Page 30 of Healing Hazel

She walked away quietly, remembering Dr. Jackson’s bad temper when he’d examined Captain Bryant. She carried no delusions that the doctor had any pleasant feelings toward her, and his dislike was further apparent in the way he’d ignored her in the cloister the day before, speaking only to Nella until he’d been forced to speak to Hazel after Nella had been escorted back to the ward. Perhaps he was irritated with Captain Bryant’s slow recovery because it meant she wasn’t leaving soon enough for his liking.

The sensation of knowing a person so strongly disapproved of her was uncomfortable, to say the least. And in Dr. Jackson’s case, Hazel felt it especially, because there were times—such as during Mikel’s surgery or when he’d shown her how to mark the patient’s charts—when she’d thought there’d been a connection. She’d believed Dr. Jackson had seen her as someone who was capable of learning, that he’d been pleased by her hard work. But she’d ruined any hopes of remaining in his good graces when she’d disregarded his orders and rushed into the house after Nerea.

Hazel gazed down at the child in her arms. “I would disobey a hundred doctors for you, little one,” she whispered.

Before returning Nerea to the East ward, she stopped at her bedchamber to fetch her writing paper, ink, and quill. She retrieved her hairbrush as well, slipping them all into a bag, and by the time she came to Jakinda’s bed, the baby slept.

Jakinda looked pleased when she saw Hazel. She lifted her hand, but the movement was weak. Hazel brought Nerea close so her mother could see her face. Jakinda kissed her, and Hazel tucked the baby into the basket.

She put the ink and paper on the small table and took Jakinda’s cleaned scarf from her pocket. It was a bit damp from Nerea’s bath. She sat on the bed and gently teased the tangles from Jakinda’s hair with the brush. Hazel thought the hospital’s combs much too stiff, and in Jakinda’s state, she believed a soft hairbrush would feel much better.

Jakinda closed her eyes as Hazel brushed her hair. Once the brush moved smoothly without tugging on Jakinda’s scalp, Hazel used the firmer comb and divided the strands to weave them into braids. She tied the scarf around Jakinda’s head in the style she’d seen on the other women in Santa Rosa and stepped back to survey her handiwork. “There you are.Que hermosa,” she said, using words she’d looked up earlier and making her voice cheerful.

Jakinda smiled, but it was hardly more than a slight movement of her mouth.

Hazel had hoped having her hair arranged would make her feel at least a little better. But, in truth, Jakinda looked worse than she had in the days since the men dug her out from under the broken wall. Her skin was pale and clammy, and her pulse was weak. Hazel checked her abdomen every few hours, just as Dr. Laurent had ordered, and though the bruises there were not growing, Hazel’s instinct told her something was wrong. Jakinda wasn’t improving.

“¿Tienes hambre?” she asked, hoping Jakinda’s appetite had returned.

“No.” The reply was a whisper.

Hazel helped her sit up and take a sip of water, and then she assisted with the bedpan.

Jakinda winced at the movement and sucked in a breath, pressing a hand to her belly.

Hazel worried at the pain in the woman’s grimace. She held a hand gently against her back.

Jakinda’s head swayed, and she lay back on the pillow, wincing again at the pain.

“I brought paper,” Hazel said. She showed Jakinda the blank pages, then looked through her dictionary for the right word. “Foruna carta,” she said. “For Ramiro.”

Jakinda’s eyes focused for just a minute as she understood. She moved her head the slightest bit in a nod. She had spoken about her husband, and Camila had translated when she’d been near. From her, Hazel had learned that Ramiro had fled with the other Carlists when the Spanish Army came to Santa Rosa. He must have thought that, with the rebels gone, the army would leave the city alone. Hazel prayed that he was alive somewhere. She had no confidence in her ability to write the letter in Basque, but with the dictionary and Jakinda’s help, she thought they could at least communicate in Spanish. She hoped Ramiro would understand what she wrote, at least enough to learn where his wife and baby were.

Hazel brought a chair and sat beside the bed. “Ramiro,” she said, writing the name and turning it for Jakinda to see.

Jakinda closed her eyes and spoke words Hazel couldn’t understand. Hazel repeated them and consulted her dictionary often, making certain they were correct before she wrote them on the paper. Her eyes prickled when she wrote the words forloveandfrightened. The short letter took over an hour to complete, and before Hazel had even finished signing Jakinda’s name, the poor woman had fallen asleep.

Hazel tucked the sheets over her and cleaned up the space. She put the letter in her pocket and the ink, quill, hairbrush, and paper back in her bag. She poured a fresh glass of water, leaving it on the bedside table, and took the bedpan to empty.

On her way from the ward, Hazel stopped at Nella’s bed. While she and Jakinda had worked on the letter, she had seen her friend moving about on her crutches with the assistance of a nurse, and now Nella was back in her bed with her knitting in her lap. She grinned when she saw Hazel, but her nose wrinkled when she saw the bedpan in her hands. “Don’t miss that duty, you can be sure of that.”

“Do you need... ?” Hazel motioned toward the pot beneath Nella’s bed.

“Heavens, no!” Nella dropped the knitting and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll use the privy, thank you very much, even if it takes me an hour to get there.”

“You do seem to be proficient with the crutches,” Hazel said.

Nella shrugged. “It’s not so difficult, with a bit of practice.” She picked up the needles and counted the stitches to where she’d left off. “I’m coming to realize I’m very lucky,” she said. “Poor Captain Bryant. Dr. Laurent is afraid his mind will never be the same. He’ll certainly suffer with headaches.”

“But he’s recovering,” Hazel said defensively. She didn’t like the idea that her friend might not fully mend. “He’ll heal much more quickly in London; I’m certain of it. I imagine he’ll be well enough to leave within a few days. Then we’ll all be able to return to England and leave this place behind.” Saying the words aloud brought a surprising sadness.

“Of course. You’re right, dear.” Nella kept her gaze on her knitting. Her tone was strange, as if she were only agreeing in order to end the conversation. Perhaps she was sad as well.

“I’ll leave you to rest.” Hazel excused herself and made her way to the privy. Her conversation with Nella left her feeling uneasy, but why exactly she couldn’t say. She didn’t like the way Nella had avoided answering her directly, but what was her reasoning? Was she just trying to placate Hazel’s worries about Captain Bryant? Or was there something else? Something about what Nella said didn’t feel quite right. Was the captain’s condition worse than the doctors were telling Hazel?

She set aside her uncertain feelings for the moment and considered how to get Jakinda’s letter to Ramiro. Perhaps Mikel’s father would have a way of finding the men hiding in the mountains. Or he might at least know someone who could.

Her mind was still occupied as she performed the less than pleasant task of emptying the bedpan. But her thoughts stilled and her hands froze as she poured out the contents. Jakinda’s urine was colored with blood.

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