The Doctor's Undoing (13 page)

Ida started to say a polite “Thank you, Dr. Parker,” but found she couldn't. The unnerving possibility that it was the
man
rather than the doctor saying such words caught her up short. Ida sputtered out a soft “Thank you,” sounding entirely too much like teenage Donna rather than independent Nurse Landway.

There was a still, quiet moment where they sat looking at each other, seeing each other, Ida thought, in a different and unexpected light. In the bright sunshine of day, the moment would have vanished, but here in the soft glow of the kitchen lamp so late at night, it remained. A dangerous man-and-woman
what-if
that had very little business existing between the Parker Home for Orphans nurse and its doctor administrator. From the look in Daniel's eyes, it caught him as much by surprise as it had Ida.

She could see him take the thought and pack it away behind the shell of duty he so often wore. Truly, it showed that clearly on his face. Ida felt a small chill, as if he'd pulled the warmth out of the air between them with his decision. “You make a fine addition to the staff, and the children adore you.” Despite the warm words, his tone was businesslike once more.

“I think they are wonderful,” she said, still reeling inside from the way his unguarded stare had caught her breath. “All of them.” A part of her—a much larger part than she had realized until just now—wanted to halt the door she was watching him close. There was something between them, something that had come uncovered when he brought her the paints and had shown itself even more tonight. Only another part of Ida agreed that whatever it was should be put aside for the sake of the Home and its precious charges. That was the wisest course of action, wasn't it?

“It's late,” he said finally, his eyes pronouncing closure on the moment far more than his words. Without finishing his sandwich, Daniel rose and headed for the door. “Good night, Nurse Landway.” The use of her title was no accident.

Ida smoothed one hand against her skirts. Yes, that was the wisest course of action. “Good night, Dr. Parker.”

She stared at the door long after it had swung shut, trying to make sense of the swarm of thoughts in her head. No sense came, and she collected the uneaten portions of both sandwiches and tucked them in the icebox. She'd only thought herself hungry—yet another silly regret—for now she had no appetite at all.

Chapter Fourteen

M
r. Grimshaw burst into the infirmary with an alarmed look on his face. “You'd better come. And bring supplies—I don't think Dr. Parker ought to be walking just now.”

Ida dropped the box of gauze padding she was holding. “Dr. Parker?”

“The boys were getting rough with each other. He stepped in, and got caught in some of the shoving. He hit his head on the fence. Hard.”

Ida grabbed the portable first-aid kit she'd created for when injuries could not come to her. She started to ask the teacher if Daniel was bleeding, but a smear of blood on Grimshaw's arm gave her the bad news. She added two extra packs of bandaging to the kit—head wounds could bleed frightfully even if they weren't serious. “Let's go. You can tell me more details on the way.”

“I don't think he blacked out, but he was talking funny when I left.” Mr. Grimshaw, usually hard to ruffle, seemed disturbingly grave.

“Where is he bleeding?”

The teacher touched his left eyebrow and ran his finger down along close to the side of his eye, making Ida suck her breath in through her teeth. This could be a serious injury. “Who do you call when the doctor is sick?”

Grimshaw blinked. “Dr. Parker's never been sick. Never been hurt before, either.”

Ida mentally calculated the distance between the Home and the nearest hospital. Unless the doctor's life or sight were at stake—which she dearly hoped wasn't the case—they'd have time to get him to whatever medical attention she wasn't qualified to give.

They dashed through the Home hallways until Ida could have found her way by the sound. Children yelling, Mrs. Smiley shouting, younger children crying; the commotion gave Dr. Parker's position away clearly as she headed out into the yard behind the kitchen.

Slumped like a rag doll against a rusty portion of the Home's massive wrought iron fence, Daniel sat motionless. Well, not entirely motionless—he clenched and unclenched one fist and the part of his face she could see worked in bloody grimaces. Donna and Matthew were attempting to herd the children away from the gruesome scene while Mrs. Smiley was holding a wad of dish towels—now more red than white—against one side of Daniel's face.

“Coming through,” Ida said, her voice cutting the commotion to silence as the children parted between her and Daniel. She flipped open the kit and knelt in front of Daniel next to Mrs. Smiley. “Dan—” She stopped herself, grateful to catch the error before she made it in front of the matron. “Dr. Parker?”

His eyes worked to focus on her. He squinted—his glasses were off and lying bent on the ground somewhere to her left—which sent him into a hissing wince of pain. “Fence.” Grimshaw was right; his words were slightly slurred.

