Nick turned his head toward the doctor, struggled to prop himself up on his elbow, tried to smile.
“Don’t have … giraffes or … warthogs, Karl, Godforsaken … or … otherwise.” He looked back to Mollie. “Mollie, this … here Prussian … is Karl … Boehm. He’s … insufferable, but … best surgeon… in Atlanta. Karl … my … wife, Mollie.” Exhausted, breathing hard, Nick collapsed back into the pillows.
Dr. Boehm’s brows shot up. “Vife! Vell, you haf been busy boy, haf you not?” He held out his hand to Mollie. “A pleasure, Madam. I’m sorry ve meet under such circumstances, but ve shall put things to right, never fear.”
Mollie took his hand, and somehow, the crushing weight of distress pressing on her shoulders eased. “Thank you, Dr. Boehm,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“Ach! It is nothing. Now, let us see vat you haf done to yourself, Nicholas.”
“It’s his right leg, Doctor,” Mollie said, worrying her lower lip as Karl pulled back the covers and arranged them to bare Nick’s leg with as much modesty as possible. He studied the dressing without touching it, then lightly ran his fingers over the ominous red streaks spidering out from beneath the bandage. He scowled, but said only, “Hmmm.”
Turning, Karl opened his bag, retrieved a pair of scissors and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He set them on the bedside table just as Ida entered the room carrying a basin of hot water.
“I thought you might need this, Doctor,” she said, setting the bowl on the table.
“Thank you, Missus,” Karl said. “And a small, clean bowl, too, if you please.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll get it right away.” She exchanged a quick, worried glance with Mollie, then hurried out again. Moments later, she was back with another bowl.
Karl nodded his thanks. Moving the larger bowl aside, he set the small basin on the table and held his hands over it. “If you vould be so kind,” he said to Ida, nodding at the bottle of alcohol.
“Oh … oh, yes, certainly,” Ida stammered. She uncorked the bottle and poured liquid liberally over the doctor’s hands.
“Ach. Very goot. Thank you,” Karl said, and Ida managed a small, anxious smile. She brushed her hands nervously over her apron and said, “I-I’ll go see to Marie. Just call if you need anything.” She bent and quickly brushed a kiss on her brother’s forehead. “Please, Nicky, y’all listen to the doctor now, won’t you?”
Nick grunted a barely audible assent and Ida sighed. Reaching across him, she patted Mollie’s hand. “I’ll be just outside, Mollie.”
Mollie nodded, managed a smile. “Thank you, Ida.”
“Of course. What’s family for, after all?” She gave her sister-in-law an encouraging smile, then gave her brother a small affectionate swat that was more of a pat. “You do as the doctor says, Nicky,” she said sternly, then turned and left the room.
Karl chuckled, but continued with his preparations. He held the scissors over the basin and poured alcohol over them, speaking thoughtfully as he did so.
“Vell, Nicholas. There is inflammation of surrounding tissue, but I see at least you haf had a bit of sense today, my boy, as you haf cleaned the vound with iodine and this is a proper dressing. For that ve shall haf small gratitude.” He leaned down, began to cut away the bandage.
“I didn’t…,” Nick began, then sucked in a gasp as a jolt of pain shot through his leg. Blindly, he reached out for Mollie’s hand. She took it immediately, and his fingers curled tightly around her small hand.
Karl paused, and as the pain eased, Nick took a steadying breath and continued. “I … didn’t treat it … today. Mollie … did.”
Briefly, the doctor glanced up from his work, gave an approving nod. “Vell, I could always use experienced nurse, Missus Avinger, should you ever vish to … Ach! Vatever is this concoction?”
He lifted the gauze pad, turned it over to expose a smear of blue-tinged salve. One eyebrow arched questioningly as he peered at Mollie.
“It-it is a healing salve I made to treat the zoo animals,” she said. “I … well, it’s made from a number of ingredients.”
“Vich are?” Karl asked.
“Well, let’s see. There is, uh, queen’s root, some stoneroot, black cherry bark … and, um, there’s white vitriol, oh, and a little smartweed. I used some glycerin as a binder….”
“But vy,” Karl cut in, his suspicion warring with his natural curiosity, “is it blue?”
