Author's Note: I wanted this and the next chapter together, but my account kept crashing from too many words in the file.
"Mark, it's beautiful," she breathed and walked through the house framework a few weeks later.
"It's not anything like home in England, but it's bigger than the cabin. Brigands is going to build a small cabin next door. We'll have a sitting room and small study. The children's bedrooms are upstairs." He turned to her, the excitement suddenly gone from his eyes. "Would you be opposed to our chambers being downstairs? I know it's unconventional and means a bit of a smaller room - "
She set her finger to his lips. "It also means your leg will hurt less not having to do stairs twice a day. Of course I don't mind. Show me where'd it go." She smiled and took his hand.
He limped to the back of the house, leaning heavily on his cane the past few days with the rains exacerbating his knee pain. "Here. I pictured a large window looking over the stream out back. I'll save up enough money, and you can have a windowseat for reading. There will be a little corner here for a crib so we don't have to trudge up and down stairs all night. There will be space over there for your vanity," he said, his eyes lighting up. "And - "
She laughed. "Mark, I don't need a vanity. I think I used the one in England twice. It's too frivolous."
He scowled. "Should I give you something frivolous, you shall not complain that you don't need it. That's the point of it being frivolous." When she didn't give in, he sighed. "Fine. I'll put a bookshelf there full of new books for you and wide enough to serve as a vanity on top. There. It's useful, so it's not frivolous, woman."
A laugh bubbled up. "Yes, Mark."
The stress left his features again. "And over here is the closet. It's big enough to hold all your dresses, not just two like the closets we have now - "
"And what am I to do with more than a couple dresses? There aren't balls and such nonsense here."
His shoulders dropped. "Women aren't supposed to object to having vanities and big closets and dresses."
Biting her lip to suppress a smile, she folded her hands behind her back. "Alright, I'll be good."
The dear man seemed so excited to show her all of his plans. "And this room," he said and limped into a modest-sized room with outlines for dozens of windows, "is the library."
Her hands flew to her mouth with a gasp. "A library?!" A squeal of delight leaked out.
He grinned. "I thought it might be your favorite room, so it's a hint larger than the sitting room and has the best views. Shelves will go from floor to ceiling on these two walls. The lower shelves can hold the children's books, and the upper ones can be ours. There's no room at the clinic for medical books and journals, so we'll store them here, perhaps in this corner. I put in a membership for a couple journals that should arrive in the next month with new issues." He positively glowed with happiness. "Go upstairs and look at the children's rooms."
She left him with Charles so he wouldn't have to climb the stairs. The rooms upstairs had gorgeous lumber walls and appeared to be near completion. Windows caught light from the front and back of the house, promising good light all day. The views out front overlooked the forest in the distance with mountains speckling the background. Out back faced the stream and lush green meadows, perfect for children to run and play. There were three bedrooms with four bedframes.
She walked down the stairs where he waited, his eyes locked on hers. At the bottom step, he came face-to-face. Her heart beat faster. "Four beds," she said softly.
Those blue eyes searched her gaze. "Have more babes with me, Tanya." His voice flowed low and gentle. "I know not for a few months yet until Charles is a bit older, but...fill our house with the pitter patter of feet racing down the stairs and squeals waking us up at dawn. I want to trip over children crawling on the floor and coloring on the walls and spilling milk all over. I want to see your belly swell with our children as we grow a family here. This is where I picture us growing old. In time, I'll have money to build a porch on the back, and we can set rocking chairs there to watch the sunset while the grandbabes play in the field."
Her throat grew tight with joy. "Mark, it's so beautiful." She cupped his cheek and searched his eyes. "I want four more babes to fill this house."
"Five children?" When she nodded, he smiled and lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her lips.
"Johnson!"
Mark groaned and broke the kiss at the sound of Mr. Price's urgent call. "It's been barely three months and I'll kill him yet," he muttered and then turned.
