With Every Breath (11 page)

“It is functioning perfectly well,” Kate explained. “My father spent a fortune getting that piping installed, but there is only about fifteen minutes’ worth of hot water at a time. That’s the way the system is designed to work.”

The Russian wasn’t satisfied, and finally Kate dragged him away to show him the size of the water tank. The blond girl immediately filled the vacant chair beside him.

“I think it is so exciting that you’re a doctor,” she breathed. “The doctor we use is probably ninety years old and no fun at all. I’ll bet you’re so much smarter.”

He wanted to say that many of the smartest people in the world were old men, and some of the silliest were teenaged girls with sparkly bows in their hair, but Kate would probably say that was rude, and so he refrained.

“My hands are always cold,” the girl said with her breathy voice. “Is that normal?” She laid a chilly finger on his wrist, then traced the back of his hand.

He cleared his throat and pulled his arm away. “Cold hands are generally no cause for concern.”

“But my feet are always cold too.” There was a rustling of silk as the girl fidgeted in her seat. Something brushed his leg, and the unmistakable feel of icy toes slid beneath the hem of his pants, nudging at his ankle with her bare toes.

“See? Is that normal?”

There was nothing normal about this girl. He slid to the far side of his chair, but there wasn’t much room to escape. It was
bad enough when the nurses trailed him around the hospital, but this girl was pestering him only five yards away from her own father! He glanced over at the man in the corner, still arguing politics with the others, and wondered how he could get away from this girl.

The double doors swung open, and a matron with fading auburn hair and the demeanor of Attila the Hun stood at the head of the table. Kate’s mother?

“Final call,” she barked. “Anyone caught in the kitchen after closing can expect a beheading. Who wants something else to eat?”

Now he knew where Kate got her bossiness. The congressman raised his hand and politely asked for more stew. A few men wanted refills of their tea. Mrs. Norton nodded her head and then pinned him with a pointed stare.

“You! I’m bringing you a slice of pie, because you’re too thin to be operating on people when you look like a bean pole. And then we’re going to talk. Irene, get your hands off Dr. Kendall before you’re arrested for indecency.”

Mrs. Norton went back to the kitchen, and dinner started breaking up as people began drifting away. Irene pouted and moved to the far end of the table, but as the volume in the room dwindled, the congressman from Pennsylvania seemed interested in a conversation.

“Kate tells me you lived with Senator Campbell when you were growing up.”

He stiffened, fiddling with his fork. “I did, yes.”

“I met Senator Campbell during my first term in Congress. We served on the committee for the well-being of the war veterans. Campbell always showed great compassion to the wounded veterans.”

Trevor nodded, scrambling to turn the conversation to anything else. Senator Campbell showed more compassion for his
racehorses than anyone living under his roof, including his wife and children. Certainly the man had no interest in the Scottish stray who had been foisted on him.

Mercifully, Mrs. Norton arrived with more food. The apple pie looked delicious, but he’d lost his appetite. Kate drifted back into the room but without the Russian diplomat in tow.

“I’ve just spent the last ten minutes trying to explain the laws of physics to Mr. Zomohkov. He won’t believe that modern plumbing must still obey the limits of heat transfer. He wants an endless supply of hot water.”

Mrs. Norton took the seat directly across from him and poured herself a cup of tea. “My husband took out a loan of three thousand dollars to supply this house with hot water and modern toilets, and look what we get.”

“You get the eternal gratitude of your most devoted boarders,” Charlie Davis said. “Back to Senator Campbell. What was it like growing up in his household? I gather that mansion on Lafayette Square is quite the showplace.”

Mrs. Norton’s hawklike gaze was fixed on him over the rim of her cup, waiting for an answer. Even Kate set down her fork to listen.

“Yes, it was a nice home.” It ought to be, given the fortune his father had paid Senator Campbell to take an unwanted child off his hands.

“He was your guardian, right?” Charlie asked. “I suspect you had a front-row seat for the politics of this city.”

Trevor saw the senator no more than once or twice a month, which was fine with both of them. It was Mrs. Kendall who raised him and taught him what he needed to know to survive in the world.

He speared the pie with his fork and took a bite. It could have been sawdust for all the attention he paid it. “Very fine pie.”

