She brought in a bowl of soup for lunch. Mark, who sat in a chair beside the bed, took it for the woman. Although movement had returned for the woman, so came the pain. Mark was diligent about dosing on time, even though it meant getting up a few times in the middle of the night to check on the woman.
"Here. Have something to eat so you don't get nausea from the laudanum." He spoonfed the woman.
Alright, that was a step too far. The woman wasn't in that much pain that she couldn't feed herself. She frowned upon noticing only a chemise covering the woman's shoulders. "Where is her dress?"
"When she was propped up, it was too tight over the incision," he replied and gave another spoonful.
"My ass it's too tight," she mumbled under her breath. It was an empire waist dress that gave ample room. Setting the glass of water on the stand beside the bed, she spun on her heel and went back to the house to give Charles lunch.
Sitting in an old rocking chair in the front room, she nursed the babe. Mark walked through the connecting door with a frown minutes later. "What has you in a dither, woman?"
"Oh, please. You could loosen the dress; she doesn't need it off!" she hissed so not to be overheard.
His eyes rolled. "This may come as a surprise, but I've seen dozens of women naked and not had a sexual thought about it. We hacked the woman open last night for Christ's sake. Of course a confining dress - "
"Don't curse, and her dress has an empire waist! And I didn't say you had sexual thoughts," she huffed. "You're a handsome surgeon who is likely the first man in a long time to show her kindness - "
His eyebrows shot up. "Like you? Just because you got romantic notions in your head when I treated you doesn't mean all women are dense enough to throw themselves at a boarish man!" He threw up his arm in irritation.
Her jaw dropped. "I did not throw myself at you!"
The man had the gall to point a finger. "Even if she has infatuation, I'm wed to you, not her! She's in pain from surgery and was assaulted last night. I'd think you of all people would be compassionate. You're not stepping foot in this clinic until you calm down," he ordered and slammed the door as he returned to the woman.
Glancing down, Charles had fallen asleep, so she pulled up her dress and burped him. Oooh, the nerve of that man to say she was overreacting. An overreacting wife would've gotten upset when he'd delivered Sandy's babe or last night when he was doing an incredibly intimate exam on the woman. He was a good man and professional surgeon, but sometimes he could be as dense as a village idiot. She stood to burp Charles.
He stormed back in all the sudden and barely caught the door at the last minute to keep it from slamming. "I'm offended that you think I'd allow a woman to throw herself at me when I'm wed to you!" he snapped. "I made vows to you - "
"Ha! Days ago! You've been so busy seeing to everyone else that we never even had a wedding night! Wait, I haven't thrown myself at you in the past few days!"
"We've already consummated," he spat between his teeth and kept his voice quiet.
"That's not the point! You're as dense as a box of rocks!"
That left him speechless.
"It doesn't bother me that you see women naked all day! I don't like that you're letting her manipulate you into a compromising situation! If I didn't trust you, I'd be angry as hell!" Alright, maybe this qualified as angry.
"Well, you should be!" he shouted.
"Why?!"
"Because she kissed me just now!' His chest heaved and he ran a hand through his hair, suddenly quiet now that he'd gotten it off his chest. "I didn't make advances or - "
She stepped over and set a hand on his chest to calm the distress. Fear glinted in his eyes - fear that she wouldn't believe him. "I know you wouldn't. But next time, believe me when I say a woman is making advances on you, Mark. You're intelligent, handsome and gentle - women are attracted, despite that you think you're such a brute."
"To be fair, she's doped up on morphine and probably doesn't know what she's doing," he growled and then limped into the kitchen. The man used a rag and washed his mouth, as if wishing to erase the memory. Then he leaned his hand on the counter, his other on the cane, and stared at the sink. "I didn't kiss her, Tanya," he said quietly.
"I believe you." She frowned and shifted Charles to her other arm but stayed in the doorway to give him space. He took this so hard when he had nothing to feel guilty about. "Do you expect me to scream and kick you out? You look so worried." A slight laugh filled her voice - until he looked away. "It happened before, didn't it? And Anna got angry with you."
Pushing himself upright, he closed his eyes and released a deep sigh. "One of the brothel women gave birth and began finding excuses for medical exams. I didn't think anything of it until she called me for the third time for a suspected infection, and I still didn't find any signs of one. Anna hated that I even saw the women there, and she thought I was going so often for their 'services.' There was so much marital strain that I went to Africa for six months while she figured out if she wanted to move out. Things got better, but I don't think she ever really trusted me again after that."
"Then shame on her," she said quietly.
His eyes flew to her in confusion.
"You're a loyal man, but I think you're a bit naïve and soft with women. I understand that your profession puts you in situations where questions may be raised, but I also trust that you'll always be truthful with me. I can't say that I completely blame Anna's jealousy, but I can blame her for not trusting you in the end. If I can trust that you're always honest, I'll always be on your side. Now, tell me what happened that she kissed you." She sat down at the table and pushed a chair out for him to sit too.
