Sophie didn’t often explain, but there was something disarming about the unabashed way in which the obvious had been laid out.
“Yes,” she said. “My grandmother and Anna’s mother were half sisters. They had the same father but different mothers. Technically I believe we are half cousins. Would you rather I didn’t examine you?”
The heavy jaw worked for a moment. “I’m not sure.”
Sophie sat beside the bed. “You don’t appear to have a fever, which means that postsurgical infection is unlikely. Any pain?”
“A twinge now and then, when I lift my arm. Nothing really.”
She might be lying, as most patients lied when they wanted something—or did not want something—specific from a doctor. But Sophie couldn’t force Sister Xavier’s confidence, and it would be a waste of time to try. “As there’s no sign of a fever, it can wait until the other Dr. Savard sees you tomorrow, if you would be more comfortable.”
There was a drawn-out moment while Sister Xavier struggled with her scruples. Finally she said, “You really are a doctor?”
“Fully trained and qualified,” Sophie assured her. “If you’re wondering about your tumor, I can tell you that it looked to be benign. Not malignant, though sometimes it is hard to know for sure. I would say that it is unlikely to reoccur.”
“Then why do I sit here?”
“Until the incision is fully closed, infection is still a possibility. Well.” She stood, and then sat again because Sister Xavier was pointing at the chair. Simply pointing. As if she were a student who had dared to rise without permission.
“Sister Mary Augustin is off somewhere,” she said. “I think you should spend at least a little while here in compensation.” She thrust a pile of newspaper at Sophie. “Read to me. My eyes can’t cope with the fine print anymore, even with spectacles.”
Sophie took the paper. “What kind of news do you want to hear?”
A hand rose and fell. “Anything,” she said.
“Here’s a story about the mayor.”
“Anything but the mayor.”
Sophie’s suggestions were dismissed one by one until she gave up. “You don’t want to hear me reading the paper,” she said.
“I do,” Sister Xavier insisted. “Just find something interesting.”
Sophie said a small, quiet word of thanks that the sister wasn’t interested in the society column. She did want to hear a story about a fight between Irish and Italians that had sent four men to the hospital. She listened closely to stories about a robbery, a murder on a train, and a police raid on an opium den.
A knock at the door brought Sophie’s reading to a close.
“That will be my appointment. If I have time I’ll come back later to read this story about a knifing on the White Line dock. Or this one, about the body of an unidentified woman in Battery Park.”
“Thank you,” Sister Xavier said with a sniff. “I would like that.”
? ? ?
SOPHIE WAS STILL laughing a little to herself when she got to her office and found the younger Sam Reason sitting on a chair in the hall. He stood when he saw her. A tall man, as straight as a rifle and lean, wiry in the way of men who worked hard and were abstemious in their habits. He was no more than thirty, and he bore no resemblance to his grandparents.
As Sophie remembered New Orleans, most people of color were some shade of brown, from her own pale caramel to the dark brown of rich earth, and New York was much the same. But Sam Reason was far darker, a deep black that stood out all the more for the crisp white of his shirt collar. She wondered if he might be adopted and then put the idea aside as irrelevant and more important, none of her business.
He had a good if somewhat somber smile, and he shook her hand without hesitation, firmly, as her father had taught her was proper. His voice was much like his skin color: very deep and rich in tone. There was a rasp that might mean nothing more than a stubborn cold but sounded to Sophie like an older injury to his vocal cords.
“Thank you for seeing me.” He followed her into the office and took the chair she indicated, with his hat in his lap and the heels of his hands on his knees. “I don’t mean to interrupt your work.”
“I’m not even on duty,” Sophie told him. “And your time is as important as mine.” She brought the desk chair out so that she could sit across from him without a barrier. “I’m just sorry to meet you under these circumstances. My sincere condolences on your grandfather’s death. I didn’t know him well, but I liked him very much.”
“The feeling was mutual, Dr. Savard.”
“Please, call me Sophie.”
“It’s an honor. Thank you. I’m Sam.”
Now that she had a chance to study him more closely Sophie noted that the beds of his fingernails were ink stained, and that reminded her why he had come.
“I expect you heard the basics about the trouble that Dr. Garrison was in.”