The Doctor's Undoing (9 page)

He'd had the same initial reaction, of course, but Miss Landway's persistent arguments had turned his opinion. He had the uneasy feeling that the nurse would be shifting his opinion on many topics in days to come. Looking at his mother, currently mired in her mental monuments of “how it is done,” Daniel reminded himself that new ideas were worth exploring. The day he couldn't entertain a new idea that acted for the children's benefit should be the day he handed over administration of the Home to someone else.

“I don't think this is about necessity, Mother,” Daniel countered, keeping his voice more pleasant than his current mood. “I've come to agree with Miss Landway's fresh assessment that while the children's garments are plain and practical, they are without any cheer whatsoever.” He poured himself more coffee, noticing the many colors in his mother's good china. Was it in fact more pleasant to drink coffee from this cup and saucer than from their more utilitarian Home counterparts? Perhaps. “No one is saying that we don't meet the children's physical and educational needs,” he went on, “but Miss Landway believes the Home ought to be a visually joyful place. Happy to look at. Cheerful to be inside. She contends that the environment can sway the children's mood and outlook. I must say, I'm coming to see her point. We are serving the children in many important ways, but I am open to the idea that we could be more creative in boosting their spirits.”

“Boosting their spirits?” Mother found this as inappropriate as colored socks, evidently.

Daniel leaned in, a little shocked at his own urge to defend a scheme he'd found absurd a mere week ago. “I'm surprised at your reaction, Mother. Do not orphans deserve to be happy? I wouldn't divert funds from their food or education for this, yes, but if pretty socks give them some pleasure and their creation brings new friends to the Home, I don't see how I could possibly object.”

When Mother looked as if she might be formulating a list of how he could object, Daniel pressed on. “It serves no useful purpose for you to buy a new hat, but it makes you happy. It is human nature to want beautiful things around us.”

“I am not an orphan.” Her mouth drew into a sour little bow. “I am not surviving on the kindness of others.”

She'd just inadvertently made his point. Daniel did not want the children to merely survive. He wanted them to thrive, to grow into full and healthy adults who contributed great things to the world despite the poor hand war and poverty had dealt them. How had Mother come to lose sight of that goal he knew she once shared with his father?

Daniel put down his coffee. “Mother, you are among the most charitable women I know. I admit, this is unconventional, but we are living in a new age and perhaps new methods are called for. I find I can't understand your objection.” It was the closest he'd come to an outright challenge of his powerful mother's position in many months, and he didn't regret it. Yes, Amelia Parker had once moved philanthropic mountains in Charleston. Still, Daniel couldn't dispute that in her short time at the Home, Ida Landway had done more for it than his mother had all year. Hadn't his father once told him, “When God shows you the path, start walking”? It was time Daniel Parker stepped out onto his path.

“I don't object,” Mother balked, startled by his challenging tone. “I just find it...frivolous.”

“Come to the Home the day the socks are delivered,” Daniel challenged. “I think you will find the children do not agree with you.”

Mother waved him away. “Goodness.” It was her stock reply for when she did not have a reply, and Daniel's cue that he had won this particular battle. For now.

Walking back from his visit an hour later, Daniel passed by the hardware store to pick up a few things MacNeil had requested. He stopped in front of the window, taken aback by the display. “Montgomery Ward's Coverall House Paint—the Best Paint for Your Money” the arrangement boasted, showcasing a pyramid of paint cans in two dozen or so colors. The style of painting homes in an array of colors had indeed caught on in recent years, a fashion completely ignored by the Parker Home for Orphans. With amusement, Daniel noted that the paint came in fifty-gallon drums at a considerable discount. With a piercing shame, he noted that the color closest to the Home's current walls was named #36: Deep Drab.
When God shows you the path, start walking.

Daniel walked inside the store.

