Hewasbeing very honest. And he’d been such a comfort to Lydia in the past. She could let herself trust him enough to hold her little girl, especially since she herself would be nearby. She set Lydia in his arms.
Patrick gently kissed Lydia’s cheek and whispered reassurances to her. The poor dear was so miserable that she’d even abandoned her doll. But she held fast to Patrick. She held the lapel of his coat in one fist. Her other hand brushed over his neatly trimmed beard, something she did nearly every time she was with Patrick. He never seemed to mind.
Eliza sat in a chair nearby and just breathed. It was nice to have someone sharing the care of her daughter, even if only for a moment. She often felt inadequate. And she was nearly always exhausted. Patrick’s tender kindness was soothing Lydia and slowing her tears. He was helping both of them.
Dr. Jones soon arrived, leather satchel in hand. He motioned Patrick and Lydia over to where Eliza sat, indicating he should sit in the chair next to hers. The doctor pulled over an oil lamp. He turned up the wick.
Lydia folded herself into Patrick, clearly not pleased at this new arrival. Poor Dr. Jones. It must be hard caring for people who were afraid of his help.
The doctor set out a vial and a few instruments, along with a couple of rags and some strips of linen. He then took hold of Lydia’s leg and carefully straightened it enough for the sole of her foot to be accessible.
Patrick held her in an embrace, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. Eliza reached over and took the little girl’s hand. It broke her heart to hear Lydia cry as the doctor worked on her wound. The infection had to be drained out and treated, but the doing of it was so painful.
“She’ll be grand,” Patrick said. “You’ll see.”
“She will.” Dr. Jones spoke as he worked. “But she’ll also be a bit sore. You’ll struggle to get her to walk for the next day or two. Little ones are resilient, though. She’ll be back to running around in no time.”
“Until she picks up another splinter.” She kissed Lydia’s little hand, hoping to provide some comfort as she endured the misery. “I may have to get her shoes before winter after all. I’d hoped to wait a bit longer, so I could have more on hand if the stage company gives their nod to the new inn location. But I can’t have Lydia’s feet full of splinters.”
Dr. Jones wrapped Lydia’s foot in the long strips of bandaging. “I’ve given some thought to your new idea.”
“And?”
He met her eye. She recognized the apology in them, and her spirits fell. “I can’t set my practice so far away from all of my patients. Even the time it took to get from here to my soddie and back made me nervous.”
She could appreciate that, though it was disappointing.
“I hope that won’t cause too many difficulties for you,” he said.
Eliza shook her head. “The stage company and the funds are far bigger obstacles. I do hope you can build yourself a proper infirmary, though, and a proper home.”
“So do I.” He tied off the bandaging. Before putting his supplies away, Dr. Jones took Lydia’s free hand and smiled softly at her. “I’m sorry that hurt. Your foot will feel better soon, I promise.”
When he was ready to go, Eliza followed him back to the door, receiving instructions on how to care for Lydia’s foot as it healed.
“I do hope you’re able to get your inn built,” he said, standing in the doorway.
“As someone once told me, if the path I’m on doesn’t lead to what I’m looking for, I’ll find the path that does.”
He blushed a little. “That is good advice.”
“I thought so, as well.”
He dipped his head and slipped back outside to the party. He was a good man, their doctor.
Mrs. O’Connor stepped inside in almost that exact moment. “Oh, Eliza. How is Lydia’s foot?”
“Doc says she’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Oh, what a relief.” Her gaze moved to Patrick, holding Lydia in his arms. “Patrick always was so sweet with the little ones. He used to call Finbarr ‘bean sprout’ and they were such good little friends.”
“He’s very loving to Lydia. That speaks well of his heart.”
Mrs. O’Connor crossed to her son and his precious armful. Patrick smiled up at his ma, a lightness in the expression Eliza hadn’t seen before with his family.
“Poor girl has the sniffle hiccups,” she said to her son.
He rubbed Lydia’s back. She was curled into his chest. “She feels terrible poorly, Ma.”
