Mercy was grateful for something to keep her mind off her hunger. By midafternoon, Dr. Bates called Mercy into the room he used as his office. He took a seat at his cluttered desk and began to unwrap a brown paper package, revealing thick slices of bread, cheese, and ham.

“Thank you for your assistance today.” He spread out his meal.

Mercy glanced away from the food to the boarded window. “I’m much obliged to you for letting me stay and help, as I can’t go home now and got nowhere else to go until I leave for Dartmouth.”

He was silent as he arranged the food on the desktop. Finally he said, “Since I cannot pay you properly for your assistance today, will you at least allow me to give you part of this meal? My kitchen maid always sends too much along.”

Mercy swallowed hard. “Thank ye, sir, but I’ll be right well.”

“Come now, Mercy. Sit down and have some of this. It’s the least I can do for you.”

She couldn’t keep from glancing down at the desk. He’d pushed half of the food toward her. As he took a bite of his own portion, he picked up a blank piece of paper. “Now eat while I write this letter for you.”

Her stomach gave an angry utterance as though demanding that she obey Dr. Bates. She couldn’t tear her attention from the thick slices of bread slathered in butter. Maybe just a few bites . . . that wouldn’t hurt any. Maybe it would be enough to tide her over until she left London.

She sidled over to the desk and lowered herself into the chair he’d positioned opposite him. As she picked up the bread, she was embarrassed that her fingers trembled with eagerness. But when she chanced a look at Dr. Bates, he was busy dipping his pen into the inkpot.

For several moments she ate in silence, relishing every bite. She couldn’t remember ever eating such fine bread or cheese or ham. It was a feast, and she soon found she’d consumed every morsel.

“I was hoping you might also put in a good word for my sister, Patience,” Mercy said, dabbing at the crumbs left on the brown paper. “I’d be right happy to have her come on the Robert Lowe, the next ship the Columbia Mission Society is planning to send out to Vancouver Island and British Columbia.”

Dr. Bates paused in his writing and peered at her through his spectacles. His eyes were wide and full of questions. “Why can she not travel with you now?”

“She’s sick. But she’ll get well soon enough to join the next ship, that she will.”

“Why don’t you bring her into the dispensary? I’ll have a look at her and see if I can help.”