“Let me see.” He tried gently to peel her hand away. A muddy hoofprint dirtied her long sleeve.
Why had he let her do this? Why hadn’t he done it himself? “Can you move it?”
“No.”
Leaning up on his elbow beside her, watching her face go pale, Briggs carefully rolled up her sleeve. “I need to see it.” His hands were shaking as he closed his fingers around the tiny, wounded wrist, feeling for any broken bones. “Am I hurting you?”
Stiffening, she stared straight up at the bottom of the wagon and nodded. “Do you think it’s broken?” she asked.
“I can’t tell for sure.” But he was lying. He could feel a ghastly lump on the thin bone and it made his stomach turn.
Clenching her fist, Sarah awkwardly tried to sit up. “Maybe it’s just bruised.”
“I don’t want to take any chances. We’ll go straight to Doc Green’s office when we reach town. Can you move?”
“Yes, but I’ll need help getting out from under here.”
Briggs inched his way out, skimming over the prickly, dry grass. He reached back to guide Sarah out. A few throaty groans escaped her as she clumsily slid along the ground, gritting her teeth together, her face drawn and pallid.
After helping Sarah to her feet, he swept her into his arms like a new bride and set her gently onto the wagon seat. He tried to appear calm, but his heart was battering his rib cage. What if something worse had happened to her? What if the horses had crushed her? She could have died right there in his arms, all because he was too impatient to wait on posting that letter.
Sarah clutched her arm as she settled into her seat. Briggs’s body ached at the sight of her, hunched over in pain. The bumpy ride ahead wasn’t going to be pleasant.
He glanced at the sun and realized it was late afternoon. It would be dark when they reached town and Doc Green’s. He began to reload the wagon, swiftly and haphazardly tossing things over the sides. He could barely think. This was all his fault. Surely, Sarah knew it.
By the time they drove into town, it was dusk, and the pain in Sarah’s arm was so excruciating, she could barely tell where it began and where it ended. Her shoulder? Her back? Her hips? Every time they’d hit a bump along the way, fresh spasms had shot through her and she could have leaned over the side of the wagon and retched. Instead, she’d forced herself to withstand it. When she wanted to cry out, she focused on controlling her breathing, keeping it steady and even.
“We’re almost there,” Briggs said, steering onto Front Street. “You look cold.”
“I’m fine.” But in fact, her teeth were chattering and she could not stop them, even when she tried to clamp her jaw shut.
Briggs shrugged out of his buckskin coat and draped it over her shoulders. As she wrapped it around herself, fresh pain shot up her side, but the coat was warm…thank heavens it was warm.
They pulled up in front of a building on the main street, but all the windows were dark. “Wouldn’t you know it,” Briggs whispered. “The doc must have gone out.”
They sat in the wagon for a moment while Briggs decided what to do. Sarah pulled the coat tighter around her shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll drive you to George’s place and get you settled. Then I’ll look for the doc and bring him over.” Briggs slapped the reins and drove to his brother’s house. Thankfully, a lantern was flickering in the front window. Briggs leaped out of the wagon, ran up the steps, and pounded on the front door.
A few seconds later, it creaked open and George stepped into view. “Briggs! What are you doing here?” He looked past Briggs toward the wagon. “Is Sarah with you?”
“Yes. We came in for supplies and got stuck on the prairie. She’s hurt and we need the doctor.”
George’s eyes widened in shock. “Bring her in!”
Briggs ran back to the wagon to help her. Feeling weak and sick, Sarah leaned on his shoulder to step down. Before she knew what was happening, she was swept into her husband’s strong arms. She buried her face into his neck, wanting to disappear into a deep sleep there, but knowing it would be impossible to ignore the pain long enough to slip away. He carried her inside, his strides smooth and fluid.
“Take her upstairs to the spare room,” George instructed, following. “I’ll light the lamp.”
