Another addition located at the rear of the hospital—an entire wing dedicated to children. The upper floor was for the sick, and the lower provided a nursery of sorts for children whose parents were taking courses or worked all day. It was headed by none other than Katie MacKinnon who had flourished in her training to become a shining example for superintendents. She had revolutionized the service into one of happiness and fun for the children and one of relief for parents who could now go to work unfettered knowing their children were well cared for.
“I’m delighted to hear that.”
Nurse Drummond reached below her desk and pulled out a small posy tied with a red ribbon. “’Tis not much, and sorry we are without the grandness ye’re used to, but a few of us mithers wanted to thank ye proper. The war took all we had, most of us our men, but we’ve a chance now to provide for our families. Ye championed us, Duchess, and we’re ever so grateful.”
Svetlana bent her head to smell the tiny yellow-and-white flowers, taking the humbling moment to blink back the emotion washing her eyes. “Thank you for the honor of allowing me to do so.”
The nurse beamed, then remembered her station and grabbed a clipboard hanging from the wall. “Dr. MacCallan is still in the operating theater. Auld man McGillum ran a saw across his leg out cutting the wood. I’ll be telling him ye arrived when he comes out. The doctor, not auld man McGillum.”
“Thank you. He may find me next door at the Bear.”
The Bear, Glentyre’s newest pub, was connected to the hospital by an outdoor covered corridor that passed through a garden Svetlana had single-handedly planted with white roses, purple hyacinths, and yellow kingcups that perfumed the soft spring gloaming. A short wicker fence cornered off a back section for the dacha garden that provided the Bear and the hospital with fresh vegetables, which were rotated out according to season. Once unclaimed and without roots, the ground and its harvest now flourished to their own free will. As did she.
In the center of the garden stood Constance’s monument dedicated to all the Glentyre Tommies who had served in the war, their names, including Hugh’s, carved for all to remember.
Pushing through the Bear’s heavy oak door, Svetlana stepped into a large room with thick stone and wood-paneled walls, flickering candles, and gas-lit sconces. A long bar ran the length of one wall, which sparkled with dozens of glass bottles ready for pouring. A fiddler and bodhrán player sat in a corner, plucking and drumming to the enjoyment of the patrons who sat at small round tables piled high with beer mugs and empty plates. Svetlana inhaled the rich scents of cabbage, venison, baked brown bread, and potatoes. Russia filled the air.
“Angel, you are here!” The Bear’s proprietor, Leonid himself, barged out of the kitchen through a set of swinging doors. He’d grown thicker around the middle, but life exuded from his every pore. “Come! Come sit.”
Svetlana weaved her way over to him. “I cannot. I’m waiting for Wynn.”
“He is up to elbows in blood and knives. We wait. Sit. Sit!”
With no other option than to do as she was told, Svetlana accepted the offered chair he pulled out for her at their usual table. “Something smells delicious.”
“New recipe.” He turned and barked at one of the servers. None of his staff understood a single word of Russian, but all they
had to do was serve their customers food and drink and their boss would be happy. As the server ran back into the kitchen,
Leonid plopped into the chair next to Svetlana. “
“Don’t I always?”
“
“Which is precisely why his trousers have grown too tight since you opened this place and took on Mrs. Varjensky to oversee the cooking.”
“
“It’s the only establishment in Scotland to serve Russian cuisine. You should be very proud.”