Nurse Gray, it seemed, was as pragmatic in her personal life as in her professional one. She didn’t seem to have “work clothes” and “ordinary clothes.” Instead, everything was the same drab gray color.
In one sense, she lived with her patients, so it made sense for her to always be in her nursing garb. In another, it seemed like a very small life to lead, never doing anything beyond your occupation.
And Nurse Gray had been in the occupation for a great many years. Long enough that she’d cared for Dorothea Wilds when the three sisters were still young. Or, at least, I assumed that to be the case since the picture of Dorothea they kept on their walls was her as a young woman.
The trunk appeared to be nothing more than clothes, but just as I was about to close the lid, I caught sight of a brown leather folder pressed against the wooden side of the trunk. It was the same color as the wood, so I’d nearly missed it, but now it seemed obvious to me.
I pulled out the folder and unwound the leather cord, feeling more and more guilty by the second for snooping through Nurse Gray’s things because of nasty rumors and tales. But that wasn’t enough to stop me. The guilt didn’t keep me from opening the folder in my lap like it was a book and flipping greedily through the pages.
The pages were soft and yellowed with age and the ink was fading, but I could still make it out.
Each line contained a name, presumably of a patient she’d cared for. Next to it was the date she began working for them and the date her employment ended. At the far right, there was either a single dot or a cross.
Early on in the book, the symbol at the far right was almost always a dot. Then, several pages in, they changed to black crosses. Then, there was nothing but black crosses for pages.
Nurse Gray’s time with the patients with the crosses was usually short—just a few months at a time. Sometimes only weeks.
As I scanned the pages, a name caught my eye: Dorothea Wilds.
As I’d suspected, it had been many years since Nurse Gray had cared for Dorothea Wilds. She had the start date of her employment and the end date, and then, at the far right of the page, a cross.
It dawned on me suddenly what the cross meant.
Death.
The dots and crosses kept record of the final outcome of Nurse Gray’s patients, and with every page I flipped through, it became clear that the result was overwhelmingly death.
Finally, I reached the end of the ledger, my stomach twisted into knots, and I saw my sister’s name. The date read several months earlier and there was a second date written next to it with a dot at the far right, as though Nurse Gray had expected her work to be finished. Then, later, that date and dot were crossed out.
Likely, when Catherine’s accident had occurred and Nurse Gray had been asked to continue her work with the family.
I was staring at the crossed out dot, ominous thoughts filling my head, when a creak in the hallway outside caught my attention.
I jolted to alertness and turned to the partially opened window in the room. The sun was much higher in the sky than I’d realized. Had a car rumbled towards the house? I couldn’t recall it, but I also couldn’t recall hearing anyone come up the stairs?
Panic gripped my heart, but I had the presence of mind to close the folder and replace it in the trunk where it belonged. Then, I closed the trunk, hastily latching it, and spun just as the door opened.
I had no explanation prepared for why I was kneeling at the foot of Nurse Gray’s bed. I could tell her I was praying, thanking God for allowing her to heal me, but there was no excuse for why I’d do such a thing in her room.
When Camellia Cresswell walked into the room, twin feelings of relief and dread filled me.
Relief that I didn’t have to face Nurse Gray, and dread that the person in the house who, perhaps, wanted me gone most of all, had found me in such a compromising position.
“Alice?” she asked, her voice half-scolding. “What on Earth are you doing in here?”
She had her Bible folded in her hands, pressed against the white lace material of her dress. Her cloche hate shielded her eyes enough that I couldn’t exactly make out the expression on her face. Though, considering the circumstances, I could guess that it held surprise and some amount of amusement.
“My bandage came undone, and I was looking for another,” I said, the excuse coming to me all at once. “I wasn’t sure where Nurse Gray kept them. I tried not to disturb her things.”
Camellia lifted a hand and pointed to the black bag under the bed. “Her medical bag is there. In the open.”
Her voice was filled with suspicion, and I knew she doubted my story, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of there.
I stood up, dusting my knees and ignoring the ache in my joints at being curled up on the floor for so long. I hoped Camellia couldn’t see the proof of how long I’d been in the room in my stilted movements. “I can’t believe I missed that. But now that you are all home, I will just have Nurse Gray do it for me.”
“Yes,” Camellia said coolly. “That would probably be best. She is outside with the rest of the family. Shall I go tell her to meet you in her room?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” I said as evenly as I could manage.
As much as I hated to admit it, I’d been careless, and Camellia had caught me in a low moment. Now, she had
