Believing the Dream (36 page)

Northfield, Minnesota
May 1894

Dear Elizabeth,

I’m sorry to have taken so long to write to you but things have been exceedingly busy here at the hospital. Like everywhere else, the measles outbreak caused several deaths, and when one must quarantine a hospital such as ours, our patients suffer unduly, especially the elderly, of whom we serve so many.

To return to the purpose of my letter, I so enjoyed meeting you, and I sincerely believe that you have a future here with us at the Alfred Morganstein Hospital for Women. Therefore, I am extending you an invitation, which is in actuality a plea for help, to join us here in Chicago for as much time as you can manage this summer. I cannot offer you a salary but only room and board and a wealth of experiences for a doctor in training. I know you have been serving with your local physician and have gained much valuable experience there, but in a short time here, you will be amazed at all you can learn.

I know I am sounding like a salesman for my hospital, but I believe God brought us together for a reason, and I’m hoping that your coming here is part of that process.

No matter what you decide for now, I know that, God willing, we will be working together sometime in the future.

God bless and keep you,
Dr. Althea Morganstein

Elizabeth read the letter for the second time, her sigh growing only deeper. Before having the measles, she would have answered yes quicker than she could pick up the telephone. But now . . . She sighed again. Now, unless she could pass the exams somehow, she would need to go to school through the summer to make up for the two classes she might have to take an incomplete in. All thanks to the measles. And thanks to the measles, her mother still had not regained her strength.

And Dr. Gaskin was planning on her helping him, as was her father.

How to do it all? She made her way downstairs and over to the piano. Listening to her play was one of the joys of her mother’s day, and since Annabelle didn’t get out at all, Elizabeth could not fathom being gone for the summer months. She lifted the lid and sat on the bench, feeling like smashing something one moment and breaking into tears the next. How could so many lives be so messed up by such a stupid illness as measles?

But you are still alive and others aren’t
. The little voice in her head added an arrow of guilt.
I should be rejoicing. I know I should, and yet . . .

“In everything give thanks.”
The verse whispered, but it felt more like shouting.

She let her fingers wander the keyboard without conscious thought or plan. The notes floated around her like dust motes on a sunbeam, but instead of soothing, they prickled.
I should be studying. I should be helping mother. I should be catching up the accounts for the newspaper, and I should—

The telephone jangled. She listened for Cook’s weary tread but realized with the lack of response that Cook was outside or in the basement. At the third ring she rose and crossed swiftly to the hall where the oak box was mounted on the wall. Lifting the receiver, she spoke into the black mouthpiece. “Hello.” She heard the click of the operator and then Thornton’s voice.

“Hello, Elizabeth? I’m so glad you answered.”

“It’s good to hear from you too. How have you been?”

“I’m fine. Everyone else here is finally well, and I have something to show you. Do you have an hour or so?”

“I’m supposed to be studying.”

“Me too, but even the draft horses get a day off once a week.”

“So now you are comparing me to a draft horse?” The smile that twitched her lips felt good.

“No, I’m the draft horse. You’d be the darling daughter’s Arab riding mount.”

“I guess that is somewhat better.”

“So I can come to see you?”

“Yes, of course. But Thornton, you know I hate surprises.”

“Too bad. I think you’ll enjoy this one.” Only the hum of the line met her ear.

What is he up to now?
The tinkle of her mother’s bell brought her upright from leaning against the brocade-covered wall. “Coming.” She raised her voice enough to be heard clear up the stairs and mounted the risers slowly. Whatever could Thornton be planning? His voice sounded pleased, so it wouldn’t be a bad surprise. Not that Thornton would do anything the slightest bit mean anyway.

“Who was that who called?” Annabelle asked from her half-reclining position on the bed where she could look out the window to the backyard. Elizabeth had gathered a number of pillows to support her back.

“Thornton. He said he has a surprise.”

“How nice.” Annabelle let her head fall back on a pillow, as if, like a fully bloomed sunflower, it were too heavy for her neck. “I take it he didn’t give any hints?”

