Silence filled the air for another block as she toyed with an idea.
“Would you like to attend a lecture on the suggestions you call for?”
He frowned. “You want me to go to one of the abolitionist affairs? I might be roasted alive there.”
“We’d sit in the back, where it’s less crowded and quiet.”
He didn’t reply and she walked, hope filling her. No answer gave the possibility he might say yes, eventually. If she could bring him into the abolition gathering, she’d won half the battle of converting him to the abolition camp. She held her breath when he finally answered.
“While overall, I have no burning desire to see my homeland accused of dastardly affairs, I also realize I do owe you for my life, for my leg still working and for that reason alone, I will accompany you.”
A thrill raced down her spine and she wanted to jump, but doing so walking downtown on a busy street in New York was not advised. Instead, she smiled broadly and squeezed his frigid hand. The icy skin reminded her of her purchase and slowly, she pulled the gloves out of her pocket.
“Here, try these.” She pushed them into his hand.
He stared at them, as if confused, but he slowly unclenched his hands and slid them on, every inch slow and the pain screamed across his face until they were ensconced in the leather.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his cheeks flushing.
“You needed a pair.” She gave him a grin but saw how he leaned on the cane much more. “Come, we need to get you back and rested.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As they returned to the house, her heart was aflutter and she buried her wayward thoughts, ones that pushed Richard aside as a new face began to form. Francois.
Chapter 23
America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.
—Abraham Lincoln
The mere suggestion of accompanying her anywhere intrigued Francois. It kindled a warmth that seeped into him when he was in her presence. Almost enough to bury his heart’s pain, and it thrilled him as well as made him leery. Of course, the mere thought of going to an abolitionist rally chilled that warmth, though curiosity probably would win.
The gift of the gloves surprised him. Like a sly fox, her consideration of him truly amazed him. She was a woman of many facets. It was now making him realize she might have more secrets about her and that got his attention.
But at the moment, his body screamed ‘stop’ and he managed to get to a chair before he collapsed on the floor, despite the cane’s help.
Her lyrical laughter filled the air. “Well done. I was about to suggest we stop for tea.”
He frowned with his gaze silted as he drank in her glow. As a doctor, she radiated. How had the Union Army resigned her to drudgery, he wondered? Though, now, he’d give anything just to sit and not move.
“I’d hoped for more than tea, Doctor,” he argued, her title taking on a French flare as his native tongue slipped out.
“Alas, I fear not.”
The door to the study opened, and James followed the maid who brought the tea tray.
“Miss Lorrance.” The butler handed her a tray of envelopes and with a schooled look of surprise at the stack, Ada took them, pulling one out immediately.
“You were not expecting love letters here?”
She stared at the first letter until his words sank in. “Hardly.” But she stopped, not moving, as if the letter was poisonous.
“Bad news?”
She glanced up, her emotions disappearing under the mask he’d seen her wear in the hospital. Her jaw tightened, anger fighting to surface, because he thought he had a moment to see Ada as a woman, a lady, not just a doctor with a jovial bedside manner.
The professional eyes bore into his as she countered. “How is your ankle doing? We’ve put it through quite a test today.”
Before he could answer, she moved closer, bending down to the floor near the injured foot, raising the trouser hemline for a quick inspection.
“It’s throbbing a bit, though not as badly as it has before.”
“Mmmmm,” she hummed, her focus on his foot. He bit back the pain as she moved it to the side, yet the reality was it didn’t hurt too much after the initial adjustment, which amazed him.
“I don’t see much swelling. But you’re sure you’re all right?”
“Tired. Not bad too much.”
She smiled. “Perhaps it’s healing well.”
“You sound surprised.”
She shrugged. “It was a small, almost hidden break, in an area that we constantly use. It was a surgery that they don’t teach us.”
Francois looked at her, taking in a new view of her. This woman had broken the common societal guidelines and chose helping others instead of marriage, children and running a house. And with that desire, she had saved him.
“Thank you.”
Quickly she looked up, a puzzled look on her face. “For what?”
“For saving my foot. If you’ll recall, that doctor wanted my foot amputated.” He shuddered at the memory.
She frowned. “Yes, well, as I have said, he wouldn’t have anything done, with you being the enemy. Wasn’t right to have you and your men left untreated.”
He grinned. “Merci beaucoup.”
Her lips pursed as if annoyed, but quickly that dissolved into a small smile. “Thank you.”
She stood and went to her seat, but not before he caught a glimpse at the mail. He couldn’t decipher most of it, but he didn’t see anything other than the corner of one that was stamped official by the manner it was written on the return. The one she reacted to was left open, with sparse words, though he thought he could see it signed by some officer. And the third piece she hadn’t opened but he recognized the name on it. From a Miss Reginald Prescott – Amelia. The memories flooded back to him. Amelia Prescott had been the
