The Nurse

“What is it?” she asked in a low voice.

Her eyes were still stained from sleep and she looked curiously at the door to see who was coming in. 

“Letter from Sir Timbleson my lady,” the landlady said, shining a lamp into the dark wooden room. She held the lamp over the letter, allowing for Miss Shaper to examine its contents. 

“Oh the poor old fool’s gone and broken his arm again," she said, pulling herself from the warmth of her slumber and placing her bare feet upon the cold floor. 

“Oh my lady it’s far too damp and cold for a carriage into town at this hour.”

“I know it is,” she said, removing her night gown and reaching for a presentable, yet still comfortable, dress suitable enough for such an event. She didn’t bother reaching for her nurse’s garb, had it been a heart attack, the occasion may have called for more traditional attire, but this was a broken arm. In any event, Timbleson had more than grown accustomed to seeing Miss Shaper in dresses more suitable for Sunday church than her medical duties.

“But better to go now and be done with it than wait for the arm to rot off simply due to some cold weather,” she said. 

She dressed herself and threw over her two thick quilts sewn by her grandmother some two decades prior. 

“Do be careful my lady, here have this lantern,” the landlady said.

“Give the news to the Father, would you dear?”Miss Shaper said. “Tell him old Timbleson has broken another limb and is in need of prayer, not for his survival, but for the chance that he may one day take back hold of whatever sense has not yet departed from him.” 

The unbroken trot of horse hooves upon the cobblestones lulled Miss Shaper into a state of conscious unconsciousness in which her body was aware of sensation yet her mind was hopelessly far off in a place where earthly sensation did not exist. She dreamed of the oak trees with their bare branches outstretched to the birds in need of shelter from the spring storms, she dreamed of the hymns that flow out of the silvery lake of glass that houses the winter sun. Yes, it was all quite wonderful!

With a jolt, she suddenly became aware of her surroundings again and thought it best to sustain her consciousness by attempting to recall all ten patients whom she had attended to in the past several days. 

“Ah yes it was Mr. Abraham and his stomach fits yesterday, Mrs. Bernard Morgan last Thursday, she is soon to deliver. Miss Adelaide was Wednesday, oh no no she was Tuesday evening and early Wednesday morning yes I remember.” 

It was not long before the trot of her horses again relieved her of all thought and she was once again among the oak trees and the birds. When the horses suddenly halted she was again jolted awake only to find a young boy standing in the center of the dark road, holding a lantern that gave him the appearance of a young phantom emerging from the corners of a solitary graveyard.

“Can I help you?” the boy asked rather authoritatively.

“My name is Miss Shaper dear, I was sent for,” Miss Shaper said.

“Aye, you're the family's nurse are you not?” the boy asked. 

“I am indeed,” Miss Shaper said. “You are employed by Sir Timbleson then?” she asked curiously. 

“I am miss,” the boy said. “I should mention that my assignments are sadly limited to the opening and closing of that front gate. I don’t believe he’s very fond of me, old Timbleson, for he never assigns me a task of particular challenge.”

“Well you’re quite young,” Miss Shaper said. “Bigger tasks are likely reserved for the more experienced workers.”

“That’s what me mum tells me miss, I know he isn’t fond of me but by God I’ll prove to him that I’m reliable, that’s why I’m guarding this road here. Sure I may receive my payments simply because I open and close the gate, but for that gate to open and close at all, you must prove yourself a proper guest to me.”

“Well I’m sure you do an excellent job,” Miss Shaper said. She could tell the boy thought highly of himself in his self-appointed position. “Do you think me to be a proper guest?” 

“Hmmmm,” the boy looked at her with suspicion. 

He looked her over, stepped around to the side and back of the carriage, and went to the front to study the horses. He stared thoughtfully at them, as though by doing so he could see into their minds and thereby gauge their true intentions.

“Come dear you know I have a job to do here don’t you? I was sent for remember?”

“I suppose you may enter this time miss,” the boy said. “But know that my suspicion never takes leave of me.” He looked at one of her horses while saying this. The boy then unlocked the gate.