“Oh. That’s the bread mold,” Mollie said. “It tints the ointment.”
Karl’s other brow shot up. “Bread molt? You haf put molty bread in this ointment? On purpose?”
Mollie felt Nick’s eyes on her. She glanced down at him, and he nodded weakly, gave her a shaky smile. She turned her gaze back to Dr, Boehm and met his eyes squarely.
“Yes. Yes, Doctor, I did. You see, my mother was ill for many months. At first, she did not wish to leave her bed, despite all encouragement to do so, and as time went on….” Mollie trailed off, hesitated.
“She found she could not leave it,” Karl supplied.
Sighing, Mollie nodded. “That’s right. And despite all my efforts to change her position regularly, she would develop skin ulcers from lying down for so long. No matter what salves or lotions her doctor ordered, the sores proved very persistent and very slow to heal.”
“Yes, yes, that is often the case. But about the molt….” Karl persisted.
“Well,” Mollie went on, “in some desperation I began to ask about for remedies people swore by, and one neighbor suggested adding moldy bread to the salves. I was very skeptical that it would do any good, but I did not think it could do much harm, either. So I tried it. A few days later, the sores were clean and they began to heal. I was really quite astounded.”
“This is true?”
She nodded. “Yes. I don’t know why the bread mold works. But it does, at least, it has on most of the occasions I’ve used it.”
Karl frowned, set the dressing aside, and said, “Hmm. Most interesting, Missus.” He then said to Nick, “I am going to clean and examine the vound now, Nicholas. I vill try to be gentle, but it vill not be comfortable for you, I fear.”
Nick nodded. “Go ahead.”
The doctor took a cloth, soaked it in the hot water and then wrung it out. He took another bottle from his bag, uncorked it, and poured some of the liquid onto the cloth. Carefully, he began to clean away the salve and dried blood from the wound. Nick winced and a muscle kicked in his jaw as he gripped Mollie’s hand.
“Thirty … years in Georgia, Karl,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “and y’all still … can’t speak … English … worth a darn.”
Without looking up from his work, Karl said, “Perhaps I might haf if English ver spoken here.” Dryly, he added, “I ask you, how is it that one person can be a ‘y’all’? It does not make sense.”
He frowned then, probed a bit at the wound, made another ominous hmmm sound.
“What?” Nick rasped.
Karl shook his head. “It is not goot, Nicholas. You are in great danger from septicaemia.”
“No matter,” Nick grunted. “Do what you can, but the leg stays.”
“At perhaps the cost of your life? That is most foolish, Nicholas.”
Nick’s face turned thunderous and he struggled to sit up. “I … mean it, Karl. I … won’t let you take … my leg!”
Quickly, Mollie put her hand against Nick’s chest and said, “Now wait! Just wait a minute! Nick, lie back down, please.”
She pushed him gently and he gave way, collapsing back against the pillows, panting. His free hand clenched into a fist and he pounded it once, hard, against the mattress in frustration.
“Now listen. Both of you, please, just listen to me for a moment.” Mollie waited until both men’s attention turned to her. “Doctor Boehm,” she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling, “how long do you reckon we can safely wait for the salve to work before taking any more dr
astic steps?”
Karl frowned, considering. “Vell, this is most serious, and every hour matters.”
When Nick started to protest, Karl held up his hand and went on. “But … every hour in vich the septicaemia does not spread is hopeful. Ve vill need to vatch carefully that the redness is retreating, not spreading. If it vorsens, then ve are out of time. You understand?”
“Yes,” Mollie said. “Yes, I understand.”
“Nicholas?” The doctor’s expression was stern.
Nick sighed, weakly lifted a hand in a conceding gesture. “Yeah. But … understandin’s not … agreein’. Jus’ so … we got that … straight.”
“Ve shall see,” Karl said. “Now, ve vill prepare another dressing. You haf more of this salve, Missus?”
“Yes. I-I brought some with me.” Mollie stood and quickly retrieved the jar from a small nearby shelf. Handing it to the doctor, she sat down and took Nick’s hand once more.
