Page 54 of Healing Hazel

Jim didn’t answer. He listened as her breathing grew slow in sleep and thought of what she’d told him about Lucknow, the palpable terror she’d felt as women and children huddled together, not knowing whether they would at any moment meet their fate in the same manner as those in Cawnpore. For Hazel to relive that fear again and again... it must be unbearable. Jim looked up at the locked door and then down to the woman sleeping against his shoulder. He moved as slowly as possible, shifting her to lie on the ground, worried that if she woke, the reminder of where she was would set off another panic spell. One thought was at the forefront in his mind: he needed to get Hazel away from here.

He picked up the lantern and held it as he turned in a slow circle, studying the small prison. The space where his friends were sleeping was only about eight feet in each direction. Aside from the pile of blankets, there was some straw, a bucket of water, and the kit containing the medications he and Dr. Laurent had made certain to keep close. The building was made of stone with only the one door. There were no windows. A cold iron stove sat in one corner with a long pipe that rose up behind it. Jim studied where it met the slate roof. He couldn’t reach the roof, but it didn’t appear at all compromised—not even a crack—nor did any part of the walls. He thought for a moment that he could perhaps climb onto the stove and press up on the roof tiles. One may be loose. But he decided against the idea, knowing he’d certainly wake his companions from the sleep they desperately needed and the noise would draw attention from the guards outside.

He returned to the only empty spot on the floor, the small area where he’d been sitting beside Hazel. She had not moved, sleeping with the blanket still wrapped around her. Jim slid back down to the floor, leaning his shoulders back against the wall. He lifted Hazel, resting her cheek on his leg, thinking it was a better pillow than the hard floor. Cold seeped through his clothing from the stone, and he shivered, feeling a mixture of anger and desperation. He clenched and unclenched his jaw as he came up with and discarded different plans for escape. This was his team. They were here because of him. He’d led them straight into this trap.

He touched Hazel’s forehead, glad that she at last felt warm.

There had been a battle, of that he was certain. And wounded men would be going to the Red Cross Hospital for care. His frustration made a tight ball between his shoulder blades. If only the Carlists realized the hospital was safe. If only they trusted the medical personnel. The men and boys he’d treated today would have a much better chance of survival in the hospital, yet here they were, lying on the dirty ground, exposed to the cold, their wounds infected.

He put out the lantern, not wanting to risk him or one of the others bumping it over in the night and igniting the straw. Then he rested a hand on Hazel’s shoulder, hoping beyond anything that she would not wake in the dark.

***

Jim woke when a ray of light hit his eyes. A few small beams fought their way between the boards of the door, and one pierced through, shining right into his eyeballs. In the scant light, he saw Dr. Laurent was awake as well.

The older man splashed water from the bucket over his face.

Jim’s worries about Hazel waking in the darkness were unrealized. She slept longer than any of them, not even waking when Jim moved away and put his rolled-up blanket beneath her head.

Camila and Lucía finger-combed their hair, straightened their nursing caps, and shook out their aprons before putting them on. Occasionally, the nurses glanced toward Hazel with worried expressions.

Jim scratched his cheek, wishing he had a razor. He splashed water onto his face and wet his hair.

They let Hazel sleep, doing the small bit of housekeeping that their sleeping space required—folding the blankets—in silence so as not to wake her. And once it was done, there was nothing more to do, so they sat back on the ground.

Jim was glad to see the others seemed to be well enough. He was proud of his team. Aside from some mud on their skirts and trousers, they looked every bit as professional as one would expect in the hospital.

“How long do you believe zhey will keep us here?” Dr. Laurent asked, picking a piece of straw off his coat.

“I don’t know,” Jim said. He glanced at the door. “I wonder how long they will remain at this camp. Surely they must be running low on supplies. And it is only a matter of time before the army discovers this place.”

“Zhey have more camps, I am certain,” Dr. Laurent said.

“The Carlists have hideaways all over these mountains.” Lucía frowned, looking at the door. “I do not imagine they will stay here long. There is little cover, and there will be more snow. From the bits of conversation I overheard, I believe they intend to leave once the injured are well enough to be moved.”

“Will they take us with them?” Camila asked. She tried to sound matter-of-fact like the rest of them, but there was a tremor in her voice. “When they leave, will they keep us as prisoners?”

“I don’t know,” Lucía said.

The men shared a look. The rebels weren’t about to risk their camp being discovered, and releasing their prisoners might give the Spanish Army a hint as to where they were. The bags over their prisoners’ heads had made that point clearly enough. Secrecy was their priority, and released prisoners were a liability—an unpredictable one.

Jim balled his hands into fists. If the women weren’t here, he would find a way to take a gun. He’d fight, escape... but he couldn’t put them in further danger.

He leaned his head back against the stones of the wall, trying once again to come up with a plan, anything that would keep his companions safe and ensure that Hazel never had to set foot in this dark prison again.

Chapter 17

A scraping sound rasped atthe edge of Hazel’s consciousness, but she ignored it, not wanting to pull herself away from the warm floating of her dreams.

Hinges creaked.

Voices spoke.

Someone shook her shoulder.

“Hazel,” Camila’s voice broke through her sleep. “You must wake.”

Hazel sat up, feeling disoriented. Her head was heavy, and her muscles ached. Probably an aftereffect of her panic spell last night. It was the worst she could remember. She blinked open her eyes, squinting in the light from the open door.

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