After putting Charles to bed that evening, she peeked in the bedroom. Mark wasn't there. Perhaps he was checking on the woman before getting in some sleep before his next two-hour check. A soft golden glow came from the kitchen. He sat at the table with his head in his hands in defeat. "Mark? What's wrong?"
"I think she's psychotic," he said without emotion.
She blinked and patted over to the table. "Psychotic? Where's this coming from?"
He dropped his hands to stare at the table. "When the laudanum is due for the next dose, she is very quiet and frightened. Shortly after administering more, she becomes sexually aggressive and almost seems to not feel the surgical pain. Each dosing makes it worse. I've only read about one instance of similar behavior, and it was due to sexual abuse in a woman during childhood. It was only after a lobotomy that she became sedate." He said the last sentence with disgust.
"You do not believe in lobotomies?" She sat down.
"They are nothing more than a non-bloody way to make the brain scrambled eggs. Many patients die from lobotomies, and almost all have altered personalities afterwards. It's barbaric torture. As her attending, I'm obligated to prescribe psychiatric treatment; however, I can't bring myself to sentence any human being to torture. 'Psychiatric hospital' is just a pretty term for mental experimentation." He had such disgust for the conversation.
Setting a hand on his arm, she searched his profile. "You've never once mentioned what tortures they did to you," she said softly. "I know they are things you don't wish to remember, but there are moments when I see them haunt you."
"They are things that would make you afraid of me," he whispered and stared at the table.
"I've seen you in weak, strong, happy and trying times. I've seen the worst that you're capable of, and you do not hold a candle to what I've known. You once mentioned that you're more brash now than with Anna. Perhaps it is grief that changed you, but it has also crossed my mind that perhaps it was electrocution or lobotomy or their tortures that shifted your manner. But I do not fear you, Mark."
"And it would make you feel safe to be trapped alone in a house with a man twice your size on whom mental experiments occurred? Perhaps what they thought were treatments for madness created a madman." Those blue eyes shifted and bore into her.
She held his gaze without wavering. "The world has you so convinced that you're a beast that you're afraid for me because I don't believe it. A true madman cannot feel compassion or find reason in the throws of a temper. There's nothing dangerous about you." She stroked his whiskery cheek.
His eyes shifted to the table again. "I could count on one hand the number of times I raised my voice before Anna's death. I'm hard pressed to control my temper since..." His voice faded. "Most of the others became catatonic," he whispered, seeming lost in the memories. "You fear men, and yet you do not fear the one that could indeed be the most dangerous to you."
Stroking the tips of her fingers along the coarse beard on his cheek, she guided his head to meet her eyes. "Your temper isn't so fierce. Even if they did do something to it, I love you all the same." Then she stood and pressed his shoulder until he scooted his chair back. She sat in his lap, and he didn't stop her when she ran her hands through his hair. There. On each side of his temples were slight scars. Electrocution to the head.
"Dangerous enough for 'treatment' not just twice," he hissed. "You are safe? You trust your babe to be alone with this?"
She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "Danger is only to those who would harm us," she whispered with the sting of tears behind her eyes. "You are where it feels safe when I'm scared of the world. They're wrong. There is no monster here. You're a good man. I trust you in ways that I know I won't ever trust anyone else." When his arms tightened around her, she pressed her cheek to his and cupped the back of his head. "What brought this on?" Perhaps seeing a psychiatric patient brought back memories and fears.
The man shook his head and continued speaking like she hadn't asked the question. "I don't know what to do about her." He laid his head on her shoulder. "I can't send her away, but I can't stop her husband from coming either, and he's obviously abusing her."
So much for him finally talking about what haunted him from the asylum. She sighed and held him close. "I don't know either."
A bone-chilling, muffled scream pulled her out of slumber.
She blinked in the darkness in confusion. It had sounded near but muffled like it was far away. The bed twitched. Rolling toward Mark, she reached out to wake him up to see where it was coming from. His chest was wet and hot. And then the scream came again - from him. Shooting upright, she shook his shoulder hard in the moonlight. The veins in his throat bulged with the force of his half-paralyzed scream of terror. "Mark!"
His eyes shot open and his chest heaved as he scrambled backwards against the headboard.
"It's just me. You were dreaming. It's alright," she cooed and guided his hand to feel her cheek. "It's just me."
His eyes darted around the room, as if confused and still terrified.
When he touched the scar at his temple, her heart shattered in a thousand heartbreaks all at once. "You're safe at home in America, Mark."
"Tanya?" His voice shook to a degree it never had before.
"I'm right here." She scooted closer.