“Goot.” As Karl began preparing a new dressing, he said, “Ve vill see how you pass the night, Nicholas.” He looked at Mollie. “If he takes a turn for the vorse, Missus, you must send for me at once, no matter the hour.”
“Yes. Yes, of course I will, Doctor,” Mollie said. “And we are so very much obliged.”
Nodding, Karl reached again into his bag, took out a small amber bottle. “This is laudanum. It must be used sparingly, but it vill help for sleep.” He placed the bottle on the table, then repacked his bag and closed it. He eyed Nick sternly. “Do as your goot vife says, Nicholas, and try to rest. It is most important to….”
“Mist’ Nick, what have you gone and done?” The bedroom door flew open and Willie Mae blew into the room like a small tornado, tying an apron about her waist as she rushed in.
She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Karl. “Doctor Boehm, that you, suh?” she said, peering at him. “Why, I haven’t seen y’all since you set my grandson Henry’s leg last spring.”
“How are you, Missus Villie Mae?” Karl asked, nodding. “And how is Henry? Given up trying to fly from the roof, I hope.”
“Oh, that boy!” Willie shook her head. “He’s fine, Doctor, thanks to you, suh. And there’ll be no more flyin’ for that boy, let me tell you.” She crossed to the bedside, propped her hands on her hips. “But what we got here? What trouble’d you find to get into, Mist’ Nick? An’ on yo’ honeymoon, suh!”
Mollie blushed, and Nick groaned, embarrassment staining his cheeks even brighter than the fever had.
Karl’s brows rose. This was proving to be a most interesting day. “Your honeymoon, Nicholas? That you did not tell me!”
Nick scowled at Willie Mae. “Miz Willie,” he muttered, “wasn’t this … your … day off?”
“Nobody goin’ to keep me away when one of my own’s in trouble, Mist’ Nick. Young Nestor had the sense to know Miz Ida wouldn’t be near as upset with him fetchin’ me as I’d’ve been with him if he hadn’t done. Now, y’all had best tell me what needs doin’ so I can get on to doin’ it.”
CHAPTER 18
Mollie toyed with her teacup, then picked up her fork and dispiritedly poked a bit at her food.
“Mollie, you must eat something, my dear, or we’ll have two patients on our hands instead of one,” Ida said gently.
“Are you sick too, Aunt Mollie?” Marie asked, her small face pinched with worry.
“Oh, no, no, I’m fine, Marie,” Mollie assured the little girl. “Just a bit tired, I reckon.” She turned to Ida. “I’m truly sorry, Ida. Supper is delicious. I guess I just haven’t much appetite tonight.”
“Now don’t you worry,” George put in. “Nick’s tough. He’ll get through this. But Ida’s right. You mustn’t make yourself sick as well.”
“You must stay here tonight,” Ida said, “and for as long as you wish. At least until Nick is fit to travel home.” She turned to her husband. “George, if you can spare Marcellus tomorrow, perhaps he could drive Mollie home so she can retrieve what she and Nick will need for the next few days.”
“Of course,” George agreed.
“Thank you,” Mollie said, relieved and grateful. “I know how troubling this all is. After all, we were only married yesterday, and now here we are washed up on your shore like shipwrecked sailors.”
George laughed. “Believe me, Mollie, there is rarely anything Nick does that surprises me.” He paused, shook his head. “I must say, however, he’s outdone himself this time.”
Mollie sighed, dropped her hands in her lap. “I know it was foolish of him to ignore his injury, but, well, he’s had so much on his mind lately, you see, and…” She paused, took a steadying breath. “…and well, some of it is … troublesome … for him.”
Both George and Ida stopped eating and stared at her before resuming their meal.
“Oh?” George asked, trying unsuccessful to sound only casually interested. “How so?”
“Marie,” Ida said abruptly, “you may have your dessert in the kitchen, and then it will be time for your bath. Come,” she said, pushing back from the table and holding out her hand to her daughter. “Let’s go see if Miz Willie Mae has any bread pudding left.”
“All right, Mama.” Marie looked about the table as she took her mother’s hand. “I’ll come tell you goodnight after my bath, Papa. You, too, Auntie.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Mollie said, and George added, “I’ll be right here, Princess.”
