Reprinted by arrangement with Viking, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., from My Name is Mary Sutter by Robin Oliveira. Copyright © 2010 by Robin Oliveira.

From Chapter Eleven:

Mary Sutter pursues her dream of becoming a surgeon:

Mary said, “I saw you earlier. At the Infirmary.”

The man looked up, his eyes squinting to take her in, as if he was still blinded by the light that had bathed them earlier in the square.

“And what were you doing at the Infirmary?”

“The same thing I am doing here, inquiring after a position as a nurse.”

The man’s head tilted to one side, inspecting her carefully. “Did the sister send you?”

“Actually,” Mary said, “I don’t want to be a nurse. I want to be a surgeon.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And you propose to do this here?”

“I propose to begin here.”

His gaze, not intrusive but inquiring, took in the length of her. Mary no longer cared that her skirts had wilted in the heat, or that her hair had tumbled from its ties and was now a hot mess about her neck. She had come to her last chance and wanted to look like it.

He put a finger between the pages of his book to hold his place. “I do not need a doctor. What I need is a charwoman and a nurse. You do not look like the sort of woman used to menial work.”

“And what sort do I look?”

“The sort that wants to be a surgeon.”

The hotel creaked and snapped in the heat.

“Have you been to see Miss Dix?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“She give you trouble?”

“Yes.”

“She would.” He closed the book and said, “You think because you know an herb or two, or because you are unafraid of men, or because you have sat by the bedside of a dying relative that you know what it means to attend the sick. I can assure you that you know nothing of what has been going on inside this hovel for the past month. If you did, you would follow my advice and leave. There are sights and sounds upstairs that would offend anyone, man or woman, surgeon or no. The work is unfit for a human being. It is unfit for the most robust of men. If I were you, I would run north, find a place of beauty and remain there. It is my advice to you. It is my advice to anyone.”

Mary took a deep breath and allowed herself to smile, because she had come too far not to recognize a yes when she heard it.

“I warn you,” he said. “I don’t need or want a medical student. I offer you nothing but the position I need filled.”

“I’ll take it.”

“You won’t last,” the man said, eyeing Mary.

“I will need a room and bedding,” she said.

“I fear you will need much more than that.” Shaking his head, he stood, a look some might describe as pity shadowing his eyes, softening the hard set of his mouth. “My name is William Stipp,” he said. “The surgeon in charge of this misery.”

“And my name is Mary Sutter.”

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