Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) (13 page)

*
             
*
             
*
             

The next afternoon Genie
stomped
through the front door, plopping her blue bonnet onto the table. “Sheriff Hudson and his deputies haven’t found a
single clue in my woods
. Nothing! How do
es one
find
nothing
after
a man
has been digging h
oles in the ground?
There must be some sign of disturbed soil. You know,” Genie tapped her chin thoughtfully, “Maybe we should go out there and have a look around ourselves. Marissa and I saw where the man was and I’ll bet we could find something!”

Marissa grinned eagerly, but with an ulterior motive. “I’m game.”

“For goodness sake, Mother, I haven’t the faintest idea where you come up with these ideas.” Carolyn leapt from her seat beside the fireplace. “That man could be in the woods now! He could have murdered someone for all we know and the two of you,” she swept a pointed finger from her mother to Marissa, “do not need to be poking around a murder scene! This is a job for the sheriff and no one else.”

Genie grumbled something about the incompetence of the sheriff and Carolyn rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Marissa teased. “It could be buried treasure. Didn’t Blackbeard the pirate sail up and down this coast?”

“Oh!” Carolyn threw her hands up. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with the two of you!”

Rolling her eyes back to her daughter Genie conceded. “All right, all right I won’t go poking around in the woods. Happy?”

“Yes.”

“Although I still think we could do a far better job of investigating the woods than that old dunce of a sheriff.”

“Mother!”

Marissa couldn’t help but laugh though it saddened her to think she may never argue this way with her
own
mother again. She missed her mother terribly. Releasing a disheartened sigh, she set aside the bolts of leftover fabric Carolyn had her stitching
—
an exceedingly boring diversion
—
and meandered to the backroom to prepare a bath and sulk.

Oh, the simple luxuries she had taken for granted.

Staring glumly at the tin basin she lit the stove and began heating the water, longing for a shower and running water, a toilet that flushed. Presently, cooling the overly hot water she tested the temperature with the back of her hand and sprinkled a few drops of rosewater into the tub. Slipping beneath the surface Marissa breathed a deep sigh of relief. However burdensome it may be to prepare a bath it was still relaxing to soak and she desperately needed to lighten up and think.

*
             
*
             
*

Dr. Bernstein and Craig Langston watched with poorly concealed amusement one afternoon as Marissa gave James Rowe what they’d come to term
The Look
. It was a rather amazing ability. With nothing more than a small quirk of her brow she could have the most obstinate of men backtracking in circles until he discovered the “right” course of action. Craig had found himself victim of the look a time or three. It had taken him all of a day to realize he was being maneuvered and all of two to realize he liked it. He liked the fire in her dark eyes, the way they flashed, the life in her. Marissa’s presence lifted the whole atmosphere of the hospital.

“She’s a pistol, that one,” Bernstein commented, casting a suggestive glance at Craig. “I admire her spunk.”

Craig just smiled. “So do I, sir. And I have to admit, she really seems to know what she’s talking about.”

Major Bernstein shrugged. “I don’t know. Some of her ideas seem a little unconventional.”

“She saved Charlie Tanner’s life,” Craig pointed out.

“I suppose.” The major shrugged again. “And the boys always look disappointed when she leaves for the day.” The Major winked slyly at Craig. “Seems to me you look a little disappointed when she leaves too.”

Craig bit back a sheepish grin. “Oh, you think so?”

“Unconventional” was hardly the word to describe Marissa, he mused. She was the kind of woman who
took orders from no man—
though she was amenable to suggestions. In fact she was the type of woman to give men orders and have them obeyed. She worked like a man, on occasion she cursed like a man
—
typically after she found some comical fashion to hurt herself for the umpteenth time in a day
—
and not only did she understand the men’s jokes but she could laugh along without blushing
—
at least most of the time. But while Marissa had obviously not lived a sheltered life there was a conservative quality, an innocence, about her that served only to increase his desire. The combination of those qualities with her spitfire nature was irresistible. He more than liked it; he wanted it for himself.

*
             
*
             
*

These men, these surgeons, are impossible
! Marissa berated
silently
as she swabbed a pus-filled wound with a saline solution she’d boiled up herself. It was no wonder so many of these patients had raging infections. How could doctors be so careless about sanitation? While maintaining the cleanliness of th
e wards grew easier by the day
with the assistance of the orderlies, it was painfully obvious how little was known about germ science in the 1860’s. Hand washing was anything but commonplace and the surgical instruments were rarely cleansed even between cases unless she saw to it herself!

