Some Enchanted Waltz, A Time Trave Romance

by Lily Silver

“Did you see the man’s face, girl.” A terse male voice barked on the other side.

  The maid was sobbing, and whoever was questioning her was not the least bit compassionate. “Is ‘e dead?” Dan held his breath, trying not to give any sign of his presence as the tension mounted.

  “He might well be, if ye don’t buck up and tell us what the bla’guard looked like what shot him.”

  “I only saw his back … as he was running’ … and my lady screaming’ like the Banshee herself.” The girl sobbed.

  “Enough.” Another harsh voice chided. “The girl’s upset, we’ll get nothin’ from that one just yet. Constable O’Rourke wants us to search the alleys. The Butler gave us a brief description of Lord Dillon’s assailant. We’ll have the bastard hung up by nightfall.”

  Lord Dillon’s assailant? Dan’s heart went as cold as his wet clothing.

  Heavy footsteps moved away from the kitchens and Dan could hear the serving maid weeping in the pantry beyond the basement door.

  “There now.” It was the voice of Mrs. Chatham. Obviously she was none the worse from her little drug induced nap. “We’ve got to be strong, Maura, for Lady Tara. She’ll be needed us to help her in the days ahead. None of yer tears. He’s not dead yet.”

  The women drew back with great gasps as Dan flung the door open at the housekeeper’s last words. “What is going on?”

  “Mr. MacNeill.” Mrs. Chatham clutched her chest with fright. “Mercy, you’re as black as the devil himself.”

  The bleeding would not stop. The cloth Tara had pressed against Adrian’s side was saturated, just like the growing pile on the floor at her feet. Adrian was unconscious, unaware of her desperate attempt to save his life. Dr. Kehoe stood opposite her, arguing the merits of his methods while Adrian’s wound continued to bleed out.

  The man scowled at her from the other side of the bed, disapproving of a noble lady sullying her hands and expensive gowns with the blood of her husband when a perfectly good doctor was in residence. He was a snob, the doctor of snobs and backward, superstitious fools.

  “I must examine him, Madame, stand aside or I shall have the servants take you away.”

  Chatham sent for the neighborhood doctor thinking he was doing the best for his lord, not realizing the man was no better than a witch doctor with his cobwebs and bleeding pans.

  “Where did you get your medical degree, on a back of the box of Wheaties? Cobwebs do not bind wounds or stop bleeding. Their dusty and dirty and you’ll not put them anywhere near him. Now get out.” Tara growled. Her throat felt raw from the rough response but she was ready to do battle with the man if need be to protect Adrian.

  It was at that precise moment when Dan’s impressive frame filled the doorway.

  “I say, remove yourself, Lady Dillon, or I shall have you removed physically.”

  “You’ll be taking me out first.” The giant growled as he advanced to the bed.

  “What happened to you?” Tara gazed at him incredulously. His fine clothes were coated in black soot. Aside from his grime, Dan appeared to be soaked to the skin.

  “Who is this?” Dr. Kehoe sneered, taking in Dan’s beggarly appearance and his black, sooty face.

  Dan puffed himself up as he stood behind Tara. “I’m a paramedic on the Marinette County Rescue Squad. I’ll be the one taking over here, not you.”

  “Not until you get cleaned up.” Tara interjected, startled by the harshness of her voice. “I can’t stop the bleeding, Dan.” She was almost crying, desperate with fear that their arguing would waste precious time

  “Are you implying that you have medical training?” Kehoe asked with the imprecation that he doubted the fact.

  “Yes, Dammit. I’m a trained surgical nurse, I served in the First Gulf—“

  “I’m his wife.” Tara screamed at them with shrewish tones. “Stop arguing about who is better qualified and do something before he’s dead.” Her voice echoed with the strings of hysteria in the deep chamber.

  “The water is ready, my lady.” Mrs. Chatham and Maura entered the room bearing the needles, scissors and boiling water Tara had ordered.

  “Let me take over.” Dan placed his hand over Tara’s to remove the cloth she was holding. The blue eyes above hers were insistent. Tara lifted her chin in defiance. She didn’t want to let go. Adrian was her life. Her own blood might as well be spilling on the sheets.

