Page 47 of Healing Hazel

***

That evening, Alona prepared a special Christmas meal. Heaven knew where she’d found the ingredients. The patients and staff dined on grilled lamb, potatoes, and delicious bread. For dessert, Alona had made a golden cake with cream filling served with a piece of peppermint.

The hospital was normally quiet, sterile, and orderly, but today, a hopefulness filled the air.

Jim had noticed each of the nurses wore a new hair ribbon beneath their cap that he imagined must have come from Hazel’s traveling trunks. Patients who were usually scared, lonely, and discouraged chatted, laughed, and even sang together. He was amazed by what a few handmade decorations and some sweets could do for morale. He stood in the doorway of the West ward, watching as patients left their beds and gathered around Miss Westbrook’s bed, where Hazel led them in a Christmas carol. Dr. Laurent was there as well, sitting next to the bed and singing in a strong tenor voice. Even Captain Bryant was smiling, though he leaned his head back and kept his eyes closed.

When the song finished, Jim approached. “Hazel, might I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course, Dr. Jackson.”

One of the English soldiers whistled, as if giving her a warning.

Another, a man with a Scottish accent, grinned. “Yer in trouble now, lass. The doctor’s come for ye personally.”

“Stop it.” Hazel swatted at their teasing as she walked around their chairs and beds to meet Jim.

He picked up a candle lamp and led her from the ward into the cloister, leaving the door open just a crack to let the air in the ward circulate. The evening was dark, the moon and stars hidden by clouds. On the far end of the cloister, the hanging laundry made swishing sounds in the darkness.

They walked, in the bubble of light, to the bench, and Jim motioned for her to take a seat before sitting beside her. He set the candle lamp between them.

“Are you angry, Dr. Jackson?” Hazel asked. “I know today has been a bit disorderly, and I should have inquired about dietary restrictions before giving all the patients sweets. And the candles. I promise I will replace them. I just wanted it to feel festive.”

“I’m not angry,” he said.

“Are you certain?” she asked. She turned toward him, scooting around so her knees were close to touching his. She studied his face as the flame made shadows on her own. “You seemed distant today. Quiet. I hardly saw you at all after this morning.”

She was right. Jim had found plenty to occupy himself with in his office, avoiding the wards as much as possible. He’d thought to protect himself by avoiding her, as if seeing her less would ease the pain of her eventual departure. The plan was a bad one, and he’d abandoned it after only a few hours. Staying away from Hazel was not only illogical but, in their confined circumstances, impossible. He’d come to the conclusion that he’d prefer to enjoy her company now and deal with the inevitable heartache when the time came. There was no use in beginning the pain early.

“I have something for you,” he said, avoiding her question. He took a parcel from his coat pocket. “A Christmas gift.”

“Oh.” Hazel looked surprised and a bit apprehensive as she took the gift. He understood right away the impropriety of a man offering a single young lady a gift. Such a thing could be taken as a declaration or even an expectation.

“It is nothing... improper, I assure you,” Jim said. “It is actually rather silly, but... well, open it; you will see.” He was wondering if he’d made a mistake. It had seemed like such a good idea, but now that he was here, he felt a bit foolish.

Hazel untied the twine and peeled away the paper, tipping the matchbox toward the light to read the label. She shook it, realizing there was an object inside, and slid out the inner box. She looked closer, then turned it over, letting the object fall into her hand.

“It’s a... a little... frog?” When she looked up, her brows were pinched together. She watched him, waiting for an explanation.

And now he felt even more foolish. “I carved it, you see. In Petersburg. The soldiers were in the trenches, and aside from the usual army illnesses, we could go weeks without so much as a broken fingernail to attend to in the military tents, so I took to carving, just for something to do. These tree frogs—they were everywhere, especially in the summer, and louder than you can imagine.” He smiled at the memory. “At any rate, I’ve always considered this little chap here to be lucky, and I thought you might—”

“There were frogs in India as well,” Hazel interrupted. “Sometimes we would find them in our water basin. There is even a temple dedicated to them in Lakhimpur.” She clasped her hand around the carving. “I like it very much.” A concerned look crossed her face. “I am sorry I don’t have a gift for you—unless you enjoy ribbons.”

“What you’ve done today is a gift,” he said. He put the lamp on his other side and scooted closer to her, putting his arm around her and pulling her against him. “I get preoccupied with routine and procedure and often forget that the patients are more than bodies to be healed. What you did today reminded me that laughter and joy—hope—is as vital to human life as any medicine.”

“It was only a bit of peppermint and a few pine boughs,” Hazel said, folding her arms. “None of the patients would even be alive to enjoy them if not for your care.”

The sound of singing came from the East ward, and Hazel sat up straight, which was extremely irritating. “I know this song,” she said. She tipped her head, listening. “But the words are... they are singing ‘Silent Night’ in Spanish?”

Jim shrugged, wondering if she would return to lean on him again. “It sounds like it.”

“Open the door wider,” she said, pointing toward the West ward. She hurried to the East ward door, pulling it open so the music came out into the cloister.

Jim opened the other door, propping it with a rock. A moment later, the West ward joined in, singing ‘Silent Night’ in English.

Hazel’s smile was wide. She came back to the bench, holding Jim’s hand when he joined her. “Isn’t that beautiful?” she whispered.

The singing continued, the familiar tune echoing off the stone walls and walkways as the patients sang the words in their own languages.

---