More Than a Dream (17 page)

‘‘Well, we surely don’t want a fallen soufflè.’’ Dr. Morganstein turned them in the direction of the dining room that, in lieu of the dark walls and heavy drapes of the current fashion, looked as bright and airy as the sitting room with its white walls and green trim.

Arm in arm they made their way to their chairs, Elizabeth taking in the discussion going on around her.

‘‘But how can you add another wing when there is no space left now?’’

‘‘I think we must buy the building next to us on the north. I have inquired, and the owner would be willing to sell.’’

Issy snorted. ‘‘For an exorbitant price, I am sure.’’

‘‘No, it’s really quite reasonable, considering.’’

‘‘Ah, a landlord with a heart? Now that is a novel idea.’’

‘‘Actually, he came to me. You see, someone he loves was treated here, and he feels we are doing a good job of improving the community. Personally, I think he had an encounter with our living Lord, and it changed something in him. He’s been making improvements in another building he owns down the street.’’

They sat and opened crisp white napkins to lay in their laps.

‘‘Well, I never.’’ Issy shook her head. She turned to smile at Elizabeth. ‘‘About like a leopard changing his spots, wouldn’t you say?’’

From what Elizabeth knew of landlords in neighborhoods like this one, she had to agree. ‘‘Would that it would happen to more of them.’’

‘‘Issy, will you say the grace today?’’ Dr. Morganstein asked and then bowed her head.

‘‘Holy Father, hear our prayers. Bless this food that it may give us the strength to carry out your will. In Jesus’ precious name, amen.’’

As soon as the maid set the souffle
in front of Dr. Morganstein, Elizabeth leaned forward.

‘‘I have some wonderful news.’’

‘‘Good, I like to hear wonderful news.’’ Dr. Morganstein laid her hands in her lap the better to listen.

‘‘I have been accepted into the medical school in Minneapolis. I won’t have to study at the women’s school in Pennsylvania after all.’’ She stared at her two friends, wondering at the look that passed between them. ‘‘What? Are you not pleased?’’

‘‘Yes, yes, of course. It’s just that—’’

‘‘Just that we have good news too,’’ Issy interrupted her friend. ‘‘Tell her, Althea.’’

Dr. Morganstein dipped into the souffle
to begin serving the meal. ‘‘I will as soon as we have our food in front of us.’’

Waiting had never been one of Elizabeth’s strong suits, but manners won out and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

‘‘Now, then. You know the building we were discussing a few minutes ago?’’ Dr. Morganstein now wore a more serious look.

Elizabeth could feel the tension run up her neck. ‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘One of my plans for it is to open a medical school of my own. We have room there for classrooms, including one large enough to build a cool room for the cadavers and have dissecting tables for ten specimens. That would accommodate twenty students. I have a benefactor who is willing to set up the entire laboratory, including an apothecary.’’

Elizabeth laid a hand on her middle to keep it from leaping and dancing.

‘‘You really mean this?’’

‘‘Of course, you think I would tease you?’’ When the young woman shook her head, the doctor continued. ‘‘I have five students ready to enter; you would make six. I wanted to wait until I was more sure of the possibilities before telling you. If all goes well, we could open the doors this fall. In the meantime we could start classes here in the basement. Patrick will have to move things around, but we do have room.’’

Elizabeth sank against the back of her chair. ‘‘I believe I better write another thanks but no thanks letter this afternoon. I know my mother will be disappointed since Minneapolis is closer to home, but . . .’’ She clasped her hands to her chest. ‘‘To be able to study here with you, with cadavers too, and the hospital . . .’’ Her voice trailed off.

‘‘Before the year is out, I predict there will be others clamoring at the door. You will have to expand even before you have completed the initial plans.’’ Issy tasted the soufflè. ‘‘Ah, delightful. Now let us eat before the food is ruined and we hurt Mrs. Cuvier’s feelings.’’

While the conversation lasted into the evening, Elizabeth went to her room still bubbling with questions and excitement. To be one of the first graduates of the Alfred Morganstein Medical School would indeed be an honor.

The next morning she entered her first examination room to find Moira Flannery, the young Irish woman she’d seen the summer before.

‘‘Why, hello. It is good to see you again.’’

‘‘Ah, Doctor, and you have come back to help out again?’’

‘‘I have, but I’m not a real doctor yet, just an assistant. How can I help you today?’’

The woman patted her swelling abdomen. ‘‘Just came to make sure all is right with the bairn.’’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘‘I see. And you have how many children now?’’

‘‘Two; one was stillborn in between.’’

And what has happened with that wife-beating husband of yours?
Elizabeth kept that question off her lips and from her face, nodding instead and checking for more bruises without appearing to be doing so.

‘‘Me man, he’s been back to work, so things, they are better.’’

‘‘Good.’’ After checking the heartbeat of both mother and fetus, Elizabeth studied her patient. The yellowing bruise she saw on the woman’s upper arm could have come from banging into something. ‘‘You must take good care of yourself. Drink milk and eat red meat.’’ Was she naturally pale, as were so many with red hair, or was it the heat or . . .

