by Joyce Armor
He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to let her fix breakfast, however, if she had her mind set on it. The sooner he ate it, the sooner she would be gone.
She already had the bacon cooking and was whisking the eggs in a bowl by the time he had completed that thought. Had she told him she was bossy in one of her letters? He couldn’t remember.
“Do you like your scrambled eggs hard cooked?”
“Surprise me.” He turned and hobbled away.
What a pill. Bridget watched him go, favoring the injured leg. She should feel beaten down by now after his barrage of insults, but somehow she felt energized. It truly was a battle of wills, and Karl Burgen didn’t know obstinate until he met Bridget O’Hara. She almost relished the upcoming skirmishes.
They ate breakfast in silence. Well, in Karl’s silence. After several minutes, Bridget began chattering on about the farm in Pennsylvania, her parents and siblings and her trip west. Karl continued eating without looking at her and without responding. Hardheaded man.
When he finished eating, he got up from the table—Bridget could see it was a struggle—and shuffled over to his easy chair by the fire. He painstakingly put his leg up on the ottoman, leaned back and closed his eyes, effectively shutting Bridget out. She sighed. Men could be so infantile.
She took the dishes to the kitchen and plotted her strategy as she washed and dried them. This really did feel like combat. She knew she would lose some battles, but she meant to win the war. Her da didn’t talk much about the War Between the States, but she did remember him describing one skirmish at Gettysburg. The worst part of any battle, worse than thinking it may be your last, he had said, was the waiting. His men were entrenched near a field of open ground, and they could see the rebels advancing. They could wait until they were set upon or leap out of the trench and surprise the Confederates. His commander chose the latter option and they prevailed.
That’s what she would do, she decided. She would leap out of the trench and surprise Karl. With that in mind, she put the last dish away, hung up the drying towel, smoothed down her gray skirt and strode out of the kitchen. She took a moment to study her former fiancé, who obviously wanted her to think he was asleep in the chair. His face was a bit gaunt from his trials, his chocolate brown hair scraggly, but there was no doubt he was a handsome man, square jawed with prominent cheek bones and an aquiline nose. He looked manly, she decided, and would be a formidable opponent at full strength. If she prevailed in this struggle, it would most likely only be because he was in a weakened state.
She almost smiled as she kneeled down beside him. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, she began massaging his injured leg, starting at the thigh and working her way down. He jerked and tried to pull away.
“What the hell are you doing?” he spat out.
“I’m massaging your leg,” she said calmly.
“Well, stop it.”
The more he struggled to pull away, the tighter she held him in place.
“It’s not proper for you to be touching me.”
She laughed. “If you want to convince me you care a whit about that, Karl Burgen, you’re going to have to try a lot harder.”
He was sputtering now, fighting the sensations that actually felt kind of good when he wasn’t pulling against her, when he could try to relax. He supposed the sky wouldn’t fall if she had her way this once. He was still furious that someone had drugged him, and he was pretty sure who that someone was.
“You drugged me.”
She didn’t try to avoid his angry stare. She looked him right in the eye. “Yes. I did.”
“Why?”
She kept massaging him, kneading his leg deeper and deeper. Then suddenly she stopped and got a thoughtful look on her face. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he missed her touch.
“I’m considered the healer in my family, Karl. Do you mind if I call you Karl? Of course you don’t. We were engaged.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m gifted in the medical arts. Always have been. I’m not a doctor, but I know a lot about healing, about treatments and remedies that have been handed down through the generations.”
“Hmmph,” was the best he could come up with.
“Would you have let me examine you if I had asked you?”
He didn’t reply, just scowled.
“Of course not. You’re mule-headed and contrary. So I did what I had to do to be able to assess your situation and I’ll not apologize for it.”
“Get out.”
“The bone in your leg has healed properly. It’s the muscles that have weakened. If the broken leg had been your only injury, that probably would not have happened. But with your broken ribs, you were immobile so long that the muscles deteriorated. With massage and exercise, we can strengthen the muscles and the pain and limp should go away or at least lessen considerably.”
“I want you out of here. Go back to Pennsylvania with your quackery.”
“Your arm is a different matter.”
The woman was deaf and the most annoying person he had ever met. If he just had his strength, he would manhandle her. He would throw her out the door, that’s what he’d do.
“The bone is healing slightly askew. It’s pinching a nerve, which both causes pain and weakens your hand. The fix for that is more extreme, I’m afraid. We need to re-break the arm and set it correctly. If it’s aligned properly, you should notice a difference as soon as the initial swelling goes down.”
Karl felt so irate he could barely speak. He actually sputtered before he could get a word out. “I wouldn’t even let the actual doctor treat me. If you think I would allow you to damage my arm worse than it already is, you’re plum crazy. Now get the hell out of my cabin.”
Bridget sighed and stood up. “Just think about what I said. And practice lifting your leg and holding it up for 10 seconds at a time. And flexing and rotating your ankle each way in repetitions of 10.”