The man darted through the wall studs and hurried over, his eyes wide. "One of the massive saw machines collapsed and several men are crushed underneath."
Mark handed her the babe. "Take Charles to Teresa, then hurry to the clinic and start what you can. I'll be right behind you."
Men were already filling the clinic with the wounded when she got there. Screams of agony and terror filled the air. Glancing back down the road, Mr. Price tucked himself under Mark's arm trying to help him hurry but they had a long ways to come yet. She darted inside the clinic, toward something that should've been terrifying. Being surrounded by men was something that would've triggered flashbacks even weeks ago, but these were good men who were coming to respect her and Mark. These men and families were becoming friends. They looked after Mark, seeing her and Brigands home safely when Mark had to stay behind. They brought Mark meals on his overnights tending to patients. They needed her right now. So she ran into the nightmare of blood and screams and pain to start triage.
Two were dead and another looked at her as she knelt to inspect injuries. This man had brought her gears from an old lumberyard machine yesterday to make Mark a leg brace so he could have use of both hands at all times. Tim. He had helped her make sketches to give to the blacksmith to surprise Mark. Tim released a long breath that went on forever and ever. And then his eyes glazed over. Tears welled. But so many lives waited to be saved that Tim had to be a case, a statistic, not a friend to grieve right now. Not having her mind focused meant lives would pay the price. "Another one," she called to the workers to take his body away. They seemed to keep bringing in more injured until all ten beds were full and five patients were placed on the floor. She moved onto the next one.
Another man had a terrible belly wound that required immediate surgery. "I don't care if you have to carry him down the road, get Dr. Johnson here now!" she yelled over the screams of pain.
Three men ran out without question as another two came over to help.
"Apply pressure right here. Henry, take this gauze and go apply pressure to Frank over there with a head wound," she ordered and ran over to another man who was brought in screaming in pain. "Jacob, what hurts?"
"My back!" Another scream as the men helped her carefully peek underneath.
Dear god, his back was lumpy and swelling with broken vertebrae. "Go to every nearby town and bring surgeons. There are at least five men who all need immediate surgery," she ordered.
Just as a couple men ran out, three came in and set Mark down. "Stats, Tanya," he ordered and went straight to washing for surgery.
"Matthew I think has a severed aorta. We have two more belly wounds, head trauma, broken back...I don't even know all of them yet." Panic inched in as she darted to the next man. "Chest pains - might be heart attack." She listened with the stethoscope. "Lungs are clear." Then she ran to the next patient, shooting off reports while Mark started surgery on Matthew, the most grievous so far.
"Next!"
Her head whipped around to Mark, who was already washing the blood off his hands. Two men carried Matthew out the door. "Hemorrhaged before I even started," he explained solemnly.
She looked up and tilted her head to get the crick out of her neck. Sunrise. More than twelve hours of surgery with three physicians. Wives came to be nurses as best they could, but none had experience, so all surgery assistance was up to her.
"Almost done." Mark's gentle, low tone gave a nudge of much needed encouragement to make it through the final stretch. The poor man sat on a stool with his leg propped after it had swelled to twice its size by midnight. He had to be in pain himself, but all the pain medicine was claimed by patients. Of the nearly twenty men who were injured - some of them while trying to rescue the injured - only fourteen survived. Two of them had an arm or leg crushed so badly that Mark had to amputate. Only soft moans filled the air as Brigands dolled out more laudanum. Families donated what laudanum they had in their homes to help the men until more was due to be shipped in tomorrow afternoon.
She wiped Mark's brow that was bathed in sweat, unlike the other surgeons'. He suffered, but bless his heart, he refused to take even tree bark aspirin because a patient might need it. "I can send one of the men to find ice for your knee - "
"Every extra hand is accounted for to monitor patients," he stated, a bit breathless.
"Mrs. Johnson?" one of the surgeons called from his makeshift surgical table on the other side of the clinic.
