The Doctor's Undoing (16 page)

Even his mother was smiling. She was certainly surprising him these days.

For that matter, he was surprising himself. Ten minutes ago, as he was walking over to the common room with Ida, he'd hoisted up one trouser leg to show the outlandish argyle socks she had given him earlier from Isabelle. Her eyes had popped as wide as her smile. If Mother had noticed his unconventional choice in hosiery, she'd not admitted it.

“Your names are on each of the packages,” Leanne Gallows said, her voice near laughter as she tried with Ida and Isabelle to bring some sense of order to the gleeful, colorful pandemonium that had ensued. The girls were ecstatic about the rainbow of socks they received, cooing and shouting and holding their gifts up for others to see. For all his worries, Ida had managed it perfectly. Every girl received the same gift of four pairs of socks in just her size, and yet each set was unique to the recipient. No girl seemed jealous of any other girl's gift, and Daniel knew each girl well enough to see how the socks suited their personalities. He couldn't possibly have hoped for a better outcome.

“Look at them!” Donna was turning her foot to and fro as if she were on a magazine cover. Shoes were strewn about the room as each girl tried on the quartet of socks she had been given.
Socks.
He'd never have guessed socks to be so important. To Daniel, they were just the layer between foot and shoe, one of a dozen identical dark pairs to be plucked from a drawer each morning as he dressed.

Except, of course, for today. Recalling the burst of amusement he'd felt as he donned the pair Isabelle had made him—stately gray and navy diamonds with a rebellious yellow streak running through them—Daniel supposed socks could indeed “make the man.” Or at least make the man smile.

“You're smiling.” Ida came to stand beside him, beaming herself.

“Not as broadly as you,” he replied, tucking his hands in his pockets.

Ida hugged herself, clearly delighted with the level of joy and color in the room. “Look at them. Happy as puppies, every one. I reckon this is the happiest place in Charleston right now.”

Daniel laughed, as well. “You may be right.” He looked at her, as seriously as he could while one-eyed and surrounded by mayhem. “I owe you an apology.”

“Why?”

“I doubted you could do this.” He glanced down, ashamed of his judgment. “I assumed you could not do something both equal and individual, and I was wrong.”

A warm glow touched her eyes. “You were watching out for the children. I can hardly fault you for that.” She looked out over the room. “Besides, even I didn't think it'd turn out this wonderful. Isabelle Hooper is an answer to a prayer, isn't she?”

Chester, after multiple attempts, finally jumped up high enough to snatch one of the cookies a child had left on the edge of the table. “She's something, all right.” He returned his gaze to Ida. “I am grateful. To her and to you. I was worried the Aunties wouldn't work, that the children would get their hopes up, but I shouldn't have been so concerned.”

She touched his sleeve. “Yes, you should. It's who you are to worry over them, to want to protect them. That's not a bad thing, as long as you spend some time on the sunny side.” She folded her hands in front of her, something Daniel had come to realize she did when solving a problem.

“You're thinking.”

She blinked and shrugged her shoulders. “Shows, hmm?”

“All over your face.”

“I'm just wondering,” Ida said, hands crossed over her chest and eyes narrowed in thought, “about the boys. Mr. Grimshaw has them today, but...”

Daniel had seen this long coming. Ida would be hatching an idea for them on the heels of this success, as sure as he breathed. “Ah, the boys.”

Her fingers drummed against her elbows. “They'll feel left out if we don't do something for them, but socks won't cut the mustard with that lot. We'll just have to start with what we have.”

Daniel looked at her. “And what do we have?”

Ida's face filled with mischief. “Paint. We'll start with painting their room, and pray the Good Lord sends the right idea while we paint.”

Daniel swallowed hard. “We?”

Ida's hands went to her hips. “Well, near as I can tell, you'll have to help me. I can't very well plant myself in the middle of the boys' common room all by myself, and you need something to do.”

“I'm happily occupied. I'm busy, in point of fact.”

Her lips pursed into a supervisory scowl. “You are not supposed to be doing paperwork.”

He felt like a chastised student. “Light reading.”

