It had taken months for Stonemeyer to kick the bottle, and he’d learned after wiring James Craig that Craig had hired his first choice to become doctor for the town of Coryville. But he’d kept his word to Dr. Stonemeyer and hired him to be the company physician in San Francisco, and helped him establish his practice as Dr. Galen Stone.
Keegan and O’Brien kept his secrets. And he kept theirs. But there were times when Dr. Stone’s curiosity plagued him.
Like now.
“She bears a remarkable resemblance to the girl they’re calling the ‘Bringing in the Sheaves’ girl,” he said as he watched Will Keegan smooth a stray red curl off her forehead.
“You think so?” Will countered.
“From what I’ve heard, she fits the description.”
Will lifted an eyebrow in cautious query. “What description is that?”
“Red haired, blue eyed, fair skinned, with a sprinkling of freckles.” Dr. Stone looked over at Will from where he was busy cleaning and suturing the girl’s shoulder wound. It was easier for him to dress her wounds because she was sleeping, but it necessitated Will lifting her into sitting position and holding her there while Dr. Stone worked.
“That description would fit most any girl of Irish, Scottish, or English extraction, Doctor,” Will said.
Will was glad that Julia Jane was unaware of the indignities her modesty suffered. When the doctor finished stitching and dressing her stab wound and treating her other cuts and bruises, he examined her for signs of forced sexual contact. For now, Will thought it best that Julia Jane remain ignorant of that particular examination.
Dr. Stone looked over the rims of his half-spectacles at Will when he concluded the exam. “She fits the description of the missionary much better than the description of the profession to which I first thought she might belong.”
“What profession is that?” Will asked.
“The oldest one,” Dr. Stone admitted. “But this young woman is a virgin. A real one. Not an advertised one from the brothels. She’s never had sexual contact—forced or otherwise—with any man.”
Will heaved a sigh of relief. “She didn’t mention him trying to force himself on her during the attack,” he told the doctor, “or succeeding. He was more concerned with killing her. But I don’t suppose rape is something a young woman would generally discuss with a man who’s not a relative or physician.”
“You would be amazed at the things a young woman won’t discuss with her physician,” Dr. Stone admitted. “I’m surprised she allowed you and Jack to undress her.”
“We had to,” Will told him. “She couldn’t continue to wear what she had on when we found her.” He told the truth. Julia Jane couldn’t let the doctor see her in her Chinese peasant girl disguise and keep her identity safe. The doctor was completely trustworthy, but he was human, and as apt to reveal information about her as anyone else. And at present, her China girl disguise was the best and safest one she had. “We were perfect gentlemen. Jack turned his back and I closed my eyes. And as far as I know, neither one of us peeked.”
“You are both to be commended for that and for being good Samaritans and souls of discretion. So tell me, Will, were all her cuts inflicted by her assailant or did she suffer a few while she was wrecking your saloon?”
Will met the doctor’s unwavering gaze and smiled. “How is she, Dr. Stone?”
“Barring complications from infection or fever, she should make a full recovery,” he said.
Will knew the doctor meant his words to be reassuring, but Will wasn’t reassured. “How likely is she to suffer from infection or fever?”
The doctor shrugged his hunched shoulders. “There is no way for me to tell yet. We bathed, disinfected, and stitched the stab wound and cuts, so infection should be kept to a minimum, but fever is always a possibility—especially in this damp climate.”
“What do we do for her?” Will asked.
“Cold compresses for the bruising. And willow bark dissolved in water for fever.” He looked at Will. “You can get it at the pharmacy. I will write you a prescription for it. Or you can get it at the Chinese herbalist’s, if you prefer. I’ll leave a bottle of laudanum for pain, but use it sparingly. It’s highly addictive. . . .”
“What do we use if we can’t use the laudanum?”
“Brandy,” the doctor told him. “It numbs a good deal of the pain and is less addictive than laudanum. Trust me; I used it to great effect for a number of years.”
“I do trust you, Doc.”
