This was real.
The pitchfork had caught her in the shin and side of the calf. The skin was torn away, exposing dense ribbons of muscle. The bleeding had slowed but it was hard to tell how deep the prongs had gone. What she needed was a good antibiotic, the wound cleaned and stitched up. Heck, she needed the emergency room.
I grimaced—very funny, looking for a hospital when they didn’t even have running water. The girl moaned. Two red splotches on her cheeks glowed unnaturally bright on her pale face. Fever! I had to do something. I needed water. At least I’d cool her face while we waited. I found the wooden bucket and another rag near the window. The cloth was stained, but didn’t smell. Carrying both outside, I poured water over the cloth to keep the bucket from getting contaminated. The water was probably loaded with bacteria anyway.
I wiped Juliana’s face. “Isn’t that better?” I noticed her nose, small and straight, the tiny ears and the smooth skin of her cheeks. She was pretty in a way that made my stomach flutter. But my eyes were drawn to her leg again.
“Who are you?” she mumbled.
I returned to her face. “I’m Max.” I felt strangely shy looking into her eyes, hazelnut brown like Bero’s, followed by a weird fluttering in my stomach.
“I saw you this morning. You’re Bero’s friend,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
I nodded, surprised, but I really did care for the skinny jerk who stank of pigs and moved like a squirrel on speed.
“He’s gone to get help so we can fix your leg.”
Juliana’s face twisted in agony. I winced. I was such an idiot for reminding her of the pain.
“I’ll lose my leg,” she whimpered. “They’ll cut it off. I’ll be maimed, a cripple. Or I’ll die.”
I grabbed her hand. “No, we’ll fix it. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way, you’ll see.” I glanced at her face but her eyes had closed. The rattling in her chest was back. I suddenly needed fresh air and yanked open the door.
Across the mud-covered front yard and dirt path, a girl of six or seven stood staring in frozen fascination. Her mouth gaped open. When I waved, she flinched and raced into the dark hole of her front door. I made a face, thinking of the science fiction movies when aliens had shown up on earth. That’s what I had to look like to them.
A low moan came from inside.
“Bero, where are you?” I mumbled scanning the trail. It smelled of more rain, the clouds above charcoal gray. The pigs squealed and I remembered the well. After a quick look inside—Juliana lay still again—I snatched the buckets, refilling the empty pail inside the house and watering the pigs. They snorted and slobbered, drinking greedily. I looked around for food, but the stall was empty except for a layer of straw sticky with pig dung.
When I emerged from the barn, Bero scurried up the road.
“I can’t find her,” he cried. “I looked all over. She must be in another village, helping with a birth.” He crumpled onto the doorstep and began to weep outright.
I swallowed the sudden lump that appeared in my throat. Somehow I had to figure out what to do. My mother used lots of natural remedies when I was growing up. I needed herbs that disinfected like rosemary or sage or garlic. I didn’t remember seeing anything in the meager garden outside. There were no grocery stores or pharmacies. Frustrated I shook my head.
I’d watched every episode of Survivorman and Dual Survival. They were a joke compared to what was going on in this world. But still… Then I remembered. Pine needles, bark and sap could be used to disinfect and for vitamin C. Bear Grylls in Man vs. Wild had plucked pine trees to make tea.
It was worth a try.
“Bero, quit your crying. We got work to do.”
Bero looked up, his face wet and snotty. “What? You are a healer now, too?”
“Shut up and listen.” I wanted to smack the guy, but then I remembered Juliana on the straw sack. “I know stuff. Can you find a pine tree?”
“What for?”
“Answer me.”
Bero slowly nodded and pointed toward the edge of the forest.
“Take this bucket and collect a few boughs, some bark and if you can find it, sap.”
Bero shook his head. “Why?”
“Cause we’ll help your sister keep her leg.” That shut Bero up. “One more thing. Where can I get clean cloth?”
Bero frowned, but swallowed his comment. “The dressmaker lives across from the Klausenhof. How’re you going to pay for that?”
“I’ll take care of it. Hurry and get me the pine.”