Chapter Ten

I
da smiled at the face Gitch made while she applied a bandage to the girl's finger. “Better today?” The cut was tiny, but Ida knew that sometimes “care” went beyond a small strip of well-tied gauze. In fact, Gitch had been in to have her bandage changed every day since the small mishap on Monday with some scissors, and it was clear her repeated visits had nothing to do with medical necessity.

“Not much,” Gitch proclaimed, inspecting her new bandage with a carefully displayed doubt. Ida found the girl's face so sweet, her smile so charming with its half gaps of just-budding teeth, that she couldn't find it within herself to shoo the child from her office.

“Oh, I imagine it will be better in no time. You've taken excellent care of that finger. I wouldn't wonder if you became a nurse yourself one day. You've got the knack, I can tell.”

That pronouncement lit the girl's face up like a lantern. “Really?”

Ida returned her gauze and scissors to their drawer under the examining table. “Absolutely. I've got a sense for it, being a nurse myself and all. You've got caring eyes, and that's important.”

“So do you, Nurse Landway. I'm glad you're here.” She pointed to the watercolor of some flowers Ida had tacked to the wall yesterday. “That one's new.”

“It is. Do you like it?”

Gitch studied the painting with narrow eyes worthy of an art critic. “Not as much as the blue one. But it's nice.”

“Well,” replied Ida, “it's nice to know I'll never have to worry about false praise from you.” The child was as honest as the day was long—often with mixed results. Ida could see much of herself in Gitch. Perhaps that's why she had grown so fond of the child. She'd grown fond of all the children beyond any of her expectations. It was becoming easier to see why Dr. Parker worked the long hours he did. To leave something undone for any of them poked at her conscience like a physical pain. Just Tuesday she'd woken twice in the night to check on a child who had developed a worrisome cough.

Despite having been duly treated, Gitch seemed in no hurry to return to class. She stubbed her shoes against the exam table, fiddling with the dingy pinafore tied over her dark blue dress. “Can you make me one of those?” She pointed shyly to the band of yellow daisies Ida had embroidered on the collar of her white blouse. “You could put it on my pinafore.”

Ida heard Dr. Parker's voice cautioning her from the back of her brain. To decorate one child's pinafore would likely start an avalanche of requests, or complaints of preferential treatment, as the baby booties had done. Still, while the socks would soon be ready for twenty-six girls at their current production rate, the child's clothing seemed to cry out to Ida in its colorless sadness, twisting her heart. It was so hard to have to do everything in batches of twenty-six when she saw each child so clearly as an individual. Still, she wanted to show Dr. Parker she had learned her lesson.

A solution hit her just as Gitch's lower lip began to pucker out. “You know, you're smart enough to learn how to do this yourself.”

“No I'm not.” Gitch's self-doubt grew a lump in Ida's throat.

“You are. Besides, how will you ever know if you don't try?”

“I suppose.”

“Have you ever sewn? Mrs. Smiley has taught you basic mending, hasn't she?” Mrs. Smiley was all about practical skills. Surely she would have taught the girls how to mend their own clothes.

“The older girls.”

“Well, this is like sewing, only with colors—so it makes a picture. It only looks hard. I've done it since I was not much older than you—and you, Lady Gwendolyn, are loads smarter than I was back then.” Ida took every opportunity to praise anything she could in the children, for they seemed to be so thirsty for affection and affirmation. Mrs. Smiley was effective and efficient, but Ida could see the girls needed to feel loved in even the smallest of ways.

“What about Donna? She's smart.”

Donna Forley was indeed very clever. Ida had taken an immediate liking to the older girl who'd been her first guide around the Home. Ida wasn't alone in her affections, for Donna had caught the eye of Matty Hammond, and everyone at the Home knew the young couple had eyes for each other. “Do you think Donna might want to learn, too? Or any of the other girls?”

“Learn what?” Dr. Parker's voice came from the doorway, where he stood with a large parcel in his hands and the most extraordinary expression on his face.

“That.” Gitch pointed with excitement at the collar of Ida's blouse, proving that the injured finger worked just fine indeed.

“Pardon?” Dr. Parker looked understandably baffled.