  “I know what needs to be done and how to do it.” Dan insisted in an even tone, his eyes boring into hers.

  “I know enough not to bleed him or put filthy cobwebs in an open wound. I love him, and I’ll not let someone else kill him.”

  “So you intend to do the honors yourself? I don’t love him. That is precisely why I’m ordering you to step away and let me handle it. I know this, I can do this, I know what to look for, now step back.”

  Tara nodded. She took in deep gulps of air and tried to choke back the fear threatening to claim her senses.

  “Prepare a washbasin for Mr. MacNeill.” Tara commanded, wiping a stray curl from her forehead with her wrist and gesturing for the maid to put the sterilized utensils on the stand near the bed.

  “Keep the pressure firm while I get scrubbed. Could be a punctured Femoral artery. Good girl.” Dan eyed the doctor’s bag on the floor near the bed. He stepped closer to it.

  “And just what do you intend to do with my tools.” The angry exclamation echoed from across the room. Dr. Kehoe’s face flushed.

  Ignoring the doctor’s outburst, Dan bent down and lifted the bag from the floor. “Maura, take the instruments out of this to the kitchen and hard boil them in water on the hearth. Heaven knows what diseases he’s passed from patient to patient.”

  “No one touches my instruments.”

  “Or what, you’ll sue me?” Dan snarled. The dangerous look in his cool blue eyes brooked no interference. “Get in my way and I’ll throw you out the window

  The doctor glowered at him, yet didn’t stop Maura from grabbing his surgical instruments from his case, placing them in her apron, and hurrying from the room.

  “Hurry, girl. We’ve no time to waste. Mrs. Chatham, I will need more towels to soak up the blood, and some strong lads to hold him down.”

  Tara had all she could do not to collapse from raw nerves and fear. Dan took the boiling water from the housekeeper, pouring some into the washbasin in the corner along with cool water from the pitcher. He gestured to the footman to take the bucket back to the bed. He removed his soiled shirt. Tara watched him out of the corner of her eye as she continued to put pressure on Adrian’s wound. The water in the basin was steaming. Dan lathered up his arms, washed his face, and took the clean shirt offered him by the second footman while the doctor leaned over the bed to examine Adrian.

  Eighteenth Century medicine had not been part of her research. Tara knew only that they put a great stock in bleeding patients and the use of leeches. She knew George Washington had died from too many bleedings attempted too close together when he suffered pneumonia.

  “Get over there and wash up.” She heard Dan’s gruff baritone as he rounded on the doctor from behind. “Scrub those hands, Mister; Rule Number One. Mrs. Chatham, you as well, if you intend to touch Dillon at all. Tara, let me see his wound.” Dan’s hand replaced hers on the pressure cloth. He gently pushed her back. “My God, girl, you’re a bloody mess. Go stand over there, by the window.”

  Now that Dan was in charge, Tara felt the strains of panic and nausea welling up. There was so much blood. She shook her head as the pile of bloody linens grew on the floor. Adrian was as pale as death, so still on the bed. Her dress was stained with crimson, from her wrists up to the elbows, and the skirt was a sorry mess. She moved to the window, opening it to fill her lungs with fresh air in the claustrophobic room.

  Maura returned with the sterilized instruments. She stood beside the bed next to Dan, holding them on a silver tray as Mrs. Chatham and Dr. Kehoe assisted him. Tara could only stand at the window and watch. She’d never been
any good at medical stuff. She did what she had to until Dan arrived. Now, she was shaking so badly she feared she would pass out from shock.

  “The bullet just missed entering his lower left quadrant,” Dan explained, as the people beside him looked at each other as if he’d quoted scriptures in Latin. He looked at Dr. Kehoe. “The abdominal cavity is divided into four sections, thus quadrants. We need to explore the lower left quadrant for any and all possible injuries from the bullet’s path. It entered below the quadrant, in the hip region. Its path may have been deflected up into major organs. I’ve not located the ball as yet. God, what I wouldn’t give for a primitive x-ray machine right now.”

  “It may have deflected off his hip bone.” Dr. Kehoe suggested. “Traveling up into the intestinal regions, the lower stomach.”