He lifted her into his lap, his chest still heaving with fright that had yet to calm. His hands touched her hair and arms and legs through the nightdress, as if to assure himself that she was real. "You're not hurt?"
"No, I'm fine, and Charles is fine."
Then he touched her flat belly and nodded to himself like perhaps memories of the birth were returning. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, love. You screamed in your sleep, and I woke up. What frightened you?" An answer wasn't needed to know that he dreamed about the asylum.
"They dragged me in for another treatment," he whispered and buried his head against her neck. "I forgot how terrible the pain was."
Holding him tight, she swallowed hard. "There's no more pain or treatments or being locked up, sweetheart. I won't let anyone hurt you."
"What if I hurt you like I did Anna? What if they're right that I'm mad?"
"Look at me." She pulled back and cupped his face, her heart pounding hard. "Are you afraid that it will happen all over again here in America? That they're going to think you're insane? Look at me. You are not mad for trying to save Anna. Today's medicine did not work, and you did not do anything that she didn't consent to. She knew there were risks and it might not work.
"The ones who dream the unimaginable are said to be insane. But there is a fine line between insanity and genius. My dear, you are a genius. Your mind works in ways that have spat in the face of convention, and you have changed medicine singlehandedly. There are women and children alive solely because you imagined ways to do medicine differently in a chance to save them. You have a gift, Mark. Madness is to believe the impossible is attainable, but to attain the impossible is genius. My dear, the world wrote you off once as mad with your birthing theories, and you forever changed how obstetrics is practiced. Just because you tried to change oncology and failed does not mean they should call you mad. Let them, because one day you will be seen for the brilliant man you are."
"You are too naïve for your own good - "
She shook her head. "I simply see what others cannot yet, husband."
The woman grew worse the next day, forcing Mark to resort to tying her hands to the bed so she wouldn't tear open the incision with all of her movement and constant stripping off her clothes.
She stood at the foot of the bed as Mark fed the woman lunch nearing the time of the next pain medication. There weren't the overtures and pawing attempts at him like there'd been at breakfast. The woman seemed very...normal, although frightened. Fetching the laudanum for Mark to give again, she sighed. This was crazy... Her feet froze. Crazy. "Mark?" She looked down at the bottle and then across the room to him. "Psychosis."
"Beg your pardon?" He frowned.
"The laudanum must be causing psychosis. She's subdued when she's coming up on a dose."
"Nooo." He frowned and looked at the woman with skepticism. "It can cause hallucinations, but..."
"So why not psychotic breaks?" She walked over to him. "She's sensitive to chloroform, so maybe she reacts strongly to laudanum."
His lips pursed as he mulled it over. "Plausible theory. Mrs. Wolfe, let's try another pain control." He went into the storage room and returned with a purse-size bag of tiny sticks and a pestle and mortar. "This is willow bark, a remedy that your grandfather uses," he commented on his way past. "Mrs. Wolfe, this can either be chewed on or ground up to be ingested. It's not known to induce hallucinations or nausea or anything that other pain medications cause. We'll try a half stick and see how you feel."
"You don't know?" she whispered in his ear with raised eyebrows. How could he give a patient something he didn't understand?
He gave the woman a half stick to chew and instructions to not swallow the stick. Then he went into the storage room without a word. She followed. "Our parents grew up without much for pain control. This is Native American medicine and the only thing I know that won't make her heave with an incision or go batshit. Your grandfather said one or two sticks, so that's all I have to go on. If you have something better, say it or keep your peace."
Her eyebrows rose and she closed the door. "Don't jump down my throat because I question when you're experimenting on a patient."
"Half of what we do is experiment!" he hissed. "I didn't know how to do your surgery until I learned how not to do it. Medicine is experimentation. I will not always have the answers, Tanya, and sometimes that's alright; other times it means patients will die. In a hundred years from now, this might be barbaric, but it's the best that we know right now. Don't jump down my throat, woman. I will always do what I know to be safest for patients, but sometimes I'm backed into a corner. We either let her try this - when your grandfather has tried it on dozens of patients for years - or we let her writhe in pain from essentially a vivisection," he spat.
Pressing her lips together, she looked at him. "I'm never supposed to question you?"
"No! I want you to question me, but not in front of a patient! Surgeons have a hacksaw reputation as it is, and I don't need to be the new doc in town who is seen as incompetent," he snapped.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." She picked up Charles in his bassinet and opened the door to the house.
He caught her arm, his voice a bit calmer. "I want to be challenged because that's how you'll learn and I'll learn to think outside the box. If you disagree with something, pull me aside."
She shook her head. "I am not educated enough to disagree with anything you say as a surgeon; I only ask questions to make sure you're thinking about all angles."
