Page 27 of Healing Hazel

“Undoubtedly.”

Miss Thornton glanced up, and seeing Jim, she stood. “Good afternoon, Dr. Jackson.”

“Good afternoon,” he said to the pair of them. “How are you feeling, Miss Westbrook?”

She set the object down on the bench next to her. “Tired of being a patient, truth be told. Not that I’ve not been quite well taken care of. But I’m ready to be finished with this.” She motioned to her ankle with a sweep of her hand.

“I understand that,” Jim said. “How is your level of pain?”

“Manageable,” she said. “Though, it does throb, especially at night.”

Miss Thornton patted her friend’s arm in consolation.

Jim nodded. It was expected, but keeping her limb elevated would reduce the swelling, and in time, the throbbing would disperse. “And your fever?”

“Gone, and good riddance to it, I say,” Miss Westbrook said.

“Glad to hear it.” She really did look better. Her skin had regained a healthy color, its pallor gone, and he saw none of the strain around her eyes that he’d noticed before. “The lingering fever was worrying but not unexpected with the inflammation in your ankle. Your body suffered a great trauma, miss.”

“Don’t I know it.” She sighed and held a hand to her breastbone.

Miss Thornton’s lips pulled as she suppressed amusement at the woman’s dramatic response. Her eyes caught Jim’s, and the two looked away quickly, not wanting the older woman to see that they were sharing a smile at her expense.

“But I am telling you things you no doubt already know, aren’t I, Nurse Westbrook?” Jim continued, wishing he had a chart to write on. He felt as though he should be doing something with his hands, so he thrust them into his coat pockets.

“Yes,” she said. “But it is very different to be the patient. I do hope the experience gives me a bit more tolerance in the future for those poor patients under my care.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Nella,” Miss Thornton said. “You are nothing if not compassionate.”

“Perhaps,” Miss Westbrook said. “It is easy enough to appear compassionate. But patience is another thing entirely.”

Miss Thornton shook her head and raised her brows at her friend in a way that indicated she didn’t believe the woman’s assessment of herself to be the least bit true.

Lucía came into the courtyard. “Ven, Miss Westbrook,” she said. “Es hora de descansar.”

Jim opened his mouth to translate, but he didn’t have the chance.

“She said it is time for you to rest,” Miss Thornton said first. She lifted the crutches, handing them to Miss Westbrook.

Lucía gave Miss Thornton a nod of thanks for her assistance in communicating with the patient.

Jim was surprised that Miss Thornton had understood. And rather impressed with how quickly the young lady was assimilating to her new circumstance. He’d not have imagined she would adapt so quickly.

She and Lucía helped the older woman stand and situate herself with the crutches.

Lucía then walked beside Miss Westbrook, watching her carefully as they moved slowly to the walkway.

“Gracias, Lucía,” Miss Thornton said, watching them. She glanced at Jim and gave a quick curtsey. “Excuse me, Doctor. I need to tend to the laundry.”

“One moment,” he said.

She raised her brows, fair-colored arches over soft blue eyes. The expression made her eyes wide as she looked up at him. It was entrancing.

Jim stared for a moment, noticing how her forehead wrinkled in delicate lines. He had entirely forgotten what he’d come to speak to her about. Certainly he’d had a question in mind when he’d come to find her, but the topic was gone.

“Yes, Doctor Jackson?”

He cleared his throat, searching for something to say. “You’re learning Spanish.” It was the only thing that came to mind, and once he said it, he realized how foolish it sounded.

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