“You want me to come to Greenwood,” she said, a hitch in her voice so that she swallowed visibly before she went on. “You want me to meet your family?”
“I’ve met yours, Savard. Seems only fair.”
She was studying him. “Why?”
“Why do I want you to meet my family?” He gave her his best frown. “That’s a question for a longer conversation.”
Jack stepped away just as someone knocked on the door. He watched Anna gather her thoughts and remind herself who she was. Then she opened it to find the same student nurse standing there.
“Dr. Morris and Dr. Sweet need a surgical consult on a patient who just came in,” she said, her eyes darting to Jack and then away. Anna looked at him over her shoulder as she left the room.
“I’ll come by for you tomorrow at seven,” he said. “As soon as I’ve finished my shift.”
? ? ?
“JUST GO AWAY,” Sister Xavier said to Mary Augustin. “And leave me to my headache.”
“A headache is quite common after surgery, but it can be treated.” She added two more drops of laudanum to the glass of water she had ready, aware that her patient was watching every movement.
“I see now how it is with you,” said the older nun, refusing to take the glass Mary Augustin offered. “Meek as a mouse until you’ve got the weak and vulnerable to bully.”
Mary Augustin allowed herself a small smile. “Yes, you’ve figured me out. I’m here to bedevil you. You can suffer in silence, or you can take the medicine that will relieve some of your discomfort and let you sleep. Which do you think I’d prefer?”
“Insolent,” Xavier snapped. “Give me the glass.” When she had drained it she sat back against the pillows. “Disgusting.”
Mary Augustin poured another glass of water from the pitcher.
“This too,” she said. “It’s important to keep your humors in balance.”
When the second glass had been emptied, Mary Augustin checked her dressing and went about the small things she could do to make the older nun comfortable.
“You watched the whole operation, I suppose.”
“I did.”
“And?”
Mary Augustin sat down on the stool beside the bed. “What do you want to know?”
Sister Xavier flapped a hand impatiently. “Don’t be dense. Tell me what she did. Your Dr. Savard.”
It was difficult to know where to start, how much detail to provide, whether it was her place to offer conclusions or if she should simply refuse to talk about the surgery itself. But it seemed to her that Sister Xavier had a right to know.
“Dr. Savard made room for me to stand beside her and watch,” she began. Every minute was fresh in her memory, but Mary Augustin had the sense that it didn’t matter how much time passed, she would remember it all, detail by detail. It was a revelation to watch Dr. Savard’s hands moving very quickly and surely while she explained exactly what she was doing in a calm, methodological way. She had pointed out different types of vessels and tissues and the tumor itself, an encapsulated mass the size of a lemon.
“A lemon!” Sister Xavier interrupted her. “It felt far bigger to me.”
“It was easily removed, which is good news. No blood vessels involved.” She used a fresh cloth to wipe the perspiration from Sister Xavier’s forehead until her hand was batted away.
“Where is it?”
“Pardon?”
“Where’s the tumor they took out of me?”
“It was dissected and is being studied under a microscope.” And she hoped that this would be enough information, because as curious as Sister Xavier was, Mary Augustin doubted she wanted to know about the tumor that had broken open like a bad egg on the laboratory table.
When she turned to look, the pain lines between Sister Xavier’s brows had lessened and she blinked.
“You are a good nurse,” she said, in an almost pleasant tone of voice. “I hope you won’t regret giving it up.”
14
ON SATURDAY MORNING just before ten, Sophie turned onto Park Place and came to a stop. For more than a year she had been avoiding this corner for fear that she might see Cap, and for fear that she might not. Now she took a moment to catch her breath.
The house was as it had always been, classical in its lines and elegant, the counterpoint to new mansions springing up along Fifth Avenue, where excess had become a religion. Here nothing had changed, and nothing was the same.