She left Mark's side and went over. Exhaustion dulled the senses and the mind. The surgeon knotted a chest tube in with the wrong stitch. A voice nearby challenged him, "A purse string suture will do more harm than good. A chest tube being sewn in like that is ludicrous. Anchor it down to avoid complications, right under this rib here..." It was her finger that pointed.
She blinked and looked up. The surgeon stared at her. Oh dear god, had she spoken? Looking over her shoulder, she met Mark's eyes. His eyebrows were raised. The other surgeon stared at her too. Oh god. She'd not only corrected but insulted a seasoned physician who was here out of the goodness of his heart. And insulted him in front of patients and other surgeons.
The surgeon's face turned red.
"I would have to concur, Dr. Grant. A purse string stitch runs great risk of the tube slipping or trapping infection," Mark stated from across the room in a conversational tone as he worked.
The other surgeon just ducked his head to stay out of it.
He handed over the sutures. "Be my guest, Mrs. Johnson," the physician ground out.
Oh dear. She glanced at Mark, who gave a single nod of reassurance. Washing her hands, she took the thread and sutured in a chest tube like that done on another man weeks ago. Then she set it down and looked at the surgeon.
He pursed his lips and turned his head this way and that as he surveyed her handiwork. "Who taught you this technique?" he barked.
"I tried it on a patient weeks ago in an emergency, and it seemed to work quite well."
His eyes narrowed on her. "You made it up?"
"Yes, sir." It took every ounce of courage to hold her head up like a marchioness, as Mark had once taught. She deserved respect and had a right to it. Mark didn't readily give medical praise, but even he had approved this technique.
"Arrogant, aren't you?"
Mark stood up, but she met the surgeon's eyes dead on. "No, sir, I just know when I'm right."
The man burst into a belly laugh. "Very good, Mrs. Johnson. Stand behind your work when you know you're right." He turned back to bandage the patient. "Have you considered medical university? There are a couple women's ones on the coast not too far from here. You exhibited skill tonight far superior to some experienced surgeons I know."
She blinked and then glanced at Mark in surprise, but he simply smiled and sat down again.
"Um, my husband has mentioned it, but I never gave it too much serious consideration - "
"Then do. I'm a professor there. Should you consider it, I shall write a personal recommendation that they'd better accept you or acknowledge they have shit for brains."
Her eyebrows rose. That couldn't have been heard correctly. Men didn't encourage women to go to university, much less medical school. Mark was an eccentric exception. She looked over at Mark, who grinned like an idiot as he finished suturing his patient.
Mr. Price walked in at that moment. "Well, what's the damage, Dr. Johnson?" he ordered, not seeming to even care if he interrupted surgery.
"Far less than it should be, Mr. Price," the surgeon answered for Mark. He didn't bother to turn around to the lumberyard owner, which made her bow her head to hide a smile. "You have excellent surgical care here. I have offered for Mrs. Johnson to attend medical university, and I'm about to offer Dr. Johnson a professor position. You'd do well to watch your tongue."
Her eyes flew to Mark, who stared in shock at the professor's back.
"She's under contract, as well as him - "
"With two month's notice," Mark reminded him.
"Excellent! Then you'll both be able to start for the Fall term," the surgeon stated in such a jolly tone that Mr. Price looked like he might shoot him.
The professor finally turned to face Mr. Price. "That is, unless you increase their salaries and agree that she may attend university twice a week on days that he lectures to the advanced students. I think we both know that you probably offered him even less salary than you offered me. You, Mr. Price, are a slimy worm who crawled out of a pile of shit and happened across a lumberyard. You're not fit to run this place any more than I'm fit to desire to kiss your ass."
Her breath froze and she slid a step backwards. This was not an argument for which there was any desire to get involved.
Mark, however, looked as calm as could be. His marquess arrogance served him well as he began to bandage his patient and met the men's eyes. "This is neither the time nor place to discuss. Mr. Price, you'll excuse us to get back to finishing up our patients," he commanded. Very wise indeed to leave Mr. Price off-kilter and wondering if a resignation would be coming by the end of the day.
