Page 37 of Healing Hazel

Hazel sat on the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Nella asked.

“That’s what I was about to ask you,” Hazel said.

“Yes, I know. But...” She squinted, setting her knitting in her lap. “But your well-being is important too. You look... different, I suppose. Has something happened?”

The blush returned to Hazel’s cheeks, and she considered telling her friend about the kiss, but just as soon as the thought came into her head, she decided against it. Part of her wanted to keep the moment to herself, and another part was embarrassed. Besides, she had seen Nella with Dr. Laurent often enough, and if he were to learn about it, he would surely be disappointed at her lack of decorum. And Dr. Laurent’s opinion was important to her.

“It’s Jakinda,” she said. “Her condition is worsening.”

“I’m sorry, dear.” Nella squeezed Hazel’s hand. “I know it must be difficult for you.”

“How do you like the West ward?” Hazel changed the subject before her tears returned. “I imagine a change of scenery is welcome.”

“It is indeed,” Nella said. She swept her arm around as if giving a tour of her deluxe accommodations. “Dr. Laurent assures me this is the most desirable bed, right here near the door, where I can catch an occasional breeze. Can you imagine building a structure of this size with so few opening windows?” She shook her head and used a book to fan herself. “Apparently the monks didn’t intend for middle-aged women to be taking up residence here.” She made a face.

Hazel laughed, happy to see Nella’s humor had returned. “I imagine they didn’t.”

They chatted for a few moments longer, and then Hazel helped Nella with the crutches, and the pair walked down to the privy and back. The short trip was enough to tire the older woman, and instead of returning to her knitting, she lay down in the bed.

Hazel pulled up her sheets, gave her a drink of water, and made sure her pillows were comfortable.

“I don’t know what I’ll do when I don’t have you to spoil me,” Nella said. “A person can get very used to being pampered.”

“Don’t worry,” Hazel said, turning down the lamp on the bedside table. “I’m not going anywhere. And when the time does come that you’re able to travel, we’re going together.”

Nella opened her mouth to reply and hesitated for a moment. An instant later, she closed her eyes. “You’re right, dear.”

Hazel bid Nella good night. She cut through the cloister and went into the East ward. Her stomach felt tense as she worried she might encounter Dr. Jackson. What would happen when they inevitably did meet? What would she say? Should she act as if nothing had taken place in the cloister? What if he acted as if nothing had occurred? Would they continue on as they had before?

She reached Jakinda’s bedside and saw the woman was sleeping. Her fever had not gone away, and her breathing was still shallow, but at least she appeared not to be in any pain. Nerea slept beside her in the little basket.

“Good night,” Hazel whispered and started away, grateful that she would at last be able to sleep. She must indeed be tired when the hard cot in her bedchamber sounded so inviting. After only a few steps, she paused, feeling a pull to return.

She came back, pulling the chair closer, and sat beside Jakinda. There was something about her breathing that sounded different, and Hazel knew she couldn’t leave. “I hope you are sleeping,” she said in a soft voice. “But if you can somehow hear me, just know I am right beside you. You are not alone.”

She took Jakinda’s hand, feeling the heat of the fever on her palm. A lullaby came to her mind, something her ayah used to sing. Hazel hummed the melody, careful to keep the sound soft in the ward of sleeping patients—especially for the baby. She thought she felt Jakinda squeeze her hand, but perhaps it was only her imagination. But just in case the squeeze was real and an indication that Jakinda enjoyed the sound, Hazel continued.

***

“Hazel, wake up.” The voice was deep, and there was something familiar in it. The feeling of a hand on her back broke into her consciousness. “Hazel.”

Realizing she’d fallen asleep, she blinked herself awake. She had slumped forward sometime during the night, and her head lay on her arm. Her hand still held Jakinda’s.

Dr. Jackson’s voice came again. “Come, now. She is gone.” He pulled her hand away and brought her to her feet.

Hazel was still blinking, feeling as if her thoughts were moving too slowly.

Dr. Jackson had one arm around her waist, helping her stand. She looked at him and then at the priest on the other side of the bed.

The man was muttering, holding a rosary in one hand and making the sign of the cross with the other. When he finished, he pulled the sheet up to cover Jakinda’s face.

She was dead.

Hazel’s heart was heavy. She laid her head on Dr. Jackson’s chest, and he embraced her. She felt numb.

“There’s nothing more to be done,” Dr. Jackson said, voice rumbling beneath her ear. “Lucía will see to the body, and—”

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