‘‘Thankee, mum. I think I am about seven months along.’’

‘‘That seems about right. Let us check you again in a few weeks.’’

‘‘I will.’’

As the woman left the room, Elizabeth wrote her notes on the chart.
Please, God, help that man keep his temper. Let him indeed be
changed like she has said
.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

Northfield, Minnesota

‘‘Ah, there you are, Mr. Bjorklund.’’

Thorliff looked up to see Mrs. Karlotta Kingsley bearing down on him. What was there about her that made him so uncomfortable?

‘‘Good day, Mrs. Kingsley.’’ He touched the brim of his straw boater, a recent acquisition at Rudy’s For Men. He’d bought it when Phillip sent him to the store to interview the owner for a recent article on local businesses. Rudy had given him a cut rate since he was writing for the paper. That same article had earned him a free soda at Mrs. Sitze’s Ice Cream Parlor.

‘‘I just spoke with dear Phillip, and he said you were just the one to attend the social I am sponsoring to earn money for the Missionary Society. The good book says that those of us who have must share with those less fortunate. Don’t you agree?’’

He nodded but only slightly. ‘‘I . . . I need to be going. I . . .’’

Before he could make a break past her, she took his arm and turned to accompany him, the swell of her prodigious bosom brushing his upper arm.

Struck by a hot poker, he tried to withdraw his arm and only succeeded in bringing about another contact. Heat flared up his chest to his neck and face, hot enough to lift his hat and let it sail away on the windless air, the wind he needed so desperately right now and which for a change had taken time off. Not a leaf moved in the elm trees shading the sidewalk. The thoughts he was trying to keep pure—weren’t.

At any other time there would be mothers with baby carriages, businessmen, children playing hoops, someone to whom he could apply for assistance.

No one in sight.

Every time he tried to put some distance between her and his arm, she moved with him.
Lord above, help me. What am I to do?

‘‘So you will attend, then?’’ She tapped his arm with her folded fan.

‘‘I . . . ah, I suppose so.’’
How can I get out of this? Fake an
illness?
‘‘When did you say this soirèe will take place?’’

‘‘Tomorrow night.’’

‘‘Are you certain Mr. and Mrs. Rogers will not be attending?’’

‘‘Oh my, yes, they will be there, but dear Phillip said that he would rather attend as a guest and not have to worry about writing it up. He said that is what he has you for.’’

Phillip Rogers, I know you are my boss, but I also thought you
were my friend
. He swallowed, knowing that his Adam’s apple must be beet red. Blood-beet red.

‘‘Dear Mr. Bjorklund, I have a favor to ask of you.’’ She turned, and it happened again. Was it deliberate? The thought sent another burst of heat headward.

‘‘And what is that?’’ His voice cracked on the last word.

‘‘Would you please read over some of my writing and see if it might be publishable?’’ She tapped him again with the fan that hung on a braided cord around her wrist.

He glanced down into eyes green as grass. She batted long, up-curved eyelashes of such thickness to seem as fans of their own. He couldn’t take his gaze back; he felt as if a corded line held him in place. His heart picked up speed and he felt a stirring in his middle.

‘‘Ah, that might be more in the area for . . . for . . .’’

A slow sweep of those lashes and her eyes pleaded with him, shimmering a language of their own.

‘‘Ah, I guess I could do that.’’

‘‘That would be such a kind thing.’’ Her voice now held the breath of awe, as if he had bestowed a gift of immense magnitude.

His swallow had a hard time passing his Adam’s apple.

‘‘Thank you.’’ Sweet intoxication tickled his nose from the perfume she wore, like lilies of the valley and roses and something darker.

‘‘You . . .’’ He swallowed. ‘‘You are welcome.’’

‘‘Shall we say this evening then, Mr.— No, I feel that we are becoming such friends. May I call you Thorliff?’’ Her voice purred like a kitten stroked by a loving hand.

‘‘I . . . ah, y-yes.’’

‘‘And this evening it is?’’

‘‘That will be fine.’’

‘‘Then I must be on my way. Thank you again and bonjour.’’ She fluttered her hand as she turned and walked back the way they had come. He watched, her undulating hips bringing a sheen of moisture to his upper lip.

He wiped it away with his handkerchief. ‘‘Surely has gotten hot today,’’ he muttered as he continued back to the office.

‘‘Mrs. Kingsley was here looking for you. I said you would cover her soirée.’’

‘‘I know.’’ Even he could hear the disgruntlement in his voice.

‘‘Ah, she found you?’’

Thorliff nodded and wandered back to the printing press he’d been cleaning before being sent on an errand.
She found me all
right. How does one keep pure in heart with a woman like her on the
loose?

‘‘Where are the stamps and the mail?’’ Phillip called from his desk.

Thorliff jerked straight up from checking the ink level and then flinched. ‘‘I’ll go get them right now.’’ He fled out the front door as though a swarm of bees were chasing him.