Josie huffed, grasping his wrist with a tighter grip than he expected. “Hold on.” She bent over, pulling up her dress hem then tearing a shred from her white petticoat. Travis’s eyes squinted as he gritted his teeth. The sweat seeped into his wound, burning his open flesh. Josie pulled his arm towards her and began wrapping his hand.
“Ow!” He jerked slightly.
“Sorry,” Josie said sheepishly, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. “We need to get you inside. I need to properly dress the wound.”
Travis withdrew from her, wrapping the rest of his palm himself. “No need for that. I need to get this acre finished.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” Josie snapped. “You’ll get an infection.”
Travis went to retrieve his scythe. “Nothing Aunt Polly can’t make an ointment for.” Travis groaned, trying to grip the scythe. He had another quarter of this field to go and five more acres after. His family depended on him. Why did he have to lose control like that?
Josie gripped his shoulder, tugging him forward. “Come on. We don’t want to worry the children, do we?”
Travis huffed and dropped the scythe. “Fine.”
Josie waved to the children, who seemed to be getting along again. Lillian waved back wearing a huge smile.
“I’m going to start supper. Ivy, watch Lillian and Jonas.”
“Can we have fried chicken?” Jonas asked with wide eyes.
Josie chuckled. “Not tonight, but some flapjacks sound nice.”
Travis hid his injured hand behind his back and pointed at his children with his spare hand. “Behave. Keep tying those sheaves.”
Travis followed Josie inside, and immediately, she filled a pot with water using the indoor pump. “I’m going to boil some water, so we can clean it again later. I have some ointment in the pantry from Aunt Polly.”
Travis settled himself at the dining table. He looked at his palm, studying the red stains bleeding through Josie’s petticoat. As the water warmed atop the stove, Josie retrieved the ointment from the kitchen shelf then to her room, returning with a sewing kit. Just the thought of a needle made Travis’s stomach churn.
“W-What are you doing with that?”
“The wound is too deep. You need stitches,” Josie asserted. She settled in front of him, unwrapping his hand. Next she used a wet rag, wiping around the cut’s edge. Travis’s palm stung, causing him to pull back.
“It’s whiskey,” Josie explained. “It will clean the wound well enough.”
Travis’s cheeks warmed. He hoped she wouldn’t get the wrong idea about stumbling upon the bottle. He had kept it for medical purposes like sore throats and colds. He had tasted it only once after Sophie’s death—and never again. Grief might have changed him, but he refused to surrender and drown in darkness when his children needed him sober.
Josie opened her sewing kit, revealing a tiny pair of scissors, four rounds of thread, and a small wooden box of needles. Travis gulped. She reached out to take his hand, but Travis pulled back.
“Have you done this before?”
Josie sighed, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Relax. It’s not the first time I sewed up a wound.”
“When was that?”
Josie threaded her needle. “Here and there. Remember, my home was a battleground for four years.” Josie chuckled, dragging his wrist towards her. “I’ve sewn up bullet holes, cuts, stab wounds, and even amputated limbs.”
Travis nearly jumped out of his skin. “Y-You what?”
Who was this woman? Yes, Travis knew about the war and Josie’s location, but she was a Southern belle. This woman hadto be joking. What kind of woman in her station would have this experience? Amputated limbs? Just the thought left Travis feeling faint.
Josie tightened her grip around his wrist. “Hold still. This will hurt, but it’s better than amputating your hand.”
She pushed the needle into his skin, and Travis gripped his thigh, fighting back the urge to scream. He was a tough man and could take anything, but the sight of a needle turned him into a squirmy child.
“I’m only joking about sewing up amputated limbs, but I did witness it more than once. If it comes down to removing your hand, we won’t need a doctor.” Josie winked, but her joke didn’t lighten the mood. She may have a humorous side Travis never guessed, but this moment wasfarfrom funny.
“A healer and a nurse. Boy, I’m lucky,” Travis muttered through gritted teeth.