“Here, let me,” Ida said to Mrs. Smiley, gently taking the soaked cloths from the teacher's hand. She took the smallest of peeks at the wound, careful to hide her reaction from the present audience. Daniel had a deep, angry gash running dangerously close to his left eye, which was already boasting bright red splotches where the white of his eye ought to be. Feeling the battle calm the army hospital had bred into her, she returned the cloth as she caught Mrs. Smiley's gaze. “The children need to be elsewhere. We don't want them seeing us carry Dr. Parker like a bloody corpse out of here.”

Mrs. Smiley's command snapped into place, and she rose with authority. “The children will follow Mr. Grimshaw and me back to the classrooms. Dr. Parker is injured, but he will be fine and Nurse Landway will see to his treatment. Off with you now, make room. Those who need water may stop in the kitchen.”

Daniel brought a wavering hand up in the air to catch Ida's. “Blurry,” he said, spitting blood out of his mouth from where he'd split his lip open. She hoped Daniel was describing his thoughts and not his eyesight.

“I'll bet that smarts,” she said, forcing a false amusement into her tone. “Forget the fencing—you'll look like you lost a boxing match by tomorrow morning.”

He grunted. That meant he'd heard her and could understand her words. She took comfort in that. Taking a quick glance behind her to ensure the children were retreating, Ida peeled the dishcloths off Daniel's forehead, willing herself not to show any reaction. She'd seen enough drastic wounds to know how to keep her composure, but tending to someone she knew well was different from treating scores of anonymous soldiers. His wound was deep and jagged, and it had indeed caught the edge of his eyelid. He'd need a hospital, and most likely a surgeon.

“He hit right there, I'd say.” Mr. MacNeil squatted beside her, pointing up to a spot where it looked as if the fence jutted in from a falling tree or some other blow. Ida's spine ran cold as she saw the blood streak on the rusted black metal. Daniel had chosen a particularly dangerous place to catch his fall.

“Run to the telephone in Dr. Parker's office and call Roper Hospital,” Ida whispered to Mr. MacNeil as she began pulling gauze and antiseptic from her kit. “Tell them we need an ambulance. Ask them to use the side gate. Meet them there and try and keep this out of the eyes of the children as much as you can.”

“Don't let the children see this.” Daniel began to rise until Ida put a hand on his chest.

“They've gone, but don't you move. You're hurt. More than I can treat, I'm afraid. We'll get you to Roper as soon as we can.” When MacNeil had gone, Ida moved in closer. “Here, see if you can hold this up.” She guided his hand to the red-soaked pad of toweling. She didn't like how flimsy his usually strong hand felt and how wobbly it moved through the air. She pressed her hand on top of his, cueing him to hold the cloths tight against the wound. Leaning in, she tried to capture his attention. “Daniel, can you see me clearly?”

He licked his swollen lip. “Somewhat,” he muttered. “One side...blurry.”

Ida dearly hoped it was simply the blood seeping into his eye that blurred his vision and not something more. She soaked a gauze pad with antiseptic and began dabbing around the edges of the wound, eventually easing his hand up to begin working near the deeper gash. “You've cut yourself close to that eye. I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt.”

He winced as she applied the medicine to the narrow end of the laceration. He let out a groan through gritted teeth as she swapped out the drenched cloths and replaced them with a wad of gauze soaked in antiseptic, pressing as hard as she dared. For a moment, she thought he was mumbling nonsense words, but she soon realized what he was saying.

“Genesis, Exodus...Exodus...I can't remember what comes next.”

She couldn't help but smile, frightened and worried as she was. “Leviticus,” she cued. “Almost done. My part at least. I can't vouch for what they'll do to you at the hospital.”

The bleeding was slowing somewhat, but she could only imagine how much the strong antiseptic stung in so large a facial wound.
I saw rust on that dirty fencepost, Father
, she prayed.
Spare him from tetanus or anything else. We depend on him.

Looking back at Daniel, she watched the focus in his good eye wander and fade for a moment. “Daniel,” she urged, grabbing his free hand. “Daniel, stay with me. You've taken a hard hit to your head and there is a serious wound near your eye. You're going to the hospital because I think you need to see a surgeon. Do you understand?”

She could see him try to pull his thoughts together, his jaw working and his fingers tightening around her hand. “That bad?”

It was difficult to keep a wounded soldier calm, but in those cases she could always hedge the information she gave a patient in order to keep him from unnecessary worry. How could she do that with an informed doctor? Perhaps it was a blessing Daniel seemed confused—she would surely not stay calm if she knew she was facing extensive stitches, surgery or the chance at any of the handful of nasty complications a rusty, dirty cut could give.

She decided on the gentlest version of the truth. “Bad enough. We've slowed the bleeding, though, so that's good.”

His breathing shallowed, and he started to shake. “Ida...”

Daniel was going into shock. Ida looked up and around, willing the ambulance orderlies to appear through the side gate.

“The children...all the blood.” He began looking around as if he could rise and begin to clean up after the accident.