Bero raced off, the bucket dangling from his arm. I ran back inside and started a fire. I’d always loved to burn things and had built hundreds of fires over the years, mostly to the frustration of my neighbors who hated the smoldering fumes. I grimaced when the twigs caught and smoke began to fill the room. Choking and coughing, I fanned the flame until it caught. Better.
After adding more wood, I took a last glance at the girl. She lay very still, but her chest rose and fell more evenly. I’d have to hurry before the fire went out or she woke up. I poured water into the cast-iron kettle and hung it above the fire.
Then I sprinted up the road toward the amazingly new Klausenhof. Nobody sat outside, but an orange glow and roaring voices filtered through the windows. Alcohol vapors hovered in the air. I could’ve used vodka or some other strong liquor to disinfect Juliana’s leg. But that surely cost a lot. And vodka was made in Russia. Forget that.
I searched the houses across the way. A crude wooden torso swung from a pole in the front yard of a slightly better looking shack. That had to be it. I rushed to the front door and knocked.
“Hello?” I yelled pounding the door again.
“I’m closed.” The man in the entrance wore a battered leather apron over a green silk vest and matching shirt. By the looks of the oily stains and bits of fabric stuck to them, he’d worn the same outfit for years. “Come back Monday.”
Ignoring my disgust I shook my head. “Bero’s sister had an accident. I need clean cloth. Something soft, like cotton or linen.” The man didn’t budge and I was ready to push him aside to look around. “It’s urgent.”
While the dressmaker skeptically gawked at my jeans and shoes, I worried about wasting time. The fire would go out before this old goat was ready to do something. Of course there was the small problem of payment. Would the guy play ball and trade?
“Sir, please, it’s important.”
The man still stared and then shook his head. “I don’t do business with strangers.”
“You know Bero, the tanner’s son? His sister, Juliana? It’s for her. She’ll die if I don’t get the cloth. It’ll be your fault.” Not exactly fair, I thought, but I didn’t care.
The dressmaker shook his head and crossed himself. Then he slowly nodded. “I have linen and nettle for smallclothes.”
“Can I see it?”
The tailor stepped aside and I entered the gloominess beyond. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with a meager supply of various fabrics. An oversized table, covered under a half-finished woman’s outfit of green velvet took up most of the room. I tried remembering what they were called. Surcot—that was it.
I searched the shelves as the man threw two folded pieces of fabric in front of me. I carefully touched them. The linen was cream-colored and softer than the nettle. “I’d like both…if you trade.”
Without waiting for a reply, I placed my pocketknife on the table. I’d carried it for years—a Christmas present from my father—and though I barely ever used it, I felt naked without it.
The man stared but didn’t touch the knife. “What is it?”
“I’ll show you.” I unfolded the large knife, then the small, the mini scissors and the nail cleaner. I picked up a piece of thread and cut it with the scissors.
The dressmaker gasped. “I’ve never seen such a tool. It looks like witchcraft. So small. Where did you get it?” His voice was suddenly filled with doubt.
“My father gave it to me.”
“What do you want for it?”
“The linen and the nettle.” I held his breath. “And I need a shirt…eh, tunic.”
The man swallowed and remained silent, but his eyes never left the knife. “Show me how it works.” He pointed a blackish forefinger at the larger blade. I folded and unfolded the tools and placed the knife back on the table. “This is for your nails.” I pretended to scrape dirt from my fingers, which were filthy once again. Not that this made any sense. These people were so grimy that a little dirt under their nails was hardly worth mentioning.
“Take the cloth before I change my mind.” The man grabbed the knife and began playing with it.
“What about the tunic?”
“I’ll make one. Come back in three days.” The dressmaker snatched the knife and let it disappear in his pocket.
“Thanks.”
I raced toward Bero’s hut feeling strangely elated. I’d done my first trade and gotten what I needed most. The hut stood deserted. Bero hadn’t returned and I rushed to tend the fire. The girl still slept and I added more wood to coax the flames back to life. The water steamed but it had to boil before it’d be clean enough. I needed more wood. I raced back into the yard and found a stack of firewood behind the pig barn. Back inside, I loaded the fire and lit the two meager grease lamps. It was getting dusky. Bero’s mother and younger sister would be back any minute and I wanted to be well on my way to treating Juliana’s leg.