“Gitch asked me if I couldn't embroider the hem of her pinafore with flowers like my collar.”

Dr. Parker's face took on a “haven't we been over this?” expression.

“And I was just asking Gitch if she'd like to learn how to do it herself, and perhaps all the girls if they wanted.”

The doctor's expression softened. Ida raised her eyebrows at him as if to say, “See? I have learned my lesson.”

“Nurse Landway says it's like sewing, only with colors. She says I'm smart enough to learn, but I'm not so sure.”

Dr. Parker smiled. Ida took no small pleasure in the fact that she saw a great deal more of the doctor's striking smiles lately. “I expect there's only one way to find out.”

“That's what she said.” Gitch sighed. The child's eyes fixed on the parcel. “Whatcha got?”

Ida was glad the child asked—she'd been wondering the same thing, given the doctor's unusually cheerful expression.

“What do I
have
, Miss Martin?” When she nodded, he continued, “I have a surprise for Nurse Landway.”

Ida couldn't have been more stunned. “A surprise? For me?” She didn't know what to make of it.

Dr. Parker set the parcel on the counter, and the package made an odd metal
thunk
as it landed. Whatever it was, it was heavy. He nodded toward it as he stepped out of the way. “Go ahead, open it.”

“You got a present!” Gitch was practically jumping up and down.

Ida gave the doctor a tentative grin. It surely wasn't yarn, so she had no idea what he could have brought her as a surprise—especially with that look in his eyes. “I won't know for sure until I open it, will I?” She stepped forward, slipping her finger under the twine and pulling until it released the brown paper wrapping.

Ida gasped.

Eight magnificent tins of what could only be paint stood in a perfect stack. Paint! And in the most glorious colors! She read the names aloud, running her hands along the square of color on each label in euphoria. “Canary, Sky Blue, Cherry Red, Lettuce Green.” Each one as vivid as the next, eight splendid tins of bright, beautiful color. Daniel Parker had brought her paints—Ida couldn't think of a single gesture that would bring her more joy. The affirmation in his “surprise” raised a lump of deep gratitude in her throat. “Oh, Dr. Parker, they're wonderful.” She read the next row. “Moss Green, Deep Blue, Wine Color and Pink Tint. They're all just beautiful. Beautiful,” she repeated, at a loss to describe what the arrival of these tins meant to her. Ida surely hoped her face showed the thankfulness filling her chest, for no words could even come close.

“There's a whole rainbow in there,” Gitch said. “You could paint anything you wanted with all those colors.”

“Maybe just start with the window trim in the girls' common room.” Ida could see it in Dr. Parker's eyes—he understood exactly what this gift would mean to her.

“How? Why?” Her breath tingled in her chest as she ran a hand across the set of tins again. So much color. Such an extravagance of hues. Had he brought her even just one tin, she'd have been pleased. But eight? Had he presented her with a box of jewels or a trip around the world, Ida could not have been more pleased.

“Let's simply say—”

“I'm gonna go tell the other girls we're getting pretty colors in our rooms!” With one last look at the brilliant stack of cans, Gitch ducked around Dr. Parker to speed out the door.

“
Going
to go,” Dr. Parker called after her, then turned to face Ida again. The room suddenly felt too small for so grand a gesture. She'd been standing closer to him at breakfast the other day and not felt as intimate as she did just now with yards between them.

“Why?” she repeated softly.

“Because you are right. It is too drab in here. We've lost sight of the wonderful views around us. I can't make flowers bloom like Mrs. Leonard did, but you have a gift for bringing color into the world. I'd be foolhardy not to let you use the talents God gave you to make the children's lives brighter.”

He could not have said anything more perfect in all the world. “I don't know what to say.”

He smiled. “Miss Landway at a loss for words? Grimshaw would never believe it.”

Mr. Grimshaw and the boys—they deserved color, too. “If the girls' common room meets with your approval, may I have your permission to do the trim in the boys' room, as well?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, teasing in his eyes. “Am I to understand you are both asking permission and waiting for approval? Are you quite sure you're Ida Landway?”

