She looked around. “Oh, there.” She went to the dresser. “Your father must have left it here. Goodness, it’s filthy.”
“I know. I haven’t time to worry about it, but it seems wrong to put on my Sunday coat without a bath.” He shrugged into the jacket.
“No one will care. Come on.” His mother exited the room, motioning for him to follow.
Micah made his way to the kitchen, where Mr. and Mrs. Walters stood beside their son. Mrs. Walters’ face was ashen, and she bit her lower lip as if to keep herself from crying out. Mr. Walters didn’t look much better, but he kept his jaw clenched in a stalwart manner.
“Tell me what happened,” Micah said, looking down at the boy. “It appears you had quite an adventure.” He loosened the tourniquet. The wound oozed blood but didn’t gush like he’d feared it might.
The twelve-year-old was pale and doing his best not to cry. “We were trying to clear out ... ah...” He writhed in pain and looked at his dad.
Mr. Walters put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Frank.”
Micah assessed the wound on the boy’s calf. The eight-inch cut wasn’t all that deep. He smiled at Frank. “This could have been a whole lot worse. I think you’ll be fine. We’ll just wash it out and sew it up. I’ve got some medicine with me that will help with the pain. You’ll probably sleep, in fact.”
Frank’s eyes were wide. Perspiration lined his upper lip. He gave a little nod, but Micah could see the pain was more than the child or his mother could bear. Mrs. Walters was equally pale and in tears.
“Mrs. Walters, why don’t you wait outside? It’s sometimes easier for young men if they don’t have to worry about upsetting their mothers.” Micah smiled at the harried woman. “Mr. Walters, if you want to stay, I could probably use your help to keep Frank steady. At least until the medicine takes hold.”
Mr. Walters nodded and looked at his wife. “You go on outside, Essie. No since worryin’ the boy. Frank’s gonna be just fine.”
Mrs. Walters looked as though she was torn between escaping the misery of her child and staying to help.
Micah tried to reassure her. “My mother will stay here and assist me. I’ll send her out to you as soon as we’re finished.”
Finally, Mrs. Walters gave a slight nod. She leaned down and kissed her son on the head, then left the room. She paused only a moment at the back door and then was gone.
Micah found his black bag and took out a bottle of strong medication. His mother brought a spoon and helped him administer the thick syrup to the boy. While he waited for the medicine to take effect, Micah instructed his mother to bring soap, water, and bandages. He knew she’d have everything he needed. Ever since Micah had finished his surgical training, people would drop by the house for help with one injury or another. Mother had started keeping basic medical materials around the house for just such occasions. It wasn’t at all unusual to come home and find her tearing up old sheets to make bandages.
The exhaustion he’d felt earlier seemed to disappear as Micah focused on the injury. He loved what he did—treating the wounded, healing the sick. He was born to be a doctor. Even as a child, he had taken to treating injured pets. Blood had never bothered him. Blood was life. His father had often preached about the saving blood of Jesus, after all. Micah supposed it was things like that which made it seem a wondrous thing rather than a fearful one.
Once Frank was dozing, the work went quickly. Making small stitches, Micah couldn’t help but remember repairing Kenzie’s fingers not so long ago. She had been so frightened—so vulnerable. She always worked so hard to hide her emotional wounds, but when the glass had sliced her fingers, she hadn’t been able to hide that. She hadn’t wanted Micah’s help, but at the same time, he’d known that he was the only one she truly needed. Not just for his medical expertise. It was something more. He knew Kenzie had feelings for him, but they were buried under layers of betrayal and pain.
I’ll help her see that we belong together.
It was a promise he’d made himself more than once that week. Seeing so much death and destruction, Micah needed to believe there was hope for beauty and life.
“There,” he said, putting in the final stitch. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction when he stepped back to consider his work. “Mother, please wrap it snug, but not too tight.” He looked to Mr. Walters. “You’ll need to keep him off that leg. We need to give the skin a chance to knit.”
“We still have that pair of crutches we could loan,” his mother offered as she wrapped bandages around a thick padding of bleached cotton.
Micah nodded and washed his hands in the basin of soapy water his mother had provided. “Good. Frank’s a tall boy, so they should be just fine.”
“Son, why don’t you go back to bed?” His mother’s expression was tender and proud.
“No, I’ll rest later. Right now, I need to go see someone.”
He began to gather his things. “Just leave those,” Mother told him. “I’ll clean them and have them ready for you when you return.” She smiled and returned her attention to the boy’s leg. “Tell Kenzie we said hello.”
He chuckled and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You know me too well.”
“Well enough that I won’t even bother suggesting you take a bath and put on clean clothes.”
Micah was already heading for the door. “That would take too much time.”
Kenzie’s frustration and anger at failing to get through the barricaded lines left her feeling out of sorts with everyone. Her mood was as gray as the rain-laden clouds. Why could no one understand her need to find George? She just wanted to see him—to know he was all right. He could be hurt and in need of help.
“I need to find him,” she muttered under her breath, but for just a moment, it wasn’t Cousin George’s face she saw. It was Micah’s. Her heart was betraying her again.
