Wishes & Tears (16 page)

“It’s a long story, Bridget. All that matters is that I’m back and I’m here to stay.”

Bridget stood hovering beside the bed as Faith sat zipping up the backpack and wondered about its contents. Faith seemed intent on keeping them secret from her.

“Your return has caused quite a stir. The good doctor was beside himself. From the moment he picked you up from the foyer floor, he’s been keeping a vigil over you. I just think he wants to uncover the mystery behind your power.”

“At least he’s not interested in conducting an alien autopsy,” Faith whispered under her breath.

“What ma’am?”

“Tell me, has Master Andrew been informed of my return?” She thought of the elderly man in the nursing home and blinked back tears.

“Not yet, ma’am. I’m certain that when he finds out he’ll be scampering in here, jumping all over you. He’s missed you so.”

“I’ve missed him. Tell me, what has become of Miss LaDue?”

“My, oh my. She’s been in quite a state. Though her family home was untouched by the earthquake, authorities decided to dynamite Nob Hill to contain the fire. The LaDue’s had to evacuate. There was no time to move out their belongings. They lost everything. Poor girl joined her family on a ferry to Oakland. Imagine, the LaDue’s having to rely on the charity of relatives?”

“Perhaps it will teach her some humility,” Faith mumbled.

“Hardly. The girl just has one more thing to complain about. I don’t know what the doctor sees in such a contrary girl.”

“The engagement’s still on?” Faith asked, her expression turning sullen.

“Oh yes. To lighten her spirits, the good doctor is hosting a betrothal party here the Saturday after next. A wedding date is to be announced at last.”

“I see,” Faith replied.

“The doctor is so honorable and intent on marrying the girl even through her misfortune. I’m sorry you had to return to such news.” Bridget gazed at her, trying to read her reaction.

“The news is hardly new. Such is life,” Faith said without emotion.

• • •

After spending another day in bed as a precaution, Faith was allowed to walk about the house and in the garden. Her strength returned quickly and soon she was back to chasing Andrew about. The little bundle of energy was so excited to see her he couldn’t stand still. He clung to her, refusing to leave her side, fearful that she might once again vanish. She was beginning to feel like Mary Poppins, the governess with magical, mystical powers. She wasn’t officially his governess. Doctor Forrester hadn’t given her a final answer. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t seen him since their encounter with her personal documents. He had been avoiding her. She wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or out of having to admit that he believed her.

“Miss Donahue, I want you to be my governess forever,” Andrew said, grasping her hand as they strolled down Sacramento Street. His dark eyes beamed up at her with longing.

“It’s your father’s decision,” she replied. Her future was contingent upon his decision. She crossed her fingers that destiny was on her side.

“What, pray tell, is my decision?” Doctor Forrester’s dusky voice boomed behind them.

Faith stopped in her tracks, taken aback. She drew her free hand up to her chest, as if to stop the thumping of her heart. She turned to face him.

“You frightened me. Must you always be in the habit of sneaking up on people?”

He laughed, dimples forming and teeth glistening.

“Papa!” Andrew cried. He released Faith’s hand and raced toward his father.

Doctor Forrester reached down and picked up his son, lifting him overhead and over his shoulders for a piggyback ride.

“I wasn’t sneaking up on you,” the doctor said, gazing at Faith. “After arriving home, I spotted you both and decided to surprise you.”

“A surprise, indeed.”

“Will Miss Donahue be my governess forever?” Andrew asked, lifting up his father’s straw boater and pulling at his father’s hair.

“We’ll see, son.” His eyes locked on to Faith’s. “We’ll see.”

She drew a deep breath, looking away to avoid his intense gaze. “So, tell me, doctor, now that the fire’s out, how are the survivors coping?”

“As you well know from your study of history, Miss Donahue, the residents of San Francisco are quite resilient. There’s a great deal of talk about rebuilding. Life will go on.”

“Indeed it will.”

“You should know,” he said.

