Page 8 of Healing Hazel

The orderlies helped the woman with the fractured ankle onto a stretcher and lifted it slowly. One of the men hitched up his side, trying to get a better grip. The motion jostled the woman, and she let out a word that was best unused in polite circles, especially by a lady.

Dr. Laurent raised his brows.

The young woman gasped at the expletive.

“Cuidado,” Jim told the orderlies, stifling a smirk.

The young woman took the elder’s hand, walking alongside the stretcher and speaking softly. She brushed a curl from the woman’s forehead, and Jim wondered at the relationship. Was the injured woman her relative? And aunt, perhaps? But he tossed away the question. He had dozens of injured to attend to, and personal details made no difference in the patient’s treatment.

Once the injured woman had been taken away, the young lady returned. She looked hesitant, as if unsure whether to speak. “There are quite a few who need stitches,” she said in her soft voice. “And some with broken bones.”

Obviously, Jim thought, but he did not speak aloud. There was far too much to do, and this young woman, pretty though she was, was not helping things with her observations. He dug into his medical bag, and finding a roll of bandages, he set to work splinting a young girl’s wrist.

“Zhey have been treated?” Dr. Laurent pointed to the bandages wrapped around various appendages. He was speaking to the young woman again.

Someone had been creative. Bandages were torn from clothing or table linens, and in at least a few cases, luggage was being used to elevate injuries.

“I only tried to stop the bleeding,” the young woman said quietly. “And keep the wounds clean.”

Jim looked up. “Youdid this?”

“I—yes, well, I did what I could.”

Jim frowned, irritated. “You could have easily made their injuries worse. Have you any training for this sort of thing?”

“I—” she began, looking flustered. She clasped her hands and stared at them. “In a manner of speaking, you see—”

“And what is your name, mademoiselle?” Dr. Laurent asked in a kind voice, saving her from embarrassment. Dr. Laurent was much more of a gentleman than Jim would ever be.

The young woman turned fully toward the Frenchman. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Hazel Thornton.” She curtsied.

“Enchantée, Mademoiselle Thornton.” Dr. Laurent took Miss Thornton’s hand, kissing the air above it.

“Oh.” Her cheeks turned the palest shade of pink. “Yes, thank you.”

“Anyone left on the train?” Jim asked, returning to the business at hand. They had no time for the Frenchman’s flirting.

“Those men there can tell you if there are others,” Miss Thornton said. She pointed to a group of men helping the orderlies with the stretchers. “But they speak only Spanish. Have you someone to translate?”

“I havemoi, mademoiselle.” Dr. Laurent flashed a smile and gave a flourishing bow, then left to speak to the men.

“You don’t speak Spanish?” Jim asked when he and Miss Thornton were left alone. “How did you communicate with them?” Jim glanced toward the men and then turned back to continue suturing the man’s shoulder wound.

“We used hand motions. Or, occasionally, one of us would understand a word the other said. It was not very effective.”

“Got the job done,” Jim admitted. Finished with the man’s shoulder, he stood and motioned to Miss Thornton’s injured hand. She offered it, and he untied the knot and pulled away the wrapping.

Miss Thornton sucked in a breath through her teeth.

Jim looked closer at the laceration. It was deep but not alarmingly so. “This should be sutured,” he said. Their eyes met, and Jim felt a pull of attraction. The unexpected response caught him off guard. “To close the wound and minimize blood loss and chance for infection.” He kept speaking as he reined in his emotions, irritated with himself. There were people dying around him.

She pulled away and took the handkerchief, wrapping it back around her hand. “It can wait.” She motioned to the nurses and their rows of patients waiting for treatment.

Jim agreed. It could indeed. He motioned for his team to follow, tipped his hat, and left the young lady, making his way to the crater, where some form of explosive had obliterated the track, knowing from experience that the most critically injured patients would be there, in the heart of the attack. The nurses were already tending to burn victims there. He smelled the burning flesh from yards away, and his stomach sank as he calculated how many doses of morphine the hospital had on hand. It was never enough.

Jim worked steadily for an hour, assessing injuries, sending patients to the ambulance wagon, and binding wounds. If only he’d arrived sooner. For some, too much time had passed for treatment to be effective. He found himself grinding his teeth, frustrated at the wasted hours.

As he and the other medical staff moved among the wounded, Jim noticed occasionally that Miss Thornton still followed Dr. Laurent as he examined and treated patients. The older man even gave her assignments along with the other nurses. The Frenchman, apparently, couldn’t resist the company of the pretty young woman.

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