"Please, do sit down, Dr. Phelps. I'm so happy to have this opportunity to meet you at last," Martha said with just a hint of polite reserve. "I so hope you bring news of the East, as we very seldom have the opportunity to hear of events out here before they are no longer of consequence."

Declining the offer of a seat, Vance feared that she would disappoint Kate's mother on more than one level. Any news that she might relay of politics and the social upheaval that followed the end of the war would undoubtedly dissatisfy, and she knew nothing of the latest fashions and styles. "I've been traveling for quite some time, and I'm afraid I have no recent news about any matters of importance."

"And," Kate interrupted laughingly, slipping her hand into the crook of Vance's elbow once more, "I have invited Dr. Phelps home for a late meal. I'm going to take her into the kitchen and fix her a plate.

She's been working all day."

"Indeed," Clarissa Mason said archly. "You're..." She hesitated as if searching for a polite term. "You're actually tending to patients, then, not just assisting Dr. Melbourne."

"I'm doing both," Vance said quietly, her tone subtly cooler.

"Some procedures, particularly surgeries, are easier to perform with competent assistance." She smiled thinly. "But I am used to treating substantial injuries independently. The war taught me that."

"Oh," Clarissa gasped, as if finding the subject repellent.

Rose, however, sat forward, her face alight with excitement. "Oh, do tell us what that was like!"

"Surely not, Rose," Clarissa chided. "Such things are not fit conversation for a young lady."

"Is it true, that no one knew you weren't a man?" Rose persisted.

"I really couldn't say," Vance said. She was tired from riding all day and her shoulder ached. She was agitated and worried about Mae, and the fragile veneer of sociability she'd been able to assume cracked and slipped away. "I'm a physician, and I was there to treat the wounded. When the ground is littered with the dead and the dying as far as the eye can see, social conventions fall quickly aside."

"Oh, how terribly awful," Rose cried, looking even more intrigued.

Vance glanced toward the door. "Forgive me. It's been a very long day and you must excuse me."

"Come," Kate said, drawing Vance toward the hallway and the kitchen beyond. "Let me fix you that meal, and then you can head home and get some rest."

Rose jumped to her feet. "Let me help."

Before either of their mothers could object, Kate and Rose spirited Vance away.

"It's really not necessary for you to fuss," Vance said as Kate took the remainder of dinner from the icebox and placed the tray in the center of the table.

"Oh," Rose said, preempting Kate's reply as she pulled a chair close to where Vance sat at the table, "it's hardly a bother when here you are doing such important and so very difficult work."

Vance caught the amused look on Kate's face and managed not to laugh. "Well, I do appreciate it. I very seldom have home-cooked food.

Miss Beecher, can I help you?"

"Nothing to do," Kate said as she placed the bread and cold meats in front of Vance. "And please, call me Kate." Then, shyly, she asked, "What was it like, going to medical school?"

"It's Vance, then." Vance struggled to bring into focus an experience that felt to her now as if it had occurred in a different lifetime. To a different person altogether. She answered from a place of sad remembering. "I attended Women's Medical College, which was an amazing thing in itself. An entire medical school established and devoted to training women." With an absent smile, she shook her head. "Originally, I wanted to attend the school that my father had, that my..." She took a breath. "Well, at any rate, I ended up being very happy where I trained. It was exciting, demanding work."

"Oh, I can just imagine how wonderful it must've been to be able to study like that," Kate said, her face flushed with enthusiasm.

Rose shuddered. "Well, I can't imagine it. Working around the sick and the dying all the time." She glanced quickly at Vance and amended, "But I think it's highly admirable, of course. Highly."

"Yes," Vance said solemnly, wishing that she could remove her coat. The kitchen was overly warm. However, she had no desire to invoke more rabid curiosity from the eager young Miss Mason.

"I know you're tired," Kate said gently. "But someday, when you have a moment to spare, I'd love for you to tell me what your courses were like."

"It's a promise." Vance pushed the barely eaten food away. She had little appetite for dinner and far less for company. The bounds of normal conversation took her far too close to the borders of memories best left unvisited. There were places she simply did not want to go again. "This was very kind of you. Thank you." She stood. "Now, I must say good night. Please give my regards to the other ladies."

