Whispers of the Wind Page 2

  She reached into her trunk and removed the dress she planned to wear to supper. She shook it several times then slipped it on to one of the hangers she found waiting in the mahogany wardrobe against the wall. A few passes over the satin with her hands and the worst of the wrinkles were gone. Her hatbox sat on one of the shelves with her new hat safely tucked away inside for her next outing. She took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of lavender that wafted from the wardrobe.

  When the trunk was empty and all her things put away, she removed her dress and corset and sank into the softness of the feather bed.

  If they weren’t using modern teaching methods for Lily Ann, she’d simply have to do the best she could to help the child learn for now. Even if she had to read every lesson aloud over and over again to help her memorize the material.

  But Abigail’s last thought as she drifted off was not of Lily Ann’s sweet smile, but of the doctor’s deep blue eyes and rugged, handsome face.

  She was still groggy when she awoke. She glanced at the clock on the small side table and sprang out of bed with a little gasp. Only thirty minutes until she was expected in the dining room to meet the children and staff. She went to the rose-and- white porcelain pitcher and bowl on the stand in the corner. Someone must have tiptoed in while she slept, for the bowl had been filled with water that was still warm to the touch. After a quick face wash and sponge bath, she donned her pale blue satin dress and rearranged her hair.

  Feeling presentable for the first time since she’d stepped onto the train in Washington, she retrieved a fresh lace-trimmed handkerchief from a drawer in the wardrobe and stepped into the hallway. Now, if only the butterflies in her stomach would calm down.

  Muted laughter and conversation drifted upward as Abigail walked down the wide staircase, and a wonderful, but unfamiliar, spicy aroma wafted up, reminding her she had skipped lunch.

  She reached the foyer at the same moment Dr. Quincy stepped in through the front door.

  Her eyes met his startled expression, which was quickly replaced by a friendly smile as he crossed the foyer and offered his arm. “May I have the honor of escorting you, Miss James?”

  With a slight nod she took the proffered arm, and they walked through double doors into the dining room.

  The happy voices stopped and silence greeted them. A long table, covered by a snow-white cloth, stood in the center of the room. Two men and two women sat on each side of the head place at the table. Five boys lined the men’s side, and four girls were seated by the women.

  With a flourish Dr. Quincy motioned to Abigail. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce our new teacher, Miss Abigail James. You’ll have an opportunity to introduce yourselves to her later, but let’s allow her to be seated first, please.”

  Heat rushed to Abigail’s face as the doctor escorted her to an empty space that had been left for her. She wasn’t accustomed to being the center of attention.

  A man seated across from her stood and gave a slight bow as she took her seat. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss James. I’m Charles Waverly, teacher of math, science, and geography. The lady next to you is Miss Helen Edwards, who teaches reading, English, and history. Next is Mrs. Felicity Cole, the girls’ dorm mother. The gentleman beside me is Howard Owens, the boys’ dorm parent.”

  As he and the doctor seated themselves, a pair of light blue eyes peered at her from Miss Edwards’s face. “Please, call me Helen. And you might as well call us all by our first names. We don’t have a lot of time for formalities here as you’ll soon find out for yourself.” Her smile softened the words, but her voice held a ring of truth.

  Abigail liked Helen’s straightforward manner. She returned the smile. “And I’m Abigail.”

  Helen relaxed and sat back in her chair. “We’re going to be friends. I feel it in my bones.”

  Giggles emitted from the line of girls, and Lily Ann, who was seated next to Abigail, thrust her hand up high.

  “Yes, Lily Ann?” Dr. Quincy’s voice held laughter. “You have something you want to say?”

  “You can’t feel that in your bones, Miss Edwards.”

  Abigail looked on in amazement as the children erupted into laughter. Apparently the phrase “children should be seen and not heard” didn’t apply at Quincy School for the Deaf. But how had the children heard Lily Ann’s comment?

  She turned to Helen and spoke softly. “I thought the children were deaf.”

  Helen grinned. “Most of them read lips very well.”

  Abigail smiled and nodded. Lip reading was good. But she had come to believe that adding sign language was even better. Her stomach tightened. She hoped Mr. Carter would agree.

  She glanced at Dr. Quincy and met his eyes—deep-set, mesmerizing blue eyes. His lips curved, and she lowered her lashes then turned her attention to Helen.

  “When do you expect Mr. Carter to return?”

  “Not till next week.” Helen’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “But don’t worry. He planned your schedule before he left, so you’ll have plenty to do.”

  The door opened and two women, wearing aprons over their dresses and colorful scarves around their heads, entered the room carrying soup tureens. As the younger one filled Abigail’s soup bowl with a hearty, stew-like soup, the aroma tantalized her senses.

  “Thank you.” She glanced at the serving girl. “It smells wonderful.”

  The girl only nodded, but the corners of her lips tilted up.

  Abigail looked at the stew, which contained pieces of chicken, tomatoes, and onions that she could recognize. She had no idea what the green vegetable slices were and wasn’t about to ask.

  Dr. Quincy bowed his head, and everyone at the table followed suit. He offered a simple blessing, thanking God for the food, asking Him to bless it and those who prepared it. He then offered thanks that Abigail had arrived safely.

