“There’s a cutting table there,” Mr. Palling said. “I’ll clear it.”
Cutting table?Anne knew the man referred to cloth cutting, yet she still prayed this injury would require no cutting of any kind.
Mr. Palling hurriedly swept aside the partial roll of cloth and remnants cluttering the table and returned. Together they helped the injured man across the mill floor and onto the table. The man howled with pain at the unavoidable jostling.
His shirt sleeve was already stained and in tatters, but Dr. Finch ripped the remaining fabric away by force, exposing the man’s arm to his shoulder. A strip of skin on the man’s forearm was rippled and abraded, peeled back like a can of tinned beef.
He turned to the owner. “Could you bring clean water, soap, and rags?”
“We are on the mill stream, if that’s clean enough.”
“Should be.”
Mr. Palling hurried off to do his bidding.
“What’s your name?” Dr. Finch asked the man.
“Joe Webb,” he replied between pants of pained breath.
“I am Dr. Finch, and this is Miss Loveday.”
“You a prayin’ man, Doc?”
“I am.”
“Pray for me, will ya? Need this arm. Hinton lost his last year, but I can’t. Got four little ’uns at home.”
Dr. Finch laid a gentle hand on the man’s unaffected shoulder and briefly closed his eyes. Anne silently added her prayer to his, hoping God would help them, although she knew He did not always answer her prayers—at least not with the answer she wanted.
Then Dr. Finch palpated the man’s injured arm, shoulder, and collarbone. Joe Webb gritted his teeth, perspiring profusely, clearly trying not to cry out.
“Can’t be absolutely sure while your muscles are tensed in shock, but I cannot find any broken bones.”
“Praise God.”
“Indeed. Your shoulder is dislocated, however, and these abrasions will take time to heal and leave some nasty scars.”
“Don’t care about bein’ pretty.” He managed a weak smile for Anne. “I’ll leave that to you, miss.”
Anne’s face warmed at the compliment.
Dr. Finch removed a vial from his bag and poured a measure full. “Take this, if you would. Will ease the pain and relax the muscles.”
The man drank the offered draught as Mr. Palling delivered the requested supplies and hurried away again to help repair the disabled machine.
“Miss Loveday, if you would brace Mr. Webb while I relocate his shoulder?”
Anne did as she was asked, bracing herself as well.
“Deep breath, Joe.” One hand on the man’s upper arm, the other on his shoulder, the doctor shoved the shoulder bone back into position with a loud crack. Joe cried out despite his efforts not to.
“Sorry about that.”
“No need,” Joe panted. “Feels better already.”
“We’re not through yet. The worst of these cuts should be sutured.” He looked at Anne. “Perhaps you might do that?”
To Joe he explained, “Miss Loveday is nurse to Lady Celia Fitzjohn. She also assisted her father, who is a surgeon.”
