Two Brides Too Many by Mona Hodgson Read Free Book Online

years.
    No doubt the wards and hallways of the hospital were lined with people. The sooner he got there to help them, the better. Morgan guided his dapple gray through the opening at Jesse’s Livery. He’d see that his horse ate and drank while Jesse tightened the nut on the wheel.
    After Jesse finished with the coupé and his dapple was satisfied, Morgan headed up Fifth and over to Eaton Avenue as Boney had directed him. He managed to avoid much of the chaos, but wagons and folks on foot still clogged the north-south streets as Morgan made his way to the Sisters of Mercy Hospital, a nondescript building about halfway up the block.
    He secured his horse to the hitching rail and drew in a fortifying breath, then crossed the hospital’s threshold. A stifling wave of smells washed over him. Burned hair. Camphor. Dirty linens. Shouts and wails echoed off of dingy walls. About a dozen men and a couple of women lined the perimeter of a room the size of his father’s parlor. Some sagged on deacon’s benches, but most leaned against walls or slouched on the floor.
    Three women stood behind a table ripping sheets, and he guessed those were the bandages he’d be using. The youngest of the workers wore a pale blue gown and a hat elaborately trimmed with feathers and flowers. She appeared better suited for a Sunday in Boston than for hospital work. Looking up at him, she straightened her shoulders. “You must be our new doctor from the East.”
    “Yes ma’am.” He removed his derby. “I’m Dr. Morgan Cutshaw.”
    “We’re glad to see you, and Sister Mary Claver Coleman will be too.” The young woman’s smile was pleasant. “She’s the reverend mother here, and she’s been working in the burn ward since the fire.” Removing her apron, she stepped out around the table and then extended her hand to him. “I’m Miss Darla Taggart.”
    Her soft hands told him she rarely did much labor, if ripping old sheets could be considered such. “Miss Taggart.” Shifting his attention to the other women, he dipped his chin. “Ladies, it looks like you are doing a kind service, providing bandages for the wounded.”
    After Miss Taggart introduced the other two women, she scooped up an armful of fabric. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the burn ward.”
    The young woman sauntered down the hallway ahead of him, her fancy boot heels drumming against the wooden floor. A highly impracticalfemale, and a bit too friendly for Morgan’s liking. But he was overly sensitive about such matters.
    She stopped in front of a closed door, peering up at him. Morgan opened it and followed her into a room about the size of his mother’s kitchen—small for a burn ward, given the extent of the fire.
    Eight cots packed the room. It looked more like a logjam than a hospital ward. Male patients screamed and cried. A nun with tufts of white hair sticking out of her headpiece stood over a man whose pants had been burned off of both legs, exposing blackened flesh.
    “Sister Coleman, this is Dr. Morgan Cutshaw,” Miss Taggart said, her gaze averting from the horrific scene in front of her. “I’ll leave you to your work, Dr. Cutshaw.”
    “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Taggart.”
    She nodded, her lips pinched together, and fled the room.
    “You’re a godsend, Doctor,” the sister told him. “They keep bringing them in. All the supplies are there in that cupboard, and you can start with Mr. Yu down there at the end.”
    The sound of men shouting in the hallway drew Sister Coleman out of the room.
    “Doctor, come quick.”
    At the sound of the sister’s frantic call, Morgan slammed the cupboard door closed and rushed into the hallway where two miners carried an injured man, his leg a confusing mess of blood and grime.
    “Doc, this here’s Ethan Goeke,” said the tallest of the soot-covered men.
    Morgan saw that a belt had been wrapped around Mr. Goeke’s mangled limb. “We were using dynamite to clear a building from the