The Doctor's Undoing (8 page)

Mrs. Smiley told Daniel what she thought on a regular basis, and that always felt like a weight pressing down daily on his shoulders. Ida Landway's version of the
what I think
speech felt entirely different. Her words poked him, prodded him in ways that didn't feel altogether comfortable, but not altogether unpleasant either. More push than press, if that made any sense. Then again, he'd managed about an hour of sleep in thirty hours—nothing should make any sense at the moment.

“Thank you,” he said slowly, “for telling me what you think.”

“Well,” she huffed, “now
there's
something I don't hear very often. Most times my big mouth gets me into big trouble, which is why I've been trying so hard to mind my tongue here.” She cut the fire from under the eggs and turned to him. “But I really do believe it, Dr. Parker. Color changes a heart. There could be so much more happiness in these walls. There could be buckets more joy in these children's hearts, and all it would take is some paint and imagination. God's world is a lovely, color-filled place, and it eats me alive that these little ones can't see it.”

Her words were heartfelt; every inch of her body hummed with her belief in what she said. Daniel hired for skill as often as he could, but he always hired for heart above all. It gave him great satisfaction to know that the chance he'd taken on Ida Lee Landway had indeed brought him a woman with heart. Loads of it.

“The Home is that colorless to you?” Practical as he was, he'd never paid much attention to such things. His focus was always the bodies inside the walls, not the walls themselves.

Miss Landway planted her hands on her hips. “Gracious, I just told you the army had more color.” She pronounced it like the deepest of faults. “What does that tell you?” She opened cabinets around the kitchen until she found a stack of plates, pulling two out. “Look at these. Plain white. At least they're not tin like in the army, but the children eat off tin plates, don't they?”

They did. With the numbers they served every day, there weren't too many ways around that—but Daniel doubted Miss Landway would see it that way.

She set the plates on the counter beside her then went searching again, producing silverware and—of course—plain beige linen napkins to place down on the counter beside the plates. The children used muslin napkins of much the same color. “No color here, either.”

He felt compelled to defend the Home at least a little. “We do have practicalities to contend with, Miss Landway.”

She replied by holding up a stack of beige muslin dishcloths. “We're drowning in practicalities, Dr. Parker. I'm not saying we need my granny's china teacups, but honestly, even a blue stripe down the napkins would make a world of difference. The girls could hem up colored napkins as a sewing project. Embroider flowers on them. Something.
Anything
.” She slid the eggs onto the plates, their sunny yellow color now standing out to Daniel as he tried to see the Home's bland world through her eyes. In the few moments of her passionate speech, he'd forgotten how tired he was. She always managed to impose color onto her nursing uniform, slipping a bright blue ribbon into the rich auburn of her hair, and he noticed tiny blue flowers embroidered onto the collar of her blouse. Her whole manner was so vibrant that he rarely stopped to notice the details, but now that he did, he had to admit that they were charming. Meanwhile, the comforting, buttery scent of scrambled eggs and toast filled his senses in a way it hadn't in years. Had he become that numb to the world and its wonders?

“Perhaps you're right,” he admitted, swallowing the feeling that he'd just cracked open a very large floodgate. He rightly feared that this small trickle of his approval would soon become a tidal wave of Ida Landway's rainbow world.

“I'm absolutely right,” she declared. Then, finding her words a bit presumptuous, she tacked a respectful “Dr. Parker” onto the end. She picked up the plates and headed toward the staff dining room as if that settled the matter. Daniel filled the coffeepot from the percolator and followed her to the table just as MacNeil pushed through the French doors. The Scotsman was usually the first up; the rest of the staff would arrive soon. Daniel found himself unnerved to be discovered eating breakfast alone with Miss Landway.

MacNeil, on the other hand, looked as if he wouldn't much mind to find Daniel breakfasting with the Queen of England. “Saints alive,” he said wearily, “I itch like I've been sleeping with a herd of goats.” He pushed up his sleeves to display swaths of tiny red blisters along his forearms. “Have ye got any more of that stuff, Miss Landway?”

She responded by popping off her chair and offering the place setting to MacNeil. “Keep those sleeves rolled down. Here, eat this while I go find some oatmeal in the kitchen. I can wrap those arms up in some napkins while you eat.” She headed for the kitchen pass-through, then turned back toward the groundskeeper. “Unless that's not the only place you're breaking out in a rash.”