“No, none.” Elizabeth studied her mother’s face in the soft light from the window. It was still so pale, her very soul seemed to shine through and, like an unshielded candle flame, to flicker instead of shining brightly. Her mother coughed, the hacking kind that had come with the measles and never left. The effort left Annabelle gasping and flattened against the feather bed beneath her. She’d lost so much weight that her bones seemed destined to poke through her skin in spite of the constant soothing of lotions and fragrant oils. The feather bed seemed the only thing soft enough to keep sores from developing.

Elizabeth handed her mother a glass of water and waited for her to sip before taking it back. “You need to drink more.”

“I know. I need to do all kinds of things, but . . .” Her hand fell down to her side, the blue veins standing out like cords, and her eyes drifted closed.

Elizabeth laid the back of her hand against her mother’s forehead. No fever but a slight sheen of perspiration from the coughing. How could she even begin to think of leaving her mother in a state like this?
I can’t. That’s all there is to it. I just can’t, and if I tell her about Dr. Morganstein’s offer, she’ll insist I go. Lord, what a mess this is becoming. Are you trying to tell me that I am on the wrong track? That I am not to be a doctor?

“Are you all right, dear?” Annabelle spoke in a voice so soft Elizabeth had to bend over to hear her.

“Yes, of course.” But Elizabeth straightened so her mother could not read her face.

“Thank you for playing.”

“You are welcome.”

Annabelle patted the edge of the bed. “Please sit here with me until Thornton comes.”

Again a tug of war. Sit and talk and let her mother see something was wrong, or make excuses as she had so often of late. “I need to freshen up.”

“You look lovely.” Annabelle fingered her daughter’s dress and gave it a gentle tug at the same time. “We need to be arranging for our summer frocks. Since we were too sick to celebrate Easter, we have nothing new at all.”

Elizabeth perched on the edge of the bed, wishing she had fled when she had the chance. “It’s not like we have a scarcity of clothing, Mother.” She looked into her mother’s pale face. “But if ordering something new would make you feel better, I will do so tomorrow.”

“One of these days”—Annabelle stared out the window—“I need to be out in my garden.”

“Yes, you do.” Elizabeth leaned forward, ideas buzzing like a swarm of honeybees following their queen. “Perhaps Thornton could carry you downstairs and out on the verandah. You can give Old Tom instructions from there. Thornton and I could help too.”
Anything to get you out of this room.

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that of him. I’m too heavy for him to carry down those stairs. And besides, look at me, I’m not respectable for company.”

“You are most properly dressed.”

“I don’t have my corset on.”

“As I said, you are properly covered, and besides, Thornton isn’t company, he’s family.”

As she said the words, she wished she could snatch them back. Thornton wasn’t family yet, and he never would be, and here she was leading her mother on again. But all for a good cause, she reminded herself. And if this was what it took to help get her mother back on her feet, so be it.

“Can you brush my hair first?”

Elizabeth knew she had won. “Of course.” She retrieved the brush from the walnut dressing table, unwound the bun at the base of her mother’s neck, and began brushing, forcing her mind to allow the soothing motion to bless them both.

The doorbell rang just as she put the last hairpin in place. So much for fixing her own hair and donning a fresh gown. “I’ll get it,” Elizabeth called when she heard Cook closing the back door. She’d been trying to lighten Cook’s burdens too, because she was not back up to her best either.

Passing the mirror in the hall, she paused to tuck a lock of hair back into the upsweep on the sides, then pinched her cheeks. Still too pale by far. She opened the door just as Thornton was about to ring the bell again.

“Caught you in the act, eh?”

“Ah, fair lady.” He swept his straw boater off and bowed à la knights of old.

“Oh, silly, come in. I have something special for you to do.”

“Not until I show you my surprise.” He reached out a hand, and with a quizzical look, she placed hers in it. “Come,” he said.

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” She hung back against the tug on her hand. “What is it?” She followed him down the three brick steps and around the corner. He stopped in front of her.

“Now close your eyes.” He took her hands and placed them over her eyes. “No peeking.”

“Thornton Wickersham, what is going on?”

“Just wait until I tell you to open them.” His voice was farther away.

