Prologue

It was a sunny spring day in 1890 as Miss Christina Bell, known to all of her friends as Christy, made her way across the campus of the Western Reserve College of Medicine. The wind tugged gently at her light brown hair even as it sent a cascade of flower petals from the blooming dogwood trees above her dancing throughout the air.

Christy’s shoulder began to ache from the heavy load of books in her bag, but she didn’t take any notice of the pain. It was a small burden to bear to become a woman doctor. Her face slipped into a smile at the thought. After four long years of struggle, of sleepless nights and studying until her eyes were swollen and red, of facing misogynistic remarks from every man and a good chunk of the women who crossed her path, she was almost at her goal.

Rebecca’s going to be so proud of me.

Practically bouncing as she walked, Christy hiked up her skirts and skipped off to the library.

***

As she sat studying for final exams, she heard footsteps approaching. Christy looked up with an immediate sense of dread. She had few friends at the university. She was only one of the few female students studying medicine, and most of the men resented her for, as they saw it, butting into a man’s world.

Christy sighed. “What is it?”

Her day was almost immediately ruined by the response. “Aw, the little lady is playing at being a doctor again, huh?”

Christy looked up at the man in front of her. Matthew carried his briefcase with his schoolbooks in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Its inviting smell wafted through the library, softening the danger of their impending confrontation. His face was set into a deep scowl, and his gray eyes were the color of Lake Erie before a storm. Christy mentally braced herself for its wind. “What is it that you want, Matthew?”

“I have a proposal for you.”

Christy internally groaned. Nothing good had ever come out of her interactions with Matthew Medina before. Her eyes darted to and fro, looking for an escape. She found none. In her haste to study, she’d seated herself at the end of a narrow alley between two bookshelves, and Matthew stood at the mouth of that alley, blocking her only escape. She had no choice but to negotiate with him.

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want, or are you just going to sit there looking like a panicked hamster?”

“Normally I’d just leave, but you seem to be blocking my exit,” Christy snapped back.

“Wow, so feisty today. The original shrew, ain’t ya?” Matthew’s sharkish grin grew even broader. “You know, maybe if you got married to a man who could tame you, you wouldn’t have such a stick up your—”

Christy stood up hastily, knocking over her chair with a loud clatter as she did so. “Tell me what you want, Matthew,” she growled, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re probably not going to get it, either way, but you can at least try.”

“Now, now, is that any way to talk to a man who’s looking to marry you?”

Christy was briefly so startled she forgot to be angry. “Marry me?” she echoed, unfolding her crossed arms, her jaw almost tumbling to the floor. “Why in the world do you think I would ever want to marry—”

“Why wouldn’t you want to?” Matthew said with a sneer. “Women are practically throwing themselves at my feet. I could have my pick of any of the eligible young ladies around Cleveland.” He crossed the room and stood leaning on a bookshelf, his pose stiffly casual, as if he was forcing himself to relax on pain of death. He looked Christy up and down, and the leering grin that spread across his face as he did so made Christy’s skin crawl. She crossed her arms, covering herself, and shrank away from his gaze.

“But a man of my superior intelligence and breeding needs an intelligent woman as his wife, wouldn’t you agree?” Matthew continued, heedless of her discomfort. “None of the other women in this town could really fit my needs. But you, Christina. You’re worth my while—though if we were to wed, I’d have to break some of that stubbornness out of you, little shrew.”

Christy puffed herself up, filled her light brown gaze with cold steel, and looked him straight in the eye. “And if we were to wed, I would not be allowed to continue my studies as a doctor.”

“Certainly not. After all, that’s just the sensible thing to do. Women are just too delicate to be allowed to work, and especially as a doctor. I’d hate to think of those delicate little ivory hands of yours being soiled by blood, my dear—”

“Why do you think I’d give up my life’s work to marry you?”

Matthew looked as startled as if he’d just grabbed a live wire. “Excuse me?”