MacNeil's reply was to turn pink and catch Daniel's eye with a mortified expression. It was safe to assume the Scotsman was indeed breaking out in other places.

“Oh,” Miss Landway said quietly, her own face coloring. “You just eat up and I'll send you back to your rooms with a bowl of it. Oatmeal and baking soda, that is.”

MacNeil lost his embarrassment in a forkful of eggs. “Good cooking and clever. Where'd you find her again?”

Daniel had the strange thought that oatmeal and baking soda were beige and white—Miss Landway's offending colorless shades. Why was he suddenly thinking of everything in terms of hues? “The army,” he replied with a smirk as he dug into his own yellow, tasty eggs. “The dull, drab army.”

Chapter Nine

I
da sat perched on the edge of her chair Tuesday morning and told the bees in her stomach to hush. She'd faced grisly wounds and battle-hardened generals with less trepidation than she knew now at the prospect of the room of Charleston society ladies currently before her. For all the easy kinship she felt with Leanne, some days the differences in their backgrounds still loomed like an uncrossable gulch.

Ida came from a large, scrambling family up in the mountains of West Virginia. Leanne came from good Southern stock, a comfortable member of Charleston society. When Leanne finally did leave for Washington—which could only be soon—Ida wasn't sure how she was going to get along with the six ladies Leanne had recruited.
Lord, You're gonna have to pave the way here
, Ida prayed.
I'm in over my head.

Find the good.
That's how Mama had taught her to deal with any sticky situation. Ida scanned the room and the refined faces for any trace of positivity. The best thing about the room was the abundance of color and texture. Next to the drab decor of the Parker Home for Orphans, Isabelle Hooper's gaily colored parlor was a breath of fresh air. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Hooper,” Ida ventured to the afternoon's hostess. “Such wonderful colors.”

Mrs. Hooper warmed instantly to the compliment. “Why, thank you, dear. You call me Isabelle, now. No need to be so formal.”

“I'm Ida,” Ida replied, still feeling out of place but glad for the welcome in the woman's kind eyes.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ida,” Isabelle said with a smile as warm as her eyes. “I'm always glad to meet a fellow
I
. And a knitter, too.”

“I?”

“Ida, Isabelle. Short of an Imogene down on Broad Street, you're the only other
I
name I know. There aren't many of us.”

Ida found herself able to laugh and even manage a deep breath. She reached for the glass of sweet tea Isabelle had set before all the women seated around her parlor. “I suppose that's true. We ought to look out for each other.” Feeling braver, she managed a wink. “All the other vowels are likely to be jealous, us being so exclusive and all.”

Isabelle fanned herself. “Gracious, but you are a clever one. I do believe we'll get along just fine.”

She was like Mama, Ida thought to herself, just with fancier trimmings. Welcoming, quick to make a friend and fond of a good laugh. A lump of shame settled in Ida's stomach where the bees had been. Why had she made assumptions just because Isabelle seemed to be exceedingly well off? Rich folks could be as kind as poor ones, just as poor folks could be as mean as those with wealth. Dr. Parker had allowed her to seek these volunteers and donations of yarn, and that meant rubbing elbows with Charleston's upper tiers. She was going to have to learn to look at these people by their character, not their ledgers. Still, coming from someone whose entire childhood home could fit inside the living room where she currently sat, it was hard not to feel small and fretful.

“Have you been knitting a long time?” Ida made herself ask, picking up one of the myriad balls of colored yarn that sat in baskets at the center of the circle of women.

“My mother and grandmother were talented knitters. Mother with all kinds of needlework.” Isabelle pointed to a set of exquisitely worked pillows lined up on a settee in the corner. “Those are hers.”

“They're wonderful.” And they were. It was clear from the designs where Isabelle got her love of color. “Mercy, but I think I'd never let anyone sit on those—they're worth framing.”

Now it was Isabelle's turn to laugh, leaning in as if to share a secret. “You're half-right—no one but Chester is allowed to sit over there.”

Ida was just taking a breath to ask what earned this Chester fellow such special privileges when a dainty white poodle the size of a bread box trotted into the room and hopped onto the couch to settle himself in a space she only now realized was left between the groupings of pillows.

