Read Online Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1) by Nanette Kinslow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nanette Kinslow
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be nice to have someone share his supper. He leaned over the girl and touched her arm carefully, whispering her name softly.
Rebecca opened her eyes wearily, and although she was paler than ever, she seemed somewhat coherent.
“Hungry?” Mark asked.
“Oh yes,” the woman whispered hoarsely.
Mark left to heat a stew and Rebecca tried to sit up on the soft bed. Every muscle of her body cried out in cruel pain and her head pounded mercilessly. She wanted to slip into a deep long sleep but something kept her on the edge and she began to imagine that she was home at her dining table with a fine meal spread out before her.
“I made this for us,” the boy interrupted her dream.
Rebecca pried open her aching eyes and saw Mark squatting before her, a huge steaming bowl in his awkward hands. She knew she could barely move, but the smell of the food was so enticing.
“Could you help me sit up?” she whispered weakly. Setting aside the bowl, Mark arranged the bed and tried to hand Rebecca the bowl but she seemed too confused to hold it herself. Instead he spooned the soup into her carefully and after she seemed to be unable to accept any more he shifted her down onto the mattress and let her continue to sleep.
“How old are you?” he whispered. She looked really young, but he remembered when he was little and Grandmother was really sick she looked a lot like this, frail and helpless like a tiny bird. Maybe she was much older than he thought. Maybe she had a son of her own somewhere and she’d want someone to look after him. The boy was disappointed that she couldn’t talk to him while he ate, but he filled himself a bowl of stew and sat in the big chair he’d pulled up beside her and watched her. He decided he’d spend the night close to the front door, just in case, and make sure the rifle was close at hand should anyone come after his patient.
Morning arrived without incident and Mark stretched beside the front door where he had spent the night. He’d gotten up several times in the night to check his new responsibility and found her sleeping, but not so soundly that she wouldn’t respond if he spoke her name.
He mixed up a large batch of porridge in the hopes she’d have more appetite and be better company and took it in to his guest.
Rebecca responded much more lucidly this time, able to sit up with support and could even lift a few spoonfuls to her mouth on her own. Her drowsiness lingered and it took the boy a full day of spooning food into her and hauling her out to the outhouse before it seemed that she might improve. He’d cleaned her wound as best he could and since it didn’t fester he was sure that it would heal alright, but it would most certainly leave a scar. He didn’t mind scars much himself, sometimes they were fun to brag over, but he didn’t imagine a lady like her would care much to have one right on her head where her hair was. It was too early to tell though. The gash was still bloody and looked ragged.
Pa always told him that when a sick animal began to get feisty they were healing well and Rebecca was becoming just that. She started asking the boy every time he approached her if there were any way she could get a bath. He offered her some of his own clothes and she accepted them very sweetly but the only way she might get into a bath would be either to wash with a bucket or go down to the stream like he did. He was sure the trip to the stream would be impossible, and he feared taking the girl out, but he did eventually devise an idea for a bath.
He rolled in an old split keg that they sometimes used to collect rain water. He scrubbed it out thoroughly in the yard with buckets full of water he had hauled up and left it in the sun to dry. When he rolled it into the room he announced to Rebecca that it was a bathtub just her
Rebecca opened her eyes wearily, and although she was paler than ever, she seemed somewhat coherent.
“Hungry?” Mark asked.
“Oh yes,” the woman whispered hoarsely.
Mark left to heat a stew and Rebecca tried to sit up on the soft bed. Every muscle of her body cried out in cruel pain and her head pounded mercilessly. She wanted to slip into a deep long sleep but something kept her on the edge and she began to imagine that she was home at her dining table with a fine meal spread out before her.
“I made this for us,” the boy interrupted her dream.
Rebecca pried open her aching eyes and saw Mark squatting before her, a huge steaming bowl in his awkward hands. She knew she could barely move, but the smell of the food was so enticing.
“Could you help me sit up?” she whispered weakly. Setting aside the bowl, Mark arranged the bed and tried to hand Rebecca the bowl but she seemed too confused to hold it herself. Instead he spooned the soup into her carefully and after she seemed to be unable to accept any more he shifted her down onto the mattress and let her continue to sleep.
“How old are you?” he whispered. She looked really young, but he remembered when he was little and Grandmother was really sick she looked a lot like this, frail and helpless like a tiny bird. Maybe she was much older than he thought. Maybe she had a son of her own somewhere and she’d want someone to look after him. The boy was disappointed that she couldn’t talk to him while he ate, but he filled himself a bowl of stew and sat in the big chair he’d pulled up beside her and watched her. He decided he’d spend the night close to the front door, just in case, and make sure the rifle was close at hand should anyone come after his patient.
Morning arrived without incident and Mark stretched beside the front door where he had spent the night. He’d gotten up several times in the night to check his new responsibility and found her sleeping, but not so soundly that she wouldn’t respond if he spoke her name.
He mixed up a large batch of porridge in the hopes she’d have more appetite and be better company and took it in to his guest.
Rebecca responded much more lucidly this time, able to sit up with support and could even lift a few spoonfuls to her mouth on her own. Her drowsiness lingered and it took the boy a full day of spooning food into her and hauling her out to the outhouse before it seemed that she might improve. He’d cleaned her wound as best he could and since it didn’t fester he was sure that it would heal alright, but it would most certainly leave a scar. He didn’t mind scars much himself, sometimes they were fun to brag over, but he didn’t imagine a lady like her would care much to have one right on her head where her hair was. It was too early to tell though. The gash was still bloody and looked ragged.
Pa always told him that when a sick animal began to get feisty they were healing well and Rebecca was becoming just that. She started asking the boy every time he approached her if there were any way she could get a bath. He offered her some of his own clothes and she accepted them very sweetly but the only way she might get into a bath would be either to wash with a bucket or go down to the stream like he did. He was sure the trip to the stream would be impossible, and he feared taking the girl out, but he did eventually devise an idea for a bath.
He rolled in an old split keg that they sometimes used to collect rain water. He scrubbed it out thoroughly in the yard with buckets full of water he had hauled up and left it in the sun to dry. When he rolled it into the room he announced to Rebecca that it was a bathtub just her
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