The door opened at once, and he came striding into the room. He bent over the bed, smoothing Simone’s short hair. It struck Hypatia that she’d seen that unusual reddish-brown color before, but she couldn’t think where or on whom.
“I can trust you to rest now, can’t I?”
Simone sighed. “Yes.”
“All right. Comfortable?”
“Very,” Simone replied, stifling a yawn.
“Good. Now, stay there and sleep.”
“Yes, sir, Professor Chatam, sir.”
“I’ll see you later.”
Nodding, Simone closed her eyes and was asleep before they had tiptoed all the way across the sitting room to the door, but Hypatia waited until they were a good way along the landing before she asked, “Did you see it?”
“If you mean the scar just below her collarbone,” Morgan replied grimly, “yes. She had a chemotherapy port.”
“That would be my guess.”
“And extensive abdominal surgery,” Magnolia added softly.
Morgan sighed. “I knew something was wrong. From the way Brooks behaved, I’m guessing the cancer is behind her but that she hasn’t fully recovered her strength yet.”
“We’ll see to it that she has the peace and quiet that she needs to recover,” Hypatia promised.
They walked to the head of the stairs before he slipped his arms about each of their shoulders and said, “Have I mentioned lately that I thank God for my special aunties?”
Hypatia smiled fondly up at him. “Not lately.”
“Well, I do,” he told her with a squeeze. “Routinely. This world would be a much more difficult place without you. I’m especially thankful for you today. Simone needs a safe, quiet, comfortable haven right now.”
“She has it,” Magnolia told him.
“She has more than that,” Hypatia added. “God is going to be hearing from us routinely about Miss Simone Guilland.”
“I was counting on that,” he told her with a smile.
“As you should. Now, will you stay to lunch?”
“I think I just might,” he agreed, winking. “After all, you’ve got the best cook in town.”
Hypatia smiled. Morgan was in and out of Chatam House all the time, and he often stayed for meals. Hypatia wondered if they’d be seeing him even more often now that Simone Guilland was in residence, however. She only hoped that it wouldn’t lead to heartbreak. He’d already lost two women he’d loved to cancer—his stepmother and the woman he’d intended to marry. Surely God wouldn’t raise that number.
Would He?
Chapter Four
An itch pulled her out of a dense fog and into a feeling of light. Only as she stirred in an effort to reach that place between her shoulder blades where the skin begged to be scratched did she come to realize that she was awakening from sleep. Rolling onto her back with a little noise of exasperation, she wiggled her shoulders to alleviate that bothersome niggle once and for all, only to find herself assailed with a fearful disorientation.
This was not her bed, not the too-hard mattress in the boardinghouse, not the thin, lumpy pad in the hospital, not even the cool, impersonal guest bed at the Guilland house in Baton Rouge. This was the warmest, softest, most comfortable bed she’d ever known. Simone sat up and opened her eyes in the same swift movement, and found the creams and gold and royal-blues of Chatam House all around her.
Memory came rushing back, how she had fainted at the coffeehouse, been rushed to the emergency room in an ambulance, drugged by that nice Dr. Leland and then bullied into coming here by Morgan Chatam. She vaguely recalled her aunt bringing in a tea tray at some point and gobbling down those delicious ginger muffins that had been such a highlight of her childhood, and she vividly remembered being carried up the stairs by Morgan Chatam. College professors weren’t supposed to be that strong and fit, that masculine. They were supposed to be bookish and stuffy and...not wildly attractive.
She flopped down onto the pillows with a huff. Her life wasn’t going at all according to plan. When had it ever?
No matter. She felt fully recovered now. In fact, she felt wonderful. And ravenous. It was time to go home and back to work. Or possibly to class.
She looked around for a clock and found the backpack that she carried in lieu of a handbag on the nightstand next to the four-poster bed. Evidently, someone had fetched it from the coffeehouse. Reaching inside the partially unzipped front pocket, she pulled out her seldom-used cell phone and flicked the screen with her thumb. Six a.m. Oh, my. Apparently she had slept nearly around the clock. No wonder she was so hungry. A casual glance at the calendar icon brought her bolt upright in bed again.
Monday! Monday? How could it be Monday? That would mean that she’d slept completely through Saturday and Sunday.
“You were more tired than you thought,” said an amused voice.
Simone jerked to her right. At the same time, she grabbed for the covers, yanking them up around her throat. Hypatia Chatam smiled at her from the wing chair at her bedside. Garbed in a white silk dressing gown piped in navy and matching pajamas, she had caught her long, silver hair at the nape of her neck with a narrow white ribbon.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you. We were concerned because you slept so long and thought someone should sit with you.”
Clapping a hand over her galloping heart, Simone huffed out a relieved breath. “I’m so sorry to have worried you.”
“It’s of no matter. You look much refreshed. I’ll have your breakfast sent up. You can shower and dress whenever you like, and Chester will drive you over to the rooming house to pack your belongings.”
“No!” Simone insisted automatically. The last thing she wanted was for her uncle to drive her around town. “That is, I—I should be going to class. Dr. Leland said particularly that I am able to attend school a-and master my studies.”
Hypatia inclined her head. “In that case, I’ll call Morgan.”
Simone opened her mouth to protest but could think of no better option, so she closed it again.
“Your clothing has been laundered and put away,” Hypatia informed her, rising from the chair. “You’ll find toiletries in the bathroom. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”
Escape, Simone thought. She said, “No, thank you.”
Nodding, Hypatia moved toward the foot of the bed. “As you’ve been working in a coffeehouse, I take it you drink the stuff.”
“Yes, of course, but if you don’t mind, I prefer tea this morning. My stomach’s been empty too long, I think, for coffee.”
Hypatia beamed at her. “I prefer tea every morning. It is more soothing, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” Simone said.
“I’m sure you would know,” Hypatia told her kindly before turning away.
That comment seemed a little odd, but Simone put the thought aside for the moment. Slipping from the high bed, she padded on bare feet to the antique dresser, surprised to find her legs a little shaky. A few moments later, as she undressed to shower in the small but richly appointed bath, she glanced up into the mirror and saw the many scars that she bore on her too-thin body. She hazily recalled undressing in front of the Chatam sisters, and a little shiver of foreboding went through her.