  “It depends on the angle of the gun when it was fired, and the muzzle velocity. It appears that the man aimed low or else Adrian moved as he was firing.” Dan continued, enlarging the opening of the skin with a surgical knife and probing with his forefinger inside of Adrian’s body. At his probing, Adrian’s eyelids fluttered briefly, he groaned and twisted away from the invasive fingers.

  Tara spun about with her hands over her mouth. Gagging, trying to hold back the vomit rising in her throat, she grabbed the water pitcher from the dressing stand as a fit of retching overwhelmed her.

  “Damn.” The tall Norwegian swore as he withdrew his fingers and shook his head. “My hands are too big. We need small hands, thin fingers.”

  Tara lifted her face from the pitcher to find all eyes turned toward her. “I can’t!”

  “Mum, you’ve the smallest hands here.” Mrs. Chatham moved toward Tara.

  “No.” Tara protested as the housekeeper placed an arm about her and walked her toward the bed. “I’ll faint … I’m not a doctor.”

  “Tara.” Dan was shaking her, his bloody hands leaving rings about her arms as he released her. “You have to. We need to find that bullet. If his intestines are pierced, I can try to repair the damage. I’ve seen it done a million times. But, first, we have to find the the bullet, and the path it took through his body.”

  Tara moved as if in a dream, outside of herself. Her two fingers gently probed the bloody mass of tissue inside her husband’s body. She could feel no hard lead ball within.

  Her fingers touched a hard, smooth surface. She pulled her hand back with a jerk. She gagged, tried to back away. Dan stood behind her, preventing her escape.

  “Easy, my girl.” His baritone whispered. “What did you find?”

  “I touched bone.” Tara shivered, and jerked her head back, trying to control her gag reflex.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes—“

  “Again, just to make sure. Close your eyes this time. Just concentrate on what you feel. Trace the tip of your finger over it and tell me what it feels like.” Tara listened to his soothing voice. She closed her eyes and carefully probed inside the wound again, following the entry path. Her forefinger was buried up to the last knuckle, and still the path continued through his body.

  “What the devil?” Dan exclaimed from behind her. “Wait,” He ordered. Tara withdrew her finger from Adrian’s side. Dan drew closer and lifted Adrian slightly, turning him on his side expose his back. A small hole the size of Tara’s thumb oozed crimson just above the back of his hip.

  “An exit wound.” Dan muttered in a rush of breath.

  Both Dan and Dr. Kehoe heaved a heavy sigh of relief as Tara stood by her husband’s unconscious form, staring at her hand with horror as it dripped crimson. Gradually she became aware of her own sobs as tears dripped down her chin.

  “Oh, Shit—Tara. She’s in shock, Maura take her out of here.”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  “He’s lost a lot of blood.” Dan informed Tara as he stood in the doorway to the small bedroom across the hall.

  “That’s not good.”

  “You got that right, kid. The bullet went through his hip. Fortunately, it passed through him low enough to miss vital organs. We need to do a peritoneal lavage, for safety sake.” Dan rattled off, “It’s a fancy term for washing out the abdominal cavity with a saline solution. It will help me to ascertain any further injury from the bullet course”

  “Are you saying it’s not serious?” Tara breathed.

  “Oh, it serious, not necessarily fatal. My main concern is that the bullet might have perforated his intestines. If it’s a small tear, I can stitch it. That depends on where it is. I couldn’t do a colostomy. I haven’t the tools or the experience.”

  Tara studied him. No longer her beloved sarcastic companion, Dan had become the medical professional. She had never seen this side of him before. He was cool, clinical and self-assured, and she had no idea what he was talking about.

  “In the long term, he might lose all motion in his left leg. He might not be able to walk. He might walk with a limp. He might still develop septicemia. We aren’t out of the woods yet, he’s weak from shock and loss of blood.” Dan’s somber eyes offered little comfort. “I’m going to clean up. I’ll let you know what we find out from the lavage.”

  “It was clear.” Dan informed Tara an hour later as she entered Adrian’s chamber. “Just a small amount of blood from his wound, a slight pinkishness to the fluid.”

  Tara gave him a level look as she stopped halfway between the door and the bed.

  “The lavage. It was clear. That’s good news, girl.”