In a matter of minutes, Sarah was being set down on a soft mattress and her husband was drawing a quilt up to cover her. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. “You’ll be all right till I get back?”
She nodded sleepily.
“George, look after her. I’m going to look for the doctor.”
Sarah listened to the sound of her husband’s boots pounding down the stairs and the squeaking of the door as it burst open and snapped shut. She lay in the bed, staring at the white-painted ceiling.
George approached the bed. “How did it happen?”
Sarah hadn’t even realized he was in the room. She’d been concentrating on fighting the pain, and oh, to talk was such a distraction….
“We got stuck in a hole,” she answered. “I was leading the horses out, but Gem slipped and I fell. I should have been more careful.”
“Nonsense. Accidents happen. Where was Briggs?”
“Behind the back wheel.” She paused to breathe. “Pushing. He was in such a hurry to get into town….”
George frowned. “Is everything all right between you two?”
Confused and disoriented, Sarah tried to sit up.
“No, don’t…you must lie still.” George hurried to the bedside and pulled the covers up to her chin. “I know about the situation. You mustn’t worry.”
She tried again to sit up. “What situation? Do you mean the locusts?”
He backed away, bumping into the rocking chair and stumbling slightly.
“George, what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. You need to rest.”
Her agitation caused another spasm of pain. She clutched at her arm and dropped back down. “Don’t tell me to rest. I’ll rest when you tell me what’s going on.”
George pushed his spectacles up along the bridge of his long narrow nose. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Please tell me,” she said, her tone softening. She didn’t have the energy to persist. “If you don’t, I’ll lie here imagining all kinds of things, probably worse than whatever it is you’re hiding.”
After a brief hesitation, George let out a sigh of defeat. “Like I said, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just that an old…an old friend of Briggs’s is in the middle of a scandal again.”
“Scandal?” Sarah’s thoughts came back into focus. “An old friend? Are you referring to Isabelle?”
George relaxed a little. “You know about her, then?”
“Yes, of course. What has happened?”
“I’m afraid her husband has left her.”
Sarah felt an uneasiness spread through her body. “Where did you hear that? Perhaps it’s just gossip.”
“It’s quite true.”
“How can you be sure?”
He stared at her, directly. “Because she came home to her father’s house and she called on me the other day to ask about Briggs.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Briggs burst through George’s front door with Doc Green right behind him. “She’s up here.”
They quickly climbed the stairs. When they walked into the bedroom, Sarah looked at first as if she’d fallen asleep, but her eyelids fluttered open at their approach. George was sitting in the rocking chair, watching her.
The doctor leaned over and felt her head. “How are you feeling?” he asked, opening his brown leather bag.
“I’m all right, really.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” He pulled the covers back. “Which arm is it? Ah, this one.”
Briggs stepped forward. Sarah’s hand had turned blue.
Dr. Green tried to roll up her sleeve but found it too tight. “We’re going to have to
remove this.” He darted a glance at George in the rocker.
“I’ll wait downstairs.” George rose and took Briggs by the arm. “Why don’t you come, too? I have something I need to talk to you about.”
Briggs looked down at his brother’s firm grip. “I’ll be down later.”
“I’m going to need his help,” the doctor said.
George hesitated a moment, then left the room and closed the door behind him.
The doctor carefully but quickly removed Sarah’s bodice, leaving her under the covers in her chemise and corset. “I have to examine you. It might hurt a bit.”
Briggs approached the bed and took her other hand.
The doctor touched her wrist. “Does this hurt?”
“Yes.”
The doctor’s grip inched up a little. “How about this?”
Sarah’s whole body wrenched. “Ahhh!” She squeezed Briggs’s hand and clenched her teeth.
The doctor felt around a bit, then looked at Briggs. “It’s broken, all right. Judging by the look of her hand, I’m going to have to set the bone right now. There’s no circulation.”
Briggs met Sarah’s frightened gaze. “What about something for the pain?” he asked.