"I shall." Kate held open the back door. "Be careful."

Vance regarded her quizzically, then smiled faintly, wondering if Kate too was still thinking of the onerous Phineas Drake. "Thank you.

Good night."

"Good night," Kate said softly, closing the door behind Vance as she stepped out into the night.

"Oh," Rose said after Vance was gone. "Isn't she the most fascinating and exciting individual!"

"Yes, she's very strong and brave," Kate agreed, but for far different reasons, she suspected, than Rose, who seemed desperate only for a glimpse of anything outside the everyday routine of New Hope.

It wasn't what Vance had achieved that drew Kate to her. It was the terrible sorrow that clung to her like a heavy cloak. Kate understood now why Mae had spoken of wounds unhealed.

Vance walked back to the hotel through the dark streets, relieved to have left the gathering that had seemed foreign to her. She hadn't realized how poorly she had fit that social niche until she had left it, first peripherally, when she began her studies, and finally, completely, when she'd left for the war. She'd never felt completely comfortable with the conventions and restrictions that her sex and social status had dictated for her as a child and young woman. While her mother had been alive, she had done all the usual things that a well-bred young lady should do, including attending the required social events with young men of her class. Then, her happiest times had been the summers spent at her family's country estate. Her mother had paid far less attention to her comings and goings then, and she could ride, hunt, and secretly gamble with her brother and his friends without incurring her mother's censure.

The young men had welcomed her as one of them, because they had all grown up together. By the time she was a teenager, she knew she wanted to be a doctor. Had her mother not died when she was fifteen, she might have had more of a battle convincing her father of her desires, but with no one to strenuously object, she had had her way. However, it wasn't until she had dressed in Victor's clothes and accompanied him to the recruiting station that she'd truly realized what freedom felt like. She'd never felt as comfortable or more like herself in her life.

Vance slowed at the mouth of the alley beside the Golden Nugget, having returned without realizing it. Briefly, she considered going back inside for one last drink and one final glance at Mae. However, at this time of night, Mae would certainly be working, and Vance wasn't certain that was something she wanted to witness. She was staring at the side door, contemplating the long evening ahead, when it opened and a woman stepped out. Her heart gave a lurch as she imagined that Mae had somehow conjured her thoughts and had slipped out to meet her.

She took one step forward, then stopped, realizing her error. Pleasure was rapidly eclipsed by disappointment, a cycle that left an ache not totally unwelcome. It had been a long time since the anticipation of anything had pleased her. As she was about to turn and continue on her way to the hotel, a voice called out to her from the shadows.

"Dr. Phelps, wait, please."

Once more, Vance halted. This time she recognized the young blond woman, a younger but somehow more hardened version of Mae, and strode down the narrow passageway to meet her. "Sissy, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sissy said. Although she wore a shawl over her shoulders, she made no effort to pull it closed over the extremely low-cut bodice of her dress. Rather, she straightened her shoulders, which lifted her breasts even closer to the top of the confining fabric. "Must be fate.

Mae sent me to fetch you."

Vance's chest tightened, and this time the pain was very real. She forced a breath and ground out the words that threatened to choke her.

"Is she hurt?"

Sissy frowned. "Mae? No. It's about Lettie."

Lettie. Not Mae. Mae is all right. Vance struggled to make the connection, carefully averting her eyes from the display of flesh that was obvious, even by moonlight. "Lettie. I'm afraid I don't...wait." Her voice took on an edge. "Isn't she the young lady who is pregnant?"

"Well," Sissy snorted, "I won't vouch for the lady part, but she is pregnant sure enough."

"What's the problem?" Vance asked, already hurrying down the passageway toward the door.

"She's bleeding some and Mae said to see if you could come."

"Of course. Take me to her."

v The room was far smaller and plainer than Mae's, although clean and well furnished with a bed, dresser, chair, and even a small bookcase tucked into one corner. Lettie, dark-haired, pale, and clearly frightened, lay beneath a thin patchwork quilt. Vance removed her coat and folded it over the back of a nearby chair. Her cuff, which she never buttoned, she pushed upward by sliding her arm across her chest as she approached the bed.