found Seward already dressed and seated at his desk. He scowled when he spied Michael in the doorway.
“What’s wrong with Mary?” he barked in lieu of a greeting.
“Nothing,” Michael said pleasantly, striding forward and placing the tray on the desk.
“Then—and I’m certain I’m going to be sorry for asking this—why are you here?”
Straightening, Michael said matter-of-factly, “It’s going to be a beautiful day, and I think it’s time you began taking some sun.”
Seward stared at him, clearly nonplussed. After a moment, Michael elaborated. “It’s called heliotherapy, and it’s an important part of your rehabilitation. The healing properties of the sun’s light and warmth are well documented.”
Seward pursed his lips. “I don’t see the point of it.”
Michael sighed inwardly. He might have known Seward wouldn’t make it easy for him. “The only substitute for natural sunlight is ultraviolet treatments.”
“I know,” Seward growled. “They stuffed me into one of those damned light cabinets every day at the hospital in England for weeks. Idiots gave me blisters over half my body before they decided it wasn’t working.”
Michael shook his head. That went a long way to explaining why Seward was fed up with the medical profession. There was a reason why the wounded men had called them “ultraviolent treatments.” “Doctor Parrish had all the ultraviolet machines thrown out of our convalescent hospital. He insisted the men spend time outside in fine weather and had a glass atrium built for the winter months.” He spread his hands. “Listen, we don’t know all of the reasons why it works, only that it does. It speeds up the healing process and improves health in a general sense.” Exposure to sunlight had also been proven to improve the mood of recalcitrant patients, though of course Michael kept this to himself. “I’m only asking you to give it a try for a few days. You can sit and relax while I work, and I’ll take you back inside after an hour or two. If you don’t see an improvement by the end of the week, you can discontinue it.”
Seward glared at him for another few moments, then huffed out a breath. “All right. Come back in half an hour and I’ll be ready.”
Michael nodded and left swiftly, the taste of even this small victory unexpectedly sweet.
T HE warm day drew everyone outside. As soon as she had finished her indoor chores, Sarah came out to help Michael with the weeding. Mary emerged a short time later, her sleeves rolled up and a heavy apron covering her skirt.
“I don’t see why you young folks should be the only ones to have fun getting dirty,” she said, and set to weeding and watering her kitchen garden. When she was done, Michael watched her gaze upon her small plot of earth and smile a quiet, private smile. It had never been in his nature to become attached to a particular place, for he had never had so much as a patch of weeds to call his own. However, it was clear that it meant a great deal to her, and for that reason he was pleased and strangely humbled by her obvious pride.
To his surprise, Abbott hobbled his way out of the house around ten, his steps slow but surer than they had been a week ago. Michael jogged over to help him, but Abbott waved him off. “I’m not at death’s door,” the old man grumbled without rancor. “Just let me take my time.”
Sarah came bounding up to him, her cheeks dirty and her dress grass-stained. She waited patiently until Abbott took her hand and smiled down at her. “Come along, child,” he said, “let’s you and I pay a visit to Mister Seward.”
Michael watched as the two slowly made their way across the lawn to the terrace, then began to mount the steps. Seward had spotted them by now and was on his feet. He limped over to meet them, his face grave.
Michael went back to work, deliberately choosing a bed far from the house so that he could not eavesdrop unintentionally, though his
“What’s wrong with Mary?” he barked in lieu of a greeting.
“Nothing,” Michael said pleasantly, striding forward and placing the tray on the desk.
“Then—and I’m certain I’m going to be sorry for asking this—why are you here?”
Straightening, Michael said matter-of-factly, “It’s going to be a beautiful day, and I think it’s time you began taking some sun.”
Seward stared at him, clearly nonplussed. After a moment, Michael elaborated. “It’s called heliotherapy, and it’s an important part of your rehabilitation. The healing properties of the sun’s light and warmth are well documented.”
Seward pursed his lips. “I don’t see the point of it.”
Michael sighed inwardly. He might have known Seward wouldn’t make it easy for him. “The only substitute for natural sunlight is ultraviolet treatments.”
“I know,” Seward growled. “They stuffed me into one of those damned light cabinets every day at the hospital in England for weeks. Idiots gave me blisters over half my body before they decided it wasn’t working.”
Michael shook his head. That went a long way to explaining why Seward was fed up with the medical profession. There was a reason why the wounded men had called them “ultraviolent treatments.” “Doctor Parrish had all the ultraviolet machines thrown out of our convalescent hospital. He insisted the men spend time outside in fine weather and had a glass atrium built for the winter months.” He spread his hands. “Listen, we don’t know all of the reasons why it works, only that it does. It speeds up the healing process and improves health in a general sense.” Exposure to sunlight had also been proven to improve the mood of recalcitrant patients, though of course Michael kept this to himself. “I’m only asking you to give it a try for a few days. You can sit and relax while I work, and I’ll take you back inside after an hour or two. If you don’t see an improvement by the end of the week, you can discontinue it.”
Seward glared at him for another few moments, then huffed out a breath. “All right. Come back in half an hour and I’ll be ready.”
Michael nodded and left swiftly, the taste of even this small victory unexpectedly sweet.
T HE warm day drew everyone outside. As soon as she had finished her indoor chores, Sarah came out to help Michael with the weeding. Mary emerged a short time later, her sleeves rolled up and a heavy apron covering her skirt.
“I don’t see why you young folks should be the only ones to have fun getting dirty,” she said, and set to weeding and watering her kitchen garden. When she was done, Michael watched her gaze upon her small plot of earth and smile a quiet, private smile. It had never been in his nature to become attached to a particular place, for he had never had so much as a patch of weeds to call his own. However, it was clear that it meant a great deal to her, and for that reason he was pleased and strangely humbled by her obvious pride.
To his surprise, Abbott hobbled his way out of the house around ten, his steps slow but surer than they had been a week ago. Michael jogged over to help him, but Abbott waved him off. “I’m not at death’s door,” the old man grumbled without rancor. “Just let me take my time.”
Sarah came bounding up to him, her cheeks dirty and her dress grass-stained. She waited patiently until Abbott took her hand and smiled down at her. “Come along, child,” he said, “let’s you and I pay a visit to Mister Seward.”
Michael watched as the two slowly made their way across the lawn to the terrace, then began to mount the steps. Seward had spotted them by now and was on his feet. He limped over to meet them, his face grave.
Michael went back to work, deliberately choosing a bed far from the house so that he could not eavesdrop unintentionally, though his
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