"But I have heard a great many stories about what happened in the city, and I believe them. Some of the stories, Miss Swift, speak of you and your brother."
Tamara felt a chill go through her, but she kept her gaze firm. "Go on, Doctor."
Once more the old man glanced about the room as if mustering the fortitude to continue. At last he turned to meet her gaze and beneath his pain Tamara saw a strength in his eyes she had not noticed there before.
"Blackbriar is a small village, Miss Swift. I am its only doctor and chief benefactor, if you'll pardon me for saying so. Several years ago I lost my son when a horse threw him. He broke his neck but did not die instantly. I reached him before he passed and could do nothing but wait for the moment. A cruel irony that a doctor should have to watch helplessly as the light goes out of his son's eyes."
Tamara's throat felt dry and she gazed at Dr. Nichols with new sympathy, but the old man did not notice. His eyes were far away, reliving events now distant both in place and time.