“No time to wait for it to take effect. She could lose her hand. Grab her arm right here.”
In a panic, Briggs moved around the bed and took hold. Sarah looked up at him, fear evident in her pleading eyes. He wanted to hold her, to protect her, but he knew this had to be done. His stomach churned with dread as he gave her a regretful look.
The doctor closed his hand around her wrist, feeling with his fingers. “This is going to hurt, Mrs. Brigman, but I’ll do it as quickly as I can.”
Suddenly, he yanked. Sarah screamed. Briggs held on to her arm, biting back the urge to shove the doctor away. He was pushing and pulling and pressing down on the bone with all his might. Screaming in agony, Sarah writhed like a dying creature on the bed. Briggs gasped for air, holding her arm while the doctor yanked some more. He could not do this. He could not stand to see Sarah suffer!
“Please stop!” Sarah cried. “I can’t take it!”
The doctor suddenly set down her arm and took a step back, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. Sarah squirmed on the bed, crying.
“Did you do it?” Briggs asked.
The doctor shook his head, his eyebrows drawn together in defeat. “I couldn’t get it in place. There’s a lot of swelling. I’ll give her a break, then I’ll have to try again.” The doctor went to the door and called down the stairs. “George! Do you have any whiskey?”
Briggs leaned over Sarah and brushed her hair off her forehead. She was lying still now, a thin film of moisture covering her face. “I feel sick,” she said.
The doctor grabbed the chamber pot from the dresser and brought it over to the bed. Sarah retched into it, then collapsed, trying to catch her breath. Just then, George hurried into the room with a bottle. “What’s going on?”
“I’m setting the bone,” the doctor replied, taking the whiskey from George. He tipped it over Sarah’s mouth and she gulped down as much as she could.
“I have to try again,” he said, giving the bottle back to George.
“No, please, not yet,” Sarah pleaded.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Brigman. But your hand…” He nodded at Briggs to take her arm again and hold it steady. “Courage, now,” he said to Sarah.
Briggs held on to her, steeling himself. His heart ached at the sight of her, gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she prepared herself.
The doctor yanked against Briggs’s hold. Sarah cried out and contorted in pain. Horrified at the degree of physical strength he had to use against the doctor’s yanking, Briggs prayed for it to be over quickly. He could not bear to see his wife being tortured much longer.
The next minute seemed like an hour. Finally the doctor set the bone in place and Sarah sagged against Briggs in relief.
“George, get me the splints in my bag.”
Doc Green wrapped Sarah’s arm while she clenched her jaw. Briggs couldn’t help but admire her courage. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “It’s over now, love. It’s over.”
She nodded weakly.
“Can you give her something now, Doc?” Briggs asked.
“Yes. I’ll give her some morphine.”
A short while later, Sarah closed her eyes and went to sleep. Briggs breathed a heavy sigh of relief. All this, because he’d been in such a hurry to post that letter.
Briggs and Doc Green went downstairs to the kitchen where George was boiling water for tea. “Is she going to be all right?” George asked.
“She’ll be sore for a while,” Doc answered, “but she’ll recover. She’ll keep her hand.”
“That’s a relief. Would you like to stay for tea, Doc?”
“No, thanks. I have to get home and put the little one to bed.”
Briggs showed him to the door. “I guess you heard about the locusts,” he said quietly. Doc Green nodded, touching his shoulder. “We’ve got an impressive mound of butter in the wagon, if that’ll do till I can pay you what I owe you.”
The doctor held up his hand. “I know you’re a man of your word, Briggs. Pay me when you can.”
Briggs nodded, appreciating the doctor’s patience. At least he had the necklace to sell.
After the doctor drove away, Briggs went to the kitchen and sat down, his legs giving out on him suddenly. He’d been strong upstairs for Sarah, but now all he wanted to do was down some of that whiskey himself. He looked up at George. “So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
George poured two cups of tea and carried them to the table. “I think you better listen. I had a visitor the other day—Isabelle.”