Deplorable
.

Diligently, she’d set about implementing means and procedures for the cleansing of instruments, hands, linens, and bandages. To her i
mmense relief most seemed to be following
her impl
icit instructions, t
hough convincing the surgeons had proven a more difficult undertaking than s
he could have possibly imagined.
N
ot that convincing surgeons of anything during any time period was easy, but she was making progress. Major Bernstein seemed to find her determination to boil every instrument amusing, yet told her most obstinate opposition
—
James Rowe
—
to humor the young lady as it couldn’t possibly do any harm.

“Miss McClafferty?” An orderly approached.

“Yes?” she asked smiling at the boy. He’d become
one of her most able students.

“There is a man here to see you about his stitches,” the young man said.
“He’s out front.”

“Okay, er, I mean, all right, I’ll go and see him right now.”

Marissa made her way to the front of the hospital and stopped short when Paul Christenson’s short surly figure came into view. A sense of unease settled over her as she
remembered
all the times she’d felt his black eyes on her in town. Quickly she gathered the supplies to remove his sutures and send him on his way.

“Your arm looks fine, Mr. Christenson.” Marissa clipped below the last knot and pulled the suture from his forearm. “Do you need anything else today?” The man’s glare was menacing and she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d bothered asking for her assistance.

“I notice you’ve been staying in town.”

A chill ran up her spine. He’d noticed? How closely had he been watching? With a jaundiced eye she neglected to answer.

“Probably wise,” he said cryptically, narrowing his
gaze
as he stood. “It isn’t safe for two comely ladies to be alone in the country.” Christenson jammed a wide brimmed hat onto his head and turned to leave. “Not safe at all.”

What am I supposed to make of that?
Marissa
chewed at her lip, d
ec
iding to speak with the sheriff
should Paul Christenson so much
as look at her cross-eyed again.
Marissa tried to dismiss him from her thoughts, and returned to work.

A short while later Craig found her rolling bandages and scraped a chair across the floor to sit beside her. “What was Paul Christenson doing here? Was he bothering you?”

“Apart from wanting me
to remove his sutures,” she began
,
stilling her hands, debating how much to tell Craig.
“I think he’s been following me around town.” She quickly relayed the disturbing conversation.

For a long moment Craig
fell silent, expression stern, pensive.
“Have you spoken to the sheriff about this?”

“No.” Her fingers toyed nervously at the thin fabric of the bandage. “But, Craig, I’m not sure Sheriff Hudson can do anything about it. He hasn’t really done anything wrong.”

“Just the same, I’ll mention it to him and keep an eye on Christenson myself.”

“Thank you.” Marissa smiled
, touched.

“It’s no trouble.” Craig
picked up a scrap of loos
e fabric, beginning to roll it.

“Stooping to lowly nurse
-
er
-
uh, orderly work, Doctor?” Her question was teasingly pointed, and she laughed as he feigned indignation.

“Actually, I was hoping to walk you home tonight.” He looked incredibly sweet and she couldn’t hold back a pleased grin. His asking to walk her home had become something of a daily custom. It was also his custom to kiss her good night, every night.

“Of course. When are you finished?”

“Now.” He grabbed her hand, causing the bandage roll to drop upon the desk and unravel completely. “Leave it.” Craig raised his shoulders in a nonchalant gesture. “The orderlies can take care of it. I have something to show you.”

Marissa laughed as he practically dragged her from the room. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” he responded, a mysterious light twinkling behind his eyes.

He led her from the hospital and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm
,
guiding her along the busy street
.
People scurried to the side as Craig walked through, avoiding his hulking
, uniformed
figure as
his long legs ate up the roadway.
Marissa stumbled over her full-length gray skirts making it very difficult to keep pace with him. “Craig, can you slow down a little?”
What I would give to
wear jeans again…

“Oh
, of course. My apologies
.” He checked his stride and pulled her more closely to his
side.
His warmth
seeped
into hers
, and the pressure of his strong fingers lingered where he’d touched her waist.
Her heart fluttered.
Surely the imprint of his
hand
was permanently tattooe
d
to her flesh.
T
ingle
s
rushed straight to her head. A little off balance she snuggled into him
, resting her cheek briefly against his arm. Heaven above, this felt so
right
.