Chapter 8 #3
“You already did,” Ellen said primly, focusing on her food. “No need to make more of a fuss.”
He continued on, blast the man. “I haven’t apologized for this.”
She sighed and looked up at him. “What, then? What?”
“When I said I would allow and support you in your work at the dispensary…I shouldn’t have put conditions on you. Or at least, not selfish ones.”
Ellen raised an eyebrow, waiting for the anvil to fall.
He cleared his throat again, as if trying to buy himself time. “I’m sorry for forcing you to breakfast. I just wanted your company so badly, I was so curious about you. If you like…you don’t have to attend breakfast with me anymore.”
Ellen froze, trying to comprehend what he was attempting to say. “What do you mean?”
He winced. “I mean…I release you from the expectation of breakfast.”
Ellen paused, thinking through it. “And what does this mean for my work?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. Our bargain remains the same.” His brown eyes bored into hers.
“So…you’re releasing me?” Ellen asked.
He nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Your mornings are yours, and I apologize for encroaching upon them.”
Ellen cocked her head. “You do not wish to breakfast with me anymore?”
His eyes widened. “What? No! God, no. It’s my favorite part of the—” He cut himself off, flushing. “It’s my favorite part of the day,” he said quietly, looking down to trace a pattern on the tablecloth with his index finger.
“Well,” Ellen said, the vise around her chest easing. “I must breakfast somewhere.”
“Of course.” He nodded at the tablecloth.
“And we do live in the same house,” she added.
“Naturally,” he replied to the tablecloth.
“It’s practically a habit for me now.” She watched his face tighten nearly imperceptibly.
He gave a jerky nod, chin still in one fist. “For me also.”
“So…we might as well keep our arrangements.” She felt herself flushing, for goodness sake, and immediately took another bite of her potatoes.
Mark finally looked at her, she could see him from the corner of her eyes. He smiled softly. “Very well, I’d like that.”
Ellen took a deep breath, summoning all her courage. “Mark,” she began, then faltered.
He glanced up at her, somehow eager and wary at once.
“When you left, when I followed you to the door weeping and yelling, I said I never wanted to see you again.” She took another breath.
“I meant it in the moment, I suppose, because I was so shocked and hurt that I wanted to hurt you, too. But when I calmed a few days later, I realized I shouldn’t have said it.
” She bit her lip. “Would you have visited me sooner if you didn’t believe our separation was mutually desired? ”
Mark’s eyes widened in surprise. “I…” He trailed off, thinking.
Ellen burned with embarrassment. “Never mind, it was a foolish question. Forget it.”
“I might have,” Mark admitted slowly. “Or at least invited you to Cottesloe for Christmas.” He speared her with his gaze.
“But you bear absolutely no responsibility for our estrangement. It all falls on my shoulders. Your words gave me a convenient excuse not to face up to the harm I caused, that’s all.
I only want to be a better man today, especially for you. ”
Ellen warmed under his gaze. “Oh.” Her stomach churned with emotions—and not all of them unpleasant.
“We’re running low on bottles,” Mrs. Daugherty announced later that morning as she stood up from behind the counter where she’d been straightening the shelves.
Her mouth pursed. “Again.” Medical supplies were not cheap, and neither were the baby items Ellen tried to keep for new mothers of the weaker infants.
Ellen’s quarterly allowance paid for all of it since the dispensary barely turned a profit.
Amelia turned from wiping down one of the wooden seats near the door, alarm making her eyes and mouth wide. “Oh, fiddlesticks! I forgot!”
Ellen glanced at her. “What did you forget?”
“Donations.” Amelia rolled her eyes at herself. “There’s a new group of ladies who are bringing over some donations this afternoon. Oh, blast it! And I’m scheduled to do home visits all afternoon.”
Mrs. Daugherty, who usually fielded donations and procurements briskly wiped her hands on her apron. “We haven’t received any donations in a while. Is it the church quilting group you mentioned?”
Amelia nodded. “Mrs. Chisom reached out to me through a mutual acquaintance a few weeks ago. They typically gather funds to send to missionaries, but this time she said they were interested in helping those closer to home. I suggested they gather funds for us as well, because we need more crutches and I’d love to purchase a wheeled chair to lend out. ”
“The crutches never seem to return,” Ellen lamented, looking out the window as if she could see where they’d gone.
Before Mark had returned and they’d reopened their townhouse, Ellen had given most of her quarterly allowance to the dispensary.
But now the cost of running a household took much of her income and they’d have to be creative in finding more donations to fill the gap.