Briggs raised the cup to his lips, trying not to appear shaken. “What did she want?”
“Are you ready for this?”
Briggs wasn’t sure he was, but he nodded anyway.
“Her husband ran off with a barmaid from The Comique Theatre.”
Briggs calmly sipped his tea, set the china cup down on the saucer with a clink, trying not to spill any, and took a deep breath. “Is this supposed to matter to me?”
George slumped back in his chair. “I don’t know. I thought it might, but I’m pleased to hear it doesn’t.”
“What did you expect me to say?”
“A part of me thought you might dash out the door to let her cry on your shoulder.”
Briggs shifted in his chair. “I have a wife upstairs. Do you actually think I’d leave her here alone in her condition? How would that look?” He sipped his tea, staring over the rim of his cup at his brother. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
George rubbed his chin. “I was hoping it was less a point of appearances.”
Briggs set down his cup with a clatter and stood. “I don’t care about what’s happening to Isabelle, George. I’m sorry for her. But that’s all.”
Briggs entered the quiet, dimly lit bedroom and climbed into bed next to Sarah. She was flat on her back, sleeping soundly. With that dose of morphine, the doctor said she probably wouldn’t wake until morning.
Briggs reached out and let his hand rest gently on hers. A swell of deep regret erupted within him. If he could have traded places with her tonight, he would have, without hesitation. He would have done anything to spare her that suffering.
He leaned up on one elbow to look at her lovely face, peaceful at last, then kissed her lightly on the cheek. Strange to think he was married to Sarah because of Isabelle. He had never imagined anything good would come of her breaking their engagement, but looking back on it, it was the very thing that had made him place a passionless advertisement in a newspaper, and that in the end had brought him Sarah.
Isabelle had been here to see George. Why? What had she said to him? Downstairs, the news had startled Briggs. He had worked so hard to appear indifferent, he’d not allowed himself to ask any questio
ns.
He rolled onto his back and tossed his arm under his head. Perhaps Isabelle regretted her decision to break their engagement. Maybe she wanted him back.
He cupped his forehead with his hand and closed his eyes, dreading the possibility of meeting her again. He would be polite, of course, but it would be awkward. On the other hand, if her visit with George was simply a courtesy, there was nothing to worry about.
He stared through the darkness at the ceiling, listening to Sarah’s steady breathing beside him. If Isabelle held on to some hope that he would take her back again, she would have to learn he was married to someone else and had no intentions of breaking his vows. She would have to learn that what had once existed between them was over and done with.
Sarah woke the next morning with her arm throbbing painfully. She groaned and remembered the horrors of the night before—the doctor pulling and yanking at her broken arm. It was like something out of a nightmare. She’d never endured anything so physically grueling in all her life. And it seemed the pain intended to stay a while….
She listened to voices downstairs. Briggs and George were talking, but she could not make out what they were saying. Feeling thirsty, she noticed a glass of water on the bedside table, but when she reached for it, she accidentally knocked it over. It fell to the floor and smashed.
“Drat.” She tried to rise, but felt sick and flopped back down on the bed. She was still in so much agony.
A knock sounded at the door. When she didn’t answer, it opened and Briggs walked in. “Sarah, are you all right?” He closed the door behind him and crossed the room. “What happened? George and I heard something break.”
“I think you better bring me that washbasin. Now!” Her body heaved. She was going to be sick.
Hurriedly, Briggs brought the large china basin and held it for her while she retched. She felt mortified that her husband was seeing her like this. When she finished, she lay back and pulled the covers up to her neck. “I’m so sorry,” she managed to say, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Don’t be silly.” He set the bowl on the floor and found a handkerchief in the dresser. He sat on the edge of the bed and wiped her face. “The doctor gave you quite a dose of whiskey last night. And morphine.”
Julianne MacLean Page 16