Page 174 of Feathers in the Wind
I set down the wad of gauze I had been holding and confronted him, hands on hips.
‘My horse? I don’t own a horse. Look, Nathaniel, you’ve lost a bit of blood, if you like I can give you a ride home.’
‘But you said you had no horse?’
‘In the car.’ I could not help the exasperation that crept into my voice. His continuing delusion had really begun to concern me. ‘Nathaniel, look at me. What year do you think this is?’
‘The year of our lord 1645.’
‘1645?’ I stared at him. ‘Nathaniel, it is 1995.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘No, you jest.’ He sank back onto the kitchen chair, his eyes glassy.
‘I do not jest. Now stay there. I’m going to ring my brother. Perhaps he can talk some sense into you.’
‘So it is true,’ he muttered more to himself than to me.
Keeping a wary eye on my visitor, I reached for the phone and carried it into the living room while I waited for Alan to pick up.
‘Hey, Jess.’ Alan greeted me cheerfully.
‘Alan, are you busy?’
‘I’m correcting papers, nothing I can’t put off. Is this important?’
‘I have a man in my kitchen who thinks he is living in 1645,’ I whispered.
‘Sounds like a case for the psychs, not me.’
‘Please come over, Alan. There is something about him...sorry I can’t explain--’
‘Is he threatening you?’ My brother sounded alert and concerned.
‘No, not at all. He’s just a little...confused.’
Alan let out a sigh. ‘All right, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’
I washed my hands in the bathroom and returned to the kitchen. Nathaniel Preston slumped over the table, his head resting on his good right arm, an air of defeat and exhaustion in the line of his shoulders. He straightened as I rustled the packages in my medical bag and selected a sterilized packet with needle and thread.
I pulled on surgical gloves and looked across at him as I tore open the packet. ‘This will hurt,’ I said.
He raised tired, blood shot eyes to meet mine. ‘Do what you must, mistress. I’ve had worse hurts than this.’
‘Jessica. My name is Jessica Shepherd.’
‘Mistress Shepherd.’ He managed a faint smile, his face pale now alarmingly pale beneath the tan. ‘Did you say you were a woman doctor?’
‘Yes. Although I’m a pediatrician,’ I said.
He frowned. ‘Pediatrician?’
‘I specialize in children’s health.’ I held up the needle.
He closed his eyes. ‘A doctor for children,’ he said quietly, more to himself than to me. ‘She was correct.’
‘Who?’ I enquired.
He gave me a disarming smile. ‘No one, mistress. Just do what you need to do and then we must talk.’
