Page 29 of It Happened in the Highlands
Chapter 10
“Me. Reading out loud in the ward.” Cuffe’s face registered a curious mixture of horror and disbelief upon hearing Wynne’s announcement.
“I said I would inform you of your punishment when the time was right,” he told his son. “For one hour each afternoon, starting today, you’ll read to the patients from that book.”
Finding Cuffe on a flat rock in the grassy area outside the kennels, Wynne waited while his son considered the penalty. The lad had been reading with a newly weened pup asleep on his lap.
“Perhaps it would be best if we started tomorrow, Captain. I’m certain I’ve heard the vicar say something about laboring on the Sabbath.”
“He was speaking theoretically.”
“He mentioned yawning gates and a fiery pit.”
“I’m willing to risk it. Up, lad. Time and tide wait for no man.”
A steady rain had fallen over the past two days, but the sun had broken through by mid-morning. During that time Wynne had been quietly impressed by the influence of Jo’s presence on the fabric of life at the Abbey. And that included her suggestion regarding how to ease Cuffe into his new responsibility.
When he returned to the Abbey after their walk to Knockburn Hall, she’d been waiting for him with the book of African fables. When he gave it to Cuffe and explained what it was, the boy had taken an immediate interest in it. Yesterday, Wynne mentioned the volume to Cameron, and the bookkeeper said the ten-year-old was spending every free moment he had reading through it, and that Jo had stopped by to talk about the stories and tell him how they came to be in the book. Seeing how much the collection appealed to Cuffe, Wynne intended to talk to her about possibly having a copy made.
Cuffe closed the book and hugged it close to his chest. “What good would it do? They won’t understand what I’m reading.”
“How do you know?”
The shrug was familiar, but Cuffe got to his feet and carried the squirming pup back into the kennels. A moment later they were walking side by side toward the Abbey annex.
Jo had also been offering that fawning dog McKendry ideas about the ward. He couldn’t walk by Dermot without having to hear him sing her praises. As they neared the door to the annex, Wynne realized he would have been joining in if he wasn’t so annoyed by the doctor’s blasted wooing of her.
Since the morning of Wynne’s walk with Jo, the scoundrel had been herding her about like a prize cow. Wherever she went, the caw-handed sawbones was there beside her. When she wanted to meet with the vicar in the village to ask him what he might know of the Barton family and their history, Dermot had piped up and volunteered like a wet-nosed landsman on his first sea voyage. When she wished to bring Charles outside for an hour in the mid-morning sun, the doctor had changed his schedule to sit beside her. At dinner, he made sure she was seated at his end of the table. Whatever rules still existed regarding courtship, the villainous rake was ignoring them all.
All of this should have meant nothing to him, but Wynne was highly annoyed just the same.
When he and Cuffe entered the ward, they paused by the door. The noise level was high, for all of the patients were still inside. Some were milling about aimlessly while others were standing at the windows. A few were sitting at tables, but no cards or dice boxes were out, this being Sunday.
Wynne’s attention was drawn to Charles Barton, who was sitting beside Jo as she read to him.
Jo’s delicate chin lifted after each passage, and she looked at the patient as if to reassure him that she was there. Her world centered solely on the fortunate man.
Wynne recalled what she told him the morning of their walk.Begin again as strangers.Pretend they’d just met. No history.
To agree to her wishes meant that Wynne would have no chance to say the words that would free him of the burden he’d been carrying. Also, to agree meant that he’d have no more hold on her than Dermot.
He wondered if she knew how much she tormented him by asking such a thing.
At that moment her head turned in their direction and she smiled. Wynne wasn’t the only one affected by her acknowledgment of their arrival. Cuffe held the book up for her to see.
Dermot noticed their arrival, as well, and abandoned an attendant he was speaking with and crossed the room to Jo. Clearly, he couldn’t stomach the idea of a competitor vying for her attention. Wynne seethed inwardly when the jackal bent his head over hers solicitously, smiling at whatever she said.
“This is foolishness,” Cuffe complained. “No one here cares to listen to these tales. No one will even hear me.”
Wynne motioned to a long table. The only person occupying a chair was a patient named McDonnell. A blacksmith of about thirty years of age, he’d sustained a head injury from a horse he was shoeing. The man absorbed directions, but was unable to string words into a sentence. His inability to communicate and his difficulty in controlling his limbs severely frustrated him and left him wretched.
“Come with me. Mr. McDonnell will appreciate the stories.”
The young boy’s feet dragged as Wynne led the way, but he followed, honoring the promise he’d made.
At the table Wynne spoke to McDonnell and introduced Cuffe, but other than a small spasm causing a muscle in his cheek to jump, the patient made no response.
“I won’t stand on a table or a chair,” the ten-year-old whispered. “And I won’t yell. I don’t care if they hear me or not.”