“Well.” Amelia’s mouth twisted. “Mrs. Chisom said she was uncomfortable providing a cheque to us, but that she would drop off several boxes of baby supplies.”
Ellen tilted her head from side to side. “Not…quite as helpful as we’d hope. But like Mrs. Daugherty said, we are low on bottles. Perhaps this quilting group will appreciate our work enough to donate funds the next time.”
“Still, that doesn’t solve my problem for this afternoon.” Amelia chewed on her lower lip, thinking.
Mrs. Daugherty rested her hands on the counter. “I’d normally be here, but since my husband is feeling under the weather I’d planned to go home early.” Especially since there’d be no patients, as Amelia would be rounding.
“I can stay and receive the donation,” Ellen suggested. “Do you know what time? Mark is collecting me midafternoon to go home.”
“Oh, would you?” Amelia sighed with relief.
“Of course.” Ellen smiled. “I’d be happy to.”
Three hours later, just when Ellen was beginning to wonder if Mrs. Chisom had forgotten, a knock came at the door.
Mark, who’d been reading a newspaper in one of the seats, got up, folded the paper, and answered the door.
Ellen had to admit it was nice to have him around sometimes.
But only sometimes. He’d arrived nearly three quarters of an hour ago and hadn’t seemed to mind the wait.
He’d merely gone back out for a paper and settled in while Ellen arranged and rearranged the medicine bottles on the top shelf behind the counter.
“Oh!” A petite middle-aged woman in a green plaid dress stood, framed in the doorway. Her graying brown hair was set in a stylish bun and mostly covered by a well-used hat. “I’m looking for Dr. Hart?” Her figure was a perfect hourglass, with broad hips and a massive bosom.
Mark gestured for her to step inside as he took a step backward. “Dr. Hart was called away, unfortunately. You know how things can be with physicians,” he said smoothly.
Ellen stepped around the counter to greet the woman. “I’m Mrs. Glenfall. And you must be Mrs. Chisom?”
“Yes.” As she recovered from her surprise, the woman pulled her shoulders back, becoming stiff as a poker.
She glanced up at Mark as she folded her hands together at the front of her skirt.
“I was unaware the dispensary had a man physician.” Despite her rigid demeanor, her tone conveyed a hint of relief.
“It’s always good to see seasoned, experienced doctors working in environments like this.
” As if women couldn’t be independent in such complicated matters.
Mark gave her a puzzled smile.
It was Ellen’s turn to stiffen. She pulled her lips back into a small, polite smile. “Dr. Hart is a seasoned, experienced doctor. We do not have a male doctor on staff, and we have no plans to change that.”
Mrs. Chisom’s eyes narrowed as she glanced between Ellen and Mark.
“May I introduce my husband, Mr. Glenfall?” Ellen stepped closer, gesturing to Mark with her left hand. “He stops by from time to time, but the running of the dispensary rests solely with Dr. Hart and her secretary, Mrs. Daugerty.”
“Mrs. Chisom!” a younger, less matronly voice emerged from outside, behind the woman. “The driver wants to know if he should unload the crates?”
Mrs. Chisom turned to address a woman roughly Ellen’s age as she entered the doorway, casting shadows into the waiting room. “Tell him yes, Mrs. Finley. I want them brought inside.”
Ellen began to have a decent idea of what type of donor Mrs. Chisom and her group were.
Almost all their donations were provided by women—usually groups like a church’s handbell circle or a neighborhood quilting association.
All women of middle class who used their free time to do good works or volunteer with Christian charities.
They were the wives of bankers, solicitors, businessmen.
These women all took their religious duty to minister to the poor quite seriously, though some did it with more loving-kindness than others.
Mrs. Chisom seemed to be one of the others.
Still, even if Mrs. Chisom was doing this more to assure herself she was a good Christian woman rather than actually helping the less fortunate around her, the donations made a difference.
Mrs. Chisom was using the dispensary to showcase her benevolent character; Ellen would use her in return to get much needed supplies to Amelia’s patients.
Mrs. Finley sidestepped into the dispensary, eyes wide, as willowy and slight as Mrs. Chisom was voluptuous.
She shivered even though the weather wasn’t too cold today.
“My goodness.” She gave a little laugh and met Ellen’s eyes.
“How do you come here every day to care for the poor? I thought we would be nicked on the way here!”
Ellen’s smile turned tighter. “This street is quite safe. Just because it isn’t Bloomsbury or St. James doesn’t mean it’s crime-ridden.”