The man snorted. "You already know more than some surgeons who are little more than self-taught barbers. You always have a right to question me, just don't do it in front of a patient. I don't know any better than you how this will go, and I'm worried too how she'll do." Then he pressed a kiss to her brow. "It's a nice day out. There's no need for both of us to be cooped up in here. Go visit the neighbors and make some friends."
She glanced down at her dress. It was the better of two dresses, and she'd rushed into surgery with him the other night without a thought as to what she wore. Now it carried bloodstains. He'd feel terrible to know that she couldn't visit anyone because there wasn't money to buy a decent dress.
He dug in his pocket and handed over three coins. "The appendectomy patient was able to pay for surgery."
Her eyes flew to him. "Is that a payment?" It was barely enough to buy two meals.
Those blue eyes shifted away. "A surgeon only makes what patients can afford. He's arranged to give us two bags of corn at harvest this Fall for the remaining payment."
Even that had to be well below what a surgeon's bill should be.
"Word is there's a railway being built our way. The men are said to be a day's ride from here. A good surgeon is always needed when railroads are being built. They'll be closer in a couple days, and then I'll ride out and bring back a paycheck." He still wouldn't meet her eyes.
"You're a bad liar," she said softly and touched his cheek. "I've heard stories of men dying working the railroad. Your leg can't take standing all day to swing a hammer anyways. You'll stay right here. We landed this house, so luck is out there. We just need to ride this out on a prayer until we find our fourleaf clover." She looked down at the three precious coins in her hand. Patients had agreed to pay once a week, and this wasn't enough to buy food to get by for today and tomorrow. "Are you hungry for lunch? You didn't eat breakfast." She looked up at him. Food would help him feel better, like things weren't so bleak. All that was left from the neighbors' generosity was the leftover stew on the stove - all that was left of food in the house. Today was payday, and it was less than a church mouse would find.
"I'm not that hungry today. You should eat lunch so you can keep up with Charles's meals." He turned to go.
Tears burned. He wasn't eating again so she would have dinner for tonight. "I know what it's like to go hungry, and I won't watch you do it."
Heartbreak filled his eyes when he turned. "I'm just not hungry," he lied. "I didn't realize that America would be this hard. This isn't the life I wanted for you or Charles."
"These are the times that make us stronger because we have nothing but each other. The darkest nights are always before the sun comes." Raising onto her toes, she kissed his cheek.
She ate lunch and fed Charles. Upstairs in the bedroom, she stood at the cracked mirror on the wall and brushed her hair. It came down to her waist and was far too hot in the summers. Putting it up every day got old, and it required Mark's help to rinse it in the tub.
This damn textbook from the storage room was far too old to be of any use. Pulling off a pair of spectacles found in the clinic that served well enough as reading glasses, he frowned. Mrs. Wolfe seemed to do very well on just the bark and very low doses of the laudanum. Perhaps Tanya was onto something about psychosis. It would be interesting to publish the report and see if other physicians reported similar findings. He glanced out the window at the sunset. Tanya had gone down the road to the mercantile and was well past due.
A woman came down the dirt road in a lovely blue dress made for work, but it somehow clung seductively to her curves. Shoving his nose in the book, he shifted uncomfortably. It'd been too goddamn long without Tanya warming his bed. His gaze flicked up to the woman heading this way. Her brown hair a bit past shoulder length blew in the early spring breeze. She carried a small bundle. Dear god, it was erotic seeing a woman's hair down and blowing like that. A pretty creature indeed. Clearing his throat, he shoved his nose in the book. It wasn't right to look at another woman like that. Her husband shouldn't let her out of the house looking like that. His eyes were drawn to her again. She was headed this way. Jesus Christ, his blood never got this hot over a patient. It wasn't decent or professional. Would serve him right if Tanya stayed out of his bed for a year. Turning the chair from the window, he forced himself to mumble the next sentence of the book.
His ears perked up as she drew close enough to make footsteps over the dry dirt road. A quick glance. His heart sped up. She was coming to the clinic. Shit. Dear god, she was beautiful and caused an insane need to tear off her dress. Dammit, he had to confess these impure thoughts to Tanya - it was practically like adultery. Such a beautiful olive complexion and willowy figure... His eyes narrowed. Willowy. "What the fuck?!"
Shooting out of the chair, he darted for the clinic front door that shared a porch with the house. "What the hell did you do?!"
Tanya whirled in surprise at the cabin front door. "Oh, you scared me!"
"Get in the house." He grabbed her arm and shoved her inside, closing it as fast as possible. "What the hell do you think you're doing going around town like that?"
She blinked, her eyes wide in confusion. She touched her hair. "Does it look that bad?"
He eased the sleeping babe from her arms and set him in his bassinet next to the rocking chair. "I was feeling goddamn guilty for wanting to tear clothes off the woman walking down the street, and it's you?! You're not leaving this house with that dress and your hair down!" He unbuttoned his pants.
She had the gall to giggle. "You like it?"
