Read Online Bonds of Earth by G. N. Chevalier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: G. N. Chevalier
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Seward back on his feet, but even after reviewing the information about his case, he didn’t have the faintest idea of how to broach the subject with his prospective patient. He closed his eyes, Elizabeth’s well-formed, precise script dancing behind his eyelids, efficiently summarizing a horror so vast it was a miracle that Seward was still breathing.
Multiple fractures to all limbs; r. floating rib 12 shattered and removed; collarbone cracked on r side; diaphragm punctured; no major organ damage
Remained unconscious for 8 d. after transfer to base hospital; believed possible brain damage for a time
Traction 12 wks. All bones healed; r. femur fracture bolted, retained some weakness for 8 mos.
Paralysis to lower limbs for 2 mos. after traction removed; may have been hysterical
Physical therapy attempted; atrophy of limbs advanced, patient nonresponsive, progress slow
Patient can walk with assistance of cane for short distances; no endurance
Last visit to doctor Dec 1918; prognosis for full recovery poor
None of this was a great surprise to Michael; it did confirm that most of his initial impressions had been correct. However, the extent of Seward’s injuries was far beyond what he’d been expecting. The rest of the report contained the doctor’s suggestions for physical therapy, which he could easily see lacked any ambition. At most, they would keep Seward’s body from deteriorating further, but they certainly would not improve his physical condition. Evidently even his high-priced doctors had given up on him, or they lacked an understanding of the latest techniques and exercises, or both. Whatever the reason, the hard truth was that the report left him no further ahead. He could hardly stroll down to Seward’s library one day and suggest a regimen of massage and exercise. If the recommendations of experts fell on deaf ears, the suggestions of a gardener would seem ludicrous.
Sighing, he pushed himself out of bed, unwilling to face another day of Sarah’s quiet reproach but not seeing any other option.
T HE late spring day soon blazed with a heat to rival midsummer, and Michael spent the entire day in the garden, the sun baking his skin as he worked. By the time it was over, he was exhausted but satisfied with his efforts in a way he hadn’t been in nearly a month. The grounds were finally starting to look the way he’d imagined, several of the early perennials in full bloom and a dozen varieties of herb and vegetable sprouting merrily in Mary’s kitchen garden. From this perspective, the freshly painted house seemed peaceful and serene, a pale jewel in a living, breathing setting.
Eventually he returned to the house, having told Mary early on that he would satisfy himself with leftovers when he came in. Eating at the dinner table with the Abbotts was becoming intolerable to him, especially now that his frustration with the situation was reaching a head. It was all he could do to keep from ripping the tray from Abbott’s hands every night, and he did not wish to be tempted today after the best day he’d had in weeks.
When he entered the kitchen just after sunset, he found Sarah and Mary at work at the kitchen table. Sarah was finishing a math lesson in her schoolbook, and both their heads were bent together as Mary murmured soft words of encouragement to her granddaughter.
As he shut the door, Mary looked up and smiled at him. “You look like a cooked lobster,” she said, not unkindly. Sarah’s gaze rose to his, then fell back to her book. “Supper’s in that infernal contraption,” she said, pointing to the refrigerator.
“Has he been gone long?” he asked. This was usually the time when Abbott returned from helping Seward prepare for bed.
Mary cast a glance at the door leading to the house, her expression grim. “Long enough,” she said. “He should be back any minute.”
Michael nodded, then retrieved and set out his own supper. He’d long since broken Mary of the
Multiple fractures to all limbs; r. floating rib 12 shattered and removed; collarbone cracked on r side; diaphragm punctured; no major organ damage
Remained unconscious for 8 d. after transfer to base hospital; believed possible brain damage for a time
Traction 12 wks. All bones healed; r. femur fracture bolted, retained some weakness for 8 mos.
Paralysis to lower limbs for 2 mos. after traction removed; may have been hysterical
Physical therapy attempted; atrophy of limbs advanced, patient nonresponsive, progress slow
Patient can walk with assistance of cane for short distances; no endurance
Last visit to doctor Dec 1918; prognosis for full recovery poor
None of this was a great surprise to Michael; it did confirm that most of his initial impressions had been correct. However, the extent of Seward’s injuries was far beyond what he’d been expecting. The rest of the report contained the doctor’s suggestions for physical therapy, which he could easily see lacked any ambition. At most, they would keep Seward’s body from deteriorating further, but they certainly would not improve his physical condition. Evidently even his high-priced doctors had given up on him, or they lacked an understanding of the latest techniques and exercises, or both. Whatever the reason, the hard truth was that the report left him no further ahead. He could hardly stroll down to Seward’s library one day and suggest a regimen of massage and exercise. If the recommendations of experts fell on deaf ears, the suggestions of a gardener would seem ludicrous.
Sighing, he pushed himself out of bed, unwilling to face another day of Sarah’s quiet reproach but not seeing any other option.
T HE late spring day soon blazed with a heat to rival midsummer, and Michael spent the entire day in the garden, the sun baking his skin as he worked. By the time it was over, he was exhausted but satisfied with his efforts in a way he hadn’t been in nearly a month. The grounds were finally starting to look the way he’d imagined, several of the early perennials in full bloom and a dozen varieties of herb and vegetable sprouting merrily in Mary’s kitchen garden. From this perspective, the freshly painted house seemed peaceful and serene, a pale jewel in a living, breathing setting.
Eventually he returned to the house, having told Mary early on that he would satisfy himself with leftovers when he came in. Eating at the dinner table with the Abbotts was becoming intolerable to him, especially now that his frustration with the situation was reaching a head. It was all he could do to keep from ripping the tray from Abbott’s hands every night, and he did not wish to be tempted today after the best day he’d had in weeks.
When he entered the kitchen just after sunset, he found Sarah and Mary at work at the kitchen table. Sarah was finishing a math lesson in her schoolbook, and both their heads were bent together as Mary murmured soft words of encouragement to her granddaughter.
As he shut the door, Mary looked up and smiled at him. “You look like a cooked lobster,” she said, not unkindly. Sarah’s gaze rose to his, then fell back to her book. “Supper’s in that infernal contraption,” she said, pointing to the refrigerator.
“Has he been gone long?” he asked. This was usually the time when Abbott returned from helping Seward prepare for bed.
Mary cast a glance at the door leading to the house, her expression grim. “Long enough,” she said. “He should be back any minute.”
Michael nodded, then retrieved and set out his own supper. He’d long since broken Mary of the
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