  His amen had barely left his lips when he turned to Abigail. “Being from the north, you’ve probably never eaten our Georgia gumbo.”

  “No, I haven’t. In fact, I’ve never heard of it.” She offered him a smile and hoped her words hadn’t sounded rude. “But it smells delicious.”

  “I hope you like it.” At that he turned his attention to his food.

  She lifted her spoon and let the spicy, unfamiliar flavor roll over her tongue. After the third taste, she decided she liked it and gave the doctor a nod. “Very good.”

  The soup was followed by fried chicken, potatoes with white gravy, and an array of vegetables, pickles, and preserves. The bread baskets never ran out of hot biscuits and corn bread. Abigail hoped this was part of her welcome and not an every night’s occurrence. She was hard put not to sigh with pleasure but careful not to eat too much.

  When the meal was over, the children went to their dormitories to have a time of Bible stories and prayer before bedtime.

  “Shall we go to the parlor and visit for a while?” Helen motioned for Abigail to follow her.

  The parlor was small and cozy with a spinet piano in one corner and overstuffed chairs and a sofa arranged comfortably around the room. Virgie sat in a wing chair with a basket of mending on her lap. She laid the small garment she was mending on top and started to rise.

  “No, no, Virgie.” Helen said. “Why don’t you stay and visit with us. I’m sure Abigail has questions, and you can help me answer them.”

  Virgie leaned back as Abigail and Helen sat on the sofa. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but glad to do anything I can.”

  Helen laughed. “Don’t give me that. You know everything that goes on around here.”

  The elderly woman’s lips turned up slightly. “I might at that.”

  “Actually, I do have a question.” Abigail looked from Helen to Virgie. “I was wondering—have you begun teaching sign language here?”

  Helen and Virgie exchanged glances. Virgie picked up the basket and returned it to her lap. Her tightly pressed lips gave a good indication she had nothing to say.

  Helen sighed
. “Mr. Carter won’t hear of it. He says he doesn’t see the point since all the children read lips. We gave up suggesting it long ago.”

  ❧

  Trent tried to concentrate on the medical journal he was perusing, but fatigue threatened to overcome him. He turned the page and began scanning the next section. If only he could find an answer for Lily Ann. Somewhere, somehow there had to be a surgeon who could help her. He tossed the journal onto the floor with a stack of others when he came to the end of the article then stood and turned his head from side to side in an attempt to stretch the tight muscles. He might as well go to bed. He reached over to lower the wick on the lamp. Someone knocked on the front door, and he straightened, frowning. Carrie, his only full-time maid and also Virgie’s daughter, had already retired to her apartment over the kitchen with her husband, Solomon, who managed the farm for Trent, and their three-year-old son, Hunter.

  Trent headed to the door, his breathing quickening with trepidation. A knock this late at night usually meant an emergency.

  Cal Walker stood with his hat in hand on the front porch. “Doc, you gotta come. My two youngest are burning up with fever.”

  “Are there other symptoms?” Trent shot out the words while reaching for the bag he kept beside the door.

  “Lutie’s been coughin’ and complaining about her throat being sore.” He swallowed. “May’s skeered it’s the scarlet fever.”

  “All right. Why don’t you get back home to May and the kids? I’ll be right behind you.”

  Ten minutes later Trent secured his bag to the saddle and mounted Warrior. The gelding nickered. Trent patted him on the neck then urged him down the lane. The mile to the Walker farm sped by. Trent tied Warrior to a tree branch and ran to the open front door where Cal waited.

  May stood twisting her apron in the middle of the main room of the two-room house. Anguish distorted her face.

  Moans came from a bed against one wall. Trent hurried over and stooped down beside the bed. As he examined ten-year-old Lutie and her younger brother, Sam, relief washed over him. Finally he stood.

  “I don’t think it’s scarlet fever. The symptoms are more like measles. I should be able to make a more accurate diagnosis by tomorrow.”

  May collapsed into a chair. Her shoulders shook as she cried silently into her apron.

  Cal shook his head, a grin of relief splitting his face. “Now ain’t that just like a woman? Didn’t shed nary a tear while we was wondering, and now she bawls like a baby.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Cal. Measles can be serious, too. After I care for my horse, I’m going to stay for a few hours until I’m absolutely certain this isn’t scarlet fever.” He put a hand on May’s shoulder. “You’ll need to get some clean, soft cloths to wash their skin, May.”

  She jumped up. “I’ve got lots of old flannel I’ve saved, Doc. I’ll go get it. Hot water?”

  “No, barely lukewarm. It’ll feel better on their skin. And I need a spoon.”

  “I’ll get it, Dr. Trent.” Bonnie, the oldest Walker child at fourteen, hurried into the kitchen after her mother and returned almost immediately with a clean spoon. “I’ll take your horse to the barn, Doc.”

  “Thank you, Bonnie. That would be very kind of you.”

  They took turns washing the sick children’s fevered skin. Trent administered a dose of paregoric for Lutie’s sore throat and cough.

  The two older girls went to bed on cots in the kitchen and slept soundly even with their parents passing by to get water and cloths throughout the night.

