Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] by Key on the Quilt

to get away from this room, from Max’s presence. Yet Jane hesitated, nodding toward the front porch where the other guard lurked. “They won’t want me outside,” she said, then added quickly, “not that I’d mind—I mean, I’ll do whatever you want me to, I just—they might think I’ll run.”
    The woman arched one dark eyebrow. “Will you?”
    “Of course not.”
    “That’s exactly what I’ll tell the guards if they protest.” She offered her hand. “Name’s Georgia. And you’re Mrs….?”
    “Jane. Just Jane.”
    “All right then.” Georgia lifted her chin and called out to the doctor. “Jane and I’ll be going out back. We’ll bring you a drink directly, Dr. Zimmer. I’ll get some water to boiling, too.”
    Vestal had been resting quietly, but just then she gasped. With a grimace, she endured a contraction. “Just a little one,” she said, then looked up at Max. “I—I tend to take a good while,” she said. “Never had pains come on this early before, though.”
    Max looked up from the table where he’d been arranging a frightening array of instruments. “How many times…?”
    “Three.” Vestal practically spat the word out. Then the contraction ended, and she lay back. The unspoken and obvious question hung in the air. Vestal turned her head to one side and closed her eyes. “One lived to be two. The others…” She shook her head.
    Max moved to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. “I am so sorry.”
    When he smiled, Jane’s heart lurched. She’d forgotten about that dimple.

CHAPTER 6
    T he room felt claustrophobic, and it had nothing to do with its arrangement. As Max tried to reassure Mrs. Jackson, he glanced toward the doorway leading into the kitchen where Jane stood, her hands clasped in front of her. What had happened to her? Where had the lovely woman with the rich laugh and the quiet strength gone? What had happened to the fire he’d seen when she stood up that day and ordered him out of the visiting room? She reminded him of a nervous colt, wary lest anyone get too close.
    Mrs. McKenna brought him back to the task at hand. “What would you like us to do next, Dr. Zimmer?”
    The leg wound.
Best to treat it first. He asked Vestal’s permission to lift the hem of her gown so he could examine the cut on her leg. As the gown cleared Vestal’s knee, the light coming in the parlor window faltered. He looked up just in time to see a flash of blue. Frowning, he smoothed Vestal’s gown back into place, then excused himself and headed onto the front porch. The guard was leaning against an upright in a very good imitation of a man at ease.
    “I don’t believe I got your name,” Max said.
    The guard turned around then. “Something you need, Doc?” He nodded toward the house. “You want me to come in and make sure the hens stay in the henhouse?”
    Max flexed his hands to keep from making a fist. “What I want,” he said in a low voice, “is for you to stay as far away as possible and not be disciplined by the warden for dereliction of duty.” He paused. Swallowed. Cleared his throat. “Miss Jackson may be your
prisoner,
but as long as she is here in this house she is my
patient,
and I will not have her privacy violated.” He pointed to the parlor windows. “I need the light, or I’d close the drapes. But I’d better not see you staring in on us again. Is that clear?”
    The guard smirked and gave a halfhearted salute. “Crystal clear, Doc.” He ambled over to the far end of the porch and slouched against the railing. “How’s this?”

    Whatever the guard said in response to Max’s dressing-down, it wasn’t satisfactory. Jane could see that when Max stepped back inside, his clean-shaven cheeks still red with emotion. He swiped his palm across the sharp angle of one jaw, then marched toward the back of the house to speak to the other guard.
    While he was gone out back, Vestal reached for Jane’s hand. “Here comes another one,” she grimaced. “A