Oh, Lydia knew about kissing though. She’d read about it in the romance novels she and Mother devoured at home, then traveling with the Army.

  When younger, she’d dreamed about Prince Charming riding into her life, but since that terrible battle they called the Wilderness, medicine had been her love and life.

  However, Jacob Johnston had kindled a fire in her heart.

  To hear him tell it, it sounded like she wouldn’t have to give up on either one—medicine or love. She could have both. Could that be true?

  Was he truly a prince?

  Or only a man with lips who spouted lies as easily as he drew a breath?

  Thursday followed Wednesday as it did each week. Despite her mother’s voice in her head, ever warning about all men, she’d about convinced herself it wouldn’t be so bad to satisfy her curiosity.

  Just one kiss to see what it was like.

  After all, Jacob had been nothing but the perfect gentleman. Goodness sake, it was 1868 for goodness sake! She wasn’t a little girl anymore.

  What harm could one little kiss fetch?

  The day moved so slowly. Downright boring with only one tonsillectomy early that morning. Finally, the clock cooperated. It bonged the noon hour just as she stepped off the last step, Jacob at her side.

  Instead of heading toward Miss Trudy’s boardinghouse, he turned in the opposite direction, leading her in step with him.

  “Hey.” With a little tug, she stopped and faced him. “I thought we were going to my place first. I need to change.”

  “You’re fine. Mis’ess Banks is expecting us, and we shouldn’t be late. She’ll have everything ready and hot.”

  “How far is your house?”

  “Three blocks.”

  “Oh.” It would be an hour going both ways, and no cook wanted to serve cold food. She exhaled. “I see. Fine. We’ll do it your way. Lead on.” She fell in beside him again.

  “Thank you.”

  “May I ask how you were able to buy a house?” That was a very personal question, but he’d thrown her off-guard, not letting her go and change before meeting his housekeeper.

  “I was commissioned a lieutenant when I joined the Army. It wasn’t long before I received a promotion to captain. By ’63, I was a major—not that the rank meant much, other than my compensation.”

  “Cream always rises to the top.”

  Had she said that out loud?

  The look on his face, the twinkle in his eye and that little partial grin testified that she had.

  “I earned one hundred sixty-nine dollars each month and saved most of it. Didn’t need it out in the field hospitals.”

  “I see.”

  “When it was all over, I had enough to buy my house with plenty left over. Now, I give Mis’ess Banks sixty a month to run the house, keep a tad for myself, then bank the rest.”

  “Prudent.”

  “I’m not rich by any measure, but . . .” He shrugged. “I’d call myself comfortable, especially now.”

  Was he referring to his relationship with her?

  “Why now?”

  “You, my dear, make me comfortable. Like I’ve already admitted, I’m smitten.”

  Since she didn’t know exactly what to say to that, she only smiled. “Is this your street?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pointed to the fourth house down. “That one’s mine. Built by Mister Banks himself. He passed back in ’58. Mis’ess Banks didn’t have anywhere to go and no means to keep everything up.’

  “Poor dear.”

  “Yes, ma’am. By the time I met her, she’d spent all her savings.”

  The two-story home sat quite regally on the upscale street with its detached carriage house, banked by two huge weeping willows. In addition, there were outside stairs up to what she assumed to be the living quarters.

  “How old is Mis’ess Banks?”

  “She’s never said. I’d guess late sixties, maybe early seventies.”

  “Oh. So, she isn’t a war widow?” Why hadn’t she realized that when he said the man died in ’58?

  “No, ma’am.” He stopped at the front door. “He was a cotton buyer, if I’m remembering right.”

  The front door opened. Diana smoothed her apron, stepped forward, then extended her hand.

  “Oh, hello! You must be Lydia, and I’m Mis’ess Banks. Diana Banks, dear. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She raised both brows, offering her best mischievous grin, at least she hoped that’s what showed on her face.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  The young lady broke into a cheek-splitting smile and reached for her hand. “Uh oh, I hope at least some of it’s been good.” She extended her hand. “Lydia Andrews, ma’am.”