“Why then, light painting should prove a perfect distraction.” He could practically watch Ida set her determination upon him. He knew what that meant: she'd press her point continually until he relented. Really, was it such a burden to spend time with the boys helping Ida paint the room? If it gave the lads half the joy today was giving the girls, could he really refuse? And, when he was honest with himself, the prospect of having to spend considerable time in Ida's company, watching her do what pleased her most in the world, ignited a warm expectation under his ribs. These days there were few places that gave him as much pleasure as Ida Landway's company.

“I've only one eye,” he refuted. Daniel spoke negative words but was unable to keep his tone anything short of amused. “My aim will be off.”

“Your
depth perception
will be off,” she corrected, equally playfully, “and you won't be needing that to paint window trim. My two-year-old nephew could paint window trim. We'll have it done in an afternoon if the boys stick to the task.”

“
If
they stick to the task.” There was that. Here, at least, the odds were in their favor—every girl had her own Auntie. Some days those boys felt as if they needed two adults to every rambunctious student. Putting paint into those hands might prove dangerous indeed, and Daniel did not think he could roust up a herd of “Uncles” to improve the ratio.

Ida shrugged. “What's the worst that could happen?”

Daniel concocted a list of half a dozen potential disasters in the space of a few seconds. “I could lose the good eye I have left.”

Chapter Seventeen

“I
declare, you look as if you've been in a brawl,” Mother said with a sigh, tilting Daniel's chin this way and that as he stood unbandaged before her in her living room for his usual weekly luncheon.

It was his first outing with both eyes, and he was rather proud of himself. Perhaps that was why her examination annoyed him, as if he were a boy sent home from school for fighting. “I did strike a wrought iron fence, Mother. There were a lot of stitches. I think I'm rather entitled to look pummeled.”

“Well, you do.” Her expression changed from one of judgment to one of concern. “Does it hurt? Can you see well out of that eye?”

He thought of Robby's declaration the other day that he looked like a pirate and managed a small smile. “Yes, it hurts. And yes, I can see well enough. Still, I'm glad to be out and about.”

Mother shook her head. “You never were one to sit around.” She sat down in her favorite wing-back chair. “When you twisted your ankle at the boathouse that one summer, I feared your father would have to sit on you to get you to rest it.”

He remembered that summer when he was fourteen. He was old enough to have a good deal of independence, yet young enough to have no responsibilities. He probably had dreamed of being a pirate that summer, or any number of world adventurers. The century had barely turned, and it seemed as if the new era spread out wide and wonderful before him.

Of course, then had come serious schooling and wars, epidemics and poverty. And then Father died at the end of the war—one of countless victims the Spanish influenza had taken—and the Home became Daniel's cause to take up. He had stepped dutifully and purposefully into the role of Home director. The family would never seek an outside candidate to replace Harold Parker. No one, however, could have foreseen the coming demand. The war left so many children alone and destitute, and the Home became Daniel's all-consuming life's work.

Mother seemed to sense his faraway thoughts. “He'd be proud of you, you know,” she said softly. “Although I don't know what he would have thought of all this sock business.”

Daniel tried to imagine his father sporting argyle socks, and tossed the thought away as improbable if not impossible. He was wearing dark socks today, and for an impetuous moment wondered if he should ask Mother if she'd noticed his choice of foot covering that chaotic day. He chose another risky question instead. “What do you think of Miss Landway?”

Mother snapped her fan open now that the afternoon's small breeze had dissipated. “Well, I must say, she isn't at all what I was expecting from an army nurse.”

That was certainly true. “Indeed.”

“The children seem to like her well enough.”

Daniel nodded. “She gets along very well with the children. The girls adore her, and the boys will at least listen to her.”

“All that colloquial charm, I suppose.” Mother said it with just enough edge to let Daniel know where she placed Ida on the social ladder. “She certainly likes her knitting.”

The comment made Daniel realize his omission. “Thank you, Mother, for making a pair of socks. I realize you found it rather silly at first, but I do hope you've seen what a grand project the whole thing turned out to be.”

“You know Isabelle—it's nearly impossible to say no to that woman once she gets an idea in her head.”

Daniel felt the same way about Ida. “Perhaps that is why she gets along so well with Miss Landway. I've found it just as pointless to say no to her.”

Mother turned to look at him. “Have you?”

