I murmured and kept stacking. Bandages were used far too often. My ethanol supply was now low, and the men didn't deserve it. I could take the fine suture, because men would handle the thicker stuff better.
Soon enough, Mrs. Worthington finished with the girl and sent her back to sermon. The moment that child was gone, Mrs. Worthington sighed heavily, and when she began cleaning, she sighed again.
"That bad?" I asked, leaving my pile to grab another cloth so I could help her.
She pushed out a tired chuckle. "I'm pregnant again."
"No..." I breathed.
Because Mrs. Worthington had to be over thirty! Each child was harder on the body than the one before, but we couldn't lose her. She was too important!
She gave me a weak smile. "I'll be fine, Callah. It just means I'll need to rely on you more. One day, you will be in charge of this place."
I felt like time stopped as her words hit me. I couldn't be in charge here. I didn't want to behereat all. Still, guilt slammed into me, because if I didn't do this, then who would?
"We need more healers," I realized.
"And most men want to be the center of their wife's world. They despise her wasting her time cleaning something besides their rooms. They refuse to tolerate her being called away in the middle of a meal. Callah, there are dozens of girls who can heal, but few - "
"We need stitches!" a woman begged, rushing another into the infirmary.
Mrs. Worthington and I turned, and both of us rushed to assist. The women were a pair I recognized: Deenah and Helah, but this time Deenah was the one wounded and Helah was supporting her.
"What happened?" I asked, steering Deenah onto the closest bed for care.
"The elders were watching the servings being handed out," Helah explained. "Deenah was given a fair serving for her lunch and Mr. Morgan hit her across the face with the bowl!"
"The other women were yelling at him to stop," Deenah explained, lifting a cloth from her chin only to have blood well up the moment the pressure was released.
"Don't talk," Mrs. Worthington told her. "Just hold that while we get some things to make the bleeding stop."
So Helah took over. "The girls behind the counter said the wives had told them to give equal portions. No wife wanted to say she'd been the one to do it, but three offered Bible verses for why it was only right, and a crowd was forming, but that's the thing, Callah. They knew. The men knew to come look at how much we're eating."
"Which means," Mrs. Worthington told me, "someone said something to her husband. Theyneverpay attention to us."
Of course someone had. Someone always did. For some reason, there were wives who convinced themselves that if they could just be better, follow the rules a little more than everyone else, and prove how pious and propertheywere, then their suffering would stop. In truth, I'd been worried Meri would become that sort of person, and was so thankful she never had.
But plenty tried it. Usually, they suffered just as much, so they eventually learned to keep their mouths shut, but when I heard voices in the hall, I realized the argument had followed these women here. Grabbing Helah, I shifted her around to the far side of the bed. Mrs. Worthington was pouring ethanol on a cloth and moving before Deenah, and those voices?
They entered the room with a group of screaming women and four men trying to push them back. That was not at all what I'd expected, but most of the faces I saw were the widows. Women without a husband to punish them often grew more brave than those facing danger every moment of their day.
And in the middle of all of it was Mr. Becker, one of the quieter elders - and younger.
"Who," he roared, "made this decision!"
"The Lord says - " a widow tried.
"Enough!" Mr. Morgan screamed. "I can't hear myself think over the screeching of you women! Now shut your gossiping mouths until you're spoken to."
And I slammed the bottle of ethanol beside me down on the table, making a loud bang. "This," I said, turning on the group, "is the infirmary. This is where we heal, so if you are not injured, get out or assist. Those are the only two options for men in this room."
And Mr. Becker slowly turned his glare on me. "Excuseme?"
"I did not mumble, Mr. Becker." But I did lift my chin.
"Girl - "
"It's Mrs. Warren," Mrs. Worthington corrected. "She is not a girl. Not after the recent change to the rules."