“All my life, I’ve wanted to be a doctor.” Emboldened, Christy balled her hands into fists and took the barest step towards Matthew, her head held high. “Ever since I was a young girl in the orphanage, I wanted to help people. To heal people. And now, you’re here trying to take it all away.” She held his gaze, refusing to back down. “I knew you were a fool, Matthew Medina, but I didn’t think you were quite so foolish as to believe that a woman such as me would want to give up my entire life’s dream to be your personal maid and broodmare. Especially not after you have done nothing but antagonize me all these years. Surely you could not have thought this plan of yours would have a prayer of—”

Her words were cut off by Matthew prowling towards her, his shadow falling over her, blocking the candlelight from her eyes. Christy trembled, and tried to back up—only to feel the hard plaster of the wall behind her. There was nowhere to run.

Once he had closed the distance between them, Matthew put one hand on the wall, pinning her to it like a bug, and looked her straight in the eye. Christy shivered, gulped. She tried to look away—

And then Matthew’s hand was on her chin, guiding her eyes to meet his. “Because I have ways, little doctor girl.” His rotten breath fell upon her lips, and she shuddered at the scent. “I have my ways.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Christy saw his other hand, the coffee cup still held in it, rise. Is he going to burn me? Christy thought, her mind going white with panic. There was no escape, nowhere to run. She squeezed her eyes shut. All she could do was wait for the pain—

It never came.

Instead, the sharp, warm smell of coffee hit her nose. Christy opened her eyes to see past Matthew to the table on which she had left her notes. He had thrown the coffee on her notes.

Christy gasped, eyes going wide with horror, and pushed past Matthew to the table. She bent down and clutched the notes to her chest greedily, heedless of the way it stained her blouse. No, not my notes! she silently cried.

“Well, what will it be?” Matthew snarled. “You don’t have your precious notes anymore. There’s no way for you to become a doctor now.”

Christy didn’t respond. Instead, she noticed the briefcase containing Matthew’s notes, still sitting on the table. If I just…

She seized the briefcase with lightninglike speed—and, heedless of Matthew’s shouted “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she raced for the exit of the library like a startled deer. Dimly, she could hear Matthew giving chase from behind her, but she didn’t look back, didn’t stop, despite the pain in her blistering feet.

Her heart pounding, Christy burst through the doors of the library, half-ran, half-stumbled down the steps, and continued without breaking stride onto the sloping green lawn outside. Once under the boughs of a graceful old sycamore tree, she came to a halt. Her strength was failing, and she could go no further.

Breathing heavily with sweat glistening on her forehead, Christy shot a glance behind her—and promptly felt her knees buckle with relief.

Matthew wasn’t there.

She’d lost him.

Christy doubled over panting, Matthew’s briefcase falling from her hands, her sides heaving as she desperately tried to regain her breath. Even now, she was certain that Matthew was following her, certain that at any moment she would see her nemesis appearing from the great doors before her. But no nemesis emerged, and slowly Christina began to relax.

Once she had recovered enough to smile, she gave the briefcase, its contents spilled out on the lawn before her, a sly grin. Matthew might have ruined her notes, but she had Matthew’s.

Her dream was not dead yet.

Chapter One

Cleveland, Ohio, May 1890

It was late in the evening before she had a chance to examine her new set of notes. The streetcar line that would typically bring her home had malfunctioned, forcing Christy to walk home from the campus of the university on her aching, tired legs. To add insult to injury, a spring storm had blown up, filling the skies with clouds the color of pitch, and sending a torrent of wind and rain to assault her. By the time she made it home, her skirt, blouse, and hat were all equally drenched, her arms turned to gooseflesh by the cold.

But her spirits couldn’t stay down for long. Out of the gloom of the wind and rain, she saw the little brownstone townhouse rise up. The number 143 was proudly displayed on its door, in brass numerals that shone in the light of the gas lamps lining the street.

Christy smiled. That little brownstone was home.

She stepped up to the door, put her key in the lock, and turned it. The door swung open, and Christy heaved Matthew’s briefcase onto a low side table just inside the entrance. “Rebecca!” she called, and a grin, like the morning rays of the sun, spread across her face at the thought of seeing her sister again after such a long and arduous day. “I’m home!”

