Page 14 of Healing Hazel

Dr. Jackson washed the blood from his hands in the basin. “No signs of infection, but it’s early yet.” He used a towel to dry. “It’s up to him now.”

The older nurse left the room and Dr. Jackson started after her. In the doorway, he stopped, then came back. “Miss Thornton, your hand.” He took it, removing the bandage.

“Dr. Laurent stitched it yesterday,” she said.

He touched the edges around the cut. “It’s a clean cut. It should heal well.”

“I—yes, thank you.” She wasn’t sure what else to say, so she stood quietly and let him wrap the bandage back around her hand.

“Good work today, Nurse,” Dr. Jackson said. “That was quick thinking, pinching the artery to slow the blood loss.” He met her gaze, nodded once, and left.

Hazel remained. She looked between the door and the patient, wondering whether she should follow or remain. It hardly felt right to leave Mikel alone. She washed off her hands and straightened the room. A few moments later, orderlies arrived with a gurney to take Mikel away.

Once she was alone, she let out a heavy breath. The past hour had been intense and terrifying and had left her both mentally and emotionally exhausted. But despite it all, her chest tingled, and she felt pleased. Dr. Jackson had called her Nurse.

Chapter 4

Jim checked on the othersurgery chambers. Drs. Laurent and Ruiz had both removed bullets and sewn wounds in a short time, their patients having less-serious injuries than Mikel’s. In point of fact, Jim could hardly believe the man had survived at all. He very likely wouldn’t have, if not for Miss Thornton’s quick actions. To say that Jim had been surprised by the woman’s anatomical knowledge was an understatement. Based on her fine clothes and high-born manners, he’d assumed immediately that she was simply a bored young lady who’d decided nursing might be an exciting distraction from royal balls and garden parties.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. In the surgery, she’d been remarkably steady, and she hadn’t flinched away from what was one of the more gruesome wounds that had come through the hospital doors. Jim had underestimated her.

He glanced toward the surgery chamber where he’d left Miss Thornton, wondering briefly where she’d gone once they’d finished tending to Mikel. But the thought lasted only a moment. There was far too much to do. Once he’d taken stock of the new patients, he continued on with his rounds. He lifted a chart from the foot of a patient’s bed, reading the man’s vitals. If patients continued to arrive at this rate, the Red Cross Hospital ran a legitimate risk of running out of beds—they were already short on supplies—but the attacks were becoming more frequent. He touched his fingers to the patient’s head, checking for fever. The man’s skin was cool, so he continued on to the next.

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling frustrated. In Virginia, at least, he’d been in the field. He could only imagine how many more men could be saved if they didn’t have to be transported through the mountains to the hospital. If they could be treated sooner.

The patient in the bed before him was the soldier from the train. Jim pursed his lips together when he read the blood-pressure report. The young man had woken during the night, delirious and in such pain that he’d vomited immediately. He had been weak and confused and had only settled when Jim administered a dose of morphine.

Seeing Dr. Laurent, Jim waved for the man to join him.

“Zhe blood pressure is still high,” Dr. Laurent said, glancing at the chart. “And his breathing, it is very shallow.” He leaned over, pulling up the young man’s eyelids and looking closely at his pupils.

“What is your diagnosis?” Jim asked. Although Jim had been the doctor primarily treating this patient, Dr. Laurent was more experienced, especially when dealing with head traumas, and Jim trusted the man not to make rash decisions.

“I would recommend a lumbar puncture to be certain,” Dr. Laurent said. He lifted the young man’s arm, holding his wrist to measure a pulse. “But I expect, once zhe cerebrospinal fluid is measured, we will discover swelling around his brain.”

Jim scratched his cheek, frowning. That was the conclusion he’d come to as well. Intracranial pressure would explain the young man’s symptoms, especially with the head injury he’d suffered.

“Shall I have a surgery chamber prepared?” Dr. Laurent asked.

“Yes.” Jim put back the chart. “And you’ll perform the procedure?” When it came to setting bones and suturing soft tissue, he was entirely confident, but drilling a burr hole required precision and patience, qualities Dr. Laurent possessed in much greater quantities.

“Bien sûr. I will if you wish it, my friend.”

“I do.”

Dr. Laurent nodded. Jim appreciated that the man didn’t try to encourage or reassure him that he was indeed capable and turn the circumstance into a teaching opportunity. He knew when to push and when to assist. The two had developed a rapport over the years, and Jim saw the older man as a mentor figure. Dr. Laurent’s capability was unmatched, and his balance of empathy and competence was the reason that once the war between the states was finished, Jim had joined the International Red Cross and accompanied his colleague from Virginia to Bohemia to Spain, following revolutions and natural disasters in the name of humanity and relief.

While the surgery chamber was being prepared, Jim continued his rounds quickly. He crossed through the cloister, breathing in the damp mountain air for just a moment before entering the other ward and heading straight for the most critically injured patient, Mikel.

When he arrived, he found Mikel’s father seated at his son’s bedside. Some-one had apparently brought a chair. And Jim assumed that someone was the young lady dabbing with a wet cloth at the crusted blood on the older man’s lip. A hint of his earlier annoyance with the young woman returned.

“A visitor?” he asked, knowing his voice sounded irritated. “Miss Thornton, you know the policy.” Visitors were not allowed in the hospital wards, especially for the more critical patients.

“He...” She winced, and her cheeks colored. “I thought it might reassure him to see his son. And he is injured as well.” She indicated the blood on her cloth. “So he is, in a sense, a patient too.”

Jim decided to ignore the breach of hospital protocol for the moment. “Has he stirred?” He lifted his chin toward Mikel.

“No.”

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