the doctor told James it was time to hire a nurse, I was excited at first. I’d had a tiring day, you see, and welcomed the idea of a helper. But then that night in the quiet of my own room, I balked a bit. The Lord and I did some talking, though, and that helped. I trusted Him to provide someone special, and He has.”
Becky rested her hand on the older woman’s arm. “I’ll do all I can to help, Frau O’Brien. I was at my mother’s bedside day and night until the Lord took her home. I know it was only a mother’s love talking, but she said I was the best nurse she could have asked for.”
Mrs. O’Brien patted Becky’s hand with work-roughened fingers. “My dear girl, since you’re going to help me with my most intimate needs, we can dispense with the formality. You may call me Mutti as James does.”
“I couldn’t possibly!”
“I insist. And no more Sie, either. We’ll be spending a lot of time together the next few months, and I want us to be good friends, so please use du.”
Becky was at a loss for words. Once she’d turned twelve, her own mother had no longer allowed her to use the informal word for you in their conversations, and yet Mrs. O’Brien had invited her to do so after a brief conversation. The honor sent Becky’s spirits soaring.
She would stand up to Mr. O’Brien, come what may, because she was going to care for his mother. And she wasn’t going to let any concerns he might have about her qualifications or abilities get in the way.
As though she considered the matter settled, Mrs. O’Brien—Mutti—changed the subject. “The warm days of spring are lovely, aren’t they? When I was a girl in the Old Country, our window boxes were full of flowers like those in the half barrels out front. Seeing them brings back such good memories. Do you know what they’re called in English?”
Becky glanced at the big red blooms with their bright green leaves. “It’s spelled the same, but it sounds a bit different.” She said the word using the English pronunciation. “Geranium.”
The door leading from the waiting area to the rooms beyond opened. Becky caught a whiff of a strong, fruity scent that wrinkled her nose. She’d never been to a doctor’s office before, and the odor surprised her.
Mutti leaned over and whispered, “It’s ether. Dr. Wright said he’d used some earlier when he had to anesthetize a patient. Potent, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.” Her mother’s doctor used to show up at their house smelling of onions and cigar smoke and looking as if he’d slept in his clothes. The dignified blond man in the doorway was the picture of professionalism.
He saw her and smiled. “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Wright, and you must be Miss Becky Martin. Welcome. I trust your journey went well.”
“Thank you, sir. It did.” She still hadn’t gotten used to people calling her by her new name. She’d gone by Rebecca Donnelly all her life, but when she was forced to flee she’d chosen to use the nickname Becky along with her middle name, Martin, which had been her mother’s maiden name.
Mr. O’Brien stepped from behind the doctor and frowned. “It’s you.”
Dr. Wright’s eyebrows rose. “You two have met?”
Lord, please give me courage.
She stood, lifted her chin and looked into Mr. O’Brien’s eyes without flinching. “We haven’t been properly introduced, but he did assist me earlier.”
“Assisted you? I saved you. If it weren’t for me, you could have been crushed by that wagon wheel.” He shook his head and addressed the doctor. “This impetuous young woman took off running after a flea-bitten stray. If I hadn’t been there, she could be in on your examination table with a broken leg—or worse.”
She wasn’t familiar with the word impetuous, but his disapproving tone indicated he wasn’t paying her a compliment. If he didn’t have her at a disadvantage, she would choose a fitting word to sling back at him and show him what she thought of his high-handed manner.
His mother rose and linked arms with Becky. “Do not talk to her that way, mein Sohn.” Mutti spoke English now, but she had a marked German accent, with her w’s sounding like v’s and her t-h’s like z’s. “This lovely young woman only wanted to help the dog. There is nothing wrong with that. It proves she has a kind heart.”
Mutti’s approval renewed Becky’s determination to be strong. This was her opportunity to show Mr. O’Brien she expected to be treated with respect. The Lord was with her, and she could trust Him to look out for her, as He had when Dillon had come after her. “Thank you, Mutti. Now, I think it’s time for your son and me to have a talk.”
Mr. O’Brien’s mouth fell open. “What did you call her?”
His mother gave Becky’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “She called me Mutti because I asked her to. And she is right. You two have much to talk about. Go.” She fluttered a hand toward the front door.
Dr. Wright extended his arm. “You may use my office, if you’d prefer, since I’m sure you’d like some privacy. It’s the first door on the right.”
Becky didn’t wait for Mr. O’Brien to respond. “That’s kind of you. We will.” She ignored the pain in her midriff, marched through the doorway and didn’t stop until she reached the paneled room. Two burgundy chairs faced a desk with beautiful scrollwork. She perched on the armless chair, leaving the wingback armchair for Mr. O’Brien.
He sat and angled his right side away from her. Interesting. His scar must bother him. She could understand, having spent the past week with her face to the floor so people wouldn’t see her unsightly bruises.
She smoothed the skirt of her best dress. The faded fabric had seen many washings. The black crepe mourning gown was sorely in need of another after her week on the train. And she was in need of this job.
A good thirty seconds went by with the ticking of the desk clock the only sound. Although it was a man’s place to initiate a conversation, she could take no more. She drew in a deep breath and launched into her carefully crafted speech.
“Your mother and I had a good conversation. She’s accepted the fact that she needs help, and I’m just the woman for the job. I spent years nursing my own dear mother before she lost her battle with consumption back in ’69, and kept house for my father and brother after she was gone. I’ve become a fair cook, and I can clean and sew, too. I know it cost a lot for you to bring me out here, so I’m willing to work for nothing more than room and board until I’ve earned enough to repay the money you had Dr. Wright wire for my train ticket. When would you like me to start?”
There. She’d stood firm and taken charge of the situation. Jessie would be proud of her. Now to find out if Mr. O’Brien would accept her offer.
He stared at the patterned rug for the longest time, his eyes clouded with sadness.
The impending loss was going to be hard on him. In her experience, men were at a disadvantage when dealing with such devastating news, especially strong men like him, who were used to being in control. They felt the need to shoulder their burdens in silence. At least he had the Lord to lean on, provided he would turn to Him.
“Dr. Wright said you’re qualified, but I believe in being honest. I was seeking an older woman, not a young one like you.”