"Like it," he muttered and backed her up against the wall. "About damn ready to shoot myself to end the misery." He lifted her skirts.
"Ooh, you can't even wait for the bedroom?" Her eyes glittered like she thoroughly enjoyed this. The chit set her delicate hands on his shoulders as he lifted her onto his hips.
"You're lucky I made it long enough to put the babe down," he growled.
"Seeing you want me makes me want you," she smiled and bit her lower lip, with those big brown eyes looking up from under her lashes.
A curse and he couldn't wait any longer.
She still trembled as he set her down seconds later, holding his bicep for support.
He pulled down her skirts and couldn't fully contain the grin that pulled up one side of his mouth as he buttoned his pants.
"I should cut my hair more often," she panted and smoothed down the tangles he'd made running his hands through those silky locks.
"Do that, and I promise a gaggle of children will result," he grunted. Then he gave her bottom a swat through the skirts. "That's for disobeying. I told you once to never cut your hair," he scowled.
"My dear, you must learn when punishment encourages versus inhibits." She set her hands on his chest and smiled up in a way that made his damn heart skip a beat. "We have funds to last two or three weeks. And since you refuse to let me work, I had to resort to what I had." She fluffed her hair and walked toward the kitchen.
Something about that fluff ignited his blood. "I'm not finished with you, woman."
She smiled over her shoulder. "You are, husband. Your patient needs tending." The wench set a fat purse on the table. "I'm going to the mercantile. I expect my burly husband there in twenty minutes to carry food home."
He opened his mouth to protest again about not being finished.
"I should like a bath tonight, husband." She purred it in that way she must know drove him crazy.
Storming over with a purpose, he leaned his hands against the wall in each side of her head, letting the makeshift cane dangle from his hand. The brat folded her hands behind her back and looked up with those innocent chocolate eyes. "You enjoy seeing me like this, woman?"
"Like what?" she asked with feigned innocence.
Two could play at this game. Snatching her hand, he cupped it against where he ached. Only it backfired and made his eyes roll back in pleasure. Dear god, her small size was deceiving for her power. "This, goddammit," he hissed between his teeth. It took every ounce of willpower to not have her again.
"Yes, Mark."
His eyes flew open. She smiled like she found it funny! His mouth crushed down on hers with raw desire. "Don't sass me, wench," he breathed between kisses. The way she clung during kisses like this left behind all insecurities of being crippled or too brash or unable to provide enough. She made it so easy to feel powerful and masculine and strong in her arms. Desire throbbed like a crazed addiction to have her. "Are you sore?" he panted and nipped her bottom lip. Dear god, his heart could pound right through into her chest. She was so soft and had delicate curves in just the right places.
"No," she breathed, completely melting in his arms. "Take me again."
His head fell back as he sank in. She moaned and held on tight, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "It drives me mad when you scratch my back," he sighed, relishing the frenzy building in his blood.
"I don't mean to," she whimpered with need and squirmed in his arms.
"It tells me how much I've pleased you," he rumbled deep in his chest and let the words brush his lips against hers.
"Take me," she panted.
He smiled and would have to remember to thank God for a wife who embraced passion.
She glanced at his back again when getting ready for a bath that night. He faced away toward the fire warming the sitting room as he pulled off his pants, leaving his bare back exposed. Long nailtracks from this afternoon streaked his upper back. The poor man must hurt. But, sweet heaven, this afternoon had been a fire of passion she'd never known.
He turned with his cane and gave a devilish smile. It wasn't often that there was a chance to admire him like this in firelight. The orange glow caught the faint scars on his belly from the coyote attack and the terrible map of lines on his knee that was a bit swollen always. Wounds he bore to keep her and a babe that wasn't from his loins safe. What had she ever done to deserve him?
"Tanya?" His brow furrowed in concern. "Why are you crying?"
Touching her cheek, her fingers came away wet. Shaking her head, she smiled. "Just happy," she whispered.
His heart melted in his eyes, and he limped over. A soft smile touched his lips as he brushed away the tears with his thumb. "You are far too easy to please, wife," he said in husky tones. "You should be in tears about selling your hair, being poor, having a husband whose profession earns no money..." He stroked her cheek and kissed her lips. "I love you."
"I love you too." A flush of embarrassment crept up. "Does your back hurt?"
"Got me good, huh?" The man sounded far too pleased and even winked.
Her face burned, and she took a step back. The wretch did dangerous things to her heart on the rare occasions he winked. "You are a rake. Get in the tub."
The poor man looked embarrassed as he struggled to get in with his leg. She kissed his cheek once he settled in the water and climbed in herself to recline in his lap. "Standing for surgery seems to make it worse, doesn't it?" Taking his leg, she propped it on the edge of the tub and gave a very soft massage to help drain the swelling.
