Warning at Eagle's Watch (10 page)

"Well, I'm sorry you're not delighted with my medical prowess, Priscilla. I've brought along someone who will be helping me out for a while, and maybe he will be more your cup of tea. Priscilla Scott, meet Dr. Kent Harris, only son of my late best friend, Dr. Marcus Harris."

After opening the door to let Dr. Newburg enter, Hillary had turned her back to the hallway.

Now, she suddenly turned, embarrassed to have missed seeing the unknown man who must have been standing directly behind her, ignored and unnoticed.

"I'm so sorry," she began, trying to cover up for her oversight, and trying to welcome him into the room. "I really didn't see you there..."

Her words melted away on her lips as her eyes focused on the tall, broad-framed figure that now stood directly in the doorway.

"Dr. Harris, let me introduce Miss Hillary Holt, who may look as slight and delicate as a gentle ocean breeze but who has the nerves and determination of a gale, to have dared to take on my favorite patient here at Eagle's Watch. And succeeding famously, I might add."

I he young doctor extended his hand quietly and Hillary took it, gazing up into his dark eyes. Her eyes felt glued to his, hypnotized, and she felt a kind of solid strength emanating from him, an instant bond of interest and rapport.

But almost as soon as the feeling had passed between them, a kind of dark shadow seemed to come down over those expressive eyes of his, as if the magical feeling that she had experienced had been a glimpse into his inner self, exposed when he had been caught off guard. But whatever it had been, it was gone. His voice, deep and full as she had expected it to be, was merely courteous and professional.

"I'm certainly glad to meet you, Miss Scott. This is quite a place you have here." He turned to Hillary. "And Nurse Holt. I'm sure that we will work well together. Doctor, shall we make our examination? There are still a number of calls for us to make this morning."

"Of course, of course," bustled Dr. Newburg. He began his examination of Priscilla's progress, testing the muscles for their returning strength, noticing the decreasing soreness and stiffness, checking the carefully plotted vital signs in the medical report. Dr. Harris watched each step of the way, as Hillary assisted the aging doctor with automatic motions. She could almost feel the presence of the young doctor behind her, a tingling, electrical sensation that made her stomach feel flighty and her knees weak. What on earth was happening to her?

"Well," said Dr. Newburg as he completed his examination, "I'm quite impressed. You two are making quite an unbeatable team." He shut his black bag with a snap. "And now, we'd best be moving on, as Dr. Harris suggests. The young certainly know how to make progress, eh, Priscilla?"

And after a few parting comments and a promise to return on Friday, the two doctors disappeared into the hallway and were gone.

Hillary tried to overcome the slightly breathless feeling that remained with her, tucking Scotty in for her nap, avoiding the old woman's eyes that kept looking into hers with a knowing glance.

But the nurse wasn't ready to talk about this feeling yet, and Scotty had the sensitivity to realize it. All Hillary wanted to do was to retire to her room and think quietly about the young man that she had just met, the handsome young doctor who had said no more than a few polite words to her, but who, in a brief flash of time, had touched her heart and had cast a spell over her.

The next few days passed more slowly than Hillary ever would have imagined. Her sessions with Scotty went well, each morning and afternoon they went through the now well-known routines faithfully and determinedly. The small motor coordination skills were a challenge at first. Scotty would hold a small rubber ball in the palm of her hand and attempt to squeeze the not-too-adept fingers of her right hand around it, the muscles still taut and difficult to stretch.

Her left hand had not been affected greatly in the overall stroke damage, and she used it constantly to help herself manipulate the weaker limb.

She progressed, with much effort and much diligence, a determined look etched upon her aged face. Hillary was very proud of her.

Mealtimes were the only times that either of them came into contact with the other family members, who were still the comfortable guests of Eagle's Watch. Mitchell, with his boyishly crooked grin and dancing eyes, had cornered Hillary on a few occasions to accompany her on an outside excursion around the grounds of the castle, but each time, she begged off, giving the excuse of fatigue.

But fatigue was, truthfully, the last thing that she was suffering from. Instead, her mind and her body seemed to be running at a ferocious pace, and in the stillness of Eagle's Watch, with the sound of the waves the only company as she daydreamed in her room, she found herself continually thinking of that broad frame in the doorway, the person to whom she had been so instantly drawn. Dr. Kent Harris.

She knew so little about him, which didn't seem to matter at all. She kept remembering the deep resonance of his voice, his neatly cut dark hair, his dark eyes that had told her so much before his defenses had gone up.

And why had he gotten defensive? To shutter those windows to his soul out of fear that she might see too much? All she knew was that she had looked into those eyes, and had been gripped by a force that she had never known before. The barest reminder of it made her feel lighthearted and dizzy.

It was so different from the carefree, laughing way she felt when she was with Mitchell, so different from anything she had ever experienced.

Her mind wandered as she counted the slow hours until the arrival of Friday. She hoped she would find out more about Dr. Kent Harris. Would she feel the same way when she saw him again? Would she, in fact, see him again? And was she possibly exaggerating her feelings for him? Were they imaginary?

She was totally unaware of Scotty's amused and thoughtful eyes, taking in her dilemma with the insight and wisdom of one who understands, one who cares, of one who knows the pain and the joy that life can bring.

Chapter 8

Friday finally arrived. Hillary awakened with an expectant feeling, long before the small alarm on the table next to her bed gave off its insistent clamor. She bathed and dressed without hesitation, eagerly anticipating the doctor's visit, and hoping earnestly that his newfound associate would be at his side.