“Yes.” Isabelle chuckled as she answered Ida's unasked question, “That would be Chester. He doesn't take up much space, so I indulge him.”

Given the twinkle of affection in Isabelle's eyes, Ida guessed that Chester must live a very indulgent life indeed. “I had a dog once, growing up,” she offered. “They are grand company.” She pictured Spud, the loud and wiry mutt she and her brothers chased growing up. It was hard to categorize Spud and Chester as members of the same species. Still, dogs were indeed great company, which made Ida wonder if the good Dr. Parker would ever consent to something so unpredictable as pets on the Home grounds. She couldn't see it—the man had been forced to stretch his mind to embrace colored socks, never mind something that ate and barked and required cleaning up after. Still, she could almost picture the delight in the children's eyes were they to get a visit from well-behaved Chester. How much trouble could an occasional visit from such a small dog be? “If you ever deliver your socks in person to the Home, would you bring Chester?”

The idea raised Isabelle's gray eyebrows. “Chester?”

“The children have no pets, and I think the chance to play with and pet a dog would be such a treat for them. The girls at least. Some of the boys might be a tad rough for a...” She scrambled for the right word to speak of Chester's rather dandy nature. “...gentlemen like Chester.”

The older woman pondered the idea, one eye squinted in consideration. “I shall have to consider that. I've never been to the Home, you know. Of course we give—everyone does—but I've never been active in the cause before now. And visit? Well, I don't mind saying I fear it would be such a dreary place.”

Everyone does not give
, Ida corrected silently, remembering a surprisingly frank lament Daniel had recently given her over dwindling contributions.
But I aim to change that, one sock at a time.

At that moment, Leanne stood and gathered her notes to begin the formal portion of the gathering.

“Well,” whispered Ida to Isabelle, “it certainly can be dreary, but I like to think we're about to change that.”

“Thank you, first of all, to the gracious Isabelle Hooper for opening her home to us this morning. I know so many people have fled the heat to The Islands or farther north, but I am delighted to find y'all here and willing. Ida, I wonder if you would tell the story of baby Meredith's booties. It would help the ladies understand what we're up against.”

Ida told the story of poor Meredith's booties and the confrontation those innocent pink feet had launched. She was a good storyteller, and it pleased her to see compassion or humor or sadness reflected in the eyes of her audience. At the right moment, Ida reached into her pocket and produced a lone, sad white sock. Plain, graying and with a lamentable hole in the heel, it seemed to tell the whole story of the Parker Home for Orphans in a single object.

Then, timing it carefully for full dramatic effect, Ida produced Meredith's booties. Her heart leaped at the oohs and ahhs that erupted from the women, some of whom even clapped. “It breaks my heart to think of all those girls without a single bright, cheerful thing that someone made with love for them. It's just socks, I know, but didn't the war teach us that it's so much more than just socks? I want each of these girls to know someone cares enough to give them something pretty. The scriptures tell us ‘Happy are the feet of those who bring good news.' I dearly hope you'll join me in bringing good news and happy feet to these children.”

“Of course we will,” declared Isabelle in such a voice of enthusiasm that it dared any woman in the room to consider otherwise. “If my own feet were any smaller, I'd march you right up to my armoire and dump out my stocking drawer for you to take back this afternoon.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Ida caught Leanne's eye. It had begun. Leanne handed out single sheets of paper with the instructions written out. “There are three sizes of patterns, but if you have a pattern you know well and can adapt to a size close to one of these, that will work just fine. It's variety we're looking for here, so be as creative as you like. At the bottom of each of your sheets is a list of girls. There are six of you here, so we've assigned four girls to each of you. Since there are twenty-six girls total, Ida and I will take the final two girls.”

“Look,” said Ida, pointing to the list that had been given to Isabelle, “another
I
.” How could she have forgotten there was an Ingrid at the Home? Ida was also pleased to see both Gitch's and Donna Forley's names on Isabelle's list. She was growing especially fond of both girls.

“Another
I
indeed. Perhaps I will need to pay you all a visit. And bring Chester.”

Of course, Dr. Parker would be aghast at the thought of Chester's appearance at the Home. Ida knew, however, that it would take only one visit for the children to capture Isabelle Hooper's heart. And if that required the chaos of a little white dog, well then, it was a tiny price to pay.

