Daisy blinked. The rose petals—she’d forgotten all about them.
“Keep it warm, and ladle it into the pans,” she instructed.
Gilbert nodded, and Daisy absently noted that his curly hair, so similar to hers, needed shorn. Later.
“Anything else?” He flicked a wary glance toward their patient. “If you want to finish the soap, I’ll keep an eye on him,” he offered.
That was her brother, small but earnest. She shook her head. “No. I’ll do it.”
“What if he wakes up?”
Daisy suppressed an amused grin at the protective note in Gilbert’s voice. He was getting to the age where he thought it his duty to guard her, which was very sweet, but… well, Gilbert was still at least a head shorter and more than a stone lighter than she was.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
“If you’re sure…” He still hesitated.
“Quite. Now, get in there and save my soap while I clean him up.”
Gilbert frowned, but a few moments later, from inside thekitchen, she heard the soft clatter of pans as he set about following her instructions, ensuring her hard work hadn’t gone to waste.
Alone with the stranger, Daisy cautiously began wiping the dirt from the man’s face and head, working in slow, careful strokes.
Even through the grime, his skin was unnervingly pale, his lips nearly bloodless beneath the bruises.
Would her efforts even matter?
She worked faster, pushing past hesitation. She scrubbed harder, the lather turning pink as she washed away dried blood. When the wounds on his face were finally clean, she dabbed at them with a dry cloth.
But he didn’t stir.
Was he already too far gone?
Daisy barely had time to dwell on the thought before Gilbert returned and together, they wrestled the deadweight of the unconscious man into the kitchen.
It would have been impossible to carry him upstairs, so their only real option was the pantry, just a narrow space tucked behind the kitchen. But it was dry, clean, and, most importantly, secluded from the rest of the shop.
By the time they settled him onto an old threadbare mattress, Daisy’s arms burned from exertion, her muscles trembling with fatigue.
The hour had grown late, and Gilbert looked as exhausted as she felt, though he tried to hide it behind a furrowed brow and stubborn stance.
“I can help look after him,” he insisted.
Daisy shook her head, gentle but firm. “No, love. You’ve had a long day.”
“But—”
She pressed a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “You need some dinner, and then sleep, Gil. Think of school.”
Gilbert frowned but obeyed, trudging toward the table where his school papers waited beside their simple supper. Daisy hovered long enough to make sure he ate a proper meal, sitting with him in the quiet kitchen, her mind only half on the food.
Once he had cleared his plate and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, she squeezed his hand. “Off to bed, now.”
He hesitated, flicking a glance toward the pantry, then back at her. “You’ll wake me if you need help?”
He was still just a boy, but he had so much heart.
“I will,” she promised.
