Banner O'Brien Read Free

and we’ll soon see if you’re a doctor or not.”
    Crimson flags unfurled in Banner’s cheeks at his presumption, but she knew she could not refuse to accompany him, no matter how badly she wanted to do so. He would not stop harassing her until she proved herself, and the only way to do that was to demonstrate her knowledge of medicine firsthand. “I will be ready,” she said.
    “Good,” he replied. “I’ll come for you at seven.”
    “Seven,” Banner confirmed.
    Apparently satisfied, for the moment, at least, Adam Corbin left the house. Glad as she was to see him go, the place seemed strangely unreal without him.
    Banner was still pondering this paradoxical fact when Jenny returned, carrying an empty tray. She put the tea things and Banner’s cup onto it and smiled with infuriating understanding.
    “There is only one Adam,” she remarked.
    “That is, indeed, a mercy,” said Banner.
    Jenny looked offended. “You are wrong, Dr. O’Brien,” she answered. And then she walked haughtily off, the tray in her hands, leaving Banner no choice but to follow.
    The journey ended in a small kitchen with a wood-burning cookstove and open shelves for cupboards. A bowl of fragrant soup steamed on the round table, and a plate of fresh bread rested beside it.
    “Your supper,” said Jenny coolly, setting the tray down beside a cast iron sink and pumping water to fill the cup and the teapot.
    Ravenous, Banner sank into a chair and began to eat. The barley soup was delicious, as was the bread, and the food brought relief from the spinning dizziness in her head and the weakness in her knees.
    During the meal, Jenny managed to stay busy at the sink, keeping her back to Banner, and the mood in that cozy little kitchen was a stiff and forbidding one.
    “You like Dr. Corbin a lot, don’t you?” Banner ventured, once her hunger had been brought under control.
    Jenny turned, and her wide brown eyes were quietly fierce. “He is a good man. Too good, maybe.”
    “Good?” Banner countered, with gentleness, “Jenny, how can you say he’s good when he—”
    “When he broke Stewart Henderson’s jaw?” finished Jenny, a golden blush rising in her round cheeks.
    Banner felt herself go pale. “Good Lord! He broke the poor man’s jaw?”
    Jenny took up a red-and-white-checked dishtowel and then flung it down again. “Yes!”
    “Why?” persisted Banner, stricken.
    Jenny’s chin jutted out, and she folded her arms.
    “Adam caught Henderson doing surgery on Water Street,” she said in level tones. “Stewart gave the patient opium instead of ether, and the woman woke up before the operation was over.”
    Banner closed her eyes against the image, and sickness scalded in her throat. “Saints in heaven—”
    “The woman died,” Jenny summarized, “screaming.”
    Banner shuddered and grasped the table edge until she had recovered herself a little. She could well imagine the rage such a situation would stir in a responsible physician.
    Jenny squared her shoulders and started across the kitchen again. “I’ll show you to your room,” she said.
    Still horror-stricken, Banner rose shakily from her chair and followed Jenny through the kitchen and into a tiny room off the parlor.
    There was a brass bed spread with a bright quilt there, along with a wooden bureau and a washstand. On this stand was a china pitcher filled with steaming water, a mismatched basin, and a scratchy white towel.
    Banner did her best to be grateful for these items, though she yearned for a long, luxurious bath. She was just shedding her sensible woolen dress when Jenny slipped out and closed the door behind her.
    Alone, she poured water into the chipped basin and, shivering in her thin underthings, began to wash. When that task had been completed, she took the pins from her dark auburn hair, and it fell in a bright cascade to her waist.
    Banner hadn’t unpacked a hairbrush, any more than she’d gotten out a nightgown, but none of that mattered on this