“It’s all right, dear,” the woman said. “I found you in St. Olaf’s Church, almost delirious. Reverend Dixon and I brought you here, and I called Dr. Henshaw.”
The man smiled. “You’ve been here two days, and I think you’ve finally turned the corner.” He reached for the stethoscope he wore around his neck. “If you’ll permit me, I’d like to listen to your heart again.”
Olivia’s breath caught in her chest, alarm spurting through her.
“I’ll give you some privacy.” Mrs. Bennington turned to leave the room.
“No!” Olivia clenched the covers and pulled them higher, the image of the reformatory’s medical clinic springing to mind. Once that door closed and you were alone, unspeakable things occurred.
The older woman turned back, eyebrows raised. “I promise you’re in capable hands with Dr. Henshaw.”
“And believe me, Mrs. Bennington doesn’t say that about everyone.” The doctor winked at Olivia.
“Please stay.” The words came out so softly she doubted the woman had heard.
But Mrs. Bennington nodded. “Very well. I’ll sit over here in the corner.”
Olivia’s hand relaxed, releasing the covers, but she eyed the doctor warily. He was under thirty, she estimated, and quite nice-looking with neatly trimmed brown hair and kind eyes.
The doctor gave her a small smile, then listened to her heart, looked into her eyes, ears, and mouth, and finally sat back with a satisfied expression. “I believe the infection is almost gone. For now, drink plenty of fluids and take the medication I left with Mrs. Bennington.” He rose and picked up his bag. “I’ll be back tomorrow to see how you’re doing. I predict a huge improvement in the next twenty-four hours.”
Olivia’s lips cracked as she tried to smile. Perhaps she had misjudged the man. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome. Good day, ladies.”
Mrs. Bennington rose from her chair. “Thank you again, Doctor. I appreciate your diligence.”
“I can show myself out.” He gave a slight bow and left the room.
Olivia released a long breath, and rather than face the woman’s curious regard, she took in her surroundings. The room was enormous, bigger than her parents’ kitchen and parlor combined. Red flocked wallpaper graced the walls, and an ornate mirror sat above a dark wood vanity. On the far right was a large fireplace, where a fire burned in the grate. Overhead, a chandelier with little crystals shimmered, catching the glow from the embers.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” Mrs. Bennington said. “My room is right down the hall if you need anything.”
Olivia nodded, still struggling to comprehend how this stranger had brought her into her home.
“Can you tell me your name?” Mrs. Bennington’s bright blue eyes stared at Olivia expectantly.
“Olivia Rosetti,” she said.
“Olivia. A pretty name for a pretty girl.” Mrs. Bennington smiled softly. “Are you hungry or thirsty, dear?”
Olivia’s first thought was to refuse, so used to going without. But her parched throat and cracked lips begged for moisture. “Thirsty.”
The woman’s features relaxed. “I’ll have some tea and water brought up immediately. And maybe a bit of chicken broth, if the cook has any handy. You rest and don’t worry about a thing.”
At the door, the woman paused and looked back over her shoulder. “I don’t know what circumstances brought you to the church, but you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. No questions asked.”
Olivia pressed her lips together. Moisture built behind her lids and she blinked hard. Her throat worked, but no words would come, so she simply nodded, hoping the woman would understand her gratitude.
Seemingly satisfied, Mrs. Bennington left the room.
Dr. Henshaw returned the next day to check on Olivia. True to his prediction, she had experienced a fair improvement in her health. She was able to sit up in bed and had taken some toast and tea.
This time, Olivia allowed the doctor to conduct his examination without Mrs. Bennington in the room. The man’s gentleness and caring attitude inspired Olivia’s trust. She studied him as he opened his bag to retrieve his instruments. He had hair the color of the chestnuts sold in Papà’s store and a mouth that rested in a natural smile. His hazel eyes held warmth and concern, unlike the cold, empty stare of the Mercer’s female physician.
Once Dr. Henshaw had taken her temperature and listened to her heart and lungs, he looped his stethoscope around his neck and pulled a chair closer to the bed. When he sat down and pinned her with a serious gaze, Olivia’s heart began to thump heavily in her chest.
“Miss Rosetti, I’d like to speak frankly if I may.” His tone, though professional, vibrated with concern.
Olivia gripped the blankets. Had he found something else wrong with her? What if the rumors at Mercer were true and the tests they had performed on her weren’t really tests at all? That might account for her contracting this mysterious infection. She glanced at the doctor, attempting to gauge his demeanor, but his handsome features gave nothing away.
Anxiety fluttered in her lungs. “Is the infection back?”
“It seems under control for now,” he said carefully. “But what I wasn’t able to determine was the source of the infection.” He paused. “Have you been around anyone who’s been ill? A family member? Someone in the workplace?”
Heat crawled up Olivia’s neck. Images of several Mercer inmates flew to mind before she could steel herself against them. The persistent hacking coughs that many of the women endured. The rumors of other, nastier infections that some inmates carried. Could she have contracted something life-threatening from them?
“Miss Rosetti?”
She bit her lip. He would need to know her background in order to help her. “I was recently released from the Mercer Reformatory for Women. It . . . wasn’t a very sanitary place.”
His eyes widened, but his expression remained calm. “I see. May I ask how long you were there?”
“Almost eighteen months. I got
