students? I always wondered how hard it would be to teach someone who wasn’t that much younger than you are. Did you…”
The front bell pealed, followed by a loud pounding on the door. Annie stood up and spontaneously put her arm around Laura, who had given a startled cry. Kathleen was probably down in the kitchen starting on the dishes, so as another thunderous series of raps rattled the front door, Annie wavered. Should she open it? She didn’t want to leave Laura, whose nerves were obviously still in a state. Nate appeared, Barbara right behind him, and he said, “Shall I?”
“Yes, do. I don’t know who it could be at this hour.” Annie retreated with Laura a bit further back down the hall.
Nate undid the bolt and opened the door on a man, a stranger to Annie. He looked to be in his fifties with a small gray mustache. He was neatly dressed in a subdued brown wool suit, but his cheeks were red, and he was clearly out of breath. He immediately took off his derby when he saw there were ladies present and bobbed his head politely, saying, “Please sir, ladies. I am sorry t’bother you, but it’s a matter of some urgency. Is there a Miss Laura Dawson residing here? My name is McNaughton, and I have a message for her.”
Nate looked back at Laura. When she shook her head in bewilderment, he turned to the man and said, “Sir, I’m Miss Dawson’s brother. You may convey your message to me.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. It is Miss Hattie Wilks, sir, that boards with me and the missus. We’ve never had such a thing happen, respectable house we run. Miss Hattie fell some time this evening, dunno when. It were something terrible to see her all broken on the landing, blood everywhere. Hector, my son, got a cab, and he and my missus took her off to St. Mary’s. But before they left, the lassie roused a little. She grabbed my hand and told me to get a message to Miss Laura Dawson at Mrs. Fuller’s boarding house on O’Farrell Street. The local copper directed me here. Now, sir, I think if your sister wants to see her, she’d best come straight away. I saw too much death in the war, and the poor girl had that look they get, you know. When they are about to meet their maker.”
Chapter Eleven
Later Wednesday evening, January 14, 1880
"The new chapel on First Street, in the rear of St. Mary's Hospital, erected by the Sisters of Mercy connected with the Hospital, was dedicated at 3 o'clock yesterday afternoon." –– San Francisco Hospital , 1879
Hattie looked so small lying on the hospital bed. And so pale. Laura leaned over and stroked her cheek, cold and smooth as marble.
“Sister, shouldn’t she have more blankets?” Laura looked at the Sister of Mercy who stood quietly in the corner, wimple and collar glowing white against the black garments that could be barely distinguished from the dark shadows at the edges of the room.
“I am sorry, Miss. The attending physician said that because of her broken bones, we should limit the weight of her coverings in order to lessen her pain,” the Sister replied quietly, her hands folded into the wide sleeves of her habit.
Laura had noticed the splint on Hattie’s right arm when she first came into the room, but now she saw that the contours of the light blanket laying over her suggested there was some sort of splint over both of her legs. She sat down, pulling the chair closer so she could take Hattie’s left hand in her own, rubbing it to try to create some warmth. She had been forced to leave Nate and Annie in the hallway, the sister insisting that only one person could be in the room with the patient at a time.
“Poor darling,” she whispered. “You took a bad tumble, but the good doctors have patched you up.” Hattie didn’t open her eyes, and Laura saw that every breath her friend took was slow and labored.
A cry rent the silence from somewhere down the hall, and Laura glanced towards the door, seeing the swift passage of another nun, black
The front bell pealed, followed by a loud pounding on the door. Annie stood up and spontaneously put her arm around Laura, who had given a startled cry. Kathleen was probably down in the kitchen starting on the dishes, so as another thunderous series of raps rattled the front door, Annie wavered. Should she open it? She didn’t want to leave Laura, whose nerves were obviously still in a state. Nate appeared, Barbara right behind him, and he said, “Shall I?”
“Yes, do. I don’t know who it could be at this hour.” Annie retreated with Laura a bit further back down the hall.
Nate undid the bolt and opened the door on a man, a stranger to Annie. He looked to be in his fifties with a small gray mustache. He was neatly dressed in a subdued brown wool suit, but his cheeks were red, and he was clearly out of breath. He immediately took off his derby when he saw there were ladies present and bobbed his head politely, saying, “Please sir, ladies. I am sorry t’bother you, but it’s a matter of some urgency. Is there a Miss Laura Dawson residing here? My name is McNaughton, and I have a message for her.”
Nate looked back at Laura. When she shook her head in bewilderment, he turned to the man and said, “Sir, I’m Miss Dawson’s brother. You may convey your message to me.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. It is Miss Hattie Wilks, sir, that boards with me and the missus. We’ve never had such a thing happen, respectable house we run. Miss Hattie fell some time this evening, dunno when. It were something terrible to see her all broken on the landing, blood everywhere. Hector, my son, got a cab, and he and my missus took her off to St. Mary’s. But before they left, the lassie roused a little. She grabbed my hand and told me to get a message to Miss Laura Dawson at Mrs. Fuller’s boarding house on O’Farrell Street. The local copper directed me here. Now, sir, I think if your sister wants to see her, she’d best come straight away. I saw too much death in the war, and the poor girl had that look they get, you know. When they are about to meet their maker.”
Chapter Eleven
Later Wednesday evening, January 14, 1880
"The new chapel on First Street, in the rear of St. Mary's Hospital, erected by the Sisters of Mercy connected with the Hospital, was dedicated at 3 o'clock yesterday afternoon." –– San Francisco Hospital , 1879
Hattie looked so small lying on the hospital bed. And so pale. Laura leaned over and stroked her cheek, cold and smooth as marble.
“Sister, shouldn’t she have more blankets?” Laura looked at the Sister of Mercy who stood quietly in the corner, wimple and collar glowing white against the black garments that could be barely distinguished from the dark shadows at the edges of the room.
“I am sorry, Miss. The attending physician said that because of her broken bones, we should limit the weight of her coverings in order to lessen her pain,” the Sister replied quietly, her hands folded into the wide sleeves of her habit.
Laura had noticed the splint on Hattie’s right arm when she first came into the room, but now she saw that the contours of the light blanket laying over her suggested there was some sort of splint over both of her legs. She sat down, pulling the chair closer so she could take Hattie’s left hand in her own, rubbing it to try to create some warmth. She had been forced to leave Nate and Annie in the hallway, the sister insisting that only one person could be in the room with the patient at a time.
“Poor darling,” she whispered. “You took a bad tumble, but the good doctors have patched you up.” Hattie didn’t open her eyes, and Laura saw that every breath her friend took was slow and labored.
A cry rent the silence from somewhere down the hall, and Laura glanced towards the door, seeing the swift passage of another nun, black
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