Page 80 of The Enemy's Daughter

My eyes go wide at Enola before I rein in my face.

A muscle in Caro’s cheek twitches.

“We’re just here to help,” I add. “We won’t be in anyone’s way.”

Caro’s steely gaze jumps to me, then back to Enola. “Fine. She can dump the bedpans and change all the sheets. But stay away from Dr. Henshaw. He’s too busy today.” She takes a step. “I have to go.”

Enola and I exchange a dubious look as Caro descends the stairs. When she’s fully out of earshot, Enola’s grin turns conspiratorial. “Well, go find Dr. Henshaw.”

“But—”

She waves me off. “Despite what Caro thinks, she answers to me. I’ll deal with her if she gives you any trouble.”

Stars. It’s a good thing I have friends in higher places than my enemies. “Okay,” I say, rubbing my hands together, my excitement building.

The next two hours pass quickly. Dr. Henshaw was not, in fact, too busy to let me shadow him, and although he didn’t seem thrilled to see me again, he has since almost grinned twice. A small victory.

The first time was after he used a scalpel to drain a pocket of infection on a man’s leg, then asked me what antibacterium I would recommend. It was a test. Luckily, I recalled three possibilities that work well on the likely bacilli, unsure if I was pronouncing the names correctly. I had only ever read them in a textbook. He didn’t react, so I went on to list the herbs that could be used if medications weren’t available.

“I would also pack the wound with a poultice of widowspore,venite, calenmedia flower, and maybe some fenugreek seed. Obviously, herbs take longer to clear the infection and are riskier if the infection has gone deep into the tissues. But if it’s all you have, it’s worth a shot before amputation.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up the smallest amount. Possibly a prolonged twitch. “Right,” he said. Then he blinked and told a nurse named Felicity to grab some granucillin.

Not long after, I discovered the oxygen condenser.

“How does it work?” I asked, dropping down in front of the oversize brown box growling in the corner beside an older woman crocheting. I’d read about the importance of oxygen therapy, especially for people with lung conditions and heart failure, but I thought for sure any oxygen storage canisters would be extinct by now. Turns out they are—but there’s an alternative.

“It reduces the nitrogen from the air it takes in, allowing for a higher concentration of oxygen. There used to be seven, but we’re down to three. We sterilize and reuse the tubing.”

My head jerked up. “How do you sterilize things?”

“We have a pressure pot that uses the power of steam.”

Steam.“My mother and I boiled our bandages, but to be able to utilize the power of steam to sterilize—revolutionary.”

“Yes, well.” Dr. Henshaw looked away and gave a silent huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. It turned into a cough.

I asked to see this special sterilizing pot, and that’s how I ended up in a back room with a young nurse who’s biting her nails down to the quick—Felicity.

Spinning around, I take in the white cupboards and shelves filled with supplies. There’s so much here. It’s like I’ve magically jumped into the pages of my medical textbooks.

“Those are the pressure pots we use to clean the instruments,” Felicity mutters. She points at the metal devices on the narrow counter.

“And how do they—” But before I can finish my question, she’s gone. I stare after her as she speeds down the hall. Guess I’m not making any new friends today.

Dr. Henshaw steps into the room and grabs a large leather bag out of the corner. He opens it, then a few cupboards, collecting supplies, before reluctantly acknowledging my staring. “I have to make some house calls. And I have a meeting with your husband. I’ll be away the rest of the day.”

Oh. I wait, hoping he’ll invite me along, but within seconds I’m left alone. Deciding to take advantage of being unsupervised, I do a slow lap of the storage room. When no one comes to kick me out, I grow bolder and venture into the cupboards. Bandages, expired medicine, and small metal tools like scissors, scalpels, and clamps line the shelves. If it can be cleaned, it’s reused—even the syringes.

I come across a manual for a machine that mists medications to be inhaled and read every word on how to use it. It makes me think of two-year-old Roman back in Hanook and how unsafe it is for him to sit over a boiling pot of callendon root to breathe in the steam. But if his fire-damaged lungs could have the herbs cold-misted, this could change his life.

There has to be a way to bring these advances back to the clans.

Eventually, I become worried about getting caught alone in here. I wouldn’t put it past someone to accuse me of stealing or sabotaging the equipment.

Wandering down the hall, I peek into the open doors, lookingfor Enola, but when I reach the opposite end, I don’t find her. In fact, I haven’t come across any hospital workers at all. Where is everyone? Maybe I should check downstairs.

But then Felicity appears out of a room I hadn’t checked yet and steps into my path, eyes locked on the floor. “Umm... you’re wanted in the sunroom.”

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