It was only then did Miss Shaper realize that a full fifteen miles journey into town had seemed like nothing more than a simple walk to the garden from her bedroom. She told herself she must wake up at once to set this arm right.

“Much obliged dear,” she said to the boy.

“My pleasure miss,” the boy said with a short bow before sinking back into the dark of night, the glow of his lantern taking its rightful spot among the stars. 

Miss Shaper climbed down from her seat and procured her black leather medical bag that was resting beneath her feet on the perch of the carriage.

The servants too had become accustomed to late evening or early morning visits from doctors and nurses on account of Timbleson’s clumsiness, but none more so than Miss Shaper. It was known all about the household that Timbleson fancied her, yet Miss Shaper had no intention of disclosing her private feelings, especially when on duty. So she kept all to herself what was or was not stirring in her heart, and only pursued conversation relative to the day’s weather, recent news or the latest injury Timbleson had sustained. 

The servants welcomed her in, asked her why she had ventured out in the middle of the night instead of waiting for sunrise, and escorted her down the long, wide hallway to Sir Timbleson’s study. 

“Yes, the door is open!” the familiar voice of Timbleson called after Miss Shaper had knocked. 

She opened the door and found him outstretched on a large silk sofa that was glittering in the rays of the moonlight, pouring in from the three fully opened rectangular windows. 

“Liable to catch a cold with your windows like that now,” she said.

“Why Lord bless me! Is that Clara Shaper standing in my doorway? It is much too late and the young lady should be lying warmly in her bed!”

“Perhaps she would be without the interruption of a certain man’s late night madness.”

Timbleson laughed and sat up on the couch, slightly wincing as weight was shifted to the broken right arm. He gritted his teeth as he pulled up the sleeve of his white shirt, allowing Miss Shaper to have a look. She took hold of his forearm, examining it with a look of suspicion. 

“How did you come to break your arm?” she asked with a raised brow.

“We were hosting an intimate ball,” Timbleson said, “celebrating the anniversary. It is exactly three years to the day my brother came home from that horrible war against the Russians.”

“And the break?” Miss Shaper asked. 

“Oh, well you see I’m afraid I consumed more alcohol than I intended to. One moment I’m going to lie down on my bed, the next I realize I’m in the kitchen and not my bedroom!” he began to laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. “So I was already falling, and I extended my right arm to attempt to catch myself, and I landed with the full force of my body on the arm. It shattered as though it were made of matchsticks!”

“Curious,” Miss Shaper said, “as you were just telling me that story I couldn’t help but notice you covering your laugh with your right hand.”

“Had I?” Timbleson asked sheepishly. 

“You had,” Miss Shaper said. “Furthermore as you were explaining the ‘fall’ you stuck out your right arm almost instinctively to demonstrate. Awful lot of movement for a man with a shattered arm don’t you think? Or is your tolerance for pain just higher now than the last time I was here when you shed a tear as I was stitching up your gash?”

Timbleson attempted to remain stern in expression, but soon broke out into laughter.

“I suppose you’ve done it again Clara,” he said with a smile.

“Sir Timbleson,” Miss Shaper said, “you know well and good that I am not fond of having my time wasted, that is bad enough, but to do so in the middle of the night disturbing my rest when I have much to do come sunrise, shame on you.”

“I apologize Clara, really I do. It was just such a cheerful night, and I wanted it to be spent with you in some capacity.” 

“It is much too late for any flattery, good night Sir Timbleson,” Miss Shaper said, standing up and walking towards the door. 

“Clara!” Timbleson said, running after her.

“Why do you never speak to me as though I were a man? To you I’m just a patient, or a name known about the country, I’ve never seen you look at me as though I were just a man, why can’t you just look at me like that once?”

In truth, acknowledging him as a man would mean she would also have to acknowledge all her confused emotions, and finally face them as though her heart was an empty battlefield and his name was like the thunder of approaching cannons. It had been easier, up until now, to keep things formal and hide away from that impending battle. 

