Read Online The Irish Healer by Nancy Herriman - Free Book Online Page A

crouched down. His cap had flown off and she felt along the back of his skull, her hands moving with long practice that required no thought.
    He winced as her finger found a lump. “It’s nothin’.”
    “Does anything hurt? Your head? Your legs? Back?”
    “No. It’s nothin’.”
    He tried to sit up, but Rachel pressed him back onto the ground. “It is not nothing. You have a bump on your head and you cut your arm with the saw. Press your hand to the wound and lie still. Do not move.” She gave him a shove on the shoulder to keep him down. If he had broken or strained anything, movement would only aggravate the injury. “I will fetch something for the cut.”
    The office door was locked tight, and Dr. Edmunds had notentrusted her with the key. Rachel rushed down to the empty kitchen. Mrs. Mainprice had mentioned she kept headache powders. Maybe she would have other medicines as well.
    Rachel located the housekeeper’s supplies. After a few moments of searching, Rachel found dried cuttings of the mushroom known as agaric of oak but no sticking plaster. The agaric would quench the bleeding. Her binding would have to seal the wound shut.
    Snatching up a clean rag from a pile lying next to the sink, then dipping a mug into the pitcher of fresh water standing nearby, she hurried back out to the garden. Joe had followed her directions and remained stretched out on the ground. However, he looked peevish.
    “Ya know what yer doin’?” Joe eyed her as she tore the rag into two halves.
    “Lie still. I am going to wash your wound then apply agaric of oak to it. The bleeding should stop. I will have to tie a rag around your arm until sticking plaster can be obtained to keep the wound closed.”
    She worked quickly, carefully, probing the wound for any gravel or dirt stuck within, picking out what she could and pouring the clean water over the cut. Thankfully, the saw had not penetrated far. A deeper cut would require more serious medicine than what she had brought.
    “Mrs. M would say God’s watchin’ over me, to ’ave you on ’and to patch me up. I coulda been out ’ere screamin’ for ’elp till I bled to death. That’s what I get for not goin’ to services.”
    God. Him again. “I do not know that my presence in the garden was any blessing at all.” Crushing the dried mushroom, she pushed it into the wound and wrapped the cloth around his arm, sealing it shut. “It’s my fault the bladeslipped and you fell. I distracted you with my silly conversation about aspirations.”
    “Naw. Don’t be blamin’ yerself, miss.”
    But she did. Of course, she did.
    Finishing up, Rachel helped Joe lean against the tree trunk. She settled back on her heels. And nearly collapsed onto the rocky path when she realized what she’d just done. Poor Joe. Had she cleaned the wound well enough? The cut might get infected; she had seen shallower wounds fester and blacken, resulting in amputations. Without his arm, Joe would be useless as a servant . . .
    Rachel lurched toward the bench and pulled herself onto the seat while she gulped air and fought lightheadedness. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do not faint .
    Startled, Joe sat up. “The cut’s not that bad, is it, miss?”
    “I do not believe so.”
    “Good! Cause as green as you look, I’da thought my arm were gonna fall clean off.” His eyes widened. “’ey, wait now. Where’d you learn to doctor like this?”
    He’d taken longer than she had expected to ask the question. “I learned bits here and there about herbs and tending. Mostly from my mother. Things any woman might know.”
    “Not jus’ bits an’ not jus’ any woman, miss.”
    Standing on legs as wobbly as a newborn colt’s, Rachel snatched the damp rag and mug off the ground. She needed to get away before he asked any other questions and she had to come up with more answers. “I need to get back to my work now, Joe. Rest there until you feel stronger.”
    “But, miss!”
    She hurried toward the house.