“Dr. Vaughn,” he replied before nodding toward the vial beside his bag. Before he could give the lady any instructions, she abandoned her rags and lifted the bottle to the sky, gazing through the reddish-brown liquid. “It’s a strong mixture—”
Miss Templeton nodded, reaching over to his kit for the dropper. With quick movements, she opened the bottle and extracted a dose, giving it to Mr. Evans with the ease of one who knew her business. Though Arthur kept a close eye on how much she administered, it was entirely unnecessary, as she gave the exact amount he would’ve suggested.
Looking at Mr. Evans, Arthur held his gaze. “I can stitch you up in a trice once I have the wound cleaned of anything that might cause it to fester, but I cannot wait until the laudanum takes effect and run the risk of you bleeding to death before we can finish.”
Despite sounding as though he were asking permission, Arthur knew the poor fellow wasn’t in any condition to do so, but whether or not Mr. Evans comprehended, Arthur hoped the explanation granted the patient some relief. Without another word, Arthur poured a cup of water over the gash, and Mr. Evans howled and jerked away, forcing Miss Templeton to throw herself over him, putting all her weight on his chest to hold him still.
“Mr. Jenkins, take my place!” called Miss Templeton. Though the fellow hesitated a moment, the lady repeated her order and Mr. Jenkins did as commanded before she moved to hold Mr. Evans’ legs. They could use another body or two to hold him still, but the bystanders inched away as though afraid to be called upon. Sucking in a sharp breath, Mr. Jenkins held Mr. Evans in place but turned his face away as Arthur picked up his tweezers.
Having so many observers ought to make a man nervous, but a surgeon’s education was hardly a private matter. In many ways, it made Arthur feel more at ease, for he was used to working with a roomful of students and doctors watching his every move; their classrooms were called operatingtheatersfor a reason, and Arthur settled into the familiarity of the feeling.
Mr. Evans jerked with the first probes, and though Arthur half expected Miss Templeton to be knocked away, she flattened herself against his shins and feet, pinning his legs firmly to the ground. Moving as quickly as he dared, Arthur combed the laceration for any impurities, picking away the splinters and rocks that had made their way inside.
The patient moaned and sobbed, but the sound was naught but a distant thing compared to the pulse in Arthur’s ears. Thankfully, the blood flow was not as bad as it might’ve been, but with each drop spilt, he was one heartbeat closer to losing Mr. Evans. Yet overlooking any foreign object would doom the fellow to a far slower and more painful death as his body rotted from the inside out. The chance of dying from infection was great even in the best of circumstances.
Before Arthur could reach for another cup, Miss Templeton freed her hand and twisted enough to dribble water across the flesh to wash away the impurities.
“Pa!”
Despite the ruckus that followed, Arthur’s attention never drifted from his work as pounding footsteps accompanied the shout.
“We have him in hand, Johnny. Let Dr. Vaughn see to his business,” said Miss Templeton as a young man dropped onto the ground beside Mr. Evans.
“What can I do?” asked Johnny.
The question was directed to Arthur, but he couldn’t divide his attention enough to give more than a shake of his head in response. Every time it looked as though the cleaning was complete, he discovered yet another splinter. Lifting his arm, Arthur wiped his forehead across his bicep.
“Find us splints, Johnny,” said Miss Templeton, her words breaking as Mr. Evans kicked, jolting her. “Long enough for his leg.”
“Yes, of course.” And with that, the younger Mr. Evans hurried to the wreckage, calling others to help him pull off the boards and them of nails and splinters.
“Miss Bacon,” called Miss Templeton. “Will you cut bandages?”
“I haven’t any cloth on hand,” came the quiet reply.
“You have yards on your person and many more in your trunks.”
“But Miss Templeton, you cannot be suggesting I put mypetticoatson display?” asked Miss Bacon.
“I am suggesting you do what you can to save a man’s life,” replied Miss Templeton. “We need bandages to protect the wound and bind the splints. The more, the better.” When there was no reply, the lady sighed and added, “Please, Miss Bacon.”
“Yes. Of course.”
And with that, there was another flurry of activity behind Arthur as Miss Templeton gave instructions concerning the width and number of bandages required. Just as he was about to mention transportation for Mr. Evans after the operation, Miss Templeton set others hurrying to see to that task as well, leaving Arthur free to focus on his work. Yet he couldn’t quite ignore the lady at his right.
Others worked around them, hurrying to do Miss Templeton’s bidding while she kept Mr. Evans’ legs still, lying across them without a hint of timidity and all the poise of a lady enjoying tea in her parlor. And despite having to twist oddly to manage it, she was already ready with the water, cleansing the wound before Arthur could think to ask.
With one final irrigation, he straightened and put away his tweezers. For all that it felt as though an hour must’ve passed, it hadn’t been more than a few minutes—not nearly enough time for the laudanum to come into full effect. But there was nohelping matters. The wound needed to be closed before Mr. Evans bled to death. Bandaging it instead would do some good, but the fellow had lost too much blood already.
Quickly, Arthur threaded a needle, praying he had enough to do the job. For all that the gash was long, it was a clean cut, requiring far less effort on his part to bind together, which was another miracle. Plenty of surgeons at the hospital managed an entire amputation and sutures in a mere ten minutes, and though Arthur couldn’t boast such quick work, he hadn’t lied to Miss Templeton; he knew what he was about, and his fingers moved quickly, laying each stitch with neat efficiency even as his assistants did their best to keep Mr. Evans still.
A final tug and Arthur tied off the thread; his assistant had the scissors on hand, handing them over so he could cut off the excess.
“Bandages and splints, please,” called Miss Templeton, easing off of Mr. Evans’ legs.
Someone rushed forward, and Arthur took the proffered bundle of rolled fabric. Without prompting, Miss Templeton moved to the patient’s foot and lifted it whilst Arthur covered the sutures with a layer of muslin and then laid out several straps of linen on the ground beneath. Carefully, Miss Templeton lowered the leg atop them, and Arthur positioned the splints on either side before guiding Mr. Jenkins to hold the supports in place as they tied off the splints, holding them firmly in place.
Mr. Evans groaned with the final jerks as they knotted the fabric bindings, and Mr. Jenkins moved away from the fellow’s head so Johnny could kneel beside his father, taking his hand in his as he murmured words of comfort.
