‘Now, my boy, I’m going to’ take off the bandages. It’s likely that you’ve still got some fragments in your eyes, and I’ve got to get them out. Then . . . ‘ Sam paused.
‘Then,’ Saint finished, ‘we’ll bandage me back up and pray.’
‘Yes,’ said Sam.
Saint listened to Sam give Jules instructions, and forced himself to lie quietly. When Sam unwound the handkerchief about his eyes, he blinked and opened them.
‘Anything, Saint?’
‘Same as before. Pale white, like hoary ghosts from my boyhood, and that’s it.’ ‘That’s as much as we can expect and you
know it. You’ve got to hold very still now, as I’m certain you well know. Mrs. Morris, please hold his head very steady for me, and move that light closer.’
Saint didn’t move, didn’t utter a sound when Sam, with a light touch he appreciated, removed more fragments from his eyes. ‘It looks to me like the cornea is cut, but of course that’s to be expected. As for retina damage, impossible to tell. Now, Saint, I’m going to wash out your eyes again.’
‘You didn’t tell me one damned story to Jnn
keep my mind occupied,’ Saint said when his eyes were firmly bandaged again.
‘I should have, I’m sorry,’ Jules said, her voice stricken.
‘Don’t be a fool, Jules,’ Saint said, turning toward the sound of her voice. ‘It was Sam’s duty, not yours.’
‘Mrs. Morris,’ Sam Pickett said, ‘would you please fetch your husband some tea?’
Saint frowned at that, but bided his time, hearing Jules’s skirt swish against a chair as she left the room. Strange, he thought, he’d never noticed that sound before.
‘How much pain, Saint?’ Sam asked immediately.
‘Enough. A bit of laudanum in the tea, Sam?’
‘Yes. I didn’t want to worry your wife. She’s being a big help, Saint. Does she assist you with your patients?’
‘No,’ Saint said slowly. ‘At least she hasn’t in the past. We haven’t been married all that long.’
‘I see. Do you agree that the bandage should stay in place for three days?’
‘Sounds reasonable. Then we’ll see, won’t we?’ Saint sighed, grinning crookedly at his words. ‘At least I hope I’ll see.’
‘If not then,’ Sam said., ‘we’ll keep your eyes bandaged another four or five days.’
A r) I
They were talking about canes when Jules came into the surgery, balancing a tray on her arms.
‘Just a bit, Saint,’ Sam said, pouring laudanum into the teacup.
Jules watched him silently. She knew Michael would never tell her if he were in pain. He was a man, and for some reason unknown and not understood by her, men thought it weak to admit to anything less than perfection. She desperately wanted to talk to Dr. Pickett about his eyes, and she suspected that they’d had a frank discussion while she, weak woman, had been in the kitchen.
She would ask Michael.
‘Now, Mrs. Morris,’ Sam said to her with a kindly smile, ‘why don’t you help me get this giant upstairs to his bed. He needs a lot of rest, and after working with you, ma’am, I think you can handle him quite well.’
Saint frowned at that, but said nothing. The moment he began walking, the pain seared his eyes. He knew they were red and puffy.
Sam helped Jules undress him. He was nearly asleep by the time he was on his back in bed. ‘Thanks, Sam,’ he said.
‘See you in the morning, Saint,’ Sam said, nodded to Jules, and took his leave.
Even with his senses dulled, Saint heard Jules undressing. He wanted to tell her that
A ()0
he would be all right, but the words faded from his mind. He was asleep when she leaned over him and gently kissed him.
Jules sighed at the sound of knocking on the front door, and trotted down the stairs. The stream of visitors, all of them worried about her husband, had been steady, giving her little time to brood5 which was probably just as well. Lydia was baking in the kitchen, for each guest must be offered food and drink.
Jules opened the door.
‘Hello. I’m Jane Branigan. I heard about Saint.You are Mrs. Morris?’