“As for the rest . . .” He shook his head. “Her bruises will heal in their own time. In the meantime, she must stay here and rest.”
Will nodded. “Looks like I’m out of my room and my bed for a while. Thanks, Dr. Stone.” Reaching into his pocket, Will pulled out a few bills and pressed them into the doctor’s hand. “I appreciate it.”
The doctor nodded. “You are welcome, Will. Take good care of our little missionary girl. Send for me sooner if her fever rises or if you need me for anything else. Otherwise I’ll see her in a few days.”
Will met the doctor’s gaze again. “I will.”
“Get some sleep. You’ll the scare the girl to death looking like you do.” He patted Jack on the shoulder as he walked past him toward the door. “I don’t want you as a patient, too.” Dr. Stone turned in the doorway. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I owe you, Will. I owe all of you—you and James and Jack. I know where my loyalties lie, and I know there are too few good men doing good in the world. So watch your back. I got the description of the missionary girl from the police commissioner.” He shrugged once again. “He has a special interest in seeing that she doesn’t cause a certain little businesswoman any more trouble.”
“Thanks, Galen, and if you happen to treat a policeman with a limp resulting from a kick in the knee, I need to know about it.” Will shook the doctor’s hand. “Jack has a cab waiting for you out back.”
Dr. Stone turned back toward the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t bother to see me out; I know the way.”
* * *
WILL AND JACK TOOK TURNS SITTING WITH HER.
She slept most of the first day. Will repeated what Dr. Stone had told him—sleep was good; sleep was necessary; sleep was healing—over and over as he sat at her bedside.
Will was sitting in a wing chair near the bed on the evening of the second day when Julie awoke briefly.
“Hurt.”
Will opened his eyes and sat up on his chair as she rasped out the single word.
“Here.” Will reached for a glass of water and poured into it a teaspoon of laudanum the doctor had left. Moving from his chair to the edge of the bed, Will sat down beside her, anchoring the sheet in place at her chest, preserving her modesty as Julie thrashed against the bed linens.
“Hurt,” Julie muttered. “I hurt.”
“I know,” Will answered, shifting his position, supporting her head and shoulders as he placed the rim of the glass against her lips. “But you must stop thrashing about the bed,” he told her, “or you might do damage to your shoulder or your wrist or both.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste as he presented the glass. “I’m wet and cold.” She shivered involuntarily.
Will placed his palm on her forehead and discovered that her forehead was dry and hot. “Drink this,” he urged. “It will make you feel better.”
“What is it?”
“A little laudanum in water to help with the pain so you can rest,” he told her. “Drink it all down like a good little girl and I’ll get you a dry shirt and another blanket to keep you warm.”
“Hate laudanum,” she complained.
“I’m delighted to hear it,” he said. “Used properly, laudanum is highly effective as a painkiller; unfortunately people who like it too much often develop a habit for it,” he explained. “But Dr. Stone ordered it to help ease your pain. He says it’s good for you. So drink it.” He bumped the glass against her lips once again, taking great care no
t to make contact with the stitches in her bottom lip.
Julie grimaced and tried to refuse the medicine, but Will gave her no choice. Tipping the glass, he forced Julie to drink—or to drown.
“One must take the good with the bad, Julia Jane,” he reminded her. “Dark and light. Yin and yang. That’s the way life works.”
Julie drained the glass, then blinked up at him. “Will?”
“Yes?” He set the glass on the bedside table and eased Julie back down on the pillows, then stood up, turned his back to her, and crossed to the front of the room. He closed the window he’d opened while she was feverish, then retrieved a fresh shirt from his armoire and a clean towel from his shaving stand and returned to her side.
Folding the covers down to her slim hips, Will unbuttoned the silk shirt she was wearing as a substitute nightgown. His silk shirt. He tucked the towel inside the shirt, arranging it over her bosom, hiding her breasts from view before he gently eased the damp shirt she was wearing off her shoulders, down her arms, and out from beneath her.
