Apprehension swirled in James’s gut. He would do anything for Mutti, but he couldn’t allow a young lady to live in his home. No good could come of such an arrangement. Not that she’d even agree to stay if she did come. She’d probably take one look at him and change her mind. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.
After the accident, he’d come to his senses. He’d planned to ask for Sophie Wannamaker’s hand, but he’d realized that a lowly man like him didn’t deserve a woman of society like her.
He could still hear the shouts of those asking who’d tumbled down the snow-covered bank following the explosion—along with the clipped response. That Irishman, O’Brien.
No one had mentioned the fact that he was an engineer. He was just seen as another immigrant, even though he’d been born in the States and spoke with no hint of the musical lilt his dearly departed father had.
While James might have been able to overcome the handicap of his heritage, he could do nothing to conceal the ugly scar that frightened small children and caused adults to avert their gazes. It would come as no surprise if this woman were similarly affected. Not that he would have to worry about that, since she wouldn’t be coming anyhow.
He stood. “You’re not saying he has someone in mind already, are you? Because if that’s the case, you’ll have to tell him the need no longer exists.”
“I would relay your message if I could, but Reverend Hastings and his wife put the young woman on the train the next day.” Dr. Wright flipped open his pocket watch and nodded. “Barring any delays en route, she should be in my waiting area with your mother.”
Shock surged through James. “She’s here?”
Ten minutes in Dr. Wright’s waiting room with Mariela O’Brien was all it had taken to strengthen Becky’s resolve. She wasn’t sure what to make of Mr. O’Brien, but she was eager to care for this courageous woman. Although Mrs. O’Brien’s days were numbered, she possessed the same inspiring faith Becky’s mother had.
Before she could secure the nursing position, Becky had to figure out how to dodge the obstacle in her path. Mr. O’Brien had seen how gingerly she moved when she’d stooped to pick up her Bible and was sure to have concerns about her ability to do the job. Although Mrs. O’Brien insisted he was a kind, loving man, Becky had her doubts.
Mr. O’Brien might have come to her aid and treated her with respect, but she couldn’t forget the fierce look in his eyes when she’d first encountered him or the way he’d sneered at her. A man like that couldn’t be trusted. Her brother could appear charming in public, but she’d seen how quickly Dillon could change into someone entirely different when no one else was around.
Eager to learn more about her present situation, Becky shoved the past aside and focused on the friendly woman seated beside her on the elegant settee. It hadn’t taken long to figure out that she was James O’Brien’s mother and that she was German, as Becky had suspected.
Mrs. O’Brien continued, speaking in German as they’d done since she learned it was Becky’s second language. “I had a weak moment earlier this morning and wanted to put off seeing Dr. Wright, but my dear boy calmed my fears.”
The stouthearted woman couldn’t be blamed for being hesitant to hear how bad things were. Such news could be difficult to accept, even for a brave soul like her.
“The good doctor examined me a few minutes ago. He tried not to show any emotion, but I knew from the look on his face he’d found another tumor. I forced him to tell me when to expect the end. He did his best to sound optimistic, but the truth is I’ll be meeting my Maker sometime in the next six months.” A smile spread across her softly wrinkled face. “I can only imagine what it will be like to look into His eyes and thank Him for all He’s done for me.”
As had been the case with Becky’s mother, Mrs. O’Brien didn’t sound scared to be facing the end of her life. “I sense you’re at peace.”
“When it comes to myself, yes. I’m eager to see my beloved William again, but I long to see my son end his feud with his heavenly Father before I go.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “James isn’t one to be forced into something. I pray for him regularly.”
Perhaps the doctor had overstated Mr. O’Brien’s relationship with the Lord in his telegram or didn’t realize that his mother saw things differently. “I like to think God takes a special interest in the prayers of a parent, since He’s one Himself. My mother was convinced He heard hers. She certainly lifted plenty of them for my brother and me in her last days.”
“Did your mother have cancer, too?”
“Consumption. Both are such terrible diseases.” She ached to think of what Mrs. O’Brien would have to endure in the months to come.
“When 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