Florian swung a door open, bringing Henry’s room into view. A couple of nurses had gathered in the doorway, most likely hoping to appease him somehow.
“Let us through,” Florian said, and the nurses stepped aside. Three orderlies stood next to Henry’s bed, attempting to hold him down. “Tilt his head back and open his mouth,” Florian instructed while fetching a small glass bottle from a nearby cabinet. He poured a few drops into a clean glass, added a bit of water and set it to Henry’s mouth.
Henry sputtered and twisted his head.
“Drink, damn you,” Florian growled. “We’re trying to save you not kill you.”
Viola pushed her way past an orderly and leaned over Henry. “It’s morphine, my love. It will help ease the pain.”
“Viola?” Henry rasped.
His weak voice stabbed at her heart. “Yes. I’m right here. Now drink.”
He breathed hard and low, wincing with each inhale, but he drank the liquid Florian offered and was soon allowed a reprieve from his pain.
When he slept, Florian pulled aside his bandages and studied his wounds. Both were swollen and red. “Has Emily arrived yet?”
“I’m right here, Florian.” The orderlies stepped back, allowing her better access. In her hand, she held the syringe and the tubes Florian had requested.
“Here,” Viola said, grabbing a surgical tray and setting it on the table beside Henry’s bed.
Florian, who’d managed to procure a bottle of gin in the meantime, filled the tray with the watery liquid and asked Emily to place the syringe, cannulas and tubing inside. “I need a scalpel,” he said, and Viola quickly produced one from a nearby drawer.
“Can you prepare some compresses?” she asked Emily as she handed Florian the scalpel. He disinfected this as well and then proceeded to cut away the sutures.
As soon as Henry’s chest wound opened, pus oozed out. “Help me turn him onto his side,” Florian said.
Viola grabbed Henry’s shoulders and twisted them toward Florian while he adjusted Henry’s position on the bed. Her husband was a large man, a heavy man, and he did not budge easily, but eventually, with a little extra help from one of the orderlies, they managed the feat.
“Prepare the syringe,” Florian told Viola once Henry was in an acceptable position.
Emily returned with the compress Viola had requested and smoothed it out over Henry’s forehead while Viola attached the long metal cannula to the end of the syringe and placed it in Florian’s hand. Just like before, he inserted it into the wound and proceeded to suck out the liquid that had gathered there since the first surgery. A pale mixture of blood and pus flowed out, steadily filling a bowl that Emily was holding.
“Now for the back,” Florian said. “How does it look?”
Viola gave the incision Florian had made earlier one look and shook her head. “Not good.”
Together, they worked to open the wound. “This one’s lower than the other,” Florian pointed out. “We’ll just insert a metal tube at an angle and let gravity do its work.”
For the next two hours, they worked on evacuating the extravasated blood. Occasionally the fluid would stop flowing from the chest wound and Florian would once again apply the syringe. It was tedious work, but it was worth every second when the blood flowing out returned to a normal color.
“I just have to examine him now and make sure that the blood’s not still pooling in the pleural cavity.”
When he’d confirmed that it wasn’t, he asked Viola to prepare a poultice of crushed onion and honey, just as she’d done weeks earlier when Henry had been shot. She dabbed it onto the wounds, which Florian preferred to leave open this time, added some cotton wadding and secured them with bandages.
“You did well,” Florian told Viola as they stood side by side assessing their work. “I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
“It was a choice between standing idly by and doing whatever it takes to save the man I love,” Viola said. Her heart still hurt and her soul dreaded the hours to come. There was a chance he wouldn’t pull through this.
“You should sleep while he does,” Florian said.
She gave him a quelling look. “You know that won’t be possible.” Not when Henry’s condition had worsened during the nap she’d taken before. “I want to know the moment he wakes. I want to check on his fever through the night and make sure the compresses get changed regularly.”
“One of the nurses could do that.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Viola placed her hand against Henry’s cheek and listened to the soft rolling snore suggestive of deep slumber. “I’ll watch over him, Florian. I won’t leave his side for a second.”
Golden light spilled through the tall window at the end of the room when Henry opened his eyes once again. Just as before, a lifetime ago and yet somehow so recent, it shone at a woman’s back, surrounding her in a halo of gold. Unlike the first time he’d seen her, however, he knew her name now.