“The woman is relentless,” Daniel said, laughing. “But I have found her to be a wonderful addition to the Home.”

Her fan stilled. “Really?”

“I think I'd become a bit...stodgy...before Miss Landway came along. She brings a fresh energy I hadn't realized we needed. And you saw what she did with the girls' common room—they haven't stopped talking about it yet.”

Mother laid her fan in her lap. “Daniel...”

Daniel stilled, realizing how much he'd just said and how he'd said it. He wasn't sure he was ready to have this conversation—even with himself, much less his mother.

She shifted in her seat to face him square on. “Son, you haven't allowed yourself to become...emotional...about this woman, have you?”

He didn't answer. He didn't really know
how
to answer that question in light of her tone.

“She's a likable girl, I'll grant you that, but Daniel, she is your employee. She's of no family of consequence that I can see. Surely you recognize what an unsuitable idea such a thing would be.” Mother leaned in. “Don't think I haven't noticed that she is sweet on you. Goodness, all those cards, all that attention...it's obvious. You're going to need to be careful.”

Daniel blinked, caught up short. “What?”

“She idolizes you. And why shouldn't she? I'm sure this is a great step up from her army duties, and you seem to spend so much time together lately.”

“We work together, Mother.” Daniel was still trying to grapple with his mother's revelation of Ida's feelings for him. He barely had energy to battle with her opinion of it. “There is nothing between us.”

“Well, I should hope so. She's enamored of you, son, and that's a problem. You're going to need to deal with that.”

He'd known it on some level. He'd felt the attraction between them from that evening in the kitchen. Or rather, he'd felt it coming from
him
. The sensation was so different from the polite diversion he had felt in the presence of other women that it was impossible to ignore. Ida Landway invaded his thoughts. He found himself wanting to know her opinion on far too many matters.

All of that was manageable when it remained his problem. When the attraction confined itself to his side of things. To know—well, Daniel supposed he had always known but to now have it confirmed by his mother of all people—that Ida felt the same way threw everything out of proportion. It made it all seem too real, rather than just his misguided illusions.

Should he deny it? Tell his mother she was seeing things that weren't there? But could he say those words when he didn't believe them to be true? Where Daniel's social life was concerned, Mother often saw things she wanted to see. If Ida's feelings were evident enough that Mother saw them even when she
didn't
want them to exist, that could only mean that Ida's emotions might be as strong as his.

He chose to downplay the truth, convinced that outright denial would never work in this case. “I do enjoy her company.”

He knew the minute he said it that his tactic had not succeeded. “I enjoy the company of cats, Daniel, but that does not make them suitable social companions.”

Daniel walked to the window, needing both air and a moment to gather his thoughts.

Mother rose and followed him. “Daniel. For years you have dodged the subject of a suitable wife. I've tried to be understanding. It's a new era, and you young people have modern ideas about such things. I know you are devoted to the Home, but perhaps, child—” she put her hand on his shoulder in a rare display of maternal warmth “—you have let it make you lonely. This infatuation—and that is what it is, if you ask me—simply tells me it is time for you to find a wife. And a man in your position needs to be smart about such things.”

Mother wasn't entirely wrong. He was feeling—for the first time—the hole in his life left by his bachelor status. But to call what he felt for Ida “an infatuation” couldn't have been more wrong. Daniel held a higher respect for Ida than he did for all of the “respectable” potential brides Mother had paraded before him in the past years. To him the whole process had been like sorting through a rack of coats tailored for other men; all serviceable but none of them truly fitting him.

The idea crystallized almost before his eyes, his thoughts coming into startling focus: Ida fit him. Everyone agreed she fit into his professional life. The issue was that he knew she fit into his personal life, as well. Clearly, society wouldn't see it that way, and he couldn't escape that he was a man whose respectability had high consequences. And an employer who shouldn't become emotionally entangled with those under his command. Either one of those could produce scandal, and that could mean a loss of charitable support for the Home when funds were already stretched to their limit.

Mother, her hand still on his shoulder, turned him toward her. “Sit down. I want to tell you something.” Her face had such a stoic set to it that he returned to the chairs without another word.

“Do you remember Mr. Shepler?”

Daniel had been quite fond of the man who had held Mr. Grimshaw's post before Fritz had come on staff. “Of course I do.”