Kate cleared her throat and plastered an agreeable expression on her face. “Dr. Kendall has been doing such interesting research. I’m sure he has so much to share if he could just get to know a few more people in the city,” she said tightly, then kicked him under the table. “Why don’t you tell us about your innovative techniques for finding a cure for tuberculosis?”

Did she really think going through these little pleasantries was an effective technique for silencing the
Washington Post
? Or figuring out who was sending him those revolting letters?

“I can’t imagine anyone wants to hear about tuberculosis,” he said. “Not at dinnertime.” The conversation came to a thudding halt, but even he knew that lung cavitation or infected corpuscles rarely made for good dinner talk.

“So why did you change your name?” Mrs. Norton asked, her voice blunt. “McDonough is a perfectly fine name, and it seems strange to change it. Not normal.”

A bite of pie lodged in the back of his throat, and he reached for his glass to wash it down. He maintained a carefully blank look. He didn’t want anyone to know the question had flustered him. “I changed it when I began college,” he said simply.

“Yes, but
why
?”

The annoying blond girl perked up and leaned forward. “You changed your name? How exciting! I’ll bet there’s a terribly romantic reason why. You
must
tell us!”

It was hot in here, and everyone in the room was looking at him. Why did all these strangers feel entitled to snoop into his private business? He set his fork down, pushed back from the table, and stood.

“Thank you for dinner.” He left without looking back.

8

K
ate set off for the hospital the next morning ready for a fight. It was one thing for Trevor to be rude to her, but she wouldn’t tolerate it toward her mother or the others at the boardinghouse. He embarrassed her horribly by his behavior. She tried to apologize on his behalf, mentioning the stress he was under because of those awful newspaper stories, but her mother remained unmoved.

“I still haven’t forgiven him for grabbing that scholarship out of your hands. That man is as cold as a salamander. Always was, always will be.”

Kate stepped off the streetcar at the hospital stop and saw Trevor on the front stairs, the big stray dog wagging her tail and bumping her muzzle against him. Trevor wore a sour expression as he tried to nudge the dog off the steps.

“Good morning, Trevor. Making more friends?”

The lines around his mouth tensed. “Kate, you need to back off. So does your mother. She was very rude last night.”

“She asked you a polite question! So did Charlie Davis. You practically bit their heads off. The whole purpose was for you
to try to be friendly and build up goodwill, so you’ll have community leaders on your side.”

“They weren’t on my side; they were down my throat and in my private business. That adolescent hoyden was up my pant leg with her chilly toes.”

“I refuse to believe anyone on earth is chillier than you.”

The bickering continued all the way up the stairs and into the clinic. “Kate, we’re not going to discuss this.” The door banged open and Nurse Ackerman jumped, then rose to her feet.

“You have a visitor, sir. Mr. Tobias Jones, from the Board of Commissioners.”

Kate followed the nurse’s gaze to see a bullnecked man waiting in the sitting area. Her mouth went dry. This couldn’t be good. The District of Columbia was unlike any other city in the country. It was overseen by the federal government, but since Congress had little interest in municipal affairs, the city’s real power was in the hands of a three-member Board of Commissioners. Tobias Jones was the president of the board, and together with the other two appointed officials they ruled over this city with the power of monarchs.

And Trevor was a walking disaster in dealing with people. If Mr. Jones was here about the newspaper articles, Trevor was going to be surly and defensive, which was not the way to talk to a powerful politician.

“Dr. Kendall?” Mr. Jones asked. He carried a stack of newspapers, the top one folded open to the grotesque cartoon of Trevor dancing in a graveyard.

“Yes, I’m Dr. Kendall.” Trevor saw the cartoon as well, and his voice was sharp.

“I’d like to speak with you about some recent articles appearing in the
Washington Post
. The people of this city have legitimate concerns about what is going on in this clinic.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Trevor snapped. “As is the trash appearing in the newspaper. The residents of this city can’t catch tuberculosis from patients quietly minding their own business on the fifth floor of a hospital clinic. Any reporter who can’t grasp that shouldn’t be trusted with paper and ink.”