As Ida led Marie from the dining room, the little girl chatting all the way, Mollie cleared her throat. “George, might I, well, impose a little more upon your kindness? There is something I need to discuss with you.”
George leaned forward, clasped his hands together on the table. “Very well, Mollie. I’m all ears.”
“I-I should like to hire one of your construction crews to do some carpentry and plumbing alterations at Nick’s … I mean, at our house.”
“Alterations?”
“Yes. You see, with Nick’s permission, I’ve ordered new furnishings and equipment for the two unused bedrooms downstairs, and there will need to be new plumbing installed and a numbers of counters and shelves built in. Nick needs an office and treatment room at home, and I, well, I have a few other ideas for some of the upstairs space, too.”
“Ah, I see,” George smiled. “Well, I’m delighted you’re going to spruce that place up. The house is sturdy, you know, but it’s needed work ever since Nick bought it. So, tell me what you have in mind, and I will make sure you have the very best construction crew in Atlanta at your disposal.”
“Oh, thank you, George. The only thing is, I don’t want to burden Nick with the details while he’s ill. He’ll feel he must oversee everything. So I’d like to get the job completed while he’s here recuperating. That will spare him all the noise and clutter as well. Is that possible, do you think?”
Nodding slowly, George said, “Well, depending on the weather, delivery times, and the scope of the job you have in mind, I should think a couple of weeks would suffice. If there are no unforeseen problems, that is. However, I wouldn’t count on Nick needing much more time than that to recover. He’ll be chomping at the bit by the end of the week, I’ll wager.”
Mollie gave her brother-in-law a grateful, relieved smile. “Oh, George, thank you! And I do so pray you are right!”
• • • • •
Wearing one of Ida’s soft flannel nightgowns, Mollie extinguished the bedside lamp and slipped beneath the covers next to Nick. As she gently laid a hand on his chest, he stirred and turned his head toward her. He opened his eyes, then stiffened, grasping her hand tightly in his.
“Mollie!” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. “No, you … shouldn’t be here! It’s … I’m … not safe.” He knew he had to push her away, but somehow all he could do was continue to clutch her hand to his chest.
Her heart breaking at the pain in his eyes, knowing it was not from his leg but from his heart, Mollie reached out to lay a finger on his lips.
“Just for toni
ght,” she said, knowing he was not ready to hear for always. “Y’all won’t do me any harm, Nick.” When he tried to protest, she warned with a smile, “And should you try, I do believe I could knock y’all down with a feather.” She moved her hand to briefly cup his cheek, then withdrew, tucking her hand under her own cheek and snuggling down into her pillow.
He stilled, and Mollie could feel his heart thudding beneath their clasped hands. In the pale moonlight that filtered in through the lace curtains, she could see just the ghost of a smile begin to tug at the corner of his mouth.
“S’pose you might,” Nick murmured. Then he sighed, “Jus’… jus’ for tonight, then.” He closed his eyes but did not release her hand.
Mollie gazed at her husband a few moments longer, a small, secret smile curving her lips. You don’t know it yet, my darling, she thought. But you have already lost this battle. And in doing so, you have won. We both have.
And breathing out a long sigh, Mollie fell asleep before she even realized her eyes had closed.
• • • • •
She did not sleep for long. An hour or two later Nick became fitful, muttering and stirring restlessly in his sleep, but he did not wake. Mollie rose, carefully rearranged the covers so the weight of them did not fall on his injured leg, and bathed his face with cool water. When he at last quieted, she lay down again beside him and tried to catch a few more minutes of sleep before he needed care again.
Early the next morning, she awoke to find him clench-jawed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, clutching the bedpost and struggling to stand. Horrified, she jumped up and rushed around the bed to support him, wedging her shoulder under his arm.
“Nick! What are you doing? Get back in bed!”
“I’m … all right. Goin’ … to the necessary,” he growled through gritted teeth.
“No, you’re not! You are not going anywhere!” she insisted. “Please, Nick. Lie back and let me fetch the bed pan for you.”
He shook his head. “No. Dang it, Mollie, I…” He paused, sucked in a breath, wincing. “…I c’n take myself to the … the damn … darn … necessary.”
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