  She opened her arms and used the girl’s hand to pull her into a bear hug. “I’m a hugger.” She squeezed her tight and patted her back.

  “Fine by me. And it’s good to meet you, too, Mis’ess Banks. What smells so good?”

  “Oh, aren’t you a sweet one.” Diana gestured toward the dining room. How long had it been? Too long, that’s what, since she and her benefactor had used the room. The doctor always insisted they take supper in the kitchen.

  “You’ll see. Jacob, get Miss Andrews settled, and I’ll bring in the first course.”

  “Oh, no. Let me help.”

  “I told her not to make a fuss.”

  “Oh, no, honey, you’re our guest.” She faced him and made the face she used to use on her own son. “Now, how often do I get to cook for a beautiful young lady? You mustn’t scold me, dear.” She patted his cheek then waved off any reply, hurrying to fetch the shrimp cocktails.

  After that, she served a vegetable salad topped by three stuffed egg halves each. For the main course, she’d roasted a goose and served it with her own dressing everyone loved, plus creamed potatoes, and a cranberry relish.

  “This is a feast fit for a king, and so delicious.”

  She adored it that the girl proved to be a healthy eater, wondering how she kept her figure.

  Later, Diana nibbled on her iced beignet, enjoying the young people’s banter. She hadn’t noticed his cup being empty until he stood.

  “I’ll be just a moment.”

  “You stay. I can bring the coffee pot in here, dear.”

  “No, ma’am. It’s quite evident you’ve spent the whole day cooking. You sit.”

  “Fine. If you insist.” She winked at Lydia.

  The young woman’s eyes followed him out then came back.

  “Thank you so much for the wonderful dinner, Mis’ess Banks. I couldn’t say the last time when I’ve had a meal as delicious. Everything was perfect.” She picked up another piece of the fried bread.

  “These are delicious. What are they?”

  “Beignets. Much like a fritter. I happen to have a recipe that traces all the way back to the Ursuline nuns who brought them here in the early 1700s. They were Mister Banks’ favorite, and Jacob loves them almost as much.”

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  “And let me tell you, it was absolutely my pleasure. I’ve been looking so forward to meeting Jacob’s young lady.”

  “I’d love for you to teach me how to make them.”

  “Oh, there’s nothing to it! Easy as pie.”

  “But I’ve never made a pie.” She leaned back and laughed.

  Such a sweet young thing and so pretty, too.

  “I can’t tell you what a blessing you are to this house, Lydia. Of late, he’s a different man.”

  “Why . . . thank you, but . . . how so?”

  Ah, the girl didn’t know of his melancholy.

  How could she though? She’d been his cure of late. Him being so happy obviously kept that dreadful malady of his at bay.

  Chapter Six

  As he promised, Lydia was home before bedtime. Upon reflection, she chided herself for being such a ninny for thinking of such nefarious thoughts about dear Mis’ess Banks.

  Had she known the housekeeper was old enough to be his mother, she wouldn’t have been concerned in the least. She acted motherly toward him, too; so sweet.

  Lydia had read about vainglorious women who fancied younger men, but that scenario had nothing to do with the relationship between those two. She’d very much enjoyed the meal and getting to see the house and meet the lady.

  But the afternoon spent with Jacob meant even more. The walk back to her room then the stroll on to Bourbon Street—all time well spent.

  It amazed her how Jacob shared so many of her beliefs. Though she’d served on the opposite side than he in the war, she’d come to hate slavery long before the first shot had been fired.

  If she had inherited Mammy and the others, she would have freed them posthaste. A little giggle escaped. He’d even come around on liking tabasco sauce! Still a novice, though, who didn’t put enough on his crawfish.

  Relieved to find out he believed, she’d questioned him to find he perhaps hadn’t studied the Word as much as she had, but then he hadn’t been reared by a father who insisted supper needed a chapter from the Bible read for dessert.

