Page 22 of Doing No Harm (Carla Kelly’s Regency Romances #5)
“I don’t, but you may weep all you wish. And when you’re done, we’ll sit here and make shell chimes.”
Flora nodded. She got off Olive’s lap and went to the table where she had laid out Olive’s shells. In another minute, she was humming to herself and stringing shells .
“Give me your hand,” Douglas said.
Olive held out her hand, and he took it in his firm grip. She moved closer on her chair. “What just happened?” she whispered.
“Life just happened,” he said. “I’ve seen it over and over—men mourning the loss of a limb, men just exhausted from a victory when they should be overjoyed.
” He looked beyond her shoulder. Something told her that if she turned around and looked too, she would see an unknown universe, a place inhabited by men at war.
“These are the hardest wounds of all to heal,” he told her, when she didn’t think he was going to say anything.
“I have my fair share, but Flora has too many. Her mind can’t handle what happened because she has no basis of fact to comprehend why anyone would treat her cruelly. ”
“I can’t handle what happened,” Olive retorted.
“I disagree; you can, and you’re doing splendidly,” Douglas declared. The pressure of his hand increased.
He hesitated then, and she knew what he was going to say. Why was it that she already knew him this well? “Go ahead and say it,” she told him, “or I will. What will I do when my legacy runs out and I cannot feed anyone else?”
“That’s close,” he admitted. “Edgar needs to become a paying concern again, which will lift your burden.”
He was right; she knew it. “Do you have any … any …”
“Solution yet? Alas, no. I’m thinking, though.”
She sat with the surgeon, supremely unconcerned that they were holding hands like giddy people. Human touch , she thought. How I’ve needed it. I’m tired of being the adult .
“I took on some burdens and I can’t get out of them,” she told him, hesitating herself, because the words sounded weak to her ears.
“I mean, not that I want to …” He didn’t need to know how many nights she stared at columns and figures, wondering how to squeeze out more income.
She was already wondering where she would go when the money ran out.
She looked into his eyes, which made him smile, because she already knew his opinion of her colorful eyes.
He saw one thing, she saw another, looking into his brown eyes.
She saw a depth and breadth that took her breath away.
This man, this retired surgeon, was far from retired.
Whether he liked it or not, and she wasn’t certain how the matter stood, he was always going to be a surgeon.
He was always going to care more than the average man. She took a deep breath.
“Sometimes at night I stare at columns and figures, and it frightens me,” she said softly, testing the words, hoping they were firm enough to prove that she wasn’t a coward.
“I’ve wondered how you manage,” he said and shuddered elaborately. “It would give me the willies.”
She couldn’t help a little laugh. “What can I do?” she asked, squeezing his hand in turn.
“We can find a way to involve others,” he replied. “How many Highland families were dumped on you or wandered here?”
“Twenty, but the number has shrunk. I swear some of the women simply died of homesickness,” she said, as her eyes filled with tears again. “They wouldn’t eat. They just turned their faces away and died.”
He dabbed at her eyes with his cotton square. “How many people then?”
She blew her nose. “Maybe forty. Of that number, fifteen or eighteen men. Some have cast aside their pride and come to me for food at least once a day. Some, like Gran, are simply too proud. I fear for them most of all.”
“And well we should.”
There it was again. Every time Olive said I , he said we . In that case, “What should we do?”
“Done! ”
Startled, Olive released Douglas’s hand to see Flora standing triumphant by the table, holding out her shell chimes. “This is yours, Miss Grant,” she said, tears forgotten, eyes bright.
Olive held it up, admiring the play of colors and the gentle swishing sound when she shook it. “Flora, you are a wonder.”
“I like doing this,” Flora replied, obviously not a child requiring much praise. “Mr. Bowden , if I can sell these, Gran and I will have enough money to eat in Miss Grant’s Tearoom, won’t we?”
“You will,” he agreed, his voice not quite firm, but firm enough to satisfy a child. “Do you know another little girl or boy who might like to be a partner? You could make twice as many that way.”
“Aye, we could. Sally MacGregor,” Flora said decisively. “She and her sister have to share a dress. They could buy material and Gran could sew it.”
Share a dress? Olive thought, appalled. She put her hand to her mouth.
“That is a wonderful idea, Flora,” Douglas said. He moved in front of Olive to stand closer to the child, but Olive knew he was shielding Flora from the horror he saw on her face. She took a deep breath and another.
“That’s right, isn’t it, Miss Grant,” Douglas was saying smoothly.
“You two can make a few of these this morning. I would help, but I have to visit the greengrocer’s new son, and stop by the docks and check on Captain Fergusson’s sprained ankle.
Nasty affairs, sprains. When I get back, and after luncheon, we’ll visit the innkeeper at the Hare and Hound. ”
“I may come?” Flora asked.
“Most certainly. You are the merchant, Flora,” he said promptly.
He fetched his medical satchel from inside his office and hurried away. Olive pulled her chair closer to the table, where Flora had already arranged the shells for the next souvenir that traveling folk might buy this summer as they journeyed through their little corner of Scotland.
Oh, please let them come and buy , Olive thought. She threaded a shell and tied the first small knot. Please, for Flora’s sake .