“Will?” Julie opened her eyes.
He recognized the urgency in her whispered query and looked at her face. It was grayish green beneath the bruising, and the drops of perspiration on her forehead seemed to have tripled. “I’m here.” Reaching for the washbasin, Will fished the flannel out of the water once again, wrung the excess out, and took a step toward the head of the bed.
“Ill.” Julie rolled to the edge of the bed, braced herself on her elbow and forearm, hung her head over the side, and spewed the laudanum he’d just forced her to swallow across the tops of his shoes, then began to cry.
“Shh, don’t cry, Julia Jane,” Will soothed her, pressing the cool flannel cloth onto the back of her neck as she hung her head over the side of the bed. “It’s all right. Don’t cry, sweetheart; you can’t help it when you’re sick.” Glancing down at the vile-smelling concoction she’d spewed onto his shoes and the bedside rug, Will doubted that they would ever be the same. It didn’t matter. Rugs and shoes could be replaced. Julia Jane Parham could not. She was one of a kind.
Julie groaned again.
Recognizing the look of distress on her face, Will scrambled to grab the washbasin as Julie was ill once again. He held her head as her retching dissolved into a fit of dry heaves and eventually subsided, then carefully wiped her face and neck with the damp cloth.
The stench filling his nostrils nearly overpowered him. His stomach roiled and contracted in protest. Will fought to keep from disgracing himself as he slipped his feet out of his shoes and left them on the soiled rug while he padded in stocking feet splattered with the contents of her stomach across the room to empty and rinse out the washbasin in the washroom sink.
He returned to her side and helped Julie lie back against the pillows, then poured her another glass of water from the carafe on the table and offered it to her.
“No more.” Julie clamped her mouth closed to keep him from forcing her to swallow more medicine.
“It isn’t laudanum,” he told her. “It’s warm water. To rinse your mouth.”
Julie relented. She rinsed her mouth and spit in the basin Will held for her. The effort it took exhausted her. Her teeth began to chatter as she lay back against the pillows. Will carried the basin to the washroom, emptied it and rinsed it out once again, and refilled it with fresh, clean water from the pitcher Jack had brought up earlier.
He pulled the single sheet up to Julie’s chin, then unfolded the coverlet at the foot of the bed and draped it over her, tucking it with the sheet tightly around Julie’s shoulders.
“Cold,” she murmured.
Will bent at the waist and peeled off his soiled socks, balancing first on one foot and then the other, before dropping his socks onto his shoes and rolling them both up in the stained rug. Walking to his armoire, he opened a drawer and took out a fresh pair of socks, then crossed to the fireplace and stirred back to life the coals he’d banked. One look at Julie told him she was suffering fever and chills in equal measure. Her eyes were closed and her teeth were chattering.
Will’s heart went out to her. He knew from experience that as soon as she succeeded in getting warm, she’d become too hot, and as soon as she succeeded in cooling off, she’d be chilled to the bone. Leaving her long enough to walk down the hall to the linen closet, Will retrieved another blanket, took it back to his bed, and spread it over Julie.
“Whoa!” Jack entered the room half an hour later with a fresh pot of coffee and barely made it over the threshold. “How can you breathe in here?” he demanded of Will, who sat on the chair beside the bed, reading aloud to Julie, who was sound asleep and buried beneath a mound of covers.
“I’m not sure I am breathing,” Will admitted.
“Between the heat and the stench . . .” Jack set the pot of coffee on the table beside the wing chair and walked over to open the window. “I think the paint is sliding off the walls. Aren’t you hot?”
“As a sinner in Hades.” Will closed the book and looked up at his friend. “I feel like a pig on a spit, but she’s having chills.”
“Saints preserve us!” Jack exclaimed. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Will nodded. “She threw up the laudanum. All over my shoes and the rug. She’s in pain, but the medicine makes her ill.”
“Drag the rug into the hall. I’ll have Ben come collect it.”
“We’ll have to use brandy for the pain,” Will told him. “And hope for the best.”