She picked up the bag she had brought the food in and walked out, her chin held high, her long braid bouncing on her shoulder. She didn’t slam the cabin door, but she did close it forcefully. He might have smiled if he wasn’t still so put out with the interfering woman. He should have had her build the fire. Now he would have to do it with his weak hand and bum leg. At least he wasn’t hungry. Many mornings he had sat in this chair listening to his stomach growling but not having the will or strength to get up and fix something to eat.
He tried to make a fist and looked at his sore arm. It didn’t look like the bone was crooked. It hurt, though. Why would it still be hurting this long after the accident? Could Little Miss Know-It-All be right about her assessment? He dismissed it. What would a farm girl from Pennsylvania know about medicine? At least she didn’t try to bleed him.
* * *
In the following week, Bridget trudged to the cabin every day and made breakfast for Karl. Most days she also left a prepared meal for later, sometimes sandwiches or soup, other times stew or a casserole. She was surprised on the seventh day when he accepted her offer to shave him. She didn’t tell him she had never done it before, but he didn’t currently feel the usual need for self-preservation, not much caring if she cut his throat. So she had her way with him and did a creditable job if she did say so herself, with only a minor nick on his face here and there.
While she was at it, she washed and cut his hair. What emerged when she was done was a truly nice-looking man, although it was obvious, even in his face, that he had lost some weight. If his eyes weren’t so filled with pain and despair, not to mention hostility, he would be the handsomest man she had ever seen. After she cleaned up, once completing his transformation, she began massaging his leg, a task she had done every day for the last week. She had showed him how to flex and rotate his ankle and other exercises and could only hope he was doing them when she wasn’t around because he never did them when she was there.
As she massaged him, she glanced up at him and smiled. He didn’t want to feel anything, but he couldn�
�t help the thumping of his heart. She was all that was right and good in the world, and he would never forget her thoughtfulness and care. If things were different, he would hold onto Bridget O’Hara and never let her go.
“Have you thought about what I said about your arm?”
“I’m not going to let you break my arm. You’re crazy.”
“Even if it would alleviate the problem?”
“You cannot make my arm better by making it worse. It doesn’t make sense.”
She sighed, shaking her head as she stood. He shrunk back as she kissed his cheek and walked off. Just before she left, she turned and said, “Could it get any worse?”
Yes, I could lose the arm. And just that notion put a crack in the hard block encasing his mind and heart. It was a stunning thought somehow. Things could be worse. As simple a concept as it was, in his depressed state the thought had never occurred to him. It somehow made his situation a little better. Not great, not even good, but better.
* * *
Bridget, Gus and Per had discussed Karl’s arm for days, and Bridget was getting frustrated.
“The longer we wait, the worse it’s going to be. The bone isn’t totally healed yet and will break relatively easily, but if we wait and it knits up any more, it will be almost impossible to break it in the same spot, and I could end up making it worse rather than better. It has to be now, Gus.”
Per was in agreement, but Gus still wavered.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I’ve done it before, Gus, on our farmhand Colter. It was his leg, but it’s the same principle. We re-broke it, lined it up correctly and he doesn’t even have a limp today.”
“How would you break it?”
“I need a chisel and a hammer.”
Gus cringed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked at Per.
“I trust her, Gus. She knows what she’s doing.”
He turned to Bridget and nodded. “All right.”
“I’ll have to dose him.”
“You know he hates to take drugs.”
“Well, believe me, he would hate it more without any medication. And I doubt the two of you could hold him down long enough for me to do the procedure.”
Gus let out a deep sigh and stood. “I’ll get the tools.”
“And a board to put under his arm.”
Per reached over and squeezed her cousin’s hand. “We’ll help you. Just tell us anything else you need.”
Bridget smiled, but it was a sad smile. She couldn’t guarantee Karl would be better off; something could always go wrong. She thought he had forgiven her for dosing him the first time. She didn’t have any misconceptions that he would forgive her again. He would see it as a betrayal, and he would be in enough pain for a while to feed the anger that engendered. She sighed heavily as she got up. Some things were just worth it, and making Karl well again and free of pain fell into that category. So what if it breaks your heart?
Chapter 3
Bridget made breakfast as usual, flapjacks, ham and strawberries, with a nice cold glass of laudanum-laced milk. When she, Gus and Per returned 35 minutes later, Karl was out cold in his chair. Per spread a blanket on the floor and instructed Gus to lay his brother out on it. She removed his shirt, marveling again at his broad, muscled chest. Even with the weight loss, it still was impressive. What she wouldn’t give to run her hands through his dusting of brown chest hair. She shook her head, stifling her burgeoning wanton thoughts, and concentrated on the task at hand. She carefully turned Karl so he was lying on his stomach.
As Gus built up the fire and Per opened the shutters, Bridget set out her equipment and medicinal items, including carbolic acid, her numbing and healing salves, bandaging and new splints. She untied the cloth strips holding Karl’s arm splints in place and carefully removed them. Next, she slid the board under Karl’s arm and willed her pulse to slow down. She had to be calm and steady to perform this procedure. She also uttered a prayer that God would guide her hands and that Karl would find relief and not think too badly of her. She stopped short at asking for forgiveness from the battered man. She didn’t believe he would give it this time and wasn’t sure she deserved it.