She didn’t miss the bite in his tone. She held her tongue. She had been doing a great deal of that lately. Fearful of losing her position, if she still had one, and leaving the only home she knew, she was fearful of somehow sabotaging her future. She felt like a skater on thin ice, afraid of making a move for fear of sinking. What if, by chance, she was being overly cautious, altering the course of her destiny? What if Doctor Forrester did not fall in love with her and, instead, married Miss LaDue? Where would that leave her? Would she be transported back? Would she be forever lost back in time? She shuddered at the thoughts racing through her mind.

“Are you all right?” Doctor Forrester asked.

His voice rescued her from her morose thoughts. She snapped out of her funk and nodded.

“For a moment there you looked as though you were taken ill. Look at you, you’re shivering.”

They stopped walking.

She rubbed her arms with her hands. “Just a slight chill, nothing to be the cause of concern.”

“We can return to the house if you desire.” He reached up, grabbed Andrew, and lowered the boy to the ground.

“No cause for alarm. I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

He unbuttoned his double-breasted casual jacket and, without asking, slipped it over her shoulders. The act made her shiver more. The nubby jacket still held his warmth and masculine scent of mint and spice.

“There, that should help.” He perused her, and with a satisfied smile, he took Andrew’s hand and continued their stroll.

Andrew reached up with his free hand and grasped Faith’s, walking between them.

Faith looked down at the child and up at his father. Together they looked like the epitome of turn-of-the-century domesticity, much like the old faded family photograph she kept hidden. All that was missing was the little girl. The thought of it made her nerves unravel and shiver all the more.

“I have a patient to check in on,” the doctor said, stopping before a sprawling Eastlake style home.

“I don’t see your bag,” Faith said, noting the absence of the black leather satchel he carried on medical calls like an extra appendage.

“Fanny Jamison has asked to meet Andrew. She’s a lonely old widow, stubborn and healthy as an ox, though she’d have you believe she’s at death’s door. I think she creates maladies just to coax a visit from me.”

“I see that it’s effective.” She grinned.

“I’m a sucker for old ladies.” He winked as he led them up the warped wooden steps on to a slanting porch.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“According to your own calculations, you are, after all, many decades older than me.” He winked again.

Faith stared at him as he rapped on the front door. He believed her? She shook her head.

Footsteps shuffled on creaking floors inside the house. The latch clicked and the door opened just a crack.

“Doctor Forrester,” the deep voice of a frail, petite dowager greeted, opening the door to get a better look at those standing on her porch. “And I see that you brought the family.”

“Mrs. Jamison, we were strolling by and I thought we’d call on you.” He removed his hat and held it at his side.

“You are most welcome to come and visit, especially since you brought that dear little boy I’ve heard so much about.” Her smile was warm even with the wide gaps in her teeth. She opened the door and waved her gloved hands. “Do come in. I’m not long for this earth. I need to enjoy callers while I still can.”

Dressed in head-to-toe black taffeta, a knit black shawl draped over her shoulders, and a frilled lace cap fitted on her tiny head, she looked like a figure out of a painting. Grandma Moses, perhaps, Faith thought.

Mrs. Jamison led them through the foyer, its wood floors scuffed, the burgundy flocked paper peeling away from the walls. She pointed to the parlor. Floral wall covering in hues of vermilion, lemon-chrome, celestial blue, and cream was faded and water-stained. The scattered Persian rugs were threadbare. Furnishings were scuffed and dusty. A fire blazed in the hearth adding to the stifling heat in a room that probably had never had a window opened. The scent of lemon verbena, wood smoke, and the stuffy air was suffocating.

“Won’t you please sit and join me for tea?” Mrs. Jamison asked, making it sound more like an order.

Faith smoothed her skirt and sat in a low parlor chair. The springs pinched even through the thick fabric of her skirt.

Doctor Forrester sat in a nearby gentleman’s chair, holding Andrew on his lap.

Before positioning herself on the rosewood sofa, Mrs. Jamison reached down to Andrew and pinched his cheek.

“What a cute one you are. A handful I can tell,” she said.

Andrew rubbed his cheek with a smirk.

“I wasn’t aware of you having taken a wife,” Mrs. Jamison said, surveying Faith with raised eyebrows and inquisitive gray eyes.

Before the doctor might answer, Mrs. Jamison reached back and pulled on a tapestry cord. “Daisy is too deaf to answer the door but can still hear the bell.”

