Miss Hampton came back with another kettle of hot water. Elizabeth followed, her arms full of towels and sheets.
“Abigail and Olivia are making bread for tomorrow,” Elizabeth said in an undertone to Miss Hampton. “I gave Abigail the charge of keeping Olivia out from under foot.”
“Excellent idea,” Miss Hampton replied.
Dr. Wayment took one of the clean sheets and spread it under Tom’s leg. Then he pulled the remaining pant leg up to just above Tom’s knee. “You’re lucky you broke the tibia and not the femur,” he said. He glanced up and caught Harriet’s blank expression. “If he’d broken the femur, which is the large bone in his thigh, he would likely be bedridden for the rest of his life. As it is, by breaking the tibia, which is one of the two bones that make up his lower leg, if we do have to amputate, that enables him to use a crutch and get around some.”
He asked Jeanette for a bar of soap, and he scrubbed up to his elbows. “One of the things Dr. Lister has been studying is the presence of tiny little organisms called bacteria. They’re living cells that can grow and spread disease. Have you heard of Louis Pasteur?”
The women in the room shook their heads.
“He’s the French scientist who discovered how to control these little organisms. They’re also called germs. I’ll spare you all the details except to say that these men, Dr. Lister and Dr. Pasteur, have done amazing things in the world of science that have trickled down into the field of medicine. And if we can find a way to incorporate their findings out here in the Midwest, where civilization touches the uncivilized, it will prove that men and women everywhere can benefit from the latest in scientific discovery.” The volume of his voice had gone up a bit, and he paused. “I’m sorry. You can tell that I’m very passionate about these new advances. I can’t help but get carried away when I think of the possibilities.”
He picked up a bottle of what Harriet assumed was the carbolic acid. “I’m now going to clean the area. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
As soon as the acid made contact with Tom’s skin, he flinched, and then gasped. Harriet couldn’t hold back the tears as she watched him. He was obviously trying hard not to cry out. Fresh sweat broke out across his forehead, and Miss Hampton wiped it with a cloth. Tom clung to Harriet’s hand as though it was the only thing keeping him connected to this world, and she squeezed back, trying to give him some reassurance. If only she could rewind the clock and keep this awful thing from happening to him.
After several long, agonizing minutes, Dr. Wayment said, “We will now set the bone in place as best as we can. The break is in a spot that takes a lot of pressure from body weight, so you’ll need to stay flat down while you recover. Don’t try to do too much, too soon, or the bone may break again or not heal altogether.”
He asked Jeanette to stand next to him and support the two sides of Tom’s leg while he worked. Her face looked pale, but she did as she was asked without a single word of complaint. He moved down to the bottom of the bed, took hold of Tom’s foot, and tugged downward slightly. Tom moaned, his lips pressed together, and Harriet had to remind herself to breathe. Why had she pled for another way? Wasn’t this going to be so much more painful for him in the long run? But then, how could it be? Amputation surely must be the most painful medical treatment of all, with the most devastating, life-altering outcome.
Dr. Wayment moved back to Tom’s side and grasped his leg, pushing down and giving it a slight twist. Tom grabbed Harriet’s wrist with his other hand, clinging to her, and she sobbed all the harder. How could she be strong for him right now? She’d never seen so much suffering. She didn’t know what she could possibly do for him.
“All right, the bone is in place.” Dr. Wayment took a step back and breathed deeply. He’d broken out into a sweat as well, and he took the cloth Miss Hampton offered and mopped his face and neck. “As soon as Mr. Brody returns with more carbolic acid, we can begin the next step.”
“And what is that next step?” Harriet asked, afraid to voice the question.
“We’re going to pack the wound with gauze soaked in the acid. It’s crucial that we keep a sharp eye out for any possible infection—patients don’t typically die from broken bones, but from the resulting infections. But I may have already said that. I’m sorry. I have a tendency to over-explain.”
