Page 62 of Healing Hazel

Jim stared at the man, realizing immediately who he was. An unease twisted in his stomach as he realized the time he’d dreaded was here.

“I have come in search of my daughter and her traveling companions,” General Thornton continued. “I have learned they were brought to this hospital after an explosion on the train track.”

“You are Miss Hazel Thornton’s father.”

“Yes.”

Jim pushed away his bleak thoughts and arranged his face into a pleasant expression. “You are right. Miss Thornton and her companions are here.”

The man before him seemed to deflate, his stoic expression faltering as he closed his eyes and breathed a relieved sigh. “Thank the stars. And she is safe?”

“She is safe, but I must tell you, sir, your daughter has been very ill.” Seeing the general step forward, his shoulders raised and his eyes wide, Jim held out his hands in a placating gesture. “She is recovering. Recovering well, actually.”

The general stepped back, his posture relaxing. “And can I see her?”

Jim called into the hall, and when Camila came, she informed him Hazel was being bathed. He translated for the general, inviting him to be seated until she was ready to receive a visitor.

The general took a seat, accepting the offered sherry.

Jim braced himself, pushing out the words he knew he must say. “I believe Miss Thornton lives with relatives in London?” The general nodded, and he continued. “I would recommend that she return as soon as she is able to travel.” He swallowed the emotion that swelled in his throat. “Hospitals are filled with people and disease, and pneumonia leaves a patient weak and susceptible to reinfection. Our supplies here are delivered irregularly, and once a medicine is depleted, there is no guarantee of when more will arrive.”

“I can believe it,” General Thornton said. “Blasted inconvenient to travel around here. It took days to find a coach, and the nearest train station is nearly thirty miles away over mountain roads.” He set his glass on the table between the chairs. “But she will recover.”

It was not a question, but he looked to Jim as if he expected confirmation. “If she continues as she is now, she will recover. But, General, there is always the chance—”

General Thornton held up a hand, stopping the words, and Jim wondered whether hearing them would be too difficult or whether he simply would not allow himself to consider the alternative. “She’s a strong one, my Hazel. Endured a lot for one so young. An exceptional woman.”

Jim nodded, pleased at the man’s assessment of his daughter. He completely agreed with it. “We have been very fortunate to have her,” he said. “You may not know that she has worked here as a nurse these past weeks. She has been well trained and has a certain instinct for the work.”

“Gets that from her mother,” the general said. “You never met a gentler woman. Always helping. Always concerned.” He stared ahead, seeming to be lost in a memory. “One day she’d be making a warm compress for a neighbor’s toothache, and the next she was cleaning and stitching up a boy’s scraped knee.” He smiled with fondness. “She was a healer, but more than that, people just wanted to be near her. Something special about her. She gave comfort to the sick and infirm.”

The man could have been describing Hazel exactly. “Miss Thornton is quite the same.”

The general shook himself from his musing. “I beg your pardon. Has she had enough time now, do you think?”

“Why don’t we find out.” Jim led him down the stone passageway to the wards.

The general appeared suitably impressed with the converted monastery, studying the high ceilings and doors they passed. “I’ve seen hospitals all over the world, but this is truly a sight. What a magnificent building.” He looked approvingly at the doorway into the ward, noting the thick stone around the archway and the heavy wooden door.

“Miss Thornton,” Jim called out when they reached the curtains around her bed. “You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Hazel’s voice was both tired and surprised. “Please, bring them in.”

He pulled the fabric aside, holding it as the general entered.

Hazel sat up in the bed, propped up with pillows. She was writing in what looked to be a journal. Her hair was damp and freshly washed, the small hairs around her forehead and cheeks curling as they dried. She had changed from her hospital clothes to her own nightclothes, a gown with a high lace neck and ribbons on her sleeves. She set down her pencil, squinted for an instant, and her expression lit up as if she’d stepped out into the sunlight. “Father.” She clasped her hands, then held out her arms. “Oh, Father, you’ve come.” Her voice was heavy with emotion.

The general went to her, sitting on her bed as they embraced.

Hazel laid her head on her father’s shoulder, tears falling on her cheeks. “You’re here at last,” she said.

Her father pulled back, holding her hands as he looked at her. “Oh, my dear, you are very pale. And so thin.”

“I am much improved.” She waved her hand as if to push away his worries, then looked toward the doorway. “J—Dr. Jackson, can you believe my father is here?”

Jim smiled his acknowledgment. He stepped inside the curtain, and feeling as if he needed a reason for being there, he picked up her chart, looking over her noted vital signs.

“I have missed you,” Hazel said to her father. She leaned back on her pillows, smiling but looking very tired. Washing her hair and changing clothes had clearly worn her out.

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