While she tended his obvious wounds, she’d look for broken bones. She’d need to remove some of his clothing to look for bent limbs, swelling, or bruising. Maybe this wasn’t proper, but Gil needed help. And she would only check his arms, legs, and abdomen.
She untucked his shirts, lifting the hems of both the flannel layer and his undershirt. Just like a doctor treating a patient.
The first bruise she glimpsed wiped away any thoughts of indecency, honing her attention on what damage might be underneath the skin. The dark purple area didn’t appear to be swollen, and it was on Gil’s left side, mid-abdomen. From what she could remember of the chart of organs on the wall in Dr. Miskelly’s office, only intestines were tucked in that area.
The farther she searched, the more dark skin she found. Almost more than unbruised areas.
One spot above his ribs tightened a knot in her middle. She didn’t dare press hard, but she couldn’t feel any loose or soft parts of his ribs.
He groaned a few times, deep, heart-wrenching sound, but didn’t come awake.
Would she be able to tell if it was broken?
She’d heard that nothing could be done for broken ribs except bed rest. Gil would be in a world of pain when he came fully coherent.
She brushed one light fingertip over his temple in an area that wasn’t bruised or cut. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” Emotion bubbled up, silencing her.
She pressed a light kiss to that same spot. If there were any way she could take on some of his pain, she would do it.
She rolled up his sleeves and then checked his arms and shoulders without having to remove his shirt. She would worry about his back later.
As for his trousers, should she cut the legs open? She could stitch them back later at the seams. She could probably see almost to his knees by rolling up the hem of each leg, but if there was any injury, she’d need to gain access to treat the area.
For now, best to check where she could under the hems, then focus on washing his face and hair. Just in case she needed to stop a still-bleeding wound.
As she wrung a little water from her cloth to trickle down Gil’s right cheek, his eyes opened a sliver. His mouth moved, like he was trying to wet his lips to speak. That would be painful, for both lips were swollen, the bottom one cracked and bleeding.
She rested a finger on his lips, the lightest of touches. “Don’t try to talk. I know it hurts. I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t move his mouth again, but his hand rose from where it lay at his side. Only the hand, as though the arm was too heavy. Or broken? If he could move his hand, the bone wouldn’t be fully snapped. She’d check that next.
For now, his eyes had opened wider, his fingers reaching as though he wanted something. The wet cloth? Pain medicine? She still had to brew the willow bark tea, and he probably didn’twant the former. Maybe he just wanted a little comfort. This she could give.
She touched her fingers to his palm, and his hand closed around them. Tight. His injuries hadn’t stolen his strength—at least not all of it.
With her hand firmly in his, he closed his eyes again, and his face relaxed.
CHAPTER 18
Jess left her hand in Gil’s for a long moment, breathing in the feel of him. He wantedherfor comfort. Had she ever been so important to another person that just holding her hand brought relief from suffering? Certainly not to her father. The men she treated needed themedicineshe brought them. Teas for pain or breathing ailments.
Her mother maybe. She’d loved having Jess near anytime she was sick. Not so close that Jess would catch the illness, but in a nearby chair, reading or telling stories. Jess hadn’t been there in her last minutes, only Father had. Had his presence comforted Mama?
Jess inhaled a thick breath.
Father was the one responsible for Gil’s condition. If he weren’t such a hard man, he’d rein in Jedidiah’s cruelty.
She couldn’t let her mind follow that trail or her body would tense and she’d be no comfort to Gil at all.
She eased the air out, long and slow. Then, one hand still tucked in Gil’s, she used the other to lay the wet cloth on his forehead. Better to let the water loosen the dried blood so she didn’t have to rub much. She dipped another clean cloth in thewater bucket, squeezed it out, and draped it over another part of his face. The cool water might ease his pain a little.
What else could she do? Maybe start willow tea brewing.
She rose to do that, and once she had the water and powdered willow bark heating, she returned to sit on the edge of the bed beside Gil.
When he raised his hand again, she slipped hers into his grasp. What more could she do for comfort? She stroked her free hand over the back of his and hummed a quiet tune.
Her mother had sung this hymn to her often when they worked together, washing clothes or peeling apples. After humming through the verse once, she dared shift to actual singing. Her voice was nothing beautiful, but the words of this song felt so appropriate for Gil’s condition. And hers too.