He sighed. "It does. Next I won't be able to do that either, and we'll be begging on the streets."
"Oh now, we will figure things out. Perhaps if we prop it up at lunch for a bit each day it will help. I'll rub it - "
But the man pulled her hands away and laced his with hers over her belly. "Enough to about my ailment, woman," he growled and rested his cheek against her ear, "It makes me feel like an old man." He stroked her belly. "We should talk about ways to prevent another babe." His hand traveled up and caressed her breast. When she hissed in a breath, he jerked his hand away. "It hurts?"
"I think it's mastitis coming on. It's just been the last couple days."
"May I - "
"No, you may not check." She rolled her eyes. "Every time I have a twinge doesn't mean I have cancer."
"I didn't say to check for cancer," he replied patiently. "You're a bit testy lately." His body tensed. "Have you been tired?"
"Of course I'm tired. We were up doing surgery all night just a few days ago." She closed her eyes and rested against his chest. "Just enjoy the hot bath."
"Have you been nauseous?"
"No, I've been starving..." When his hand drifted down to cup her lower belly, her eyes flew open. Oh goodness. "Why? You think there's a babe?" Her heart beat faster with hope. She sat up and turned sideways in his lap to look at him.
His eyes fixed on her belly, but he didn't look happy. And her heart broke. "It should be too soon. Charles isn't even three months. Perhaps it's just your body adjusting yet from childbirth."
This wasn't how he was supposed to react to the possibility of another babe on the way. It meant more pressure on him to put even more food on the table, another dress to be bought to accommodate a growing belly, more helping around the house and with Charles if extreme nausea came again with pregnnacy, him having to take on more of surgeries himself or figure out how to hire a new nurse who wasn't with child to run on midnight calls. It meant another burden rather than joy. She got out of the tub.
"Where are you going?" He reached out to catch her arm but was too late.
She wrapped a towel around and turned to face him, not even sure what to say. "I'm sorry." Guilt made tears well.
"Whatever for?" His brow snapped together. "I'm just as much responsible for a babe. More because I told you that we didn't need protection yet. Get in here," he barked.
A single step closer was all the courage that could be mustered. It was her fault, just like Papa said everything was always her fault. If her body acted like it should, there wouldn't be a babe possibly coming.
He reached up and yanked off the towel, grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap again. Those strong arms locked around and prevented escape. "There is nothing to be sorry for, woman. We don't even know if there's a babe. If so, I will have everything figured out by the time of the birth. I'm not angry, I'm just worried," he snapped. "Your body needs time to heal from childbirth. After the bath, I'll examine you to see if you're with child."
"Can you check now?"
He got in the tub again a few minutes later, and she took his proffered hand to get in. She curled up in his lap, somewhat relieved but also sad. "Are you glad?"
"Yes, because right now we financially aren't in a position for another mouth. But part of me was excited," he said quietly. "I wish to have a babe with you. Sometimes I very much miss you being with child."
"I miss it too."
A knock came at the door. "For crying out loud," he grumbled. "This had better be good because I was looking forward to more sex." He slid out from behind her.
She giggled and took his hand as he helped her out. "You're worried about a babe but not about ceasing until we figure out birth control?"
He shrugged and wrapped her in a towel before pulling on pants with her help. Then he shooed her upstairs.
Talking came from downstairs for less than a minute before the door closed. "Tanya! I'll be back in a bit," he called.
She peeked down the stairs to see him at the bottom. "What is it?"
A deep sigh. "Syphilis. Sounds like he's about ready to go, but he's in extreme pain. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Do you - "
"No, you're staying here. God knows we don't need both of us exposed."
Trotting down the stairs in her towel, she stopped on the bottom step and pecked a kiss on his lips. "Be careful."
"Mark?" She gently shook his shoulder only a couple hours after he arrived home at sunrise. "Honey, there's a man downstairs with gout who needs you."
A steady stream of patients continued for the next few days, as if the town and surrounding villages hadn't seen a surgeon in years. Sometimes Mark was gone from dusk to dawn, coming home just long enough to crawl into bed.
"Honey, you must eat dinner so you keep up your strength."
His chin rested on his chest, apparently asleep at the table even though he'd just sat down. He slowly slouched forward, jerking awake just as she caught him from falling into his stew. "God, Tanya, I'm so tired." His voice quivered like he was on the verge of tears.
Draping an arm around his shoulders, she kissed his cheek. "Let's tuck you in bed. I'll bring up dinner." Leading the way up the steps, she carried the bowl and Charles.
He got in bed and then held Charles. "I haven't seen him in three days. He's gotten so big." Tears welled in his eyes.
"Oh now, you're just overtired. He hasn't grown in three days." She gave Mark a spoonful of stew.