The man turned and hissed in Mark's face, "We had an agreement - "
"Which my wife and I will discuss with you after we finish with the men and get some sleep."
Mr. Price stormed out.
She curled up to Mark in bed after a short nap. Thankfully, one of the surgeons offered to stay for a few hours so she and Mark could sleep. "Are you going to take the professor position?"
His chest rose and fell under her hand with the depth of his sigh. "I'm not sure. It would be almost half a day's travel, and I'm certain Price would expect hours to be made up at night or on weekends. I've done the professor and traveling surgeon bit. I think it might be time to just settle down and focus on raising a family." He tucked an arm behind his head. "Do you want to go to university?"
"I do a bit, but I think I'd be more ready when the children are all older. And I think the world might be more accepting of female physicians in a few more years. I'm in no rush. University will always be there, but the children are only young for so long."
"We'll figure out how to make it work, if you wish to go. You'd be excellent and have no trouble with courses." He patted her hip with his hand wrapped around her.
She smiled. "You're eccentric, Mark. But I appreciate the offer. I'm happy with our lot how it is right now. Although, I imagine Mr. Price is turning gray with stress."
He sighed and lifted his head to look at the clock. "It's after lunch. Ugh, we should've slept longer. I suppose I should get up and go speak with him and relieve the surgeon. I have other things I prefer to do right now, though." His hand slipped up her nightgown, a naughty twinkle in his eye.
She laughed and climbed up to straddle his hips, bracing her hands on his broad chest. "Your knee is still swollen. You shouldn't do anything to strain it."
He grinned and reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair that hung loose around her face as she looked down at him. "God, I love your hair short like this," he said in soft tones. "It makes your eyes look so big and your lips so full. You're very beautiful, Tanya," he whispered with raw sincerity.
It was the first time he outright said it without the mask of crankiness veiling it. And it caused a deep ache in her heart not seeing it coming.
His brow furrowed like he was confused, and he cupped her cheek. "It upsets you that I said that."
She moved off of him to sit on the bed, looking at him and then at the sheets.
"Tanya?" He sat up, letting the sheet fall to his waist.
"I just...I wasn't ready for that." She shook her head and moved to get up. His comment shouldn't cause confusion and self-consciousness like this.
"I've told you other times when we make love that you're beautiful." The dear man sounded so confused.
She stilled and couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "You've never said it like that."
"Like what, sweetheart? Come here." He scooped her up to sit in his lap and tucked the sheet around her.
"Like you're ready to let Anna go." Tears welled at the sudden realization of how wonderful it felt to not be second-best anymore.
"Oh my girl, ripping out my heart by making you file for divorce because it was best for you and Charles wasn't a clue? Faking my death and leaving everything behind to follow you to America? Working night and day so you never need to work again didn't give you some inkling? You're as blind as they come then, woman. I only have eyes for you." He laid her down and brushed a kiss over her lips. When more tears fell, he leaned up on his elbow and frowned.
She shook her head. "Good tears. I love you."
"I love you too." He laughed in surprise when she caught him in a passionate kiss.
She eased him up to a sit and straddled his hips without breaking the kiss.
"I love it when you make love this way," he whispered against her mouth and pulled back. "Hold on. We need to start being careful so you don't get pregnant."
Her eyebrows rose at the different options he presented while she looped her hands around his neck. "I can tell you right now that abstinence won't work because I'm not avoiding you most of the month."
A laugh shook his shoulders.
She frowned a few minutes later and stepped up behind him as he shrugged on his shirt. "Did it hurt you to have that on?"
"Hm?" He looked over his shoulder while adjusting his collar, and cracked a smile when her hand slid down between his thighs. "Oh. No, the protection didn't hurt, sweetheart."
She knelt to buckle his shoes.
"Tanya," he warned.
