pierced her with a hard look, daring her to argue.
She blinked. Blinked again. Swallowed. Then slowly nodded. “I will concede your point, doctor. However, the children’s situation notwithstanding, I am entitled to know about your other patients. What of the mothers still alive, the ones working in the brothels on Market Street?”
Shane held her stare. “I treat them, as well. And anyone else in need. I turn none away.”
A sound of outrage slipped from her lips. “Innocent children are one thing, but their mothers are quite another. You did not say in your advertisement that you care for…for…sinners.”
Her words were like a solid punch to his gut. How often had he heard similar accusations thrown at his own mother, all because she had chosen to be a wealthy man’s mistress?
Memories lurking below the surface bubbled forth, taunting him. Shane’s breath turned cold in his lungs under the assault.
Yes, his mother had been a sinner, but she had paid dearly for her mistakes. She’d died in shame, and there had been nothing Shane could do to stop the tragedy.
He’d been too young, too inexperienced, too—
Another unladylike sniff yanked him back to the present.
“You have nothing else to say to me, doctor?” she asked. “What is your defense for misleading me into thinking this was an ordinary nursing position?” The chill of her tone sat heavy in the room between them.
Shane fought to keep his resentment and anger from taking control of his reason. What had he been thinking, to allow this interview to continue so long?
He could never subject the Charity House children, their mothers, or any of his patients for that matter, to this woman and her…judgment.
He owed it to the memory of his own mother to find a compassionate nurse to assist him in his practice. Was guilt driving him to care for the disenfranchised? Guilt over failing the one woman who had sacrificed her life for him. Or was it true conviction that pushed him to care for the unwanted?
He wasn’t sure anymore. Nor was he convinced his motives mattered. His patients, and their care, had to come first.
With his mind made up, Shane rose from his chair and waited until the woman did the same. “Thank you for your time, Miss Marley. I am no longer in need of your services.”
He did not offer her his hand.
“You are dismissing me?” The woman had the nerve to look mutinous, as though she was being unfairly sent away. “But you need my assistance. You said so yourself at the beginning of this interview.”
With each breath he took, his patience wore thinner. “I think it is best we part ways at this juncture.”
Gasping, she threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin high in the air. “I’m your last candidate,” she said. “You have no one else.”
“I am confident God will provide.”
“You will regret this,” she warned.
Shane met her gaze with an unrelenting glare of his own. “I will not.”
He’d never spoken truer words. For although he knew things would get worse before they got better, he also knew he just needed a little more faith, a little more patience. All would work for the best.
With a loud huff, Miss Eugenia Marley skimmed her ice-edged gaze across him, turned on her heel and marched out of the room. Each angry step she took sounded like a hammer hitting unforgiving iron.
Shane stood stock-still, staring straight ahead. He barely flinched when she slammed the door behind her with a loud bang.
For several moments he remained unmoving, looking out the window facing the backyard of Charity House. The wind beat at the glass with an angry fist, sending an unrelenting howl past a crack between the pane and wood casing.
A perfect expression of his own frustration.
There was no one left to interview. Shane could only hope that—
No. He would not waste precious energy on hope. Nor would he worry.
He would trust.
Rolling his shoulders, Shane shoved a hand through his hair and shut his eyes. He let the tension drain from him for a single moment. And then another. And another still. Waiting until his mind cleared enough to focus on prayer.
At last, he whispered, “Lord, I cannot do this alone. Where man fails, I know You excel. I pray You bless my patients with a compassionate woman to assist us.”
Opening his eyes, Shane looked around the parlor room of Charity House. At first glance nobody would think this large and fancy mansion housed over forty children with nowhere else to go. Marc and Laney Dupree had created a home filled with compassion and caring, a refuge for the abandoned and unwanted boys and girls no other orphanage would touch.
The Duprees’ generosity of spirit humbled Shane and inspired him to expand his own medical practice in the same vein, a practice that was becoming unmanageable for one man.
Trust. He had to trust that God had a plan. The Lord would bring relief in His perfect time.
A deep clearing of a throat jerked Shane out of his reverie. Pivoting at the sound, he locked his gaze with Marc Dupree’s concerned expression. Dressed in a brocade vest and matching tie, with his dark hair immaculately combed and face clean shaven, Marc looked more like a banker than the fierce proprietor of an orphanage. But just like Charity House, Shane knew the other man had hidden depths, and was an example of complete integrity.
“Any success?” Marc asked.
Shane shook his head at his friend, and jammed his hands in his pockets. “It appears I’ve wasted another day with fruitless interviews.” He lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture. “Perhaps—”
A high-pitched scream cut off his words, followed by a round of incomprehensible shouting. Shane’s ears pricked when he heard one voice rise above the others. “Somebody find Dr. Shane. Hurry.”
Bella pivoted in several directions, searching desperately for the source of the panicked cries tumbling over one another.
Forcing herself to remain calm, she took a deep breath, stood immobile and listened intently. The shouts were coming from behind her.
She spun around and gasped at the sight before her. Chaos had erupted in the massive yard that backed up to her brother’s church.
Heart in her throat, Bella lurched forward. Stopped. Frowned.
Hadn’t she learned from her recent experience with William that it was better to assess a situation before rushing headlong into the unknown?
Dreadful memories of her last meeting with the viscount slammed through her mind, washing away her concentration. She shook her head violently and gritted her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. Bella knew she should find the source of the disaster unraveling in front of her. Instead, exhaustion, shame and anger at William’s betrayal threatened to steal her focus.
No.