Something fell away between them. The carefully tended wall of employer and employee slipped down to reveal a timid, fresh partnership that went beyond children, medicine or education. When she heard him say her name, her view of him shifted from Dr. Parker the institution, and took a small step toward Daniel Parker the man. The man who had just brought her paint to bring beauty into this tiny world they shared.

“Quite sure,” she said, wishing the words did not sound so breathless. “Thank you. Thank you more than you can ever know.”

“The Sky Blue is my favorite,” he said in the tone of a secret. “What's yours?”

“All of them. Every single one of them.”

There was a moment of powerful silence, as if the air itself had changed between them. Ida wanted to look anywhere but into his eyes, but at the same time couldn't pull her gaze away from their intensity. He seemed both bothered and more comfortable, which made no sense at all.

“Yes, well,” he said, taking his glasses off and then putting them right back on again, “I'm glad you like your surprise.”

“Oh, I do—I really do.” Her words came out in a tumble to match the one in her stomach, and Ida fought the urge to put her hands up to the heat she felt rising in her cheeks.

“Yes. Good. Well then, it's almost time for fencing.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, you wouldn't want to be late for that. And thank you again. Really.”

Dr. Parker coughed, nodded once at her, nodded again at the tins of paint, and then fumbled from the room.

Ida stared after him.
Well, I never!
She couldn't remember a time she'd been more shocked—and for an army nurse, that was saying something.

* * *

Daniel stared at the ceiling and tried to get the sparkle in Ida Landway's eyes out of his mind. It wasn't working.

He'd been especially vigorous in fencing this afternoon, unnerved as he was by how his simple gift seemed to change things between them. He hadn't intended for the gesture to become so important...had he? No, surely not. It was an impulse, a “wouldn't it surprise her if I...” ambush of a thought that came over him as he passed the hardware store window.

An impulse would have been one can of paint
, Daniel argued with himself.
You bought her eight.
How was it that this woman could annoy him to pieces and intrigue him to distraction at the same time? He found her vitality energizing, even if it was the kind of electricity just as likely to shock as it was to provide power.

Folding his hands behind his head as he lay on the couch in his parlor, Daniel allowed himself the luxury of dissecting his thoughts on Ida Landway. She was unlike any other woman he'd known—socially or professionally. She wasn't a socialite by any stretch of the word, but neither was she as coarse as her backcountry upbringing would dictate. Down-to-earth, perhaps, but Daniel found the lack of pretense refreshing. He never had to guess what Ida was thinking—she spoke her mind, with force and clarity. After all, thanks to her nursing scholarship from Columbia, she was an educated woman.

He'd known plenty of well-educated women, but many of them had struck him as dull while Ida had such a wit about her. He recalled the verbal sparring they'd had when she discovered the boys' fencing. Ferocious West Virginia elephants? The boys still talked about her appearance, even at today's class. He liked matching wits with her, just as much as he enjoyed dueling with the older boys. Only with the boys, Daniel could be assured of a victory. Lately, it was difficult to know who came out on top in any conversation with Ida Landway.

Why have You brought her here, Lord?
It was a valid question—even though Daniel had sought out an army nurse and reviewed her file, he couldn't escape the same notion Ida had: that God Himself had brought her to the Parker Home. The children adored her, but it was more than that.

Daniel rolled on his side, frustrated. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Meredith's pink booties, still sitting on the windowsill waiting to be returned to the toddler's feet once Miss Landway's sock project came to fruition. She'd turned so many things in his world upside down in the space of three weeks—he ought to be firmly put out by it.

Only he wasn't. It was as if he hadn't even recognized the rut he was in until she came and startled him out of it. Routines were comfortable, predictable and efficient. He'd liked, even depended upon, his routines. Ida's disruptions—and there seemed to be a new one every day—were irritating, uncomfortable...and filled with all the vitality he and the Home lacked.