She wasn't distressed.

Her hands left my shoulders, and I heard the scraping of stool legs. Then here arms came around me, and I let her draw me back, my head resting just under her chin. She simply held me, letting the rise and fall of her breathing calm me.

“I went to dinner with Uncle Joe once, just after he’d lost a patient,” she said finally. “He told me about it.”

“Did he?” I was a little surprised; I wouldn’t have thought Joe would talk about such things with her.

“He didn’t mean to. I could see something was bothering him, though, so I asked. And – he needed to talk, and I was there. Afterward, he said it was almost like having you there. I didn’t know he called you Lady Jane.”

“Yes,” I said. “Because of the way I talk, he said.” I felt a breath of laughter against my ear, and smiled slightly in response. I closed my eyes, and could see my friend, gesturing in passionate conversation, face alight with the desire to tease.

“He said – that when something like that happened, sometimes there would be a sort of formal inquiry, at the hospital. Not like a trial, not that – but a gathering of the other doctors, to hear exactly what happened, what went wrong. He said it was sort of like confession, to tell it to other doctors, who could understand – and it helped.”

“Mm-hm.” She was swaying slightly, rocking me as she moved, as she rocked Jemmy, soothing.

“Is that what’s bothering you?” she asked quietly. “Not just Rosamound – but that you’re alone? You don’t have anybody who can really understand?”

Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, her hands crossed, resting lightly on my chest. Young, broad, capable hands, the skin fresh and fair, smelling of fresh-baked bread and strawberry jam. I lifted one, and laid the warm palm against my cheek.

“Apparently I do,” I said.

The hand curved, stroked my cheek, and dropped away. The big young hand moved slowly, smoothing the hair behind my ear with soft affection.

“It will be all right,” she said. “Everything will be all right.”

“Yes,” I said, and smiled, despite the tears blurring my eyes.

I couldn’t teach her to be a doctor. But evidently I had, without meaning to, somehow taught her to be a mother.

“You should go lie down,” she said, taking her hands away reluctantly. “It will be an hour at least, before they get here.”

I let my breath go out in a sigh, feeling the peace of the house around me. If Fraser’s Ridge had been a short-lived haven for Rosamound Lindsay, still it had been a true home. We would see her safe, and honored in death.

“In a minutes,” I said, wiping my nose. “I need to finish something, first.”

I sat up straight and opened my book. I dipped my pen, and began to write the lines that must be there, for the sake of the unknown physician who would follow me.

– Chapter 106, The Fiery Cross

