A Free Heart (13 page)

“I’m not sure what I am.” Harriet took the plate and set it down, then moved to the end of the bed and lowered her voice. “He’s talking in his sleep, and he just told me that he loves me. Of course I know he doesn’t mean it, but that’s what he said.”

“How do you know he doesn’t mean it?” Elizabeth asked. “If he’s talking about you in his sleep, that means he’s dreaming about you, and why would he dream about you if he’s not in love with you?”“Because he’s drunk, that’s why! Because he’s hurt and in pain and half out of his mind.” Harriet pressed a hand to her head. “He couldn’t have meant it.”

“Are you wishing he didn’t mean it, or are you worried that he doesn’t?” Elizabeth asked.

Harriet was brought up short. “I . . . don’t know,” she said at last. “Not too long ago, I detested him. Right now, I can’t decide if I should be elated or horrified.”

“You’re trying to decide if you should be? My, that’s a very logical way to go about deciphering your feelings. I usually let my heart do that for me.”

“But that’s just it! My heart makes terrible decisions. Sam died because I loved him. Maybe I’m the sort of person who should never be trusted to figure these things out on her own. Maybe I need someone to do it for me. Will
you
do it for me, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth chuckled and shook her head. “I can’t tell you how to feel or who to love. That’s entirely up to you. But you have to remember—Sam’s death was not your fault. Have you forgiven yourself yet?”

Harriet nodded. “I don’t know how much progress I’m making, but I’m trying,” she said. “Talking to Jane was good for me.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, get some food inside you. You look hungry.”

“I am. Thank you, Elizabeth.”

As Harriet spooned down her stew, she studied Tom. He was pale, but not gray—what an improvement. What were her feelings for him, exactly? He wasn’t handsome, not like Mr. Brody, but he was very pleasant to look at, and the longer she looked at him, the more pleasant he became. He was completely incorrigible—but he was also entertaining. Proper behavior seemed a foreign idea to him, but then, he was sincere. She’d rather have sincerity than propriety. This right here—this confusing mix of thoughts and emotions and opinions—this was what made Tom so annoying. She liked him, but she shouldn’t like him. He went against all her ideals and standards and expectations.

But maybe that’s exactly why she
should
like him.

By the time Abigail came to give Harriet a break, she was no closer to determining her feelings than she had been before. It was the worst puzzle she’d ever tried to solve.

Chapter Fourteen

Dr. Wayment smiled and nodded as he examined Tom’s leg. “You’re doing very well. I see no traces of infection, and I daresay there won’t be any. We’ll keep applying the acid as a preventative measure, of course, but if I were to give a prognosis at this early point, I’d say that your leg has been preserved.”

Tom exhaled loudly. “Thanks so much, Doc. That means the world to me. How much longer do you think I’ll be down?”

Dr. Wayment chuckled. “It’s only been a few days, Tom. How long do you think it takes a bone to knit?”

“Well, it used to take my granny about three days to knit a sock . . .” Tom pretended to do the math in his head, counting on his fingers.

The doctor laughed right out loud that time. “I’m sorry, but it won’t be that fast. Plan on a month, and at that point, we’ll see. We can’t rush this. Your future health depends on what we do right now. Let me get some fresh gauze.”

“Dr. Wayment?” Jeanette had been standing in the corner, and Tom had all but forgotten she was even in the room. It was easy to forget her most of the time, actually. She was a sweet and pleasant girl, but she hardly ever spoke, and she got lost in all the chaos of the hotel.

“What is it, Miss Peterson?”

She came closer. “I noticed that Tom’s skin is getting burned, and the edges are showing definite signs of damage. See—here and here.” She indicated with her fingertip. “Is there any way to lessen the acidic effect on his skin while still keeping the disinfectant properties?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought to look into that.” Dr. Wayment dug in his bag and came out with some papers. “I spent some time the other night gathering every article I could find where Dr. Lister’s name was mentioned. I suppose I’ll have to tell my housekeeper that some good has finally come from my saving all this.” He passed some of the papers to Jeanette and some to Tom. “Let’s all three of us read these over and see if we’re missing something.”