“What would you like me to say Charles?” she said, finally using his forename. 

“There is so much that I do not understand about you,” he said, “you came closer to the front lines of that war than I would ever wish to, and yet I never heard you so much as acknowledge its end.”

“Sometimes I’m frankly too tired to acknowledge the latest history I’ve lived through. I’m tired of living through things that will be read about one day. And while it is great that one fire is out, there are a great many more still burning.”

“Let it never be said that you don’t know how to express yourself,” Timbleson said with a grin.

He placed his hand on the nape of her neck and drew her close to him. 

The moonlight was twinkling in his eyes as it bathed the room and themselves in a blue tint. A cold evening breeze ran its hand along the branches of the trees outside and snuck a bit of its cool air into the room, causing Miss Shaper to shudder when met with its touch. She had started to speak, but alas found no words for the emotions swirling in her heart like a snow globe. She closed her eyes and leaned in. She had never kissed him before, and knew it was likely that such a moment would soon arise. But she found herself with more clarity of mind than she ever thought possible. She knew what the reactions of other potential suitors would be, she knew that she would likely be forever looked upon as a fool, she knew soon the whole of the town would turn their attention towards her, but she had to be honest; she felt nothing at all. 

She broke from him, pushing his face away from hers and, placing a cool hand upon his cheek, she explained to him her feelings in as amicably a manner as possible. Sir Timbleson nodded his head in understanding, admitting to being disappointed but respectful of her wishes nonetheless. They parted, wishing each other good night. Timbleson remained a silhouette in his doorway, watching Miss Shaper descend the long hallway, herself a shadow only occasionally lit by the glowing rays of the moon that peaked in through the windows. Miss Shaper heard a loud crash and turned to see that a small chair had been thrown out into the hallway, another chair followed it, then a desk. He was disappointed indeed. 

The crashing of the objects aroused the attention of the servants who came at once down the hallway. A cleaning lady pulled Miss Shaper aside, “Well? What happened?”

“Were you aware of his intentions?” Miss Shaper asked.

“Yes my dear, I’m afraid so. He goes on about you nearly all hours of the day, and you’re such a respectable girl, I couldn’t help but go along with his little ruse. I do apologize.”

“No apologies necessary,” Miss Shaper said, placing her hand on the cleaning lady’s arm.

“What happened?” she asked again.

Miss Shaper explained what had transpired between herself and Timbleson. The cleaning lady responded with an agape jaw and eyes that spoke loudly of astonishment and anticipation. 

“You did?” the cleaning lady asked. “Well what happens now?”

“I go back home to bed,” Miss Shaper said with a smile. The cleaning lady’s face dissolved into a visage of utter despondency. She attempted to inquire further but Miss Shaper had already begun to make her way out of the house.

As she stepped out of the house and into the crisp morning air she noticed that the moon had relieved herself of her duties and the lazy sun had just begun to crest the new horizon, finally sneaking a ray of golden light into the dark blue veil that enclosed the landscape. She placed herself back atop the carriage and the hooves of her horses again began to trot. She waved goodbye to the young boy who was now sleepily holding his lantern, he had begun to yawn and rub his eyes. Timbleson is likely unaware of the fact that the boy had promoted himself to an all night watchman. 

The air was frigid against her face, smelling of pine and pulling tears out of her weary emerald eyes. The morning sun slowly began to inch its way higher into the sky, thus eclipsing the stars and painting the sky the color of fresh citrus.

The quiet trot of the horses again hypnotized Miss Shaper and made her long for a nap in her bed, be it only for a short while. She opened her eyes and observed the sun still climbing the ladders of the cosmos while a flock of geese took flight and turned to individual shadows against the glow of morning; true there will be more wars, yes there will be more pain, yes life shall always be a challenge regardless of class. Yet, in this moment, she was dwelling in possibility, the thought of her own bed alone put her mind to ease as did the sounds of the geese and the scent of the oak trees. She was enthralled in it, she was alive in it. Yes, it was all very very wonderful.