For the first time since her arrival at Eagle's Watch, the morning arrived without a hint of sunshine. The sky outside her high window loomed gray and dark, the ocean had a purplish, perilous look to it. A light misting of rain was falling in the cooler air, the dampness of the day was permeating the thick walls of the stone castle and casting a chill over the rooms.

It was far from a pleasant day, but Hillary faced it with a cheery heart. She ate her breakfast quickly, trying to chat in a friendly way with Daisy when she arrived with the tray, to open the door to companionship with the young blonde to whom she was so close in age. But Daisy insistently kept her eyes lowered in a subservient way and failed to respond with anything more than a polite answer to her friendly questions.

She arrived at Scotty's room earlier than she usually did, but found her patient awake and lively and in a good humor.

"I simply love this weather, Hillary. It reminds me of London, you know. Makes me feel young again."

With Hillary's deft help, she was soon dressed and in her chair.

"I can feel myself getting stronger each day," Scotty squealed delightedly, as she moved her right foot slowly without assistance. "See that? I'll be up and dancing before you know it. Now let's get these exercises going with vim and dispatch!" Her eyes were twinkling. "The doctor comes this morning, and it might just be a good chance for us to acquaint ourselves with this new associate of his. Is that agreeable to you, Hillary, my dear?"

She took her daily medication and looked at Hillary with wide and innocent eyes.

"Don't think you have a corner on the market, Nurse Holt. Remember, I was young once, too, as hard as that may be to believe!"

Hillary smiled. "And what did you think of Dr. Harris? Do you blame me for thinking about him?"

"Certainly not. Even with his rather brisk manner the other day, he exuded a certain masculine charm. Very impressive. Though I think that there is something weighing heavily on his mind. He's under stress, I think, and he's trying to cope."

Hillary thought over Scotty's perceptive words. They completed the exercise routine in record time.

During a rest time, Hillary brought up the subject of the artist's studio in the first tower room, sure that Scotty had been the creator of the sculptures that she had admired on her evening tour of the castle.

Hillary's heart gave a lurch as she saw Scotty's eyes fill up with tears. "Yes, that is my studio. Was my studio, in the past tense. It is a part of my life that I miss desperately." The room was very still.

"It may well be a part of your life again, you know, if you keep working with the dedication that you have been showing."

"Don't pacify me, Hillary." Scotty looked down at her hands in her lap, blue veined and slow. "I can't even imagine these hands reacting as they used to."

"We've just begun. You've got to be patient. Perhaps if we brought some clay down, you could work it in your hands as a part of your therapy. We could fix up a spot here for you to work."

"No." The word was emphatic and it was final. "I cannot work with clay while I'm confined to this chair. I cannot work with clay with my hands gnarled and useless. When the day comes that I can climb those stone steps, return to my studio, and create with two able hands, then we will talk about it. I am an artist, Hillary. I have pride in my work. To do less than the best would be an insult."

Hillary nodded soundlessly, realizing the depth of feeling that lay behind Scotty's words. She would not bring it up again until the time was right. They began Scotty's hand-therapy routine with the rubber ball.

Today, Scotty handled the ball with such intensity that Hillary called a halt early, to check her vital signs, worried about the tiny beads of perspiration that had appeared on her patient's brow. Her pulse was slightly elevated, a sign that her emotional outburst coupled with the physical exercise had been over-exciting and dangerous.

Hillary helped her to her bed to rest and await the doctor's arrival.

The two doctors arrived in a short time, and Hillary reported the progress Scotty had been making, along with her recent upset and its consequence to her pulse. A check in her resting condition showed the pulse had returned to normal, which was a relief. But it clearly pointed out to Hillary the danger of over-excitement and overexertion, and she vowed to keep things on a more even keel in the future.

Concerned about Scotty's condition, she had consulted with the doctor conscientiously, her thoughts momentarily distracted from the young quiet doctor who sat in the corner of the room, silently going over the patient's chart. But when her duties were done, when her patient was safe and relaxed, Hillary's strange awareness of Kent Harris's presence began to hover over her once again.

How she wished that she were more outgoing and gregarious, ready to glide across the room and sit herself down by his side, striking up an easy conversation. But her feet felt like lead, and she couldn't approach him. Deep in the file, he seemed to take no notice of her whatsoever.

Dr. Newburg finished his conversation with Scotty and repacked his black bag, shutting it with a snap. Dr. Harris rose, prepared to move on to their next scheduled call.

Hillary felt her heart begin to sink. She had awaited this morning for several days, and had found herself still strongly attracted to Kent Harris. The feeling had not just been in her imagination. But she had had no chance to speak to him, and he had not attempted to speak to her.

Scotty came to the rescue.

"Dr. Newburg, I was wondering if you and your associate, Dr. Harris, would join us for Sunday dinner this week. Some of the members of my family are in town and staying with us, and we'd love to have you join us."

Dr. Newburg laughed. "Your family I can do without, Priscilla, to tell the truth, and so can you! But, yes, I'd be delighted to come and share in your company, and especially to get some of Annie's scrumptious cooking. It's the best in New England, you know. How about you, Dr. Harris? A man living alone could do with a home-cooked meal."

"Certainly. Thank you very much. Miss Scott. I'd be delighted." His voice was polite and noncommittal, but at least he was coming. As the two left the room, Kent glanced at Hillary, his face wearing the faintest trace of a pleased smile.

Hillary's heart was singing. She would have another chance to see him, to be close to him, to learn more about him. Was he under stress, as Scotty had suggested? Was he unhappy? Mourning? Had he been hurt in a way that made him defensive and shy? She remembered the way their eyes had met the first time she had seen him. How she longed to see that look again!