“Shh,” she said, pushing him back down against the wall. She was glad he was too hurt to put up much resistance. “Keep still. The children are all fine and back in their classrooms.”

That seemed to soothe him a little. How very like Daniel to be more worried about how the children might be affected by seeing him hurt than by his own pain or injury. She was struck again by this extraordinary man's tireless devotion to his work.
He needs to continue, Father. Spare him from harm.

“What comes after?” he asked vaguely as his eyes fell shut.

“After what?”

“After Leviti...Leviti...” He was having trouble forming the word, and that frightened her.

“After Leviticus?” she finished for him, hating how his brow furrowed and winced with both pain and effort. “Why, it's Numbers, of course.”

“Numbers,” he repeated, his focus returning just a bit.

“Daniel, open your eyes and look at me.”

He obeyed, making an enormous effort to stare directly into her eyes. They were inches apart, her heart surging toward him in pity and concern. She squeezed his hand.

“Good, good, much better. Stay with me. After Numbers comes Deuteronomy.”

“Deuteromony,” he mispronounced. He ran his tongue across his split lip again, fumbling with something in his mouth that he eventually spit into his hand. “I broke a tooth.”

Ida stared down at the chip, gleaming white against the blood smears on his hand. “Your flawless charm is doomed.”

“Ha,” he moaned, followed by a decidedly inelegant, “Ow.”

A commotion behind her alerted Ida that the orderlies had arrived with their canvas gurney. “Over here, gentlemen. Head wound. Four-inch laceration, rather deep, adjacent to the left eye.” She pointed up to the offending bent fencing. “From that.”

“Thank you, Nurse,” said the orderly, grimacing at the bloody scene before him. “We'll take it from here.”

* * *

There was a line of searing pain from Daniel's hairline down past his eye, ending in a throbbing ball somewhere along his cheekbone. He hadn't blacked out when they stitched him up, although he'd almost wished for it. He wasn't fond of anesthetic—most especially on himself—even though he knew the doctor working on him. Somewhere in the midst of the treatment he'd had the ridiculous thought that he'd rather stitch himself up than let someone else do it.

That was a silly thought, since he could barely see between the loss of his glasses and the bandage over his eye. Touch and feel told him he was in a bed at Roper Hospital, but his world boiled down to the two feet he could see in front of his face.

“How do you like my needlework?” A voice came from his left. Dr. Michael Hartwick appeared in Daniel's field of vision.

“I hope it looks better than it feels,” Daniel said with a grimace.

“I'd imagine it looks
much
better than it feels,” Hartwick agreed, “and it looks rather awful.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.” Daniel reached up to touch the bandages over his eye. They felt a mile wide, and his head felt as if it had swollen to twice its size. “The eye?”

“You were very fortunate, Parker. Another half an inch, and it would have been a very tricky business indeed. As it is you'll just keep us company for a few days and sport a very dashing scar. Here.” He handed Daniel his bent glasses, now boasting a crack in one lens. “I had the office contact your mother about seeing to another pair, but you won't be needing the lens you broke for at least another week. Can you get them on over the bandages?”

It was awkward—and no doubt comical looking—but Daniel managed to get the glasses on only a bit off-kilter. He sighed in relief as the world came into focus again. It had bothered him immensely not to be able to see well in circumstances that already stole much of his control.

“Who is your new nurse?” Hartwick asked. “Most unusual woman.”

Now, there was a description with which Daniel could heartily agree. “She is indeed.” He ran his tongue along his swollen lip again, feeling as if his personality had been stuffed into some giant's face. It seemed as if he tasted blood every time he swallowed, and while he could have used some supper, he found the prospect of eating daunting enough to go hungry.

Hartwick began moving his finger back and forth in front of Daniel's face, cuing him to follow with his good eye. “You've run through your share of nurses over there. Think this one will stick?” Hartwick was just making conversation as he checked Daniel's vision; the man had no idea how vital a question he was asking.

“She's an army nurse,” Daniel replied. “I don't think we can scare this one off.”

“Clever thinking.”

“Where is she?”

“Oh, she was here for about an hour when we brought you in, keeping close tabs on you. She left when you dozed off after the procedure. Bossy little thing, isn't she?”

“She's not shy about sharing opinions, I'll grant you that.”

“Well, she did a fine job hauling you in here.” Hartwick sat back, satisfied with his examination. “I'd keep her if I were you.”

Daniel thought about how he'd focused on her eyes when the world spun in confused circles around him. As his thoughts had tangled there on the ground, she'd held him in place. She'd been calm and efficient. He remembered the soft warmth of her hands and how it felt different from the hard coolness of the metal fence. Yes, keeping Ida Landway would be a very good thing indeed.