Queen of Swords
Page 45

“Oh,” Hannah said, remembering. “Yes.”
With a tone that was a little shy, Julia said, “When there is time, you might ask him about his experiments. He would like to show you his microscope.”
Hannah said, “I’d like to see it.” And oddly, it was true. Her interest in medicine and science, which had been slumbering for so long, had sparked to life again. She thought of the laboratory she had inherited from another one of her teachers, empty and neglected these many long months. It was odd to think that they would be going home soon, really going home, to take up their lives. She found herself thinking of her father, and wondering if the letters she and Luke had sent off with Lieutenant Hodge on the Grasshopper had found their way home, of the letter Luke had sent from Pensacola. She thought of the last letter they had had, and Curiosity.
“Hannah?” Julia said.
“I’m ready.”
There was a knock at the door and it opened.
Jennet said, “Shall I bring in the first patient? A great hulk of a man from Kentucky, he tells me his name is Abraham and he’s got a bullet stuck in the meat of his shoulder that he’d like to be rid of.”
Hannah couldn’t help but laugh. It was amazing, the way Jennet could bring light and warmth into the worst situation.
“What have you done with the boy?”
“Och, dinnae worry about wee Nathaniel. Clémentine fairly ripped him out of my arms when I said I wanted to come help.” Jennet took an apron as she spoke. “I’ll fetch Abraham, shall I? And we can get to work.”
By the time the afternoon had slipped into dusk, it was clear to Hannah that she would never again operate so efficiently or well. With Julia and Jennet to assist they made short work of Abraham Finley’s bullet, and then went on to amputate toes, clean and drain an abscessed knife wound, and dig a dozen pieces of shrapnel out of a hand so horny with callus that it was like cutting through leather. Now the newest patient on the table had taken off his leggings to reveal an ulcer the size of a saucer that had eaten through muscle to the bone.
Watching Julia handle instruments, Hannah had the idea that she could have done any of the surgeries on her own without hesitation. In contrast, Jennet had had only a few months of training, and cases like this one still caused her difficulty. Now she turned away momentarily. Hannah wouldn’t have blamed her if she had brought up her breakfast, the stench was that bad.
When she turned back, Jennet fixed the patient with a stern gaze. “Mr. Corbin,” she said to him sharply. “Mr. Corbin, explain to me exactly how it is that you let yersel come to sic a pass. The Almichtie gave ye twa guid legs, man, and look what ye’ve done with the left one. Guid God, but that must pang ye.”
Julia and Hannah exchanged glances, but didn’t try to intervene. When it came to dealing with the varied personalities of patients who happened to be soldiers, Jennet had no equal. Her instincts never failed; she knew when to be sympathetic, when to be distant, when a man needed most to be calmed or bullied, pacified or chided.
Mr. Corbin had come into the surgery with a mutinous expression that at first seemed impervious to Jennet’s outrage. She went on anyway with her lecture, and Hannah, busy as she was with the mess that had once been the man’s calf muscle, had to admire his ability to tolerate more than one kind of pain.
“What baw-heid walks three days on a shank like this?” Jennet demanded. “What use will ye be tae the major general if ye fall doon on yer gizz in the muck?”
Finally Mr. Corbin opened his mouth to respond. Jennet’s head snapped up and she fixed him with her most severe expression.
“So noo we’ll hear excuses, will we? A sairy tale, nae doot.”
A momentary hesitation, and the small pale mouth shut. The two of them glared at each other for a moment and then, with a huff of a sigh, Mr. Corbin seemed to give up the idea of defending himself altogether.
Jennet never lost track of what Hannah required from her, nor did she let up in her lecture. While she brought water and took away basins and handed instruments and bottles and salves she wondered out loud about the idiocy of men who hadn’t the sense that God gave a midge.
It wasn’t until they were almost finished that Hannah realized that the unfortunate Mr. Corbin had lost consciousness, but that he had done so with a vague smile on his face.
Julia, who was not easily amazed, openly wondered what exactly had just happened.
“Sometimes a harangue-maker is more use than a surgeon,” said Jennet, who was just now beginning to get her color back. “At least when it’s a Scot ye’ve got to cut on.”
Hannah realized she hadn’t heard Mr. Corbin say even a single word. She said, “He’s a Scot?”
“Och, aye,” said Jennet. “Were he anything else, I wadnae have spoke half so sweet.”
The day’s work was almost—but not quite—enough to make Hannah put aside all thought of Ben Savard. But when Jennet had gone back to the Livingstons’ and Hannah was climbing the stairs to eat her supper with the family, she felt her pulse pick up. Unless he had gone back to the front, he would be there at the table.
According to Paul he hadn’t gone back to his company yet, but neither was he at supper. Hannah felt Rachel watching her, but resisted the inclination to meet the girl’s gaze. At this moment she could hardly hide what she was feeling.
Rachel said, “Mama, Hannah hasn’t heard my news.”
“That’s true,” Julia said. Her smile was a little sad. “Would you like to tell her?”