Charles laid on Mark's chest and barely raised his head up to look at his father. "Oh, my boy, look at you. Is that his first time?" Mark looked at her with such hope.
Thankfully, it was. "You're here for his first time," she smiled.
It pushed the dear man over the edge and his lip quivered as he cradled the babe.
Perhaps sleep was needed more than food. "Let's go to sleep," she cooed and reached for Charles.
"No, let him stay." He laid down and cradled Charles against his side on the middle of the bed.
Before she could even reply, Mark was fast asleep. Slipping Charles out so he wouldn't be smothered, she kissed Mark's cheek. Charles fussed. "Love, we must let Papa sleep so he doesn't get sick. Let's go get your dinner and have a bath."
A stroke of pleasure caused a sleepy sigh as she became dimly aware of morning. Soft massage to her scarred breast eased away the ache of mastitis that refused to come or go. A soft moan released, and she drifted on the edge of consciousness in the most relaxed state. Warm lips pressed to her belly.
"Let me make love to you," he whispered. After a throaty sigh of agreement, her back arched and met him in a beautiful dance.
As her heart still thundered afterwards, he didn't pull free but instead rolled so she was on his chest. And he cradled her head and seemed content to leave their bodies joined. "I've missed you," he whispered.
Caressing her fingers over his chest, she stared at the wall. "I've missed you too. What happened that you're so sad?"
His fingers stilled in stroking her hair, as if he hadn't expected her to pick up on his sadness. "There was a woman about five miles south yesterday. She had to be about our age. I believe she had botulism, for which there's nothing to do but pray the body can defeat it. She died not long after I arrived, and I had to explain to the husband why I couldn't do anything and their four children would be motherless. On the way home, I ran into a man whose daughter is suffering pneumonia. He's bringing her to the clinic today. It sounds like she won't make it the week either. Sometimes I don't know why I do this," he sighed in hopelessness.
Pushing up on his chest, she met his sad eyes. "You do this because you're gifted. For every life you've lost, you've saved at least three." Running a hand through his hair, she traced his lips with her other hand. "You aren't God," she said softly. "When you have moments of despair and need a prayer, it's alright to let me carry you."
He guided her head down to his shoulder and held on tight, as if he needed strength. When Charles fussed from the nursery, Mark eased her to the side. "Let me get him." Then he pulled on pants and limped into the nursery with the walking stick.
Charles's cries eased but didn't cease, and Mark didn't return with him. She pulled on a nightdress and padded into the nursery.
Mark cradled his son in the crook of his arm and stroked the little belly. He braced himself against the dresser like it kept his knee from giving out, and he swayed as he hummed a soft lullaby. It was a tender scene, except for Charles's cry of pain.
"Why does he hurt?" She crossed the room to them.
With a glance up, Mark shook his head. "I think he has a bit of colic - his stomach is a bit distended. Perhaps the beans you had last night didn't agree with him."
She took Charles and sat on the bed to nurse him. "Sometimes he settles if he can just do this. He doesn't always nurse, but it seems to comfort him."
He sat beside her and looked at Charles, who took to the breast but didn't actually suckle. The man wiped a tear from the tiny cheek. "Has he been colicky other days this week?"
"Yesterday, but only enough to fuss for a bit. I think he has a touch of something."
"Let me check him. I'll fetch my bag."
Returning a few minutes later, he started with Charles's ears. The babe fussed as he checked the right ear. "Oh, my boy, you have a nasty infection. Let me check the other and see if he needs surgery on that one too."
"Surgery?!" She bolted away and held Charles close, letting him suckle to still his cries. Horror widened her eyes. "He's a babe! You're not doing surgery!"
Oh dear. Of course Tanya would protect her children like a lioness. "One drop of laudanum on his tongue to make him sleep and a tiny puncture through the ear drum to release the infection - "
"What?! You'll make him deaf!"
"You'll make us all deaf with your screeching. I promise he won't go deaf. A physician in 1801 proved that. I've done it in children before, and they were fine. If we don't release the infection, it will cause deafness and can even cause a brain infection." He held out a hand. "Come, I'm not going to harm him. We can even do it right here."
"How many times have you done this?" She didn't move.
A smile threatened. "Forty-seven. In Africa, many of the orphanages had never seen a physician. A couple of the children were deaf from infection but regained their hearing within a couple days of surgery. I would not do it on our son unless I knew what I was doing." When she looked down at the babe in concern, his heart twisted for her. "I promise he'll be alright."
"Have you ever done it on an infant?"
"On a child about a month older than him - " That had been the wrong thing to say.
"No." She turned to put her body between him and the babe.
He sighed and limped over. "Tanya, he will go deaf. It could spread to his brain or other ear."
Tears welled in her eyes. "He's just a babe."
"My babe too." He set a hand on her back. "I'm not going to propose something that could harm him. He suckles without eating because he's trying to find comfort, and it very likely hurts him to swallow with how swollen his eardrum is. He's going hungry, Tanya."