Mr. Jones sucked in a breath, puffing his chest out like an angry bull getting ready to charge. Trevor needed saving, so Kate stepped forward.

“Louis Pasteur’s theories on anthrax were initially met with great suspicion,” she said. “I suppose it’s natural for people to fear what they don’t understand.”

“Is that what’s happening here?” Mr. Jones’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Just a group of paranoid journalists whipping up fear?”

This needed to be handled carefully, and she scrambled for every tidbit Charlie Davis ever taught her for winning the goodwill of politicians. The most important was to use flattery based on fact.

“People once lived in mind-numbing fear of smallpox before a vaccine was tested and proven effective,” she continued. “That wouldn’t have happened but for a handful of doctors who braved the protests and rioters who wanted to banish them from the land.” She leaned forward to place a hand on Mr. Jones’s arm and added in a conspiratorial voice, “Did you know Benjamin Franklin helped turn public opinion on that one? Once he was convinced of the value of the smallpox vaccine, he published a great many articles in support of it. I think it’s one of the reasons history remembers Benjamin Franklin so fondly. He was a forward-thinking man, a politician who wasn’t afraid to stand up for what was right.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Jones said, a little ire fading from his tone.

“Would you like a tour of the wards?” she asked. “I’m so
proud we’ve been able to offer treatment to some of the poorest people of the city—all free of charge, thanks to Dr. Kendall. I would be happy to show you the clinic and perhaps even introduce a few patients.” It was impossible to look at the wasted bodies of people in the final stages of tuberculosis and not feel compassion.

Mr. Jones was hesitant. Who wouldn’t be after the barrage of articles whipping up fear about tubercular contagion? Just then the door burst open, and the morning brigade of attendants arrived, wheeling carts stacked with breakfast trays. Kate dashed to the nearest cart and lifted the lid. The scent of bacon, cheese omelets, and warm cranberry muffins filled the air.

“Have you had breakfast?” she asked. “We feed the patients like royalty here, but there’s always some left over for the staff. Can I offer you anything?”

“Thank you, but I’ve already eaten,” Mr. Jones said.

Kate replaced the lid. All three of the young ladies were dressed in their tailored pink gowns, with white aprons and folded caps perched atop their heads. Kate stood beside the smallest of them, a birdlike girl who barely reached her shoulder.

“This is Jenny Bell,” Kate said. “This is her first position and she’s already doing so well. How old are you, Jenny?”

“Seventeen, ma’am.”

“Seventeen and already taking on such a responsible job. The patients adore her because she’s always so cheerful first thing in the morning.”

Jenny flushed. “Thank you, ma’am.” Jenny put on her mask, then wheeled her cart down the hall.

Kate reached for a spare mask and extended it to Tobias Jones. “Would you like to meet the patients? This is a good time because they will all be awake as the young ladies distribute breakfast.”

A spark of amusement gleamed in Trevor’s eyes as he un
derstood Kate’s point. If three teenaged girls weren’t afraid to walk among the afflicted, what sort of man would Mr. Jones be if he refused?

Mr. Jones took the mask and followed Kate to the wards. Mercifully, Trevor let her take the lead in showing the facility. She introduced a handful of the patients, trading quips and political gossip. It was clear the patients were friendly with her, well fed, and provided with clean and comfortable quarters. No helpless victims of quack medicine in sight.

Before Mr. Jones left, he said the oddest thing to Trevor. “I understand the press sometimes enjoys stirring up a bit of panic, but that doesn’t mean I’ll turn a blind eye if you let standards slip. We are not in the Himalayas here.”

Kate turned her attention to Trevor the moment the door closed behind the commissioner. “The Himalayas?”

“It’s nothing,” Trevor said as he stalked away, but his look of seething annoyance was unmistakable.

She would need to file the Himalaya Mountains away with the growing list of Trevor’s oddities.

* * * *

That mention of the Himalayas was driving Kate insane.

She’d seen the diplomas and awards that indicated Trevor had traveled widely throughout Europe, but the Himalayas? Wasn’t that in India? The Himalaya Mountains summoned images of rugged climbers and dusty, windswept mountain passes, not the fastidious Dr. Kendall, who washed his hands both before and after his meals.