“It’s for the better. His body needs rest to heal.” Dr. Abernathy uncapped a glass jar, removing its grayish-brown contents with a spoon. Carefully, he smeared the gruel-like substance over the stitched flesh.
“What is that?” Gabby asked queasily.
“A healing poultice made from moldy bread and honey. To minimize the risk of infection.” With Mr. Murray’s help, the physician wound a bandage around Adam’s torso and covered him with a blanket. “My work is done for now. I’ll be by to check on the patient tomorrow.”
Gabby gave him an anxious look. “How long will it take for my husband to recover?”
At Dr. Abernathy’s somber expression, her stomach plummeted. He drew her away from the bed, Mr. Murray joining them.
“The bullet wound should heal in a fortnight,” the physician said quietly. “But there is another concern.”
“What concern?” she blurted.
He and Mr. Murray exchanged looks.
Her voice rose. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“When Garrity was shot, the force of the bullet knocked him off his feet.” It was Mr. Murray who replied, his tone grim. “He hit his head and fell into the water. I saw this from the other end of the dock. I don’t know where that shooter came from, thought we had the enemy under wraps. I ran over, dispatching the assailant and diving in after Garrity. He wasn’t breathing when I got him out. But I was able to pump the water from his lungs and revive him.”
Gabby clutched her hands tightly.
“Your husband is a fit man in his prime, which bodes well for his recovery,” Dr. Abernathy said. “As we cannot predict the future, we must concentrate on what we can do for him in the present. There’ll likely be a fever, and our immediate job will be to keep him as comfortable as we can.”
A million thoughts skirled in her head, but she knew he was right. She had to remain calm. She couldn’t let herself become overwhelmed or paralyzed by fears about the future.
Adam needs me now.
Drawing her shoulders back, she asked, “You will leave instructions for my husband’s care?”
“Of course, ma’am.” The physician looked relieved, as if he’d been expecting her to fall apart. “And I’ll be by to check on him on the morrow.”
“I am obliged, sir.”
After the physician departed, Gabby returned to Adam’s side. His eyes were closed, the wound on his temple pronounced against his ashen skin. A deep divot formed between his brows, his jaw taut. Beneath the blanket, his chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow surges. It seemed impossible that her potent, vital husband could be this vulnerable. She took his hand in both of hers, willing some of her own strength into him.
Please God,she prayed,see my husband well. I’ll do anything…anything at all…
“Everything will be all right,” Mr. Murray said gruffly.
“Yes.” Forcing back tears, she said, “Thank you, sir, for your heroism this night. We owe you more than we can ever repay—”
“If Garrity wants to thank me, he can do it himself.” Mr. Murray attempted a smile, which came out rather lopsided. “He has the toughest hide of anyone I know. He’ll pull through.”
Gabby fought the quiver in her throat. In her soul.
She had to be strong—for Adam’s sake.
“I know he will,” she said.
He has to. Please God, he has to.
11
The darkness was winning.
Adam fought it, but the freezing depths pulled him deeper and deeper. Fear suffocated him, filling his lungs, weighing him down like bricks dragging him to his watery grave.
No, I won’t die like this. Like a bloody drowned kitten. Won’t give him the satisfaction…