Christy heard the sound of footsteps at the top of the stairs, and Christy watched as her younger sister Rebecca descended the stairs, smiling as soon as she caught sight of Christy. Rebecca’s light brown hair was in tangles, and she pressed one hand carefully to her swelling belly. She was six months pregnant, but her relatively small frame made her look—and feel—as though she was much farther along than she actually was. “Christy!” she called. “How was your day?”

In her sister’s presence once more, Christy found that she could think about the day’s events with a smile. “You’ll never believe this,” she said as she pulled off her dripping-wet hat and laid it on the rack, “but Matthew Medina proposed marriage to me.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe it.” Rebecca shook her head. “What happened?”

Christy grimaced at the memory. “I don’t think he was thinking of it as a love match. He cornered me in the library, threatened me—”

Rebecca rushed downstairs like a bird who had heard her chicks crying out for help. “Oh no, oh my goodness, are you alright?” she cried, her eyes frantically scanning Christy for any sign of injury.

“It’s okay, Rebecca,” Christy told her. “I got away from him. He didn’t hurt me at all—only gave me a good rattling. But I can take a good rattling or two. Rebecca, trust me on this. Save your worry for the baby.”

“I know,” Rebecca said, her voice soft and wistful and small. “I just can’t help it… I worry about you so, being thrown to the wolves like that, surrounded by all those men…” She gave a tiny shiver, and folded her arms over her chest. “If it were me, I wouldn’t be able to take it.”

“Hey,” Christy began, a gentle smile gracing her face as she crossed the foyer of their modest home to embrace her sister. “It’s the oldest sister’s duty to worry about the younger. So that means I have to worry about you, instead of the other way around.”

Rebecca returned the embrace. “I have a wonderful husband who loves me,” she said, so you don’t have to worry about me. Not one bit.”

The sisters held each other for a little bit longer before parting. Christy placed both of her hands on Rebecca’s shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

Rebecca grimaced, and placed one hand on her belly. “He’s kicking. A lot.”

“Ouch.” Christy grimaced in sympathy with her sister. “Well, at least he—or she—is a healthy and strong baby, we know that much!”

Rebecca giggled. “Yes, I much rather prefer his antics, than if he wasn’t kicking at all!”

“Hey now, it could be a girl,” Christy suggested. “There’s really no way to know.”

“I’m just hoping,” Rebecca said with a slight chuckle. “It’s natural for a man to want sons to succeed him, and carry on his family name. I do hope our next child is a girl, though.” She detached herself from Christy and swept into the dining room, the floorboards creaking under her feet as she went.

Christy followed her in—and as soon as she entered, the fragrant, enticing aroma of a freshly baked chicken pot pie hit her nostrils. Her mouth watered at the sensation, and she saw Rebecca, oven mitt on her hand, bustle over to the large cast-iron oven in the corner of the room, a low flicker of embers visible through its smoke-stained glass door.

“I was trying to keep it in the oven until Franklin came home,” Rebecca explained as she opened the door and pulled out the pot pie, “but it seems that he’s a little bit late.” She shot a glance over her shoulder to look through the kitchen doorway and out towards the front door. Christy knew her sister well enough to know that she was checking to see if Franklin was home. “Honestly, I’m a little bit worried…”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Christy said as she headed over to the row of stately wood cabinets on the far corner of the wall. “He’s always come home in the past.” She pulled open one of the drawers, took out a spatula and a large knife, and walked to where Rebecca stood by the dining table, the pie already out of its tin and on a rose-patterned china serving dish.

“Thanks,” Rebecca said as she took the knife from Christy and cut into the pie. Once the pie had been neatly sliced into six large equal sections, she took the spatula and put one slice on each of the three place settings—one for Franklin, one for Rebecca, and one for Christy herself. “At the least, I do hope he comes home soon. The pie’s going to get awfully cold if he doesn’t, and I’d hate to give Franklin a cold dinner after he’s worked so hard all day to support us.”

She pulled her chair out and sat. Christy did likewise, and Rebecca took Christy’s hand in her own. “Shall we say grace?”

Both sisters bowed their heads before saying in unison, “To the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, thank You for providing this bountiful table for us. As Your son King David said, You have prepared us a feast in the presence of our enemies—” Christy, for the merest second, thought of Matthew, and shivered. “You are our shepherd, and may we always look to You for guidance and nourishment. Amen.”