  Oh, how she missed her daddy.

  Jacob would like at least two children, one of each, and wanted to go into private practice at some point. He loved the thought of being a town’s doctor, as his mentor and one-time father-in-law had been.

  Right before she dozed off, Lydia chided herself for not kissing the man goodnight.

  She rectified that oversight in her dreams, and of course, that kiss led to a sea of white lace and pink flowers and rice thrown into the sky above as he hurried her from the church to a waiting carriage.

  A cock’s crow brought the reality of a new day. She opened her eyes and stretched.

  Praise God she hadn’t kissed him—nor should she.

  Her mother would object.

  Her father would roll over in his grave.

  Most of all, she wanted to keep herself pure before God.

  Everyone would have been disappointed if she’d let a man whom she barely knew take such liberties.

  Why, she hadn’t even gotten to the hand-holding part of their relationship, and there she was dreaming about being a wife and a life with a man she hadn’t even known for a month.

  What was wrong with her?

  The monotony of the Touro Infirmary that morning with the patient load light brought some comfort to her internal debate.

  She fell into her routine of making sure the surgery rooms were ready, well supplied, and clean—as free of any infectious vapors as possible. She didn’t totally understand the science of it all but believed it.

  The evidence convinced her. Only the most backwater of practitioners failed to adhere to the new ways of operating in a safer environment. Jacob had certainly adopted the practice.

  That morning she assisted Doctor Smith who removed an inflamed appendix while Nurse Williams helped Doctor Johnston set a broken arm in the next room.

  Lydia found the surgery way more interesting than making a plaster of Paris cast—even if she didn’t care much for Nancy being alone with him, especially given their history.

  By dinnertime, things had calmed enough for her and her new best friend—at least since she’d moved upstairs—to eat together.

  Most days it proved a pleasant prospect, but Lydia still fumed some about the extended time alone with Doctor Johnston. She didn’t know what to say, so she nibbled the apple and cheese she’d brought.

  Nancy ate her sandwich in silence then set it down and stared right into Lydia’s eyes. “Well. You don’t look hung over.”

  “What? Hungover! Why would you think that I would be? I’ve never touched hard liquor. Not once! Ever! Why would you say such a thing?”

  “I smelled whiskey on Jacob’s breath this morning. He obviously got drunk last night then swallowed a couple of belts this morning to cure what ailed him.”

  “No, he did not! He didn’t drink a drop all night. We had dinner at his place with—”

  “Mis’ess Banks is a great cook, isn’t she? What did you two do then?”

  Looking around for a place to get up and move to, she swallowed hard. She didn’t owe the woman any explanations . . . but then . . . She was her friend, and if . . .

  “He walked me back to my place so I could change, then we strolled on down to Bourbon Street and ate crawfish with lots of tabasco for supper. We only drank sweet tea, then he hired a hack to take us home.”

  “Well. I know what I smelled.” Nancy tapped her nose. “And once upon a time, I was right there with him, taking the cure.”

  Lydia didn’t know what to say, so she just stared at the cheese in her hand.

  Then like a sneaky yellow jacket, it stung her right between the eyes. The woman was jealous! Nancy wanted Jacob for herself.

  A question she’d thought to ask came to mind—not the one she wanted to ask most of all, but one that might shed a little light on Nancy’s and his past.

  Putting the cheese down, she placed her hand on the older woman’s forearm. “Why did you and Doctor Johnston decide to stop seeing each other?”

  Nancy recoiled, shook her head, then leaned in close. “Do you really want to know? The whole truth?”

  Why would she say that?

  Of course, she wanted to know.

  “Yes, and always, nothing but the truth.”

  Nancy closed her eyes then rolled both shoulders forward. Her back pop, pop, popped.

  “I mean, you might as well know. We were . . .” She cleared her throat. “We were about to get married until I miscarried, then . . .”

  Tears welled. She blinked them back and sniffed, grabbing her napkin and blotting first her eyes then her nose.