“It’s fascinating,” Jeanette said, speaking for possibly the first time during the procedure. “Tell us more about Dr. Pasteur while we wait.”
Harriet looked down at Tom. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, and his face had taken on a ghastly gray pallor. The grip he’d maintained on her hand and wrist had slackened somewhat, but he still held on. She glanced up at Miss Hampton. “Is there anything else we can do?” she whispered.
“We’re doing all we can,” Miss Hampton replied. “Keep the faith, Miss Martin. You’re doing an excellent job.”
Dr. Wayment lowered himself into the chair in the corner and wiped his face again. “Dr. Pasteur has discovered that if you boil milk or wine or other liquids before bottling them, you can extend their freshness and reduce illness. This has been done successfully in the larger cities, and I imagine that it’s only a matter of time before it’s done everywhere. Many of the cases I treat have their root in food contamination, and I look forward to the day when these germs can be eradicated in the things we eat.”
“How do they get into the food?” Jeanette asked.
Harriet kept half an ear on the conversation as she studied Tom. He tossed his head from side to side, mumbling incoherently, and she pushed his hair back from his forehead again. The blond strands were now dark brown with sweat.
Mr. Brody entered a few minutes later and handed Dr. Wayment a cloth sack. The doctor stood, soaked some gauze in the acid, and then packed the wound. Tom was now nonreactive. Harriet felt that perhaps it was for the best—if he were awake, he would be suffering so much more.
Dr. Wayment straightened. “Now we wait. He’ll need to be kept as still as possible. He’ll need bedpan service, and someone will need to sit with him at all times to keep him from thrashing around. When he wakes up, he’ll be disoriented, and if he’s alone, he could damage his leg if he tries to move.”
“I’ll see to the bedpans,” Mr. Brody said.
“And I’ll sit with him tonight,” Harriet added.
“Are you sure? You look exhausted,” Miss Hampton said, placing her hand on Harriet’s shoulder.
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” Harriet explained. “I’d rather be in here, knowing I was doing something to help.”
“At least go downstairs and get something to eat first,” Miss Hampton said. “Food will do you a world of good. I’ll stay with him until you have a bit of strength back.”
“Thank you, Miss Hampton,” Harriet said. She slowly disentangled herself from Tom’s grasp and stood, wincing as her back muscles protested. She’d been sitting at an odd angle for far too long, but she hadn’t even noticed her own pain until that moment. “I won’t be more than half an hour.”
“Take what time you need. I won’t leave his side.”
Chapter Twelve
Harriet made her way down the staircase, feeling as though everything in the world had changed in just one day. Abigail and Olivia were still hard at work in the kitchen, now dicing an assortment of vegetables for stew.
“There you are,” Abigail said, wiping her hands on her apron. “How’s Tom?”
“He’s unconscious right now. The doctor says we’ll need to wait and see before we’ll know for sure.” Harriet sank into the chair in the corner. “Miss Hampton sent me down for something to eat.”
“We just pulled some bread from the oven. Olivia made it, and it might not be terrible. I have more hope for it than I did for her tea, which is odd because you’d think tea would be easier.” Abigail sliced the end from a loaf and put it on a plate.
Olivia threw the carrot she had been chopping into the pot, then turned. “I owe you an apology, Harriet,
” she said. “I’m from New York, you know, and we’re more outspoken there. Plus, I might naturally be more straightforward than most—Elizabeth lectured me for quite a long while about that. I didn’t mean to be unkind to you earlier, and I’m sorry. I have a long ways to go in figuring out how to make friends. I hope you can forgive me.”Harriet was surprised at this apology, but not at all surprised that Elizabeth had delivered such a lengthy lecture. Her friend had been furious on her behalf, and Harriet was amused and felt vindicated that justice had been served. “I was upset at first,” she said after a moment, “but I actually appreciate that you told me about the amputation. I was more prepared than I would have been.”“It’s good to be warned about the inevitable,” Abigail said.
