“Impossible,” Burke said. “No one makes a mince pie like she does.”
Eliza lifted her youngest child into her arms, a boy of not yet a year old, and carried him over to where Burke stood. “He’s still a bit pale and sleeps more than usual, but the spots are gone, and he’s not been running a fever.”
“That seems to be the order of the day.” Burke studied the little boy and didn’t see anything truly alarming. “Are you feeling a bit poorly still, Eoin?”
The child’s name was easy enough to say—it sounded precisely like Owen—but he’d needed to be told a few times how to spell it. The Irish in Hope Springs worked hard to keep their traditions alive, down even to the spelling of their names.
The little boy watched him but didn’t make a sound. That wasn’t unusual. He was every bit as quiet as his sister had been at the same age. She had learned to like and trust Burke. Eoin would as well, in time.
“Is Lydia improved?” he asked Eliza.
“Yes. But she keeps telling Patrick that she’s not so he’ll cuddle with her. She has him wrapped around her finger, I’m afraid.”
That wasn’t surprising. Patrick’s connection to Lydia had begun almost the moment she and her mother had arrived in Hope Springs. The bond between him and the little girl he loved as his own was inseverable.
Burke checked on Lydia and was satisfied with both children’s recovery. The worst had passed.
“A letter came for you.” Eliza handed it to him.
“Thank you.”
She bounced Eoin gently in her arms. “Thankyoufor taking such good care of the little ones.”
“It is my pleasure.” Burke stepped out of the inn once more, then crossed to the south side of the building to the door that led to his portion of the building.
Only once he was inside, alone behind closed doors, did he let his shoulders droop with exhaustion. Some days were better than others, but he was often tired.
Burke set his medical bag on the little table in the entryway he’d placed there for that purpose. He hung his coat on its hook, his hat on its peg, then crossed to the doorway of his sitting room. It also served as an examination space, but there was no one there just then.
He sat in his wingback chair, letting himself slump a bit. He took a deep breath and listened to the quiet around him. In the distance he could hear the smallest hint of Patrick’s hammer. Sometimes, when the O’Connor children cried or laughed, he could make out the sound. When the public room was busy, he could hear that as well.
He didn’t mind. He liked it, in fact. Noise was familiar to anyone who grew up in an orphanage.
So was loneliness.
Burke opened the letter he still held in his hand. It was from Alexander Montgomery, a friend from his medical school days. They’d finished their studies at the same time. Alexander was now a doctor in Chicago with a thriving practice.
Burke,
I was pleased to read in your last letter that Mrs. Callaghan’s lungs are continuing to prove strong. It seems the treatments you have prescribed are proving efficacious.
I’ve given some thought to your lack of access to ether. I have not yet thought of any alternatives. I believe your best course of action is to do all you can to obtain even a small supply of it.
I have easy access to it in Chicago. As I have considered coming to see you in the wilds of the West and experience frontier medicine for myself, perhaps I might bring you medicines you are struggling to obtain.
A month or more might pass before I’m able to pull myself away from my practice here. But if I’m able to, I will make the journey.
I’m looking forward to seeing you again.
-Alexander
Alexander was going to visit? Here in Hope Springs?
Burke swallowed down the lump of apprehension growing in his throat. There was work still needing to be done to complete his infirmary. He’d made improvements over the past two years as he’d been able. But it was hardly ready for evaluation.
He’d done more all those years ago than imagine himself as a doctor. He’d been so certain he would be animportantone who made a very real difference in the world. He’d been certain he would end each day knowing he’d changed things and feeling satisfied with what he accomplished. He would have reason to be proud. He’d bragged about that to Alexander and his other friends, to the point they’d teased him about it.
For just a moment, he considered writing back with an excuse for his old friend not to make the journey. But Alexander meant to bring him medicine he could not obtain otherwise. He could not turn up his nose at that offer.