* * *

“Socks?” Mother looked as if she found the idea preposterous.

“I suppose I ought to be thankful we don't live in a climate that requires sweaters.” Daniel's spine stiffened at the look Mother was giving him. They were sitting on the porch again, discussing the Home. Lately his weekly visits to his mother had become a chore. He loved his mother, and was grateful for all the support she'd given him in taking over the Home when his father died, but lately her staunch support had begun to wane as he began to implement his own views. Consciously or unconsciously, it was becoming clear to Daniel that Amelia Parker had expected him to simply replicate his father's administration. Any divergence from “the way things have always been done”—such as the one he'd just described in Miss Landway's little project—was met with a scowl.

It had begun to be “Miss Landway's Little Project” in his head, although every day it seemed less and less “little.” His industrious new nurse did not deserve the look Mother was giving down her nose at the moment. Daniel surprised himself by stooping to name-dropping to gain her approval. “Leanne Sample Gallows—who happens to be a dear friend of Miss Landway's, by the way—has gathered some very prominent names to lend a hand.”

“However did she manage that?” Mother inquired as though it were an impossible feat, blotting her forehead. Again Daniel was struck by how sour she appeared of late. “Most families of prominence are out of town this time of year.”

Daniel swallowed the “Well,
we
are not out of town” that was simmering on his tongue. Mother seemed to try his patience so easily lately. His days of fleeing Charleston's heat for The Islands farther along the coast or up into the cooler mountains for weeks at a time were long gone, surrendered to the weight of his responsibilities. If he was going to live up to his father's memory, he couldn't give the Home less than his full time and attention. Besides, he had little reason to wish himself anywhere other than town. The midsummer temperature was decidedly uncomfortable, but Daniel did not fear malaria and other summer-borne diseases the way other Charlestonians did. As for comfort, Daniel welcomed the idea of migrating the full population of the Home to some cooler summer locale one day. Present circumstances, however, gave no indication that such luxuries could come his way anytime soon. The best he could do these days were the pair of treasured concrete bathhouses the Home had off one of the dormitories. The cool, sheltered swimming “holes” made summers bearable at the Home, and while it had been one of his father's only amenities to the compound, it was certainly the most appreciated.

He took a sip of his coffee, trying again to ignore his mother's customary glare of bafflement at his beverage preference. He pressed on in the conversation. “Did you know Isabelle Hooper hosted the lady knitting volunteers for their first meeting yesterday?”

“Well, of course I knew that!” Mother snapped, as if the mere hint that she was not aware of all Charleston's social events would not be tolerated. “She invited me.”

This was news to Daniel. Miss Landway had been dutifully providing him with project updates, asking his opinion on some issues and even waiting for approval before acting on others. She seemed so energized by the progress that he'd come to enjoy and even anticipate her reports. Just a few days ago, Miss Landway had shown him her current work on Mrs. Smiley's surprise blue slippers, holding them up with a pride of craftsmanship that made him grin. As a matter of fact, Daniel now found himself hiding an amused smile every time Mrs. Smiley complained about her aching feet. Mrs. Smiley's grousing producing a smile? That alone served as evidence that Ida Landway was proving to be a great asset to the Home.

“You declined Mrs. Hooper's invitation?” Daniel felt a pinch of annoyance. Normally, Mother had her hand in everything to do with the Home. He didn't think she could knit, but according to Miss Landway at least one of the recent volunteers was new to the skill and had received many eager offers from potential teachers, so that proved no impediment. No, he suspected his mother's decline had little to do with yarn and needles, and that bothered him. Whatever bee she had in her bonnet these days, she shouldn't be taking it out on a project to benefit the orphans.

Mother puffed herself up at his question. “I had a previous engagement.”

Daniel's annoyance pinched harder. “I'm sure you could still participate. As a matter of fact, I'm positive that a prior engagement needn't stop you. Mrs. Gallows will be moving to Washington, DC soon and plans to knit her socks there and ship them to the Home.”

“How very dedicated of Mrs. Gallows, bless her heart.” When he grunted his disapproval at the snide tone, Mother squared her shoulders. “I fail to see how such an odd form of support is at all useful. Whyever do the children need colored socks?”