With Every Breath (3 page)

Tick ended up joining the Marine Corps after finishing school, but Kate wasn’t going to let it end there. His letter of rejection encouraged him to apply again, and this time Kate would make sure his application sailed through with a chorus of angels singing his praises. Timothy “Tick” Norton was going
to be the first member of their family to graduate from college if it killed her.

The blister got worse as she turned down Eighth Street. It was an older part of the city that hadn’t yet been renovated. Washington used to be a small, muddy town, but after the Civil War, money flowed into the city to widen the boulevards, line the streets with trees, and erect elegantly wrought lampposts to illuminate the city. Government buildings were torn down and replaced with palaces of white granite and imposing columns that glittered in the sunlight.

In the southern part of town, the stately government buildings gave way to oak-shaded streets and redbrick walls. Only two blocks north of the US Navy Yard, the Marine Barracks consisted of a long row of buildings with an armory and living quarters. It was impossible to get through the gate this late in the afternoon, but the brick wall was only five feet tall, and with a jump she was able to hoist herself up to brace her elbows on the ledge. Tick was playing a game of dice on a table beneath the thick branches of an oak tree.

“Hey, Tick!” she called. “Get over here!”

Tick whirled around, a grin spreading over his face. With blond hair and sky-blue eyes, Tick had grown into a handsome young man. He was eighteen and already six feet tall, and he wasn’t finished growing. Dressed in a plain shirt and brown pants, Tick had changed out of the field uniform he wore during the first part of the day when he served as guard to the surgeon general. His long, loping strides devoured the ground.

“Quit calling me Tick in front of other people,” he said as soon as he was opposite her.

“Sorry,” she said with a wince. She had been trying to quit, but he’d been Tick since she’d changed his diapers and taught him how to walk. With her mother cooking and cleaning for
thirty boarders, Kate practically raised Tick, and she’d loved every minute of it. She was eleven when he was born, and he was the best gift any girl ever had. She loved his soft baby smell and the drooly smile he gave her every morning when she lifted him from the cradle. Later, he clung to her like a tick she could never shake, hanging on to her leg as she walked around the house. Whenever she came into his line of sight, he would launch himself across the room and straight into her arms.

“Listen,” she whispered. “Captain Fayette from the Naval Academy is coming to dinner tonight. Change into your dress uniform and get back to the house. This is too good an opportunity to miss.”

“Tonight? I can’t leave without permission. There are rules about things like that.”

“If your mother was dying from a heart attack this very moment, don’t tell me you couldn’t figure out a way to get home. Now go ask for permission. And quick. Dinner begins in fifteen minutes.”

Tick shifted. “This isn’t exactly a life-or-death thing, Kate. I don’t want to get a reputation for slacking off.”

She wanted to leap over the wall and shake some sense into him. “But this is a perfect opportunity. You’re acting like I want this more than you.”

Tick didn’t answer her right away. He glanced back at the others playing dice beneath the tree, then back at her. “Of course I want it, but I have a good position here. I can’t risk it to go chasing after another.”

What he said made sense. After all, wasn’t she risking her job at the census bureau by chasing after a long-shot position at the hospital? Kate was a risk taker, while Tick had always been more cautious.

She dropped back down to her side of the wall, brushing the grit from her elbows. “Okay, I get it,” she conceded.

Tick reached a hand over the wall to grab her shoulder. “Thanks for coming, Kate. If Captain Fayette comes again, let me know and I’ll try to get time off, okay?”

She nodded, hoping the disappointment wasn’t showing on her face. “Deal.”

“And good luck on the job interview tomorrow,” Tick said. “The surgeon general has been trying for years to lure Dr. Kendall to Washington, so working for him would be a real coup.”

Tick meant the words kindly, but they just ratcheted Kate’s anxiety higher. A man of Dr. Kendall’s sterling reputation would surely have his pick of applicants, and the odds of her getting the job were slim. Still, she had to try.

The blister cut into her heel as she began walking home. Two blocks ahead of her a horse-drawn streetcar was picking up passengers. For five cents she could ride home in time to help serve dinner. If she hurried, she could catch it before it set off at a brisk trot up Virginia Avenue.