If the course of this evening followed the course of the previous one, it would be one long night of piling on covers and building up the fire to warm her, only to open the window, pull off the covers, and bathe her with cool water in order to get her temperature down.
Over and over again.
And with the fever came the nightmares. She tossed and turned, thrashing about, reliving the attack, crying out for help. Shouting, “Fire!” while Will held her to keep her from doing further damage to herself as did her best to escape.
After her struggling to get away from him, Julie collapsed in Will’s arms and cried tormented, piteous tears, repeatedly calling out for Su Mi, begging Su Mi to stay alive until she could find her and take her home.
The cycle continued through the night—fever, bad dreams, tears, chills—until she finally fell sleep.
“Poor girl. I’ll sit with her for a while. Go downstairs,” Jack ordered, already shedding his jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves to combat the overwhelming heat in the room. “Get some fresh air. Walk around. Get something cold from the bar. Cool off.”
Will stood up. “If she wakes . . .”
“I’ll send for you,” Jack said, repeating the assurance he’d repeated every time Will left the room. “Is she still having bad dreams?”
“Yes, and the brandy I’ve been forcing down her for the pain is no better than the laudanum. The pain may be diminished, but the nightmares seem to be worse.” He glanced from Jack to the girl on the bed. “Maybe I should stay. . . .”
“I don’t think so, boyo,” Jack told him. “You need to get out. The heat in here is almost intolerable.”
Will had to agree. He’d been drenched in perspiration off and on for hours. “Maybe I’ll walk down to that little shop on the way to the wharf. Gino’s or Giovanni’s—the one that sells those Italian ices. Or Ghirardelli’s for chocolate ice cream. Something cold and soothing for her throat.”
“Why don’t you get one for yourself?” Jack suggested. “I don’t think she’s up to it yet, but your throat must be raw. I heard you reading from down the hall. You’ve been at it for hours.”
“It keeps me from dozing by the fire,” Will admitted, peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt, exchanging it for a fresh one he took out of his armoire. Snagging his tie from the back of the chair, he draped it around his neck.
“Why are you fighting so hard to stay awake, Will?” Jack asked. “You need to sleep while she does. You need to get some rest.”
“I’m b
one-tired. I’m afraid I’ll fall into a deep slumber.” And that might bring dreams of Mei Ling. Or worse, of Elizabeth. Haunted dreams he hadn’t the strength to fight.
“Don’t be afraid,” Jack teased. “That’s the best kind of slumber.”
“What if she wakes up and needs something?” Will frowned down at his dwindling supply of clean shirts before removing another one from the drawer and placing it atop the armoire for Julie. She would need it if her chills were followed by another bout of fever. “Her voice is a whisper. I’m not sure I could hear it.”
Retrieving the gold cuff links he’d removed earlier when he’d rolled up his sleeves in order to seek relief from the heat, Will shoved them through his cuffs. He picked up his discarded waistcoat and jacket.
Jack gave Will a look of patent disbelief. “Trust me; you’ll hear her.”
“Are you certain?”
Jack gifted him with another look of disbelief. “You’ve been listening to the girl breathe for two days, Will. You’ll hear her.”
Will exhaled his relief. It was unlike him to be uncertain or to worry over situations beyond his control. Needless worrying wasn’t part of his nature. He was deliberate. And decisive. He planned for the best possible outcome in any situation, did his best to eliminate the unknowns, and trusted that he could handle anything unexpected that might arise. Will had never been given to second-guessing himself. He had always been secure in the knowledge that he’d done his best, and his best was better than most.
But he was worried about Julia Jane. And Will was honest enough with himself to admit that his worry stemmed from his feelings of general helplessness. He hadn’t been able to prevent his little missionary from making enemies, and despite his warning, he hadn’t been able to protect her from those enemies. When it came to protecting her, he had been useless, just as he’d been useless to prevent what had happened to Mei Ling, and the guilt he carried was eating away at him.