work.”
“Sure.” He moved back half a foot.
Not as much as she liked, but better.
“I mix the herbs in the grease,” Bethann persisted.
“That might work.” Esther set the envelope of elderflower leaves on her lap, then reached in to find her comfrey. “But we need that cold water first.”
“Suit yourself. No one listens to me.” Bethann slammed the lid on the bacon tin and stumbled away, looking ill. Beyond a curve in the path, her voice rang out. “You men are fools, and so is she.”
“She knows what she’s doing, that’s clear,” Zach responded.
Bethann grumbled something indistinct, then crashed away.
Another patient for Esther to tend. She should not be this ill.
Except Esther didn’t want to be tending patients. She had left that behind. Yet she couldn’t deny Hannah the care she needed, and Bethann appeared at the end of her strength.
Griff strode into the clearing with only a hitch in his gait to tell of his recent wound. He crouched beside Esther, and she flashed him a quick smile.
“Do, please, pour that water into the bucket. No, wait, let me pour some of this out. Hannah, I’m sorry.” She drew Hannah’s hand from the water.
Hannah hissed in her breath. “I declare the water is helping. It hurts more out of it.”
“Of course it does. These herbs will help, though fresh would be better and aloe would be the best.”
“What’s aloe?” Griff asked.
Concentrating on studying the severity of Hannah’s injury, Esther murmured, “A plant from northern Africa, though it grows all over the world now. It likes warm places, so we always grew a pot on our kitchen window sill.” She plunged Hannah’s hand into the water again. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Why is aloe so good?” Griff pressed.
Esther glanced at him, eyebrows arched.
A dusky hue rose on his cheekbones, and he rubbed his cheeks. “I’m a farmer. Plants interest me.”
Zach shuddered. “I’d rather be on the river.”
“Perhaps you can take the river to someplace warm enough to grow aloe.” Esther made the suggestion as a joke, but the cousins exchanged glances as though she were serious.
“That should do with the water for now.” Esther removed Hannah’s hand from the bucket and sprinkled herbs right onto the skin. “The elderflower smells nice, but the comfrey is like garbage. But nothing heals faster. Zach, hold your sister’s hand while I wrap it.”
He hesitated. “Why would you use something that smells bad to heal?”
“Because it works. Now take it, please.”
“Sure thing.” Zach slipped his hand between Hannah’s and Esther’s, his the size of both theirs together and even more calloused on the palm than Griff’s.
Esther snatched her fingers free and dug in her satchel for a bit of gauze. The burns needed air to heal, but the herbs needed to remain pressed to the skin for several hours. “Griff, you should go look in on your sister. She’s not well.”
“Maybe you should.” He was staring at her as Zach was too—with amazement. “You’re the one with the doctoring skills.”
More than he knew. More than she wanted.
“Men are doctors,” she muttered.
“We don’t got—” Hannah ducked her head. “I mean, we don’t have no—”
“Any,” Zach corrected.
Hannah sighed. “We don’t have any doctors, men or otherwise, where we live. Just Bethann with some herbs and a midwife as old as Mr. Jefferson.”
“Mr. Jefferson,” Griff said, “is dead.”
“Well, so should Granny Duval be.” Hannah half smiled. “She’s as old as he would be if he was still alive—about a hundred.”
“You’ll be welcome,” Zach added.
Esther’s skin broke out in gooseflesh as though the temperature had suddenly dropped from early summer day to late autumn night. “I am here to teach, not doctor. I just thought . . . burns need tending immediately.”
And she couldn’t abandon Bethann if she could help her.
Esther stood and brushed a few pine needles and
“Sure.” He moved back half a foot.
Not as much as she liked, but better.
“I mix the herbs in the grease,” Bethann persisted.
“That might work.” Esther set the envelope of elderflower leaves on her lap, then reached in to find her comfrey. “But we need that cold water first.”
“Suit yourself. No one listens to me.” Bethann slammed the lid on the bacon tin and stumbled away, looking ill. Beyond a curve in the path, her voice rang out. “You men are fools, and so is she.”
“She knows what she’s doing, that’s clear,” Zach responded.
Bethann grumbled something indistinct, then crashed away.
Another patient for Esther to tend. She should not be this ill.
Except Esther didn’t want to be tending patients. She had left that behind. Yet she couldn’t deny Hannah the care she needed, and Bethann appeared at the end of her strength.
Griff strode into the clearing with only a hitch in his gait to tell of his recent wound. He crouched beside Esther, and she flashed him a quick smile.
“Do, please, pour that water into the bucket. No, wait, let me pour some of this out. Hannah, I’m sorry.” She drew Hannah’s hand from the water.
Hannah hissed in her breath. “I declare the water is helping. It hurts more out of it.”
“Of course it does. These herbs will help, though fresh would be better and aloe would be the best.”
“What’s aloe?” Griff asked.
Concentrating on studying the severity of Hannah’s injury, Esther murmured, “A plant from northern Africa, though it grows all over the world now. It likes warm places, so we always grew a pot on our kitchen window sill.” She plunged Hannah’s hand into the water again. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Why is aloe so good?” Griff pressed.
Esther glanced at him, eyebrows arched.
A dusky hue rose on his cheekbones, and he rubbed his cheeks. “I’m a farmer. Plants interest me.”
Zach shuddered. “I’d rather be on the river.”
“Perhaps you can take the river to someplace warm enough to grow aloe.” Esther made the suggestion as a joke, but the cousins exchanged glances as though she were serious.
“That should do with the water for now.” Esther removed Hannah’s hand from the bucket and sprinkled herbs right onto the skin. “The elderflower smells nice, but the comfrey is like garbage. But nothing heals faster. Zach, hold your sister’s hand while I wrap it.”
He hesitated. “Why would you use something that smells bad to heal?”
“Because it works. Now take it, please.”
“Sure thing.” Zach slipped his hand between Hannah’s and Esther’s, his the size of both theirs together and even more calloused on the palm than Griff’s.
Esther snatched her fingers free and dug in her satchel for a bit of gauze. The burns needed air to heal, but the herbs needed to remain pressed to the skin for several hours. “Griff, you should go look in on your sister. She’s not well.”
“Maybe you should.” He was staring at her as Zach was too—with amazement. “You’re the one with the doctoring skills.”
More than he knew. More than she wanted.
“Men are doctors,” she muttered.
“We don’t got—” Hannah ducked her head. “I mean, we don’t have no—”
“Any,” Zach corrected.
Hannah sighed. “We don’t have any doctors, men or otherwise, where we live. Just Bethann with some herbs and a midwife as old as Mr. Jefferson.”
“Mr. Jefferson,” Griff said, “is dead.”
“Well, so should Granny Duval be.” Hannah half smiled. “She’s as old as he would be if he was still alive—about a hundred.”
“You’ll be welcome,” Zach added.
Esther’s skin broke out in gooseflesh as though the temperature had suddenly dropped from early summer day to late autumn night. “I am here to teach, not doctor. I just thought . . . burns need tending immediately.”
And she couldn’t abandon Bethann if she could help her.
Esther stood and brushed a few pine needles and
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