Chapter 6 - The Anatomy of a Mansion
By April, the snow had completely disappeared from the Gold Coast, replaced by the brilliant green of the new ferns along the terrace and the soft, constant breeze that carried the scent of wet sand from the lake.
The upper wing of the Cain mansion had been turned into a study center. Della sat at a long walnut table beneath the high windows of her new suite, surrounded by gray stacks of heavy medical textbooks, a set of human bone models she had used to study the alignment of the ribs, and three different desk lamps that she kept lit until three in the morning.
Her younger brother, Leo, a boy of twelve who had spent his entire life in a damp basement apartment on the West Side, was currently sitting on the terrace outside her window, his legs wrapped in a thick wool blanket, a plate of fresh strawberries beside his book. His asthma, which had kept his skin a pale, sickly blue for years, had finally cleared under the care of the private specialists August had hired to review his charts.
"Della," Leo called out, his voice stronger than she had ever heard it. "The big man with the black coat is on the driveway. He’s carrying a box with a red bow."
Della stood up from her books, her fingers brushing her green wool dress down out of habit. She walked to the window, looking down at the gravel driveway where August Cain’s town car had just stopped.
August stepped out of the vehicle. He wasn't wearing his heavy coat today; he wore a tailored gray suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. In his hand, he carried a heavy, polished oak box with a red silk ribbon tied around the handle.
He looked up toward the second-floor window, his gray eyes locking onto hers through the glass. He didn't wave—he wasn't a man who made small, domestic gestures—but he gave her a short, decisive nod that told her to come down.
Della hurried down the grand grand staircase, her new leather shoes silent against the marble that she no longer had to clean. She found August waiting for her in the bright atrium, the oak box resting on the small marble table where the servants used to leave the morning mail.
"What is this, Mr. Cain?" Della asked, her hands behind her back.
"It’s an evaluation," August said. He pulled the red ribbon away, lifting the heavy lid of the box.
Inside, resting on a bed of dark blue velvet, was a pristine, silver-plated stethoscope, its binaural tubes wrapped in soft black leather, its chest piece engraved with three small letters: D.H.M.
"Della Holloway, Medicinae Doctor," August said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that always made her feel as if she were the only person in the three-story house. "The dean called me this morning. He said your preliminary examination scores on the thoracic entry assessment were the highest the university has recorded in twenty years. He wanted to know if you had spent your youth studying at the Sorbonne."
Della reached out, her fingers touching the cool silver of the instrument. "I told you, Mr. Cain... I only had my mother’s old dictionary and the library on Saturdays."
"You had the eye, Della," August said. He stepped closer to her, the smell of clean linen, cedar, and the lake breeze coming off his suit. "The doctors had the titles, but they were looking at the money. You were looking at the child."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out her old, torn leather notebook. The black thread she had used to sew the binding together was frayed, the leather stained with old water from the laundry room.
"I had this rebound in gold leaf by the university archivist," August said, placing it beside the oak box. "But I told him to leave the thread. I want you to remember what you looked like when you walked into that room and made twelve men kneel."
Della looked at the notebook, then up at his face. For the first time since she had pushed open the bedroom door three months ago, she saw that the dark, frozen tension around his eyes had completely vanished. He looked like a man who had finally come home from a very long, very dangerous war.
"Mr. Cain," Della whispered, her voice dropping until it was almost a breath against his cheek. "Why are you doing all this for me? The scholarship... my brother’s medicine... this house... I was only the maid."
August reached out, his long, scarred fingers gently catching her chin, lifting her face until she was looking directly into the gray depth of his eyes.
"You were never the maid, Della," August whispered, his thumb brushing against her lower lip with a warmth that made her whole body tremble. "You were the only person in this city who was strong enough to keep my world from breaking. And a man like me doesn't let his world walk away."
Before she could answer, a loud, cheerful shout came from the upper gallery.
"Della! Look! The rabbit has a jacket now!"
Posy Cain was leaning over the mahogany railing of the second floor, holding her grey rabbit, which was now wearing a small, green wool vest that matched Della’s dress perfectly. The little girl was laughing—that bright, startled, beautiful giggle that Della had saved from the silence of the twelve doctors.
May you like
August looked up at his daughter, his hand remaining on Della’s chin for one more second before he let go, his mouth twisting into a real, unshielded smile.
"Go on up, Della," August said quietly. "She’s been trying to put that vest on the rabbit since six this morning, and Marcus refuses to help her with the buttons."