Tom knew he was supposed to be looking for something specific, but after a moment, he got pulled into the articles and wanted to read every word. This was interesting stuff.

“What about this?” Jeanette handed the paper she was reading over to Dr. Wayment. “Dr. Lister reported mixing olive oil in with the acid once the initial danger of infection was past.”

Dr. Wayment read the sheet and nodded. “I believe this is what we’re looking for. Do you have any olive oil in your kitchen, Miss Peterson?”

“I’ll run downstairs and look.”

Moments later, Tom braced himself for the new application of acid, but relaxed when he realized that it only burned about half as much. “Thank you, Jeanette,” he said as he sank back against his pillow.

* * *

Harriet seemed agitated when she came to see him that afternoon. “What’s the matter?” Tom asked, setting down the book he’d been reading. He had some funny memories associated with it—something about Miss Markham trying to sound like a villainous scoundrel and then threatening to throw the book at him when he laughed. He supposed the laudanum had given him some unusual dreams. He felt much better, though—he’d had a bed bath, and Adam had brought him some tooth cleaning supplies. Nothing like being clean to perk a person up.

She paced up and down at the foot of his bed. “You’ve been in a lot of pain lately,” she began, “and I know that will put strain on a person. The worst pain I ever felt was spraining my ankle when I was fourteen. I nearly went out of my mind, it was so bad, and that was nothing like a break, so I can’t begin to compare. But I know that when people are hurting, they say things they don’t really mean, and then if they have to numb the pain, sometimes they say even more things they don’t really mean, and it can become rather embarrassing. So I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

Tom tilted his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Harriet,” he said. “Could you be a little more specific, maybe?”

“And people talk in their sleep, too,” she rushed on, almost as if she hadn’t heard him. “So when you put those three things together—the pain and the laudanum and being asleep—it’s only natural that things should slip out.”

“What kinds of things might those be?” he asked. Really, if she could just answer a simple question . . .

“Telling me that you love me. Which I completely understand was said during a very difficult time, and I haven’t paid the slightest bit of attention to it. So we can just move on from this point and forget that it ever happened.”

“Oh, that. No, I wasn’t asleep.”

She stopped pacing so abruptly, Tom thought it a wonder that she didn’t fall down. “You weren’t asleep?”

“No, not yet. And I would rather not forget the whole thing happened.”

“You . . . don’t want to forget?” She was looking down at the carpet and not at him.

“I’d like to forget the broken leg and the acid and the pain, but not what I said. Forgetting that would be a mistake.”

“Oh.” She didn’t seem to know how to reply to that. “Um, Miss Hampton is making you some pudding. I’ll go get it.” She almost ran out of the room.

Tom chuckled as he heard her footsteps thump down the stairs. He had no idea what she was thinking or feeling at that moment, but he’d certainly made an impact on her.

* * *

Miss Hampton spooned some pudding into a bowl and handed it to Harriet. “Tell him I hope he likes it.”

“Thank you. Miss Hampton, do you know where Elizabeth is?”

“Yes, she’s outside starting the laundry.”

Harriet thrust the bowl back into Miss Hampton’s hands. “Would you mind taking this upstairs?” Without waiting to hear the reply and only barely noticing Miss Hampton’s surprised expression, Harriet raced out the door and around to the back of the hotel.

“Elizabeth!” she hissed as she drew closer. She glanced around—she didn’t want the other girls to overhear. “He says he wasn’t asleep.”

Elizabeth looked up, confused. “He wasn’t asleep?”

“When he said he loved me,” Harriet whispered. “He says he wasn’t talking in his sleep, and he doesn’t want to forget that it happened. He says forgetting it would be a mistake.”

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled. “That’s wonderful!”

“Wonderful? This is terrible!”

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. Water dripped from her wrists, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Harriet Martin, you must be the most stubborn person alive. You know you’re in love with Tom, but you’re withholding your feelings because of your pride or people’s expectations or . . . who even knows what. You managed to put all that aside for Sam—it’s time to put it aside for Tom. Get back in there and kiss him silly!”