I unfolded a piece of the linen, trying to keep it clean. The table was covered in years of unrecognizable food spills. Maybe I should scrub it outside. The girl moaned. No time for that now. I found a crude knife on a shelf and began to cut notches into the edges of the fabric. Then I tore two-inch wide strips and several rectangular patches.
“Did you steal it?” Bero stood in the door, looking his suspicious self.
“I bought it,” I said. “Show me what you’ve got.” Bero held up his bucket stuffed with pine boughs, bark and clumps of sap. His hands, black and sticky, smelled like pine. “Good job. Get the mugs, put some pine needles into each one and bring them to the fire.”
Bero followed orders while I went in search of a ladle.
When the water boiled I filled each cup. “Set them on the table to cool.”
“What is it?”
“Pine needle tea. Now we need to fix the disinfectant.”
“The what?”
“Never mind, bring your bucket.” I inspected the sap, which stuck to my fingers. My mother had shown me how to add oil or alcohol to make a salve. By the bare bones look of the cabin, I’d have to search elsewhere. Laying the pine goop aside, I picked apart the bark and boughs. After adding them to the water, I stirred and let it boil. “Let’s carry the pot outside. It needs to cool.” Bero didn’t say a thing as we lugged the pan outside. The water steamed and emitted a strong piney smell.
“Listen, Bero.” I threw a furtive glance back into the hut. “We have to clean her leg and wash out the germs.”
“What?”
I sighed with frustration. We were wasting precious time. “I’ll explain in a minute.”
But Bero wasn’t finished. He’d stepped to the pot sniffing. “With that?” Bero threw a doubtful glance at the pot. “Mutter won’t like it.”
I swallowed my remark that Bero’s mother was ignorant and that the people in this place had no clue how things worked. “You have to trust me. I know this.” I put all my conviction into it, but Bero still looked unconvinced. “People get sick from tiny creatures that infect the wound. You can’t see them, but they’re all over. And you have to kill them before they take over the body. Your sister may die.” I inhaled.
“Mutter will say it is Juliana’s punishment for resisting the master. That it’s Gottes will.”
I sighed again. The severity of the situation hit me. What if I couldn’t do the job and she died anyway? They’d blame me for interfering with God’s will. Bero’s mother would complain to Lord Werner. I’d be thrown in the dungeon…or burned at the stake.
But I had to try. And pine was the best I could come up with.
Bero had shut up, but he kept eyeing the pot and sniffed. “It stinks.”
“I know, but the pine oil kills the little bugs,” I said. Why was everything so complicated? I couldn’t talk about bacteria and infection. Bero knew none of it. “Get me a bowl. Clean, if possible.” Bero went inside and emerged with a clay pot. I rinsed and poured some of the pine mixture into it.
“Looks like boiled piss,” Bero announced.
I ignored him and instead inspected my hands. They were less than perfect. I sacrificed one of the new rags to wipe them down with pine water. I had to trust that the concoction would do the trick. Carrying the bowl inside, I grabbed some of the cloth.
“You’ll have to hold her down if she wakes. It’s important that we clean this well.”
Eying the shredded wound, I swallowed bile. This was sickening, but I had no choice. Bero sat down near his sister’s head. I dipped the piece of cloth into the water and dribbled it across Juliana’s leg. At first, nothing happened, but then the girl woke…and began to scream.
“Keep her still,” I barked. The scream turned into a howl as Juliana tried to shove away my hands. She moaned and struggled to move her leg from what had to be fiery pain.
Bero grabbed his sister’s shoulders and arms. “Shshsh, we’re cleaning your leg. Lie still, lass,” he mumbled in a soothing voice, but his eyes were shooting darts as he watched me work.
Ignoring both of them, I kept dripping liquid until the gashes looked saturated. Then I carefully touched the shredded skin with a clean rag and began to pull it open. The girl wailed. I ignored her. I had to finish now. I kept dripping and patting until I was reasonably sure that the pine water had reached every inch. The girl whimpered. It had to burn like hell.