“But it wasn’t inevitable,” Harriet replied. “Dr. Wayment is trying something new, and if it works, Tom’s leg will be spared.”
Olivia blinked. “Something new? What is it?”
Harriet described what had been done as best as she could without knowing the proper medical terms. Olivia seemed dumbfounded. “If this works, my father will want to know more. I wonder if Dr. Wayment would be willing to send him a letter.”
“I’m sure he would. He seems like a kind man.” Harriet took the plate Abigail offered and bit into the slice of bread, which had been slathered with butter and honey. “This bread isn’t awful,” she said after she swallowed. Of course, no one’s bread would ever come close to Jane’s.
“Thank you, I think.” Olivia shook her head and went back to dicing carrots.
Jeanette entered the kitchen a moment later. “Do we have any coffee for the doctor?”
Abigail stepped over to the fire and pulled a kettle off the hook. “We do. And what about you? Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”
Jeanette shook her head. “I’m fine, but thank you. Medicine is so fascinating—I had no idea. The bones in the leg, for instance, and the way the ligaments support them and make them move. I learned so much assisting Dr. Wayment.”
Abigail handed her a mug of coffee. “I’m glad that task fell to you and not me. I’m sure I would have fainted.”
Jeanette smiled. “I think you would have done well.” She left the room to deliver the coffee to the doctor.
Harriet finished her bread, even though she tasted very little beyond the first bite, and drank the broth Abigail handed her. Physically, she felt much stronger, but she didn’t know if her heart could handle going back and seeing Tom again, how gray he was, how much pain he felt even though he wasn’t conscious. She would go, though. She needed to do this for him.
“I’m going to walk around for a minute,” she said, standing up and setting her plate next to the washtub. “I’ll just be outside.”
The night air was much fresher than the air in the hotel, and Harriet decided she’d open the window in Tom’s room when she went back inside. She leaned against the porch rail and stared up at the stars, and was still there when Dr. Wayment opened the door and came out a moment later.
“Miss Martin, you are to be congratulated,” he said, tipping his hat. “You showed great strength in there tonight.”
“But there was really nothing I could do,” she protested. “I just sat there.”
“You sat there and you cared,” Dr. Wayment corrected her. “That will be instrumental in helping Tom recover. Be positive. Say cheerful things. Help him stay focused on recovery and not on his injury.” He nodded. “I have every confidence in you. I’ll be back in the morning to check on him, and I expect that you’ll get some rest too at some point.”
Harriet smiled. “I’ll try.”
“See you in the morning, Miss Martin.” He stepped off the porch and walked over to his buggy, which she hadn’t even noticed in the dark. His horse must be the most understanding creature in all creation to wait at the hitching post indefinitely.
Harriet took in one more deep breath and released it, then turned and walked back into the hotel, praying that when morning came, the world would look very different.
* * *
Miss Hampton looked up when Harriet entered the room. “Did you get enough to eat?” she asked.
“I did. Thank you. How’s Tom?”
“Nearly the same as when you left. He’s been muttering more, though, so I think he may be waking up soon.” She motioned toward a small bottle on the nightstand. “Dr. Wayment left some laudanum here to be used if Tom needs it, but we must be careful not to give him too much. Just one spoonful during the night if necessary, and when Dr. Wayment comes in the morning, he’ll tell us if we can give any additional doses.”
Harriet nodded. “Anything else I should know?”
“Mr. Brody will be in regularly to help with Tom’s personal needs. Beyond that, just be here.” Miss Hampton stood and rested her hand on Harriet’s shoulder. “Don’t overtax yourself. I know you care about Tom, but you can help him best by making sure you’re strong and healthy.”
“I’ll try.”
As Miss Hampton left the room, Harriet moved over to the window and opened it a crack, then took up her post in the chair beside the bed. Tom didn’t look quite so gray, but he was far from himself.
