“Simply, when the baby struggles to breathe. We lose most of our infants that way. Their lungs just aren’t ready for our world, and their little hearts struggle to circulate the oxygen properly.” Despite the topic, she turned to him and smiled. “No one has ever asked me what that means before. Besides the new parents, of course. Either, like Amelia and Mrs. Daugherty they already know, or, like my parents and their friends, they don’t care.”
“I care, Ellen.”
She felt his gaze on her face, and she didn’t dare look at him, in fear of what she might see reflected in his eyes. She hadn’t realized how unsupported she’d felt until he’d said those three words. It was like…having a wound tended. Sometimes a wound’s ache would dull, the nerves too exhausted to continue radiating pain. But when it was cleaned and bandaged, even gentle care would agitate it, reminding the body of its injury. A lump welled in the back of her throat, and her eyes burned with unshed tears.Get a hold of yourself, Ellen. He’s not worth it.
The cab halted, nearly throwing Ellen out of the seat. Mark grabbed her shoulder, pinning her back just in time.
Ellen gasped at the sudden contact, not sure what to make of it. Hot and cold shivers ran up and down her limbs.
He released her before she could interpret what they meant. New Oxford Street bustled around them, full of streetcars and people and animals.
“Oh, look! We’re here!” She threw a shilling up through the trap to the driver. When the driver opened their door, she practically pushed Mark out. “Thank you!”
Once on the ground, Mark looked around curiously. “This is nicer than I expected, based on your parents’ opinions.”
Ellen held back a laugh. “Just wait a moment.” She walked down the street until turning onto a smaller, pedestrian passage. It was still clean and free of drunk vagrants. Then turned right on another street, this one dimmer and dirtier than before. Amelia wanted her dispensary in a place the poor would be willing to go. Plus, the rent was cheaper. Ellen knew; she paid it.
They halted outside the wooden building, and Ellen let Mark look his fill. She surveyed it with a newcomer’s eyes. The two-story building had a front with bay windows, and a sign hung above it with the symbol of a bronze pole with a snake wrapped around it.
“The Rod of Asclepius,” Mark noted. He glanced at Ellen. “He was the son of Apollo?—”
“Yes, and the minor deity associated with healing arts,” Ellen finished, not looking at him. “Though it’s also reminiscent of the time in the Old Testament when those poisoned by snakes needed merely to look upon the bronze statue and be saved.” She stepped toward the blue door, paint already peeling from the last coating. “That’s what the Christian and Jewish patients think of, anyway. Makes it easy for them to find us.”
Mark chuckled. “You are nothing like the girl I married.”
An old pain throbbed through Ellen’s core at those words, a reminder of all the years and the events that had changed her. She stiffened against the pain and the handsome intruder, not looking over her shoulder as she mounted the two steps to the door. “That girl grew up.”
The overhead bell rang as she entered the dim room. Mrs. Daugherty had several paraffin lamps lit, but it wasn’t the same as the bright electric interiors of Mayfair homes.
“Want us to leave the door open?” Ellen inquired.
Mrs. Daugherty, an elderly Black woman with the barest hints of a Jamaican accent, greeted them. “Yes, please. I’m trying to mix up some throat lozenges and my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.” She glanced up, spectacles shining. “You brought a man.”
Embarrassment surged through Ellen. “Um, yes. Today only. Mrs. Daugherty, this is First Lt. Mark Glenfall.” She rushed through the introduction, hoping the retired midwife wouldn’t make the connection. “Mrs. Daugherty was a midwife for nearly fifty years here in London, and we’re lucky to have her. She keeps us in line and dispenses the medicines and keeps Dr. Hart’s appointments.”
Mrs. Daugherty stared at them, her dark brown eyes sharp and all-seeing. “Is this man your husband?”
Ellen winced. “He retired from the Navy.”
The short, rotund woman threw off her apron and rounded the counter, stepping into the room. “Lieutenant Glenfall, a pleasure to meet you.” She looked him up and down. “Are you going to treat our lady right?”
“Um?” Mark replied, taken aback.
Mrs. Daugherty clucked her tongue. “Wrong answer, son.”
“I will.” Mark flushed and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Where is Amelia?” Ellen was desperate to switch the subject.
The older woman jerked her head back toward the examroom. “With a sprained ankle.” She eyed Mark. “You look strong. Care to help an old lady move some boxes?”
A clatter on the steps caught Ellen’s attention. A young woman with a wailing baby staggered through the doorway. Her blond hair hung dirty and loose, and her skirt was torn and ragged. The baby in her arms flailed angrily, screaming those thin, high-pitched hungry screeches.
Poorly fed,Ellen diagnosed by the cries and the thinness of its arms and legs.
“Is the doctor here?” the young woman gasped. She couldn’t be more than seventeen.
Mrs. Daugherty took the girl by her elbow and guided her to an empty bench along the bay windows. “Have a seat, dearie. What’s the matter?”