what Mrs. Mainprice feared. She’d said Mrs. Woodbridge was so certain Amelia was ill with cholera, the woman had fainted in the drawing room and needed to be helped up to her bedchamber.
“I keep telling myself it isn’t.” Dr. Edmunds swept his hands through his hair, mussing it.
“Do you need any help?”
“Are you offering to sit with her, Miss Dunne? I know how difficult that would be.”
For you . . . I would sit with her for you. She had guarded her feelings from Mrs. Woodbridge, but Rachel could not hide them from herself. James Edmunds scattered her wits like the first fall of leaves upon a stream, carried away to the farthest reaches of the sea, and made her fear she would never be rational again.
“If you need me to tend her, I would.”
“I won’t ask you. There’s no need for both of us to suffer.” He grabbed up his cravat and waistcoat, came out into the hallway where Rachel waited, his movements as slow and laborious as a prisoner climbing a treadmill. “Until my sister-in-law feels up to the task, Mrs. Mainprice has offered to stay with Amelia for the remainder of the day.”
Up close, the lines were even deeper, extending into the corners of his eyes. He had to be Amelia’s father. There would be no reason for him to be so distressed otherwise.
“You are very concerned about Amelia,” Rachel said, prevaricating. Ask the question you really want answered. But she was afraid to hear the truth, for what it might reveal about his failings.
“I am concerned about any young child stricken with this horrible disease. Watching a child die . . .” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “There is no worse torment.”
Rachel’s memories, bristling like a thistle, caught and snagged her heart. “None worse.”
“You understand me, Rachel.”
The sound of her Christian name on his tongue made her shiver. She didn’t correct him.
“I understand loss and trials and difficulties, Dr. Edmunds. I understand struggling to hold onto hope that tomorrow will be better than today. I understand how hard it is to watch a child suffer and feel powerless to help her. I understand wanting to believe that God will perform a miracle and feeling lost and disillusioned when He does not.” Old, sad bitterness tainted her words. “That is what I understand, Dr. Edmunds.”
His gaze searched her face, looked directly into her eyes, straight into her soul. “So what do we do now?”
Confused by his question, Rachel answered the only way she could. “We go forward.”
“But what if you don’t have the strength to go forward? What if you don’t have the courage?”
“Somehow, you have to find it.”
Slowly, he nodded, lifted a fingertip to trace her jaw, the contact both sweet and agonizing. “You are strong, Miss Dunne. I envy you for it.”
Before she pressed her face into his hand, closed her eyes, and let the contact linger, Rachel stepped back. “I promised to help Joe bring down the trunks from the attic. Please excuse me, Dr. Edmunds, but I must go.”
“Eh, what is it now, miss?” Joe cocked his head, the lamp they’d brought up to the attic dancing shadows over his face like the lamplight of a busker’s show, making his expression of concern almost comical. “Still upset over Moll, are ya? Or maybe Miss Amelia? Ya look sorta sick, or somethin’.”
“Perhaps I am.” Heartsick, if nothing else.
Joe jerked back as if what she had might be contagious. The lantern swung drunkenly. “Truth an’ all?”
“It’s nothing catching, Joe. It’s just . . . so much has been happening lately. I wonder that I can make sense of life at all anymore.”
“Me mum would say not to bother. Jus’ live it, s’all we can do.”
“And she was right.” Rachel smiled at him to erase the worried frown from his face. “Now do you want me to help you move these trunks, or shall I go about doing what I had originally planned and search for that box of black crepe?”
“Now don’ get all touchy on me. ’ere. Take this one.”
She grabbed the handle and shuffled backward, depositing the trunk in the hallway beyond the door.
“You’d think we was movin’ lead bars,” Joe complained as they shimmied the next one across the floor. “All jus’ to give what’s in ’em to charity before we go. Shoulda left ’em with the ’ouse for the next tenant to deal with.” He grunted as his shoes slipped on the dusty floorboards. “I mean, who’da thought clothes could