Finishing quick, she straightened and stood on her toes to peck a kiss on his lips. "Your knee is too swollen to even try doing your own shoes. I'll nurse Charles and then be at the clinic in a few minutes. And you will let me do what running around I can so you can keep your leg propped up."
"I - "
"Acht." She set a finger to his lips. "No. Your eyes are squinting like you're in pain again already, and we don't have meds in yet. An ill surgeon can't think straight to take care of his patients. You've been running ragged since we reached America. Let me take care of you as much as I'm able. I won't coddle you in front of the men, if you take ice when I give it to you and let me fetch what you need."
Mark grew quieter throughout the day as his knee swelled under his pantaloons. When enough men were well enough to recuperate at home to leave an empty bed that evening, she touched Mark's red cheek.
"Honey, you're flushed," she said quietly where he sat beside a dying man with a terrible head injury. "Go sit on that bed and get your leg up. I can hold his hand just as well as you."
"His wife and children haven't arrived yet - he came a week early while they finish moving here. He'll pass within the hour," he warned, his words interrupted when the unconscious man took a rattling breath and then paused. Then the labored breathing resumed.
"Then you'll have to behave yourself until I can see to you. Go rest before you become a patient." She helped him up, taking a great deal of his weight in his weakened state.
"Don't coddle, woman," he panted softly when she started to help him limp to the bed.
With a sigh, she let the stubborn man go to get there on his own with the cane. The fact that he didn't put up much fight indicated how painful he really was. The blasted man refused to take pain medicine while on call and only wore himself out worse.
She took his place on the stool and held the man's limp hand, wiping his brow that grew damp every now and then. A glance up revealed Mark keeping a close eye on her rather than the man while he rubbed his knee to work out the swelling.
When the man gasped and his fingers twitched in hers, her eyes flew to Mark in a panic.
"Sometimes the brain fires signals right before death," he said quietly and started to get up.
She shook her head for him to stay put. Holding the man's hand tight, she stroked his chest that rose and fell sporadically now. "You don't need to hold on for your family," she said softly. "They wouldn't want you to suffer. We'll tell them that you love them."
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dim. "Ruth," he gasped and gave a soft smile like it wasn't her but perhaps his wife that he saw. Then his sigh went on and on.
A tear fell.
Mark's hand eased hers free, and she looked up to see him sitting on the other side of the dead man's bed. He set his hand over the man's eyes to close them, not once looking at her. "If I should die without you, I hope there's a woman there to hold my hand so I might think it's you," he whispered in a thick voice. Then he reached across the body and set his hand on her arm in comfort as she quietly wept.
"Yer hair is fetching like that, mum," one of the men said a few days later as she spoonfed him soup being he had two broken arms. "Not many women look like a lady with short hair."
She set the spoon in the bowl and touched her topknot. A thick strand of it had fallen out at some point during the day.
A heavy footstep stopped behind, and a rough finger brushed hers to tuck the lock of hair away again. "I see you're feeling well enough to flirt with my wife, Horace." Mark didn't sound pleased.
The middle-aged man grinned. "I'm being respectful, Doc. A handsome woman around does wonders for the spirit when laid up."
"Tanya, go see to Jacob. I'll finish feeding Horace," he rumbled.
She stood and turned, handing him the bowl. "Yes, Mark," she said with a sultry smile and stood on her toes to peck a kiss on his cheek. "You save me from the savage beasts again."
He growled. "I should hire a dowdy old maid as my nurse. Would spend so much less time having to keep men away from her." Then he sat.
"It's in men's natures to flirt when they're feeling better. Just think - it's a sign that you won't have to be sleeping at the clinic soon." She patted his shoulder.
"I'd rather be in my own bed too if I had a wife," another man chuckled in the next bed.
Mark's face turned red in embarrassment. "Men, watch your manners in front of the lady."
Profuse apologies came her way until she hurried across the room.
"Hello, Jacob. How are you feeling?" She did the customary vitals check that had become instinct now every time approaching a patient.