Or she could race it home.

She suppressed a grin as she hiked up her skirts and made a dash down the street. The streetcar had a good head start on her, but she could still beat it home if she pulled out all the stops. She sprang over curbs and around pedestrians, gaining a few yards with each block. The blister was forgotten. All that mattered was drawing up alongside the streetcar and passing it and reaching the front stoop of her house in first place.

The thrill of competition surged in her veins. Pitting her will and stamina against the horse gave her something to strive for, to battle and win.

After all, there was nothing she liked better than winning.

2

T
he hospital was an imposing Gothic building at the end of New Hampshire Avenue. With five stories of dark red brick, two massive corner turrets, and large windows sparkling in the morning sunlight, it looked stately and rich resting amidst the leafy neighborhood.

Kate smoothed her skirt as she descended from the streetcar. Her freshly starched pinstripe blouse was tucked into a slim charcoal-gray skirt, and she hoped she looked more confident than she felt.

What did she know about medicine? Statistics came naturally to her, but she wished she wasn’t such a novice when it came to medicine. The female clerk who greeted visitors in the receiving area was impressed when Kate asked to meet with Dr. Kendall.

“Such a handsome man, that one!” she cooed. It seemed a little odd for a gray-haired matron to be gushing over a man. “I declare, I think all the nurses are carrying a torch for that man. They all stare after him as he walks down the hallways, and they’re forever bringing him cookies and sweets.”

If anyone ever brought Mr. Gertsmann cookies, Kate would suspect they had been laced with strychnine.

The clerk must have noticed Kate’s confused expression. “Not that Dr. Kendall ever encourages them,” she rushed to add. “Oh my, no. A more proper man you’ll never meet. If you wait on the bench outside the conference room on the fourth floor, I’ll let him know you have arrived.”

Kate followed the directions. Although the front lobby had been grand and imposing, the hallways were lined with cold sage-green tiles. Her footsteps echoed off the tile, and the medicinal scent of carbolic acid made her nose twitch.

The wall outside the conference room displayed the diplomas and awards won by the hospital’s doctors. A half dozen of the framed commendations were dedicated to Dr. T. M. Kendall, and they came from research clinics all over the world. Her brow rose in surprise when she saw Louis Pasteur’s signature under an award for research in bacteriology.

She plopped down on the bench, dazzled by all the activity in the hall. Orderlies wheeled patients on gurneys while nurses carried trays of medicine. Kate wondered if she would be required to dress like them if she took a position here. The nurses’ uniforms were distinctive with nipped-in waistlines, white aprons, and little folded caps on their heads.

At the end of the hall she spotted a tall, dark-haired man coming her way. He must be a doctor, for he was dressed differently from everyone else, in a formal black suit and tie, a starched collar, and a fine serge vest. Everything was covered by a white lab coat, a stethoscope draped over one shoulder. He must be Dr. Kendall, for he locked gazes and headed toward her, his lab coat flaring out as he strode down the long hallway.

She smoothed a strand of hair and wished she’d borrowed Irene’s fancy blouse after all.

It was easy to see why the nurses would be attracted to Dr. Ken
dall. He was a handsome man, though with such an austere face. She’d find him attractive too, if he didn’t remind her so much of . . .

No. It couldn’t be.

She blinked and stared hard as he drew closer. He had the same dark eyes, the same humorless expression on his lean, handsome face.

She shot to her feet. “Trevor McDonough!”

* * * *

If he was surprised to see her, he gave no indication, his expression blank. “Hello, Kate.”

“What are you doing here? I thought I was to meet with Dr. Kendall.”

“I’m Dr. Kendall. I changed my last name when I went to college.”

She was flabbergasted. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“You changed
your
name.”

“I was married!”

“Yes, I heard about that. My condolences.” Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. A fence post showed more emotion than his stern features.

Trevor unlocked the conference room door and gestured for her to go inside. Kate stepped into the room, the warm wood paneling and book-lined walls a welcome change after the cold severity of the hallway.