The temptation to peek between her fingers made Elizabeth giggle. “What is it?”

“Okay, now! Open your eyes.”

Elizabeth dropped her hands, and her mouth flew open at the same time. “Thornton, be careful.”

Coming toward her, Thornton rode high on the seat of an old velocipede with a large front wheel followed by a small one.

“Where did you get such a thing?”

“Uncle bought it for the boys, but they are still too small to ride it. You want to learn how?” He rode past her on the brick-lined gravel drive and turned around to ride back when over he went, crashing into the privet bushes leafing out along the drive.

“Oh, Thornton, are you all right?” Elizabeth rushed to his side to help him pick leaves and stickers off his tweed jacket. She retrieved his boater from the bushes and, dusting it off, handed it back to him. “You’re not broken anywhere, are you?”

“No, not at all.” He checked his pants for rents and righted the contraption. “Takes some getting used to, but we shall see these or something similar all over the place very soon.”

“I just saw it all over the place, thank you, and now Old Tom will have to do some judicious pruning to cover up your accident scene.” She tried to sound stern but broke into chuckles instead, her merry laughter lifting like butterflies on the spring breeze.

“I’ll teach you how to ride it.”

“We’ll talk again when you are more proficient.” After he leaned the contraption against the house, she slipped her arm through his and led the way back up the front steps and into the house. “Now I do hope you have not injured yourself, for I am in need of a strong back, or rather my mother is.” She took his boater and hung it on the carved walnut coat and hat rack that reigned in the corner of the staircase.

“How is your mother feeling?”

“I have decided, and she has agreed, for her to have a time on the back verandah. The only problem is that she is not strong enough to negotiate the stairs. So . . .” She let her gaze dwell on his strong arms and chest.

“Ah, I get it. I am to be the bearer.”

“You are amazingly perceptive.” She stopped three stairs above him and turned with a serious face. “This won’t be too much for you, will it?”

“No, but it is a good thing your mother is not as tall as Cook.” His whisper made her smile, but she eyed the curving staircase with concern. Perhaps they should set up a bed for her in the music room. Then it would be easy to take her outside and surely she would gain her strength back more quickly.

“First things first.” She meant to keep her mutter to herself, but Thornton tugged on her hand.

“I heard that. What scheme is going through that lovely head of yours now?”

She started to answer, but the heat blazing up her neck at the compliment made her turn around again and scurry up the three remaining steps.

“Mother, look who’s here.” She led Thornton into her mother’s room and over to the bed.

“How are you, Mrs. Rogers?” Thornton bent to take her hand. “You are indeed looking better.”

“Better than what?” Annabelle shook her head. “Forgive me, I seem to be having a touch of the doldrums these days.”

“So you will allow me to carry you downstairs and outside? It is a glorious day out there.”

“Unless of course you are riding a velocipede.”

When Elizabeth put a hand over her mouth to trap the giggles, Annabelle looked from her daughter to the young man and back again. “Whatever has been going on?”

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, but when you are stronger, Thornton will give a demonstration on his velocipede.”

“Or else your daughter will, for I am determined that she shall learn. Riding a velocipede is all the rage now.”

“Surely a horse is much safer.”

“But one needn’t feed a velocipede. Nor groom it, nor clean up after it.”

“Well, that is not quite so. There was some cleaning up to do after . . .” Elizabeth’s eyes danced, and she broke into giggles again.

Annabelle reached out and plucked a leaf off the arm of Thornton’s tweed jacket. “Were you rolling in the bushes?”

“Now, how did that get there?” If total innocence could be assumed, Thornton proved it when he took the leaf and dropped it into a wastebasket.

“I have no idea what is going on with you two, and I’m not sure I want to know, but if you would be willing to carry me, I would love to go outside.”

“At your service, madam.” Thornton bowed and, sliding hands under her knees and behind her back, lifted her with only a bit of a strain. “Now put your arms around my neck.” He took a step backward and staggered slightly.

By the time he deposited Annabelle outside on the wrought-iron lounger, his charge was apologizing for putting him through such an ordeal.