Scamper barked suddenly, scaring her from her thoughts. When she turned, he was snapping at a butterfly as it flew by. He jumped to his feet and gave chase. Keturah shook her head even though her lips stretched in a smile. She did have to agree with her husband that the pup had grown much in the short months they had been married. No longer truly a pup, he was long and lean. Though whether he would ever be a hunting dog was still debatable. Much like his owner, he was too easily distracted.
A giggle passed through her lips, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. Keturah could not help the joy that overflowed, though. For she had finally discovered the reason for her moodiness—she was with child.
“Keturah.”
Keturah lifted her head, her brows bunching as her husband’s tentative voice drifted to her from his place beside the tree. Dread coiled in the pit of her stomach at the particular timbre. Slowly, she turned toward him.
Some of the tension released from her shoulders at the sight of the apologetic grin on Daniel’s face. But he seemed to be fighting a grimace, and he curled his right hand against his chest, cradled in his left one.
Keturah made for her husband. “What happened?”
Daniel winced. “I, um…there was an accident.”
Her heart picked up its pace. “What kind of accident?”
Daniel finally held up his hand. Bright red blood dripped in a steady stream from a large deep gash in the back of his hand.
Keturah’s eyes widened as she sucked in a breath. “How on earth…?” She dropped to her knees beside him, examining the wound. “Come to the house,” she ordered, immediately rising again.
Daniel followed obediently and without a word as she marched across the clearing and into the cabin.
Inside, Keturah pointed to the bench beside the table. “Sit.”
She went to fetch the jug of water and basin from beside the bed, then moved alongside her husband. Ignoring the trail of blood that led across the room, she placed Daniel’s injured hand in the basin and poured water over it, washing free any debris that might be inthe gash. Keturah leaned closer to the cut, but blood still seeped so quickly from the opening that she could not see if it had been thoroughly cleaned. And the wound would need to be pristine before the flesh was stitched back together. Keturah pursed her lips and went to the cabinet where her father had kept the dreaded drink that made his moods worse.
“This will hurt,” she warned Daniel as she returned.
He nodded his assent, his face tight with pain. When she poured the amber-colored liquid over the cut, her husband hissed out a breath.
As the wound filled again with blood, Keturah groaned. Glancing about the room, she racked her brain for some way to stop the bleeding. Salt.
Dashing back over to the hutch along the wall, she lifted the canister of salt from the shelf and whisked it over to where Daniel sat. Keturah swallowed at how pale his face had become. How could one wound bleed so much? Should it not have stopped by now? Hoping her face did not reveal her concern, she settled onto the bench next to Daniel and scooped salt into the gash on the back of his right hand.
“Ahh.” Instinctively, he tried to jerk back as pain no doubt shot through his arm, but she held tight to his larger hand.
Once she had loaded it with salt, she retrieved a dish towel and wrapped it tightly around his hand. Then she pressed it to him for him to hug against his body. Her other hand did not leave his shoulder as hergaze went to his face. “That should staunch the bleedin’. Then I will clean it again an’ stitch it up.”
Daniel nodded, though his jaw remained set. Her heart beat wildly as she stared into his eyes. “All will be well,” her husband whispered.
She forced a small smile to her lips. “Aye,” she agreed, though concern caused her middle to tighten. A quick glance told her the towel had yet to soak through, but they were not out of the woods yet. Daniel’s skin remained several shades paler than normal, evidence of the amount of blood already lost. The wound had yet to be stitched, and they could only pray that no infection set in. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. But she blinked them back and busied herself with gathering her sewing basket so Daniel would not notice.
As she lifted the white-oak basket from the floor, Scamper’s barking outside drew her notice. Dropping the basket off on the table near Daniel, she moved to the door, carefully avoiding the drops of blood marring the cabin floor. Swinging the door open, she gasped.
“What is it?” Daniel’s voice came to her from the table.
“The stew,” she called over her shoulder.
As she dashed out to where the pot hung over the crackling fire, the stew smoked and sputtered, displeased with her inattention. Keturah reached for the ladle that had been left inside the pot in her haste but quickly drew back. The metal had grown too hot to touch.
She lifted the towel draped over the stump she had been seated on earlier and used it to protect her hand as she attempted to save the stew. But as she stirred, the thick stew made an awful sucking sound. The bottom was surely burnt. Dropping the ladle, she moved her towel to the handle and lifted the pot from the hook to carefully move it inside. They would salvage all they could, and she would scrub the dish later. Once her husband was properly cared for and supper eaten.
Keturah placed the bubbling stew on top of a towel on the table and returned to Daniel’s side. “How is it now?” She reached for his hand and started unwrapping. Her shoulders relaxed. The bleeding had stopped.
Daniel sought her gaze. “That is good.”
Keturah sighed before she met Daniel’s eyes again. “Now for the hard part.”
Her husband forced a grin as he nodded. “I can handle it.”