Faith watched the woman in fascination. She half expected Lurch from the Addams Family to appear at any moment from the shadows.

“How old are you son?” Mrs. Jamison turned her attention to Andrew.

Andrew looked up at his father.

“He’s four,” the doctor replied.

“Can’t the boy speak for himself? Cat got your tongue?”

Andrew stuck out his tongue. His father nudged him.

“I’ll be five in July,” Andrew replied.

“A big boy.” She turned to Faith. “I see, Mrs. Forrester, that you have the patience for a widower and his son.”

After casting a glance at the doctor, Faith answered, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Jamison, but I’m merely Andrew’s governess.”

The old woman scoffed, looking at the doctor and the child squirming on his lap.

“Doctor Forrester, does Andrew’s governess accompany you on all your calls?”

Ian Forrester appeared at a loss for words. His faced paled and he squirmed in his seat.

“Only when Master Andrew is joining his father,” Faith replied.

“I see.” Mrs. Jamison arched her brows. “For a moment I was wondering who might be governed.”

A thin black woman in a ratty maid’s uniform and hair that resembled Don King’s straight-up-in-the-air style plodded into the parlor. In her hands were a tarnished sterling tea service, china cups, saucers, and plates that rattled with her every move.

Faith leapt from her chair and was at the woman’s side, assisting with the tray and its contents. Only when the tea service was securely set on a butler’s table did she retain her seat.

Mrs. Jamison’s eyes were as wide as saucers, while the maid cowered, thick lips trembling.

“Well, shall we have tea?” Mrs. Jamison began with a huff. She turned to Faith. “I’ll pour.”

• • •

As they strolled back down Sacramento Street en route home, Doctor Forrester chuckled. His eyes were focused upon Faith, who stood at his side gripping Andrew’s hand.

“I honestly don’t think Mrs. Jamison knew what to make of you.”

Faith looked up at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Fanny Jamison thought she held the patent on being a strong woman. In you she met her match.”

“Strong? Left on her own, Daisy would’ve dropped the tray. She’s in no condition to serve yet alone clean up a mess.”

“I felt as if I were seated between a battle of wills.”

“Being helpful and speaking up can hardly be considered assertive,” she said, and after giving it some thought added, “Perhaps, in this day and age it is. I keep forgetting that a woman’s place is to be prim, proper, seen but not heard.”

“In this day and age?”

“By now I thought you’d be convinced. Hasn’t that Merck Manual offered enough evidence?”

“The volume does offer some interesting reading, I’ll admit.”

“You haven’t used it as a diagnostic tool yet?”

“I cannot chance treating my patients on theory. I must separate fact from conjecture.”

“The book contains only fact, I can assure you. I can’t transport you into the future to provide proof.” She sighed.

“I have no desire to go anywhere. My home is in San Francisco with Andrew, here and now. My concern is treating my patients.”

“I know, the ones who need hand-holding and smelling salts.” She rolled her eyes.

He stopped walking and faced her. “If you haven’t noticed, since you left and returned, my practice has shifted. After the earthquake and fire, I have devoted my practice to aiding the unfortunate. Those who suffered the most are benefiting from my skills and for the first time in my life, I feel that I am making a difference in people’s lives.”

“Only now? I thought that’s why one chose to become a doctor.” She wondered why it took a catastrophe for his concern to shift from the privileged to those less fortunate. Yet, he still planned on marrying a snobbish socialite.

“You don’t understand. My father was an esteemed physician who built a practice treating those in his social circle. Sure, there are illnesses to contend with, babies to deliver, and the income lucrative. I reluctantly followed in his footsteps but always felt that I could do more. After his retirement and death, I assumed his practice. On the side, I would go out and treat the destitute, my only payment the personal satisfaction of making a difference in a life. After the quake and fire, I’ve spent hours out in the parks, doing all that I can to help and heal without giving thought to income.” He put out his hands. “I am gifted. My hands heal. Is it not a doctor’s role to heal the sick? Are the wealthy the only people entitled to medical treatment? I say not.”

She smiled. “Doctor Forrester, I never thought I’d see the day when you were humble.”

He laughed. “You don’t know me well enough.”

“I’m now glad just knowing you.” She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. A smile glowed on her oval face.