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She managed to keep her voice dispassionate, as a good nurse needed to be. “I am aware, Father.”
Though if things had been different, perhaps she would be worried about protecting her own child. If she’d never agreed to live with Aunt Eleanor and deliver in secret, if she hadn’t asked for another family to raise the baby...
Foolishness. There was no going back, not after so many years.
“I’m sure he’s safe from the flu, wherever he is,” Father ventured.
“She,” Louise corrected, goaded into speaking after all. She hadn’t held the baby after the long hours of labor, had never asked for anything but medication to take the pain away before they whisked the child away, so she didn’t know the gender of her baby with certainty. Still, she’d been convinced it was a girl. Had prayed for that over and over while feeling the nudges and kicks of the baby inside her.
A boy might grow up to be like his father, inconstant and greedy, while a girl would, God willing, inherit her mother’s practical nature. It was all Louise could leave her, along with a letter and a hefty check from Father to cover her education someday.
The wind cut deeper, and Louise shuddered. It was in the past, and none of it, however painful, could decide the question in front of them now. “Please, Father, I’m not one of your fictional characters whose motivations you can endlessly debate. I’m a trained nurse waiting to hear if I’m to be allowed to assist in a global medical crisis.”
His features drooped in resignation. “So you are. Though I had hoped you were more than that.”
Don’t let it show.It was easier, four years removed, to hold back visible signs of emotion, but still painful. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”Again.
“Dr. Hoffman was deeply opposed to my permitting you to work in a local ward. He felt that any contagion you might bring back to our home would be too much for me.”
It was not a surprise. Dr. Hoffman had looked nearly as haggard as Father on this visit, likely as overworked as any of the medical professionals in the nation. His first thought would be for his wealthy patient, not the poor of Derby.
“His recommendation,” Father continued, “was that we allow other nurses to travel to Derby.”
She’d thought of that, had used it as an excuse out of fear when the epidemic first began to spread. “No one will come, not to a town this small.” Not when cities like Boston and New York were seeing cases in the tens of thousands. “Certainly not until spring.”
“I told him the same.”
She let out the breath she’d taken in to continue the argument. “What changed your mind?”
“Charles Cliffton came by the other day to drop off books. He told me Anthony, one of our youngest patrons, has taken ill.”
It wasn’t about her persuasive arguments or badly needed skills at all.
Still, did it matter? She remembered the towheaded boy bent over his children’s book, sounding out each simple syllable, and pictured him shivering on a cot in the makeshift hospital, burning with fever.
Whatever the reason for her father’s change of heart, she would finally be useful.
“I can’t keep you to myself any longer. Not when the need is this dire in the community I’ve come to love.”
“I will do good work, Father. I promise.”
“Take care of the children, Louise.” His eyes wandered across the rocks. “As for me, my fate is in the hands of Providence.”
Overly dramatic, as usual. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you afraid of dying, Father?”
He looked up in surprise. “Well, I don’t exactly like the idea. Too many good books left unread.”
It was his attempt to lighten the mood, but Louise felt herself stiffen all the same. That was his greatest regret?
They stood in silence again, her mind already thinking through the supplies she would need to order, the hours she could reasonably work without collapsing, the hygiene she must practice before returning home each day.
“Lighthouses are tragic, you know.”
The comment, so far removed from nausea and nursing wards, caused her to pause. “Whatever do you mean, Father?”
He gestured toward the structure on the promontory, untouched by news of the Great War or the Spanish flu or the troubled conversation between father and daughter. “They are strong, courageous even. A beacon of light in the midst of a storm. Everyone admires them ... but from a distance.”
She wondered if she ought to wave Benson over to wheel Father back. When he got in one of his fanciful moods, it meant he’d overtaxed himself. “Of course they do. That’s their entire purpose—to serve as a warning of danger.”