Her tears fell, and she gave a slow nod as she gazed down at her son.
"Love, he'll be asleep and feel so much better when he wakes up," he said minutes later when she still sniffled. "It's harder on you than him. And it's not good to teach him to need your breast for comfort - " His words died off when she glared. Perhaps a battle better to not pick with the lioness today.
"He's a babe and hurts. He can have my breast if he wants." She finally took him off and laid him on the bed.
The poor thing burst into tears and reached for her hovering near on his other side.
"Son, you can have Mama in a moment." He slipped his little finger into Charles's mouth so suck the laudanum that he'd dipped his finger in. The poor babe burst into sobs at the terrible taste and turned his head toward Tanya. His little face turned red with screams of distress that likely exacerbated his ear pain and made him scream more.
She snatched him up and took him right to her breast again. "Shhh, it's alright, love. Don't cry. Don't cry." She cradled and pressed a kiss to his hair.
He knelt on the other side of the bed, the guilt of being a beast torturing a babe rising up. He swallowed hard. It wasn't like it was enjoyable making his son sob and scream to be taken away, or Tanya feeling like she needed to rescue their son from him and weep on behalf of the babe.
When she looked up, she reached across the bed and brushed his cheek. "I know he needs it. I just don't want him hurting." It was a bit of a balm to the guilt.
Charles quieted minutes later, and then his eyes drifted shut in sleep. When she laid him on the bed between them, he picked up the tools. "Hold his head still just in case. If he moves, he could go deaf.
Seconds later, he turned Charles's head and laid out a rag to catch draining infection as he checked the other side again. "Only the one ear." Then he turned his head again and cleaned out the bit of infection that had leaked. "His ear cannot get water in it from baths until it's healed. I'll put in a bit of cotton to keep the infection from draining out. We'll change it three times a day these first two days and then twice after. In two weeks he should be healed."
Her hand caught his when he finished. "Thank you. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just...he's just a babe. I've never heard of surgery on an infant, and it scared me."
He nodded and patted her hand. "Most mothers react the same way. I know it takes a lot of trust to hand over a babe for surgery. He'll be alright now."
She picked up Charles even though he still slept, and cracked a smile. "You think I'm a hovering mother."
A smile threatened. "I'd have no one else watch over my children." Then he pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the babe's lungs and belly. "He's sound and should feel better when he wakes up. There might be a little nausea from the laudanum, so don't be alarmed if he doesn't want to nurse for a bit. His appetite should be back in a few hours."
"Mark?" She kept her eyes focused on the babe. "Will you always be gone this much as a surgeon?" Even though the woman kept her voice strong, a slight quiver slipped in.
"My hope is this is because the town hasn't seen a good physician in a long while. It should settle down soon." Homesickness had inched in the past couple days being away from her and the babe so much. Funny how homesickness hadn't ever hit with Anna until a week or two away. The chit was turning him into a sentimental woman. "Should you or the babe need medical attention, you're not to ride it out or take care of it yourself," he barked. "You're to tell me, and I will triage which patient is most urgent to attend to next, understood?"
"How should I reach you if there's an emergency and you're on the road all day? At some point a patient will show up at the clinic or Charles or I will need you when you're out."
That did pose a problem. "I'll always tell you where my first stop is, and I'll check in midday. I'm trying to drive patients to go to the clinic, but some are too ill to leave home. Now, go see to breakfast while I see to our son," he huffed and held his arms out. "I've held him less than an hour each day this week."
She smiled and gave up Charles. "Most men hold their children less than that in a week." Mark looked quite perfect with a tiny babe in his arms.
"You should've wed someone else then," he growled without any bite behind it. His gaze remained on Charles as he stroked the soft cheek with the back of his finger.
"You're a good father, Mark," she said quietly from the doorway.
Those blue eyes flicked up like the comment caught him off-guard. He looked away. It hurt a bit seeing him not know what to do with a compliment like that. The man cleared his throat, as he was want to do when uncomfortable with sentimentality. "Nannies raised me more than anyone," he huffed, "seeing as my father forbid my mother to do such commoner's work as raise children. I'm no more good with children than I am with being a civilized gentleman." But then his voice softened a bit and grew very quiet. "For never having a mother, you're damn good at it. I learn from you what it means to be a loving parent." His eyes locked with hers for a vulnerable, intimate second.
A lump rose in her throat at the simple, yet very tender words.
"Go before you make me blubber like an old woman," he ordered in his brisk tone again.
"Yes, Mark," she said quietly with a smile and turned to go. At the last moment, she turned around as his eyes returned to the babe. "It's you who taught me how to love, Mark."
He didn't look up, but his lips pressed together like those words pulled hard at his heartstrings.