At first, Harriet didn’t say anything, but as the night wore on, she found that she had several things on her chest, and to sit there, so close to Tom but unable to converse with him, was driving her mad. Finally, she decided she needed to speak.
“Tom, I was wrong,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “I’ve been thinking about everything you said on the train about social class and what it really means to be free, to live your life without caring about what others think of you . . . and I’m sorry. I’ve said that to you several times already, but I need to say it again, more sincerely this time. I don’t know what comes over me, but I do act superior when someone annoys me, and I promise I’ll try to overcome that fault. I think I learned it from my mother. Not that it excuses my behavior, because it doesn’t.” She chuckled without mirth.
“I suppose I grew up believing I was better than others, and I never questioned it. Thank you for making me questioning it. Thank you for opening my eyes. A person’s worth has nothing to do with their social status or their education or what they do for work. Gracious, I’m a cook and a maid and a waitress—my mother would have some sort of fit if she saw me right now. And you—you’re worth more than I ever imagined, and you’re certainly a much better person than I am. So I hope you can forgive me, and I hope you know that I’m going to try my best to remember what you’ve taught me.”
He hadn’t moved at all. His eyelids hadn’t even twitched. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Rest well, and perhaps when you wake up, I’ll find the courage to say all that again.”
* * *
Pain. Waves and waves of pain. Shooting up his leg into his hip. Down into his toes. Searing him like boiling water. Tom moved his head from side to side, then tried to sit up to get away from whatever was burning him. He felt a soft hand on his forehead.
“Shh. It’s all right, but you need to lie still.”
He knew that voice, but he couldn’t put a name to it. “Why? Why can’t I move?” he mumbled.
“You have a broken leg. You can’t jostle it.”
He licked his lips. “So thirsty.”
He heard water being poured into a glass, and then felt a hand slide under his neck. “Here. Drink this.” The rim of the cup was pressed to his lips, and he drank several swallows. Then the cup was taken away, and the hand was removed. He missed it.
“Harriet?” he said after a long moment. Why wouldn’t his eyes open? The lids felt as heavy as horseshoes. “Is that you?”
“You guessed right,” she said, sounding amused. “For a minute, I wondered if you were going to call me Beulah May.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, trying again to open his eyes. “I only did that once.”
“Good. You remember. The doctor said you might be disoriented when you woke up.”
This time, his eyes ope
ned, and he looked around. He was in one of the hotel’s rooms, and Harriet sat on a chair next to the bed. A glance down told him that his leg had been badly injured, but how . . . The pain was too much. He couldn’t think. “I think I am disoriented,” he said. “I don’t remember what happened.”
“You were working on the last bit of roof, and I came out to call you for dinner,” Harriet said.
“I think I remember that part.” Tom passed a hand over his eyes, which still felt like sand. “Then what?”“As near as we can tell, you stepped on a particularly rotten spot, lost your balance, and fell. You landed on your leg, and the bone shattered. The doctor was going to amputate, but he’s trying a different procedure first to see if the leg can be saved.”
“I remember talking about that now. Something to do with acid. Is that why my leg feels like it’s on fire?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry. I had no idea this was going to be so painful. It will help keep gangrene from developing, though. Do you remember the doctor explaining that to you?”
Tom nodded. “I guess there’s nothing left to do but wait it out. If it doesn’t get worse than this, I’ll be all right.”
“The doctor did leave some laudanum, if you need it,” Harriet said, motioning toward the table.
Tom shook his head without even needing to think it over. “Not unless it gets a lot worse. I knew a man who’d developed a craving for the stuff. That’s not how I want to live my life.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
Tom rolled his head on the pillow and looked at Harriet more closely. “You’re tired. What time is it?”
“Oh, I imagine it’s around four.”
“In the morning? Why aren’t you asleep?”She smiled. “Someone has to keep you from getting up to go finish that roof. Admit it—you hate holding still.”
A Free Heart Page 9