And with that, the two sisters tucked heartily into their pie. Once the edge of her hunger had been eased, Rebecca turned to Christy and said, “How do you like it?”

“Mhm?” Christy mumbled around her mouthful of food.

“How do you like the pie?”

Christy swallowed her mouthful. “It’s delicious. You did a wonderful job. Thank you!”

Rebecca brightened. “Thank you. I worked hard, I just hope…”

Her words trailed off, and her nervous eyes darted to Franklin’s empty table setting. Without saying a word, Christy reached out, took her sister’s hand in hers, and gave it a silent squeeze.

The rain returned, causing a slow, gentle drumming on the twilight-darkened window behind them. Christy took another forkful of pie, barely noticing the taste. Worries darkened her mind, now; worry for Franklin, for Rebecca, for her future studies.

Dimly, she could hear the electric lighting buzz. It was a marvel, Christy was certain; when she and Rebecca had been children in the orphanage, they always had to light a candle, or a fire, or a lantern, if they wanted light. Now, they had light that turned on instantly, at the press of a button. Christy couldn’t hold back her sense of childlike wonder whenever she turned it on, and neither could Rebecca. Franklin, for his part, had been staunchly against the idea at first, but Rebecca and Christy had managed to talk him into installing it. For Christy, it was progress—a world where light could come at the turn of the key and where carriages rolled on their own.

A world where women could be doctors.

“I’ll clear the table,” Rebecca said, getting up as quickly as her pregnant belly allowed her to. “You go study. Finals are in a couple of weeks, right?”

Christy winced. “Yes, but I don’t know how much material I actually have to study. Matthew threw his coffee on my notes.”

Rebecca paused as if frozen, her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open in shock. “That… that absolute snake!”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Please tell me everything’s not ruined!”

Christy sighed. “Everything was ruined.” At the sound of Rebecca’s soft gasp and the look of horror cascading over her face, Christy quickly added, “But it’s not all bad. I managed to steal his notes, so I still have something to study, at least. I just hope it’ll be enough.”

“Well, what are you waiting for, then?” Rebecca shoved Christy out of the dining room—or at least did her best attempt at doing so. “Go study!”

At her sister’s command, Christy walked from the dining room into the foyer, retrieved Matthew’s briefcase, and headed upstairs.

***

Well, let’s see what Matthew’s prepared for me, Christy thought with a grimace as she set Matthew’s briefcase on her desk. Part of her dreaded going to class the next day; all she could imagine was Matthew showing up with the sheriff and the barrister, saying “That’s her! That’s the woman who stole my briefcase! Arrest her!”

The other part of Christina was trying to argue you’ll be okay, yet worry still nagged at her mind. At least if he tries to get me in trouble, I can just tell the authorities that he sabotaged my notes and tried to assault me.

But even as she said the words, she knew it wouldn’t be a good enough defense. It would be her word against his, and besides, Matthew was from the prominent Medina family, who were both financial backers of the university, and the owners of the factory Franklin worked at. Given the choice, the authorities involved would believe Matthew over her, every time.

Christy pursed her lips. Well, I better start studying.

Even if there’s no point to it.

She sat down, opened the briefcase, and examined its contents—and realized, quite quickly, that it wasn’t Matthew’s notes after all.

What she held in her hands was the teacher’s answer sheet for the test, with every correct choice circled.

He cheated. That scoundrel cheated!

Eyes widening, Christy hastily placed the answer key to one side, reached into the briefcase again, and pulled out another sheaf of papers.

Another answer key.

Just as hastily as she had with the first, Christy threw the answer key down on top of the first. She reached into the briefcase once more. Another answer key, and another…

Christy sank into her chair, stunned. Was he just cheating? All this time?

But before she could react to this new information, she heard Rebecca’s voice downstairs. Christy let out a little smile in spite of herself. Sounds like Franklin is home.

But then she paused.

From below, she could hear Rebecca saying, “Excuse me, sir, is there a problem?”

Christy fell very still.

“Ma’am,” said a male voice, one that was obviously not Franklin’s. “I think you should sit down.”

Christy froze, and then heard the man’s say, “There’s been an accident.”