Looking from Per to Gus, she gave a determined nod and laid a little folded cloth over the arm where the new break would occur. She picked up the hammer and chisel. Gus held Karl’s arm flat and in place, and Per held his shoulders down. Bridget felt along the injured appendage until she came to the misaligned bone. Holding her finger at the spot, she moved the chisel there. When she broke the bone with a surprisingly hard but swift motion of the hammer, Karl moaned but didn’t regain consciousness. Gus was surprised at how deftly Bridget made the break and yanked and realigned the bone. He could see a bruise already forming where she had hit his arm, but mercifully it had not broken the skin. Karl moaned again and would have moved if Gus and Per hadn’t been holding him down.
Bridget gently washed the arm with carbolic acid, even though the skin was intact, dried it and then slathered on some of her numbing salve. Then Per held the splints in place as she tightly tied them with several clean cloth strips. After that the healer sat back, tears streaming down her face. Her cousin pulled her into her arms and hugged her.
“You were magnificent. I’m so proud of you.”
“There’s no guarantee it will work.”
“You did your best, Bridget,” Gus said. “That’s all you can do. You gave my stubborn brother the best chance to recover, and I thank you for that.”
“Let’s move him to his bedroom. I’ll get a pitcher and some water to set on the nightstand. He’ll be thirsty when he wakes up. He’ll also be in pain, but it shouldn’t be too much worse than it’s already been, and I don’t want to dose him ever again unless he asks for it.”
Gus couldn’t help but notice how sad Bridget sounded. Her personality seemed flat. He exchanged a look with his wife and could see she was thinking the same thing. Bridget believed in saving Karl she had lost him.
After they got the patient settled in his bedroom, Gus took his leave to relieve their cowhand Jeff, who was watching the baby, and check on the cattle and Per began gathering up items they had brought. She glanced at her cousin.
“Let’s go drink coffee and talk about what’s wrong with men.”
Bridget smiled, but it was somehow a sorrowful smile. “I’m going to sit here with him until he wakes up. I want to make sure he doesn’t thrash around.”
“Are you sure? It could be a long time.”
“I brought a book. I’ll be fine.”
“All right, but if I hear any screaming or loud crashes, I’m coming back.”
Bridget smiled this time. “I think he’ll be too weak today after the trauma his body has been through.”
“I was talking about you.”
Bridget laughed. It was better than crying. She waved Per out and walked to Karl’s room, where she opened the shutters and settled down in the chair she had placed beside his bed. She studied the handsome, aggravating, hostile, good-hearted—deep down, anyway—man in the bed. He looked younger in his sleep, with the fierce expression gone and his jaw slack. Why did some people have to suffer so much while others less deserving skated through life? She knew obstacles and challenges were supposed to make a person stronger, but how strong was strong enough? Everyone had a breaking point.
Maybe he wouldn’t notice what she’d done. His arm was splinted before and it was still splinted. She held onto that hope for a few seconds before realizing the cloth ties were different and the pain would be different as well, more acute before the swelling and trauma subsided. She sighed. She did what she had to do; it was as simple as that. If Karl held a grudge, and she felt fairly certain he would, she had no control over that. But Bridget was no quitter. She would take his abuse for as long as she could and keep on doing whatever it took to make him well. That was her silent pledge to Karl Burgen as she watched him sleep.
* * *
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He was used to feeling pain when he awoke, but this was different than it had been lately. His arm was throbbing, each pulse painful. And his head was pounding. Again. It took him a few moments to orient himself, and when he did, he had one clear thought. Karl was going to kill Bridget. She had drugged him again. He knew it. He felt a weight on his side and something tickled his good arm. He turned slowly, almost dreading what he would see. Yep, it was a long, thick, dark red braid, with hair escaping from different parts. Bridget was asleep in his bed. What the hell.
He was so stunned and infuriated and thrilled and flabbergasted, he was momentarily paralyzed. Then his arm throbbed and he remembered the drugging and he gave her a healthy shove. She rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a hard thud.
“Ow!”
Damn, he didn’t mean to hurt her. He watched as she slowly pushed herself to a kneeling, then a standing position. Then she sunk into the chair by the bed. Her blue skirt and white blouse were wrinkled, her face pale, her hair in little wisps around her face where it had come out of the braid.
“Do you want some water?”
He leaned over to grab the pitcher and she swatted his hand. “I’ll do it.”
Bossy.
She poured him a glass of water and handed it to him.
He took it warily. “Is it drugged?”
She sighed. “No.”
She picked up a little packet. She knew he wanted to ask her what it was but was too pigheaded to do it. For a moment she thought of not telling him. Now that’s just immature. “It’s a tincture for your headache if you want it. You just mix it in the water.” She stood.
She wasn’t going to stay and argue with him, take his abuse?
“Try not to move the arm. It needs time for the bone to reknit. And keep up with your leg exercises. You should probably stay in bed today and move the arm as little as possible. Starting tomorrow, start slowly flexing the hand and picking up little things, like coins and buttons. Per is going to bring you some supper. Someone will check in on you periodically. I’m sorry.”