Read Online Caution to the Wind by Mary Jean Adams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Jean Adams
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more female doctors if the skills were so similar.
Roger came down the stairs, his beefy arms supporting two sailors about the waist. “Doc, that ship’s givin’ us more trouble than we bargained for.”
The two men were bleeding, but both moved under their own power, although with considerable assistance from their uninjured shipmate. Roger deposited them against the wall, and the doctor glanced over his spectacles, assessing their condition. One man’s arm hung limply at his side. It looked broken. The other had a trickle of blood running down his temple.
“Can you hold the gauze against the wound again while I make sure those two aren’t in immediate danger?” the doctor asked.
Amanda nodded and pressed her hand against the rough fabric. The needle and thread, still connected to the skin where the doctor had made the first several stitches, dangled freely.
“Does it pain you much?” she asked Simon.
He raised himself on his elbows with a small groan. “No, but I would like to get it over with.” His voice held a hint of a suggestion.
Amanda chewed her lower lip and considered the needle dangling from the end of the thread, recalling the doctor’s tiny, even stitching. It was slightly different from that which one would use to sew cloth, as was the needle, but she could perform just about every type of stitch imaginable. She could reproduce his technique.
“Doctor, is it all right if I finish up here?”
Doctor Miller stopped his examination of the man with the broken arm. “You can sew?” Despite the question, he didn’t seem surprised.
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well,” the doctor agreed. “But sewing a man isn’t quite the same as sewing a shirt. If you think you’re in over your head, let me know right away.”
Amanda glanced at Simon. Even though he had given her the idea, his knitted brows resembled a wooly caterpillar.
“It’s all right. I’ve done this before,” Amanda assured him, wondering how soon she would be called to account for all the little white lies she had told in the past two weeks.
Simon lay back on the table and released a long-held breath. Amanda peeled back the gauze, careful not to reopen the wound. Picking up the needle, she glanced at Simon to be sure he hadn’t changed his mind. Then she attempted the first stitch.
Keeping a firm hand on Simon’s lower thigh, she pushed the needle into his warm flesh. She felt the resistance of his skin and then a sudden release as her needle penetrated the tough outer layers. The sensation wasn’t all that different from sewing through leather, although a bit easier in living tissue.
Except with Simon, she couldn’t help but be aware of the pain she caused with every stitch. She spoke softly to him while she worked and kept her efforts slow and steady. The muscles of his thigh relaxed under her hand, and she glanced up to be sure he hadn’t passed out. To her amazement, he gave a weak smile, then closed his eyes and lay back on the table.
A small bead of sweat ran down Amanda’s forehead and caught on her eyebrow. She wiped it away with her sleeve, feeling the scrape of soot and dried blood.
She would be gentle but quick, and only when she had finished would she stop to assess the damage. If the splinter hadn’t killed him, she could be reasonably certain her ineptness with the needle wouldn’t either. After a half dozen or so neat stitches, she tied off the thread, cut it, and set the needle on the tray. She glanced up at Simon, relieved to find him smiling at her. She smiled back.
“Battle seems to be over,” Simon said in a voice tinged with regret.
Focused on her work, she had stopped listening to the din of the battle. Cheers of a victory celebration shook the timbers. She had made it through!
“Where the hell is he?” The voice rose above the din and echoed into the hold.
Amanda’s smile faded. She had no doubt whom the captain sought, and he sounded none too pleased.
Reaching the doctor’s
Roger came down the stairs, his beefy arms supporting two sailors about the waist. “Doc, that ship’s givin’ us more trouble than we bargained for.”
The two men were bleeding, but both moved under their own power, although with considerable assistance from their uninjured shipmate. Roger deposited them against the wall, and the doctor glanced over his spectacles, assessing their condition. One man’s arm hung limply at his side. It looked broken. The other had a trickle of blood running down his temple.
“Can you hold the gauze against the wound again while I make sure those two aren’t in immediate danger?” the doctor asked.
Amanda nodded and pressed her hand against the rough fabric. The needle and thread, still connected to the skin where the doctor had made the first several stitches, dangled freely.
“Does it pain you much?” she asked Simon.
He raised himself on his elbows with a small groan. “No, but I would like to get it over with.” His voice held a hint of a suggestion.
Amanda chewed her lower lip and considered the needle dangling from the end of the thread, recalling the doctor’s tiny, even stitching. It was slightly different from that which one would use to sew cloth, as was the needle, but she could perform just about every type of stitch imaginable. She could reproduce his technique.
“Doctor, is it all right if I finish up here?”
Doctor Miller stopped his examination of the man with the broken arm. “You can sew?” Despite the question, he didn’t seem surprised.
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well,” the doctor agreed. “But sewing a man isn’t quite the same as sewing a shirt. If you think you’re in over your head, let me know right away.”
Amanda glanced at Simon. Even though he had given her the idea, his knitted brows resembled a wooly caterpillar.
“It’s all right. I’ve done this before,” Amanda assured him, wondering how soon she would be called to account for all the little white lies she had told in the past two weeks.
Simon lay back on the table and released a long-held breath. Amanda peeled back the gauze, careful not to reopen the wound. Picking up the needle, she glanced at Simon to be sure he hadn’t changed his mind. Then she attempted the first stitch.
Keeping a firm hand on Simon’s lower thigh, she pushed the needle into his warm flesh. She felt the resistance of his skin and then a sudden release as her needle penetrated the tough outer layers. The sensation wasn’t all that different from sewing through leather, although a bit easier in living tissue.
Except with Simon, she couldn’t help but be aware of the pain she caused with every stitch. She spoke softly to him while she worked and kept her efforts slow and steady. The muscles of his thigh relaxed under her hand, and she glanced up to be sure he hadn’t passed out. To her amazement, he gave a weak smile, then closed his eyes and lay back on the table.
A small bead of sweat ran down Amanda’s forehead and caught on her eyebrow. She wiped it away with her sleeve, feeling the scrape of soot and dried blood.
She would be gentle but quick, and only when she had finished would she stop to assess the damage. If the splinter hadn’t killed him, she could be reasonably certain her ineptness with the needle wouldn’t either. After a half dozen or so neat stitches, she tied off the thread, cut it, and set the needle on the tray. She glanced up at Simon, relieved to find him smiling at her. She smiled back.
“Battle seems to be over,” Simon said in a voice tinged with regret.
Focused on her work, she had stopped listening to the din of the battle. Cheers of a victory celebration shook the timbers. She had made it through!
“Where the hell is he?” The voice rose above the din and echoed into the hold.
Amanda’s smile faded. She had no doubt whom the captain sought, and he sounded none too pleased.
Reaching the doctor’s
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