  Cal sat and whittled on a piece of pine wood. The shavings piled up on the floor beside him. May didn’t seem to notice.

  Trent turned to Cal. “Have you heard of any other cases of sickness in the area?”

  “Naw.” Cal stopped whittling and stared at the pile of shavings as though noticing them for the first time. “Can’t say I have. But we don’t get out much. Too much work around the place.” He stood and, without a word, retrieved the broom from the kitchen and swept up the shavings.

  Trent returned his attention to his patients. He’d need to check around the county. Measles could be dangerous if not caught in time or cared for properly. And if by some chance it was scarlet fever, an epidemic could be disastrous.

  By daybreak, Trent was confident his initial diagnosis was correct. He left instructions for treatment and a tiny bottle of paregoric to be used sparingly for coughs and sore throat. “And don’t go anywhere until I say it’s all right.”

  As he rode away from the Walker farm, he wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl between his cool sheets, but the thought of the nine children at the school was enough to give him a surge of energy.

  He found the staff and the children just leaving the dining room. In a moment he found himself surrounded by excited children. He was relieved to see young Donald out of the infirmary.

  “Dr. Trent, will you come to our class today?” Little Lena Sammons peered up with wide green eyes.

  “No! It’s our turn,” Billy said.

  “Now, Billy. Lena. Say good day to Dr. Quincy. It’s time to get to our classes.”

  They marched up the stairs in a straight line, with Miss James bringing up the rear. Trent motioned for her to join him.

  “Yes, Doctor?” She darted a glance after the children. “I really need to go with Miss Edwards.”

  “I know. I’ll only be a moment.” He looked into her unusual but beautiful eyes and almost lost his train of thought. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the children. Will you please inform the other staff members there’s been an outbreak of measles at a nearby farm?”

  She gasped.

  He held up his hand. “Please don’t worry. It may only be an isolated incident. But until we know for sure, I think it would be best to keep the children and any of the staff who haven’t had measles here at the school.”

  “Oh, but the children are so looking forward to their Sunday school class.”

  “I’m sure they are, Miss James, but it’s better to be safe, don’t you think?” His gentle voice softened the words.

  “Of course, Doctor. I’ll inform the staff.” Her thick lashes nearly swept her cheek as she lowered her eyes.

  “Miss James, have you had measles?”

  “Yes, I had them when I was ten.” A shadow crossed her face. “Will that be all?”

  “Yes. And thank you.”

  She sailed up the stairs and turned to look back when she reached the top landing. As their eyes met, she blushed and hurried down the hall.

  Trent grinned. She hadn’t expected to see him still there—watching her at that. His heart thumped wildly, and he straightened his face. Why had he still been there watching her?

  Consternation shot through him. Okay, she was very pretty and her eyes fascinated him. And although he’d managed to keep from entanglements since his disastrous engagement and subsequent breakup with Sharon, there was nothing wrong with being attracted to a young woman. Was there?

  He went outside and mounted his horse. He was exhausted and not thinking straight. He needed to get home and rest. That’s all it was. He nodded. Yes. That was all it was.

  three

  The chalk in Abigail’s hand shook as she wrote spelling words on the blackboard. An unnatural silence hung over the small classroom. She turned and looked at the six children who attended her combination reading, writing, and spelling class. The expressions on their faces were as morose and forlorn as she felt, although for different reasons. She hated seeing them so disappointed. Yesterday they’d been cheerful and eager as they talked about the Sunday school Bible verse contest they were each sure they’d win. Now they stared at her with sad eyes in varying shades of blue, green, and brown. But of course the doctor was right to quarantine them.

  Mr. Carter’s arrival during the night had set her nerves on edge. Especially when he’d sent word by a servant that he’d see her in his office after her final class of the day. The d
irector hadn’t appeared at either meal that day, choosing instead to have a tray sent to his office. So she’d had no chance to examine his countenance and perhaps get an idea of how to broach her suggestions.

  She stepped over to her desk and stood in front of it, hands clasped in a tight grip. Clearing her throat, she attempted a smile. “These are your spelling words for next week. Write them down carefully. Through the week we will be learning how to speak them properly as well as write them.” And if she had her say, they would be learning to sign them, too.

  Heads bobbed and pencils wobbled as the students peered at the blackboard then bent over their tablets.

  One by one, they laid their pencils on their desks to indicate they were finished. The thing that impressed her most about these children was that although they had fun times and could even joke around to the point of boisterousness, they were respectful to adults and orderly in the classroom and in every task they faced.

  The bell clanged and she straightened. “All right. Time for your next class. Please line up at the door.”

  When she had walked them to Charles Waverly’s class for geography, she went back to her classroom and cleaned the blackboard. After giving the room a quick pickup, she patted her hair and smoothed her skirt then headed downstairs to the director’s office.

  She’d been planning what she would say to Mr. Carter all week, and the words replayed in her mind as she walked down the long corridor off the foyer. She tapped on the heavy oak door, waited, then knocked again, louder this time.

  “Come in!” The gruff tone of the voice seemed to say, “Stay out,” instead.

  Abigail took a deep breath and opened the door.