Trevor didn’t look like a gangly boy anymore. When they were in school, his clothes hung on his skinny frame like a scarecrow. He was still lean, but he looked taller, more fit. The underfed pasty-faced boy was gone. Trevor had a finely molded face with sharp cheekbones, a long blade of a nose, and flashing dark eyes. But there wasn’t a hint of a smile on that straight mouth
of his. Never in a million years would she have expected Trevor to grow into such a fine-looking man.

She could see why the nurses would be impressed, which was a horrifying thought. It was like becoming accustomed to an annoying weasel that pestered your garden, then one day noticing it had transformed into a handsome prince.

Trevor McDonough was no prince. He might have grown into a handsome man, but he still had that awful killjoy look on his face. Nothing had changed.

“Why the new name?” she asked.

Trevor tossed a file on the large conference table in the center of the room, then rifled through his pockets until he found a pencil. He motioned for her to sit. “We’re not here to talk about my personal life. I need to find out if you have the qualifications for the statistician job.”

This was a waste of time. Working for Trevor McDonough would be impossible. He would have her squashed under his thumb even more tightly than Mr. Gertsmann. At least she was smarter than Mr. Gertsmann and could outmaneuver him with ease. That wouldn’t be the case with Trevor.

“I know you have the mathematical ability for the position,” he continued, “but this is no ordinary statistician’s job. We will be working with terminal patients, and that requires a certain mettle. I am measuring the effect of a new serum to see if it can strengthen the blood of patients suffering from tuberculosis. I need someone to analyze hundreds of data points and run the necessary calculations.”

Despite herself, she was intrigued. The noise from the hallway faded as she leaned forward to catch every word Trevor spoke.

“Tuberculosis is a dangerous disease,” he said. “Some people have qualms about being around infected patients. Do you have a good understanding of what tuberculosis is?”

She had to confess she did not. Over the next ten minutes her blood ran cold as Trevor explained the disease. There were lots of other names for it: consumption, the white plague, the white death. It occurred when bacteria took root in the human lung and began multiplying like mad. Scar tissue developed, creating lesions that stiffened and bled when the patient coughed. The lung tissue was gradually destroyed by cavities that filled with fluid and blood, making it hard to get enough oxygen and sapping the strength of the victim. From there the bacteria could seep into the bloodstream, crippling bones and infecting the heart, kidneys, even the brain.

Kate had always feared illness. Ever since two of her brothers died from diphtheria, she’d been haunted by the prospect of death. There had been four children in the Norton family. She was the oldest, and then Carl and Jamie, with Tick being the youngest. When she was fifteen, diphtheria descended on their neighborhood, clobbering all three of her brothers. Those awful weeks were seared into her memory. Kate had tried to nurse her brothers, but she was a disaster, always starting to weep as she coaxed broth down their throats. One morning she awoke to find Carl’s bed empty and was told he’d died during the night. Jamie died two hours later. Kate went numb, but she bawled for an hour when Tick’s fever finally broke and she knew he was going to make it. Nursing her dying brothers had been harrowing, but Nathan’s death was even worse. The first warning of trouble came when a police officer knocked on their door. . . .

She shook off the memory. If the position here was confined to mathematics, she wouldn’t have to worry about more people dying on her. “Would I need to help care for the patients?”

“Not as a nurse, but you would be with me as I examine them to record their data. You would be in daily contact with the patients.”

“I’ve never been very good around sick people.”

“Perhaps you’d like to hear what Mr. Gertsmann had to say about your qualifications. Let’s have a look, shall we?” Trevor’s face remained blank as he removed a small envelope from his breast pocket. The paper crackled as he extracted the letter, his voice cool as he read the words. “ ‘Mrs. Livingston is a diligent worker, but one who thinks far too highly of her intellectual skills. You will find her to be arrogant and contentious with her superiors. The only capacity for which I can recommend her is in a clerical position in which she is given no responsibilities that would reinforce her negative tendencies.’ ”

Kate was speechless. She wanted to lunge across the table and tear the offending letter to shreds. But then with a flick of his wrist, Trevor tossed the note in the trash can.