"So tired. You must be worn to the bone looking after our sorry hides every day." The smile didn't quite reach his eyes. But it would be hard for anyone to smile being in traction for a broken back.
She set a hand to his brow. "You feel warm. Did Dr. Johnson take a look at your back today?"
"A couple hours ago. He put on a salt poultice because he didn't like the swelling."
"Can you feel this?" She lightly touched the top of his bare foot.
"Yes, ma'm."
"Do you feel more ill? I can have Dr. Johnson check you again."
"No, ma'm. Is it time for more medicine? My back is hurting something fierce."
She looked at the piece of paper that Mark had tied to the foot of each patient's bed to keep track of medicine dosing. "I'm afraid not. Let me ask if there's something else you can have."
"Mark?" She approached and set a hand on his shoulder while he finished feeding Horace. "He's having a lot of back pain. Can I give him a stick of tree bark? He's not due for more laudanum for another three hours."
He didn't respond, as if he hadn't heard. When she opened her mouth to repeat, he said, "Doses are climbing higher for him to find any relief, possibly a sign of addiction starting. Give him two sticks, and we'll do a lite chloroform sedation at bedtime if he's still painful so he can at least get in a bit of sleep. Note it all on the chart so I don't forget in the middle of the night." Permanent creases seemed to be in the corner of his eyes from his own pain today.
"Alright." After she gave Jacob two sticks to chew on, she broke off a half and pressed it into Mark's hand. Giving him a concerned look and holding his eyes, she wrapped her fingers around his to close his fist.
He got up to see to a man who moaned softly in pain. And he slipped the stick into his mouth on the way over, thankfully.
Mark's buggy pulled up early the next morning to the house. She frowned and got up from where she nursed Charles in the bedchamber. Mark shouldn't be home this soon from his overnight shift at the clinic. The five-mile ride home often left him walking through the door at lunch when another surgeon filled in for a few hours for him.
"My lady!" Brigands yelled.
She hurried downstairs and handed Charles to Teresa as Mr. Price and another man helped carry Mark through the door. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened," he snapped, his brow damp and face pale.
"He fainted. I stopped in at midnight," Mr. Price barked, "and he didn't look good. A man needed surgery and the minute he closed him up at sunrise, your husband hit the floor."
"I'm just tired," Mark huffed as they hauled him to the sofa.
"Your leg made you faint," Mr. Price snapped. "You will not return to the clinic for three days! Mrs. Johnson, see to him. His knee is about to burst his pants. I'll send a surgeon by this afternoon."
"I don't need a surgeon - I am one, you moron!"
"Mark!" she gasped. "They're trying to help you. Thank you, gentlemen. I'll take care of him." When they left, she turned to him.
"I - "
"Acht."
"You - "
"Quiet," she commanded with her hands folded like a queen. Brigands and Teresa hurried out.
His eyebrows shot up, completely speechless. The woman had gall to tell him to be quiet! "Wench! Don't - " Her soft mouth crushed down on his, igniting a fire that shouldn't be possible with this kind of white hot pain searing up his leg. Blood rushed in his ears, need throbbing with torturous pleasure that he was too injured to do anything about. Those delicate fingers cupped his face, demanding obedience. And receiving it like he was a goddamn puppy.
"Quiet, husband," she whispered against his lips. "You'll let me bathe and massage you without protest before I put you to bed."
Well, that sounded damn good.
"Then you'll lie on your back and rest while I pleasure you to slumber." She pressed a kiss to his neck right in that spot that made every muscle melt.
"And you think this is what the surgeon prescribes for a swollen knee?" His head tilted to the side of its own accord. The words didn't have as much bite as intended as his eyes drifted shut.
She gave a mesmerizing, throaty laugh. "Alright, I'll give you meds instead." The chit pulled away.
He caught her arm and tugged her down onto his chest. "A good surgeon examines the patient first, woman." That won one of her fairy-like laughs.
