The Forgotten Room(9)

They key was a modern thing, the metal shiny with newness.

“Thank you,” said Lucy, and took it, feeling as though she had just crossed a mountain range and arrived on the other side, only to find that the campfire was dying low and there were wolves in wait just beyond the wagon train.

Wolves? Or dragons?

Deep in her heart, Lucy had half hoped she was wrong, that, once here, she would find that the house was just a house and nothing to do with her.

Had her mother danced in the great drawing room on the second floor? Had she dined in state beneath the dark beams in the formal dining room? Lucy didn’t know. All she knew was that, somehow, her past lay in this house, with the mural of a knight on the wall.

With the man whose name her mother had uttered with her dying breath.

Harry.





Four




JUNE 1944


Kate


A golden thread of sunlight wound its way through the side of a blackout shade, cutting a line of light across the attic room and into my eyes. It must have been what had awakened me, or perhaps it was the knowledge that I wasn’t alone.

I uncurled myself from the threadbare chaise longue and its faded chintz pattern. It had probably once been a very fine chair, much used and loved, but now it was worn past its usefulness. A spring had found its way through the bottom cushion, and one of the arms hung on by mere threads. I was careful not to put undue stress—or cause myself bodily injury—as I eased myself from where I’d spent most of the previous night.

Captain Ravenel had slept deeply, mostly due to the morphine I’d administered. The previous night I’d had to reopen his wound to clean it thoroughly, and thought the bliss of unconsciousness would be a relief to us both. The leg was badly damaged, the wound worse for having been sutured before all the bone and bullet fragments could be removed, the infection worse because of the delayed use of penicillin. I had doubts I could save the leg, but I kept them to myself. I continued to see his eyes as he’d begged me to save his leg, and I couldn’t allow myself to think of failure.

I looked at my watch pinned to my blouse, realizing it was time for another dose of morphine. Nurse Hathaway, a girl just past twenty who was too young to have formed any traditional opinions about the way things should be and didn’t seem to mind taking orders from a female doctor, had brought several syrettes of the pain medication the previous evening, sparing me yet another dash up and down the stairs.

When I stopped by the side of Captain Ravenel’s bed and checked his chart, I realized that the nurse had been in while I’d been sleeping, had already administered the medication, and had placed a tray filled with a stack of gauze, cotton balls, and disinfectant on the bedside table. I grinned to myself, too thankful to try to figure out her motive.

The patient remained asleep as I slid down his bedclothes to expose his wounded leg so I could examine it, allowing a view of his body, barely covered by a hospital gown. I’d seen up close nearly naked young men thousands of times since I’d arrived at Stornaway Hospital, but this was the first time I’d felt a tinge of self-consciousness. He moaned something unintelligible and I paused, studying his features. He was almost too beautiful to be a man, but the broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms and torso assured me that he was definitely male.

My mind had always been focused on my goal of becoming a doctor, and I’d never allowed myself to be perceived as one of those silly girls swooning over a fine male form like my best friend Margie Beckwith had done since we were twelve and probably would continue to do until she finally found a husband. Her task had been made all the more difficult by war and the exodus of most of the eligible young men from the city, not to mention her job as a librarian at the New York Public Library, which kept her surrounded by old records and other females in the same predicament.

I stared at his face, at the beautiful straight nose and olive skin, at his strong chin and dark brows, and wished he’d open his eyes so I could see them again. I quickly looked away, ashamed at how my purpose had been taken captive by the sight of an attractive male. My wavering brought back the unexpected memory of my mother and me standing wordlessly in front of this building, staring up at the windows of this very room.

I had spent a lifetime trying to understand my mother, to comprehend how she seemed to pine for something just out of her reach. I knew she’d loved my father and me, yet there had always been a barrier between us, a wall that sealed off half of her heart from us, as if she were holding it in reserve. I knew from an early age that I never wanted to be that way. And when I’d decided I wanted to be a doctor, I threw my entire heart into it. The difference between my mother and me, I’d decided, was that I didn’t believe in half measures.

I studied again the beautiful man in front of me, reminding myself of all that I’d accomplished and sacrificed, and all that I could still do as a female doctor, and a familiar calm settled on me. I would do my job, and do it well, and work even harder not to derail my focus.

I took his vitals and, being satisfied with the results, I picked up his chart again from the table at the foot of his bed to make notations. Despite my frantic and constant reading of the chart during the night in an attempt to guide his treatment, I hadn’t noticed his full name or where he was from. My eyes drifted to the top of the form where I’d read earlier that he was a captain and that his last name was Ravenel—a name that sounded oddly familiar. My gaze slid to the space on the form for a first name. Cooper. And he was from Charleston, South Carolina.