  Good news. Adrian lay still and pale on the bed, covered only by a sheet. His usual sun kissed glow was gone. His face was chalk white, the skin beneath his eyes grey, his mouth twisted in a grimace.

  Tara embraced him desperately, washing his face with her tears. “Oh, God …”

  Dan watched her from the opposite side of the bed. “He woke. I gave him more of Mrs. Chatham’s sedative. It should help the pain, for now. Dr. Kehoe left a bottle of Laudanum. I’ll use that later.”

  “He was awake. Did he ask for me? Why didn’t you send for me?”

  Dan grimaced, looking hard away from her. “I didn’t think you should see him like that. It was during the lavage. It was enough to hold him down for it”

  “I was downstairs for only a few moments, in the kitchen.”

  “You didn’t hear him then? Good. I was surprised when you didn’t come barreling through that door. He was furious.”

  Tara hugged the unconscious form of her spouse to her again. “Angry with me?”

  “No.” Dan’s voice rose with the pronouncement as he gave her a curious look. “He was afraid you were dead. He thought the bullet grazed him and took you out. I told him you were fine.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” The force of the accusation made her throat ache.

  “Like I said, he had the basting tube stuck inside the incision I made, and he was thrashing about, mad as a bull, ready to kill the bastard he thought killed his wife, and in an extreme amount of pain. I didn’t think you needed that little scene right now. Besides, with Dr. Kehoe and me trying to hold him still so Mrs. Chatham didn’t impale his internal organs with the tube, we had our hands full.”

  She smoothed the soft raven locks of her beloved on the pillow. “I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it. Good God, he’s alive, we’re all alive, and safe, for the moment.”

  “You never did tell me what happened to you?” Tara offered him a shaky smile.

  “Later, I’m so tired I could drop. I sent that idiot they call a doctor home. You were right, kid. He would have finished our boy off if you hadn’t intervened. Tried the cobweb prescription on me, too. Even said a good bleeding in two days time would speed his recovery. What our man here needs is transfusion. We haven’t anything close to the equipment needed for that undertaking.”

  “Will he die?”

  “I don’t know–he lost a large amount of blood–-I just don’t know.” Dan shook his head, offering her nothing to cling to. “If we were back in our own time a physician ordering a few unit
s from the blood bank in the lab would be all it would take–and some strong antibiotics. He’s weak. He could very well recover with the proper care, or he could develop septicemia—blood poisoning.”

  Tara pulled her gaze away from the frail form on the pillows. “Please, Dan, there has to be something we can do.”

  The giant nodded. “There is, we can keep his wound clean, keep him drinking fluids and completely prostrate until the wound begins to close so his hip joints and ligaments don’t heal cockeyed. We can do it, with a lot of care, we can keep him going;. I’ll try to think of something we can give him to emulate antibiotics. I can’t promise anything. I’m a bit rusty. Oh, God, I’m tired, what time is it?” Dan leaned against the bed post and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Ten, maybe eleven p.m.” Tara released Adrian. She adjusted the pillows beneath his head and stroked his pale cheek. “Dan, we need to talk.” She straightened.

  “You’re wondering about my medical talents. A bit much for a Paramedic, hey?” He paced to the foot of the bed, and then across the room to the chaise and plopped down with a groan.

  “Surgical Nurse, 347th Medical Unit, Baghdad, First Gulf War. That’s what I was, at twenty five. You weren’t the least bit curious as to how I knew so much about drugs and their components earlier this morning? Or was it last night?” He felt his shirt for the perpetual pack of cigarettes he needed whenever life became stressful. Not finding it, he stood up and moved across the room to where his soiled jacket lay on the floor near the washbasin. Finding his tobacco and his pipe, he gave Tara a short nod of relief.

  “I was more concerned with Adrian at the moment. You were a paramedic or EMT on the rescue squad in Marinette, I remember.”

  “Yeah,” Dan lit his pipe and tossed the thin wooden stick that resembled a kabob prong into the hearth fire. “Took me close to twenty years to be allowed even that much. I was dishonorably discharged from the army in ’92, had my nursing license revoked for drug abuse during my tour of duty.” He stopped to inhale, and more importantly, Tara assumed, to assess her response to his confession.