“Do you remember when he took the position up in Maryland?”

“The boys' academy in Baltimore. I remember it. It was an excellent opportunity for him.”

Mother folded her hands in her lap. “It was a move your father arranged for him in order to save the Home from a delicate matter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Michael Shepler had grown fond of the house cook at the time. And she of him. Michael was an educated man of good family, a man with prospects. This cook was just that—a good cook from somewhere here in the city.”

Daniel saw where this was heading and didn't care for it. He rose and returned to the window.

“It was an unsuitable match by all accounts. Michael was too young to recognize the cost to the Home if he and that girl had kept on. The Sheplers were large donors to the Home. They kept on as donors, Daniel, because of what Harold did in the best interests of both the Home and their son. Your father did what was right for a man in his position. He'd have removed the cook if that had been the easier solution, but when he learned of the post up in Baltimore, it became best to arrange for Michael to go.”

Daniel turned. He'd always attributed such social manipulations to his mother, but his father? This was a side to the man he'd revered that he didn't care to see, especially not in this instance. “You're suggesting I find someplace else for Miss Landway to go?” The notion shot a hollow hole in his stomach.

“If it's necessary, yes. It would be in everyone's best interests. Surely you are mature enough to see that. Be reasonable, Daniel. A nurse, however fine, is expendable. You are not. She's a simple girl—we can't depend on her to understand the consequences. If you can't get this...distraction of yours under control, then you must take action.”

His mother had always been a demanding woman, but she'd never stooped to ultimatums. “Action?”

She put her hand to her forehead. “For goodness' sake, Daniel, either find a wife or remove Miss Landway.”

“I don't think either of those actions is necessary,” he said with a glower, swallowing the urge to shout.

“Of course you don't.” She dismissed his reply as if he were an impetuous young man run amok by his passions.

“I think it's best we never have this conversation again.”

She glared at him. “If the situation continues, then that will not be possible and you know it. Face facts, son. Something must be done.”

“I think what must be done,” Daniel said as civilly as he could manage, “is that I should go now.” He could hear her indignant huffing as he turned and left the room.

* * *

It had been a stroke of genius to suggest the boys help paint their common room. With Daniel not yet up to leading fencing lessons, they were getting squirrelly and needed something to do. Ida sent up another silent burst of thanksgiving heavenward as she stood with Daniel in the room now readied with drop cloths, brushes and paints. “Honestly,” Ida chided as Daniel gave the supplies a dubious look, “you could have done this with only one eye. Now you've got two—it ought to be a cinch.”

When the boys were finally let into the room, Ida found herself wondering if this was such a good idea after all. The boys were nearly uncontrollable in their eagerness and paint was rather, well, permanent. Yes, they'd covered the furniture that hadn't already been removed from the room, but Ida did wonder if the floor and walls—and possibly even the ceiling—would survive the process. Still, in order for things to be truly equal, she had to include the boys. Word of the “Sock Circus”—as Mrs. Smiley had dubbed it over the weekend even after receiving her lovely blue slippers—had spread, and the Home's male population was feeling left out.

“I don't think anything with you is ever a ‘cinch,'” Daniel mused. “My life has become considerably more complicated since your arrival.” It was amusing to watch him attempt a good-humored scowl with one eye still red and swollen.

Ida pushed up the sleeves on the artist's smock she'd donned for the occasion. “I prefer the term ‘lively.'”

“Can we start now?” Little George Masters looked as if he couldn't stand to wait another minute. He was poised over the baseboards with a tin of dark green paint as if at the starting line of a footrace. She'd assigned the baseboards and doors to the boys, while keeping the windowsills and higher trims for her and Daniel.

“Matty, would you make sure George gets off to a good start?” Ida said with an encouraging air, hoping her eyes said “and keeps most of the paint on the baseboards?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Matty said, swapping the large brush George had picked up with a much smaller one.
Smart young man
, Ida thought, even more convinced that Matty and Donna made a fine pair and would do well in life.

They worked for a whole ten minutes before the first mishap. A whack and a quiet “oops” made Ida and Daniel both turn their heads to see a small puddle of green spread along the drop cloth by the west door. Ida heard Daniel's “I told you so” sigh.