“What are you doing? Juliana!” Bero’s mother stood in the door. Throwing her basket on the floor, she rushed over and pushed me aside. I nearly fell before catching hold of the table. Adela had also appeared. She looked pale and scared but most of all, she looked tired to the bone.
“Mutter,” Juliana groaned and began to cry.
“Child, what happened?” Before Juliana could answer, her mother discovered the awful wound. “Your leg. What is this?” She said, crossing herself twice. Then she bent low and stuck a grubby finger in the watery layer of Juliana’s leg.
I wanted to scream, stupid woman, keep your filthy hands off or you’ll kill your own daughter. Instead I nodded at Bero who’d gotten up and stood helplessly between me and his mother.
“Max knows what to do. The healer is away and Max got this cloth. He made the pine water…”
Bero’s mother hurried to the table, inspecting the cloth. “How’s he paid for that?” she said as if I didn’t exist.
“I traded it,” I said.
“You come here and play the master.” The mother placed her arms at her hips and towered over me. “You hurt my little girl. Then you use witchcraft…devil’s brew.” I thought she’d spit on me any second.
“Mutter, please.” Juliana’s voice sounded feeble but determined. “Lord Ott attacked me. I didn’t know what to do.” She began to cry again.
I cleared my throat. I had to complete the treatment or it might not work. “I want to finish cleaning her leg,” I said, trying to put strength into my voice. All I thought of was the woman’s dirty finger in the wound and that I had to wash it off.
Bero rushed to get the bowl. “I’ll help.”
I tried ignoring the mother’s stare. To my relief, she remained silent. She’d have to throw me out before I’d stop. I rinsed with more pine water and prepared one of the rectangular pieces, folding it into a padding of sorts. The skin looked ragged and bloody. It was hard to tell in the gloom if the wound was clean. I’d have to wait till morning. After pouring more of the pine mixture across, I placed the padding on top
and bandaged it in place with the linen strips.
“You must tell me if it hurts worse,” I said to Juliana, “if it throbs or burns. Wake me—anytime.” Somehow it seemed natural that I’d sleep here tonight. “Bero will help you drink this pine needle tea. It has lots of vitamin C.”
“You speak like a conjurer,” the mother said, “yet you’re a mere boy.”
Bero ignored his mother and fed Juliana the tea.
“I learned things from my mother,” I tried.
Bero’s mother mumbled something like witch’s brood and devil’s work. Then she kneeled and rested her folded hands on the bench. “Christus, please protect us from evil…” Her prayer turned to incomprehensible whispers.
“Here’s more tea,” I said when she straightened. I held out the mug as a peace offering, but the mother waved her hand in dismissal.
“I need the kettle to cook.”
I poured the remaining pine water into the bowl and handed the mother her pot. I’d rather eat bread anyway. Taking a sip from my tea, I slumped on the bench.
Shadows danced inside the hut as the flames rekindled. I barely noticed the smoke as I drank. Juliana had gone to sleep. Remembering the apples from Werner’s castle, I handed one to Bero. For the first time since we’d met, Bero smiled. I smiled back. While the mother and Adela cooked, we sat in silence, watching and chewing.
Chapter 7
I woke every hour. My bones felt heavy, my head feverish, but I kept listening for sounds from below. Juliana hadn’t stirred and I wondered if she’d died. I told myself nobody died of infection that quickly. Her leg would develop gangrene first, something I’d seen in old war movies. Then came the cutting of limbs, sawing through bone. My stomach revolted. Don’t throw up, I thought, poking a finger through the thatch above my nose. I needed fresh air. I fell into a deep sleep in the early morning.
A scream woke me. I sat up in fright and bumped my head on the roof, only to fall back to my straw sack and rub my forehead.
I remembered last night and froze. Juliana had died. They’d come for me, drag me to the dungeon for murdering the girl. I began to tremble, imagining the mother’s fury. She looked like she was capable of killing me on the spot. I had to escape while they were distracted. Without making a sound I glanced into the room below.
Escape from the Past Page 5