Harriet’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“You heard me. Now go!”

Harriet’s feet took over before her brain had time to reason through what Elizabeth had just said. She ran back into the hotel, took the stairs at a dash, and flew across the room to Tom’s bed. She paused only long enough to take the bowl of pudding out of his hands and set it on the table, and then she bent down and kissed him. Silly.

When she finally pulled back, she was out of breath. He grinned and shook his head. “Why, Miss Martin, I never knew you had that in you,” he said. “Think of all the time we’ve wasted.” He reached out, slid his hand behind her neck, and brought her closer for another kiss. This one was longer, slower, and made her heart pound so fast, she almost thought they’d have to send for Dr. Wayment again.

“There now,” she said when she’d caught her breath. “Beulah May who?”

“I have absolutely no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Good,” she said, standing up. “Let’s keep it that way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have laundry to do.”

* * *

“The tissue has started to regenerate,” Dr. Wayment announced with a smile. “Tom, you’re officially out of the woods.”

Harriet clasped her hands together under her chin. She wanted to dance around the room and sing, but felt that might distract the doctor from finishing the examination. Maybe later.

“That’s wonderful news,” Miss Hampton said. “I’ll go downstairs and tell the others. They’re eager for an update.”

“Is there anything else he should be doing, Doctor?” Harriet asked.

“No, I’d say to keep doing whatever you’re doing.” Dr. Wayment picked up his bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As soon as Dr. Wayment left the room, Tom held out his arms. “So, he said we’re supposed to keep doing whatever we’ve been doing.”

Harriet walked over to his side. “That’s right.”

“And I imagine that if a little bit of a good thing is good, then more of a good thing would be better, don’t you think?”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, if kissing you once or twice is good, wouldn’t kissing you three or four times be even better?” He quirked an eyebrow.

She laughed and sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know. What if we kissed too much and it stopped being effective? That would be terrible, don’t you think?”

He reached up and trailed a finger down her nose, and then across her lips. “Somehow, I think that’s a chance I’m willing to take,” he whispered.

She leaned in, and his arms came up around her and held her tight. “Harriet,” he said into her hair when they had broken apart, “I don’t want you to tell me the answer to this right away because I know you despise me. But if I manage to get well, if I manage to keep my leg, would you ever consider marrying me?”

She sat up and took his face between her hands. “I’d marry you with two legs, with one leg, with no legs. Yes, I despise you horribly, but I want to spend every minute of every day of the rest of my life despising you, and nothing will stop me.”

He smiled, a long, slow smile, and then licked his lips. “Very well then,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her to him again.

Chapter Fifteen

Tom put aside the book he’d been trying to read. The pain had reduced significantly since Dr. Wayment had started adding olive oil to the acid, but the throbbing that remained still made it difficult to concentrate.

Now that he was no longer mad with pain, it wasn’t necessary for someone to be with him constantly. It was nice to know that he wasn’t creating such a burden for everyone, but at the same time, he was a little lonely. He itched to finish the roof, to take care of the horses, to chop and haul wood—anything that would make him feel useful again. He could hear hammering coming from outside and knew the workers Adam had hired were following the plans he’d drawn up, but that didn’t take away the sting of not being able to do it himself. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Patience, he reminded himself. Patience now so he could do everything he wanted to do later.

Miss Hampton had placed a bell next to his bed so he could ring whenever he needed something, and people dropped by to see him quite often. It wasn’t the same as having constant companionship, and the moments between his visitors were often long, but he had to remind himself that he’d always preferred solitude. Well, that was, until he fell in love with Harriet. He’d rather be with her than any other person in the world, and much more than being alone.

He grinned, thinking about her. They’d been officially engaged for a week now, and she came in as often as she could. The hotel’s business had increased by quite a lot over the last three days, and all the workers had been kept busy. Her hair would often be slightly mussed when she came in to see him, and he liked it that way. She looked untamed and independent. Just like him … before his freedom got put on hold.