Sol awoke to throbbing pain.
Blinking, he stared up at a cracked ceiling that was most certainly not his before looking down at an unfamiliar, worn quilt. Where was he? And—he glanced around—where were his pursuers? Had they… taken him? Ignoring the ache behind his eyes, he turned his head to see what appeared to be a small room with a sloped ceiling.
Oy, he needed a better view. And a plan.
With shaking limbs, Sol pushed down on the mattress to rise—only to immediately fall back when pain stabbed up his spine and into his head. “Ow!”
“Oh, you’re awake.”
Sol started at the female voice. At the foot of his bed now stood a small, white-haired woman wearing an old-fashioned cap in a rather garish shade of red.
Without preamble, she threw back the quilt over his bare knees. “Good, let me check your leg,” she said. He gasped at the realization that he was completely naked—save the yarmulke he’d been wearing beneath his hat despite Frederick’s earlier admonition.
Wait—was he?
He reached up to verify, and yes, the yarmulke wasstill there at least. But as for the rest of his clothes… He narrowed his eyes at the woman. What was she about? Though he doubted she’d been one of those bent on robbing him—odd as their pursuit had been—she was still a stranger and he was rather vulnerable at the moment.
Not his preferred position, that was certain.
“Don’t worry, I’m as good as any doctor,” she said, as if her credentials were the cause for his concern. Or rather, as if that was enough of a reason not to object as she poked—ow. He bit his tongue to stop the rather foul stream of language ready to burst forward from his lips.
“I used to be a midwife,” she continued as she prodded farther before bending down to retrieve a pillow, which she shoved under his throbbing left leg. “Retired. Of my own choice, naturally. No one forces me out of anything. And I still assist my niece and her daughter from time to time.”
She grabbed a wad of cloth from her pocket and proceeded to wrap his ankle—tightly. Sol winced.
The woman tucked in the ends and wobbled his leg from side to side, presumably testing her work. “Now, that girl—my niece—could be a physician,” she said, seemingly unbothered by their rather one-sided conversation. “Not that she will be, mind you, at least not if she stays here. Which she will, as where else is she to go? Prussia isn’t exactly welcoming to us right now.” She shook her head and sighed. “It’s always opposition to one thing or the other—Jew or woman or both. But that’s neither here nor there.”
Sol opened his mouth then closed it, as really, how exactly did one respond to that? Or change the subject politely so he could get his questions answered?
She waved her hand a bit dismissively before giving his ankle a swat—he bit back a gasp.
“Healing nicely,” she concluded. The woman—retired midwife—whatever—finally focused on his face, hands on her hips. “Turn on your side and pull down the quilt.”
He gaped at her. “I—”
For possibly the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure what to say. Or rather, what to say first. But that—he was naked, completely naked, and if he turned, she’d have a view of, well, everything. And while he had more pressing concerns, like identifying where he was and what had happened—and who exactlyshewas—showing a stranger, midwife or not, all his bits and pieces was not exactly a preferable alternate.
“Come on now.” The woman huffed. “I saw all of it last night when we undressed you so I could stitch you up. Your garments are a tad worse for the wear, but once Shabbos is over, we can change that.”
“We?” Sol started as the door swung open and two more elderly women appeared, one with a tray and another carrying a mug.
“Time for you to eat!” The first woman bounded over and plopped the tray next to him.
“Careful,” the second cried, giving her friend’s elbow a sharp tug. “You’re going to spill it everywhere.” She scowled at everyone and no one before shoving the mug at him. “Here, you need to drink, and then some rest.” She released a deep yawn. “I don’t know why you’re all bothering him so early. He needs to heal.”
The first one—first new one—the woman with the tray—oy, he needed some names—stretched her arms toward the sloped ceiling’s low-hanging rafters. He’dhave to be careful of those when he stood up. “I think that’s Doc’s job,” she chirped as she pulled a spoon from her apron and proceeded to stir the porridge before scooping a bite toward his face.
“Doc?” he asked, waving her off as gently as he could. The gesture was kind, but he could most certainly eat food without assistance. His hands weren’t injured, as far as he could tell.
“That’s what they call me.” The original woman—a former midwife, she’d said, though apparently she’d now been elevated to a doctor—was still standing at the foot of the bed, eyeing the quilt she was apparently itching to pull back. “Because of my skill in the medicinal sciences.” She—Doc—gave the others a sharp look but thankfully didn’t advance on him further.
“I have skills as well,” the cheerful woman said, before yawning as well, a gray curl bouncing on her forehead from beneath her laced-trimmed white cap.
“Napping is not a skill,” her grumpy companion snapped. “Even if we’ve all gotten a great deal better at it since we retired.”
Sol wanted to disagree, because at the moment it was the skill he’d most definitely like to practice. Especially as he was beginning to have trouble focusing and pain was winding down his lower back. He shifted at little, but damned Doc was sharp-eyed despite her age apparently.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” she said. “As I was saying, I had to stitch you up in about half a dozen places. All which will need tending to, so you don’t get an infection. You’re lucky you aren’t dead.”
