go through the disease - "

"Stop!" One of the crew members shouted. "Arrest them!"

Mark's hands flew feeding the pulley to lower the boat. It dropped the last couple feet into the water as two men reached for Mark...just as he jumped into the icy ocean.

"Mark!" The scream echoed over the water. That jump would break bones. The February ocean water would freeze him. He didn't surface. "Mark!" She tore off the cape and started to unwrap the babe to go in after him.

"No! Your dress will pull you under," Grandfather said and grabbed her arm. "Wait a minute. He would've gone far down at that height."

One second. Two. Three. Her heart pounded harder with each second. Small waves crashed against the side of the boat.