  “From the moment I realized I was expecting, I stopped drinking and had encouraged him to stop as well, but he didn’t. Two nights after that horrible day when I lost the baby, we got drunk together again.”

  “Oh, Nancy. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you—”

  “We were poison for one another. The next day, I told him I couldn’t see him anymore.”

  So, the crying on each other’s shoulder had been more than just sympathy.

  “What did he say when you told him?”

  A bit of snot dripped from her nose; she wiped it way.

  “Nothing really. If anything, I’d say he seemed relieved. I hated him at that moment more than I ever loved him. I got over it, though. He couldn’t have cared less. Carrying a grudge only hurt me.”

  “That’s true.”

  “He’s a wonderful man, Lydia . . . If he ever stopped drinking, I’d marry him.”

  Well. There it was. He’d slept with Nurse Williams as a man lays with his wife.

  At least, he’d been willing to marry the woman when she turned up pregnant. Lydia needed to forget him. Tell him to stop walking her home and stop inviting her to go places with him on her half day off.

  She filled her lungs then exhaled.

  What if . . .

  But how could she even bring up the subject of his drinking without exposing the fact Nancy had shucked his corn?

  The foolish little girl in her suggested that perhaps if she kissed him, she could claim she tasted hard liquor. But of course, she would never do that.

  Except . . . what if the whole charade proved to be some wicked scheme on Nancy’s part?

  Why wouldn’t she want to drive a wedge between Lydia and Jacob?

  The traitor obviously still wanted to marry him—even after everything that had happened. Nancy might see it as the mode for her to clear the way so she could get him back.

  Leaning back, Lydia smiled. “Thank you for your kindness. And the truth.”

  The lady tilted her head sideways a bit then nodded once. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

  Forearmed indeed.

  From that moment forward, Lydia would take anything Nancy said about Jacob with the proverbial grain of salt.

  Whatever their relationship had been—or if, or if not, the woman had actually been with child—or if they had ever even lain together—was of no concern.

  Well, it was.

  But she had hoped that other than his wife, he’d remained chaste. Not that men were considered soiled if they had sown some wild oats, at least according to her mother.

  Humph. Wild oats, so to speak.

  What a travesty the double standard proved toward women everywhere. It wasn’t fair in any way.

  Look at King David! He had many wives and concubines galore, but the Lord still called him a man after God’s own heart. Then Solomon was worse!

  Those thoughts and too many others along the same lines crowded her mind every time she found it not occupied with her patients that day.

  Jacob walked her home that evening. She’d paid extra attention, and he never appeared hungover or smelled of whiskey all day.

  Quite the contrary, actually; he seemed alert and more than capable to perform his duties.

  Nancy was jealous, pure and simple. She’d probably say anything to get him back.

  Once off the Infirmary’s property, he inquired on her day.

  “Good, I suppose. Rather routine. Doctor Smith had that lady with the horrible boil that I anesthetized for him. Once she was out, he lanced it, and oh my goodness! I’ve never seen so much pus.” She shuddered involuntarily.

  “But. Other than that . . . Well, you know about the patients we worked on together. As usual, I never saw Doctor Bensadon.”

  “I spoke with Matron Rowland.”

  “You did? What about?”

  “Your day off. It’s Friday, the fifth of June.”

  “Oh. Well . . . wow. I knew I had to work a month before I had a full day off but getting it that early surprises me. I’d heard she waited longer.”

  “I didn’t beg, but . . .” He laughed. “That’s my day off, too. Would you like to see Under the Gaslight?”

  “Oh, yes. I’d love that.”

  “Good. It’s a date then.”

  That play would be the third, so . . . “Uh, wait. Maybe we shouldn’t.”

  He stopped. She took one step then turned.

  “Why not? We’ll be able to stay up as late as we want, then sleep as long as we need the next morning.”

  “Well.” She shook her head. “I just remembered the next one we go to is my time to pay. I’m not sure I’ll have enough.”

 

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