She covered her mouth in horror. She couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that it went down at least a half inch into the flesh, right in the center of his chest. It must have been from the windshield of the cockpit, when the explosion happened. There were numerous other small pieces of glass on his lower torso and chest. She sat there, mind frozen, no idea what to do. All at once, her mind kicked into gear and she stood and ran to the kitchen. She put two pots of water on the stove and cranked the dials to the highest setting. One was for coffee, and one for the wounds. This would take a while, and it wouldn’t do to be nodding off for something like this. She threw open the linen closet, and took out a white sheet. She began to tear it into wide strips, her hands trembling all the while. She took them and walked briskly back to the room. Dumping the bandages on the floor, she took off her boots, and set them aside. She supposed she’d need to get him onto the bed. After several gingerly attempts, she managed to get him onto the rickety mattress. She propped another pillow under his head, and stared down at him. Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest, and her knees trembled. She needed to get that glass out, as soon as possible. She hurried back to the kitchen, made herself a hasty cup of coffee, and took the other pot into the room with her. Setting it on the end table with a hot pad, she took a hot cloth and began to bathe the wound on his head, and around the shards of glass. Blood was smeared in an orangish hue over most of his torso, and had coagulated around the glass. She carefully took a clean bandage, and took his head in her hands. It lolled helplessly, and her blood throbbed as she wound the linen around the wound. She stood back, examining her work. She felt weak. It always took Grandfather longer than she to unsaddle or feed the animals, but she wished he was here right now. She wanted to wait, and let him do it, but knew there wasn’t time for that. She took a long strip of bandage, and laid it on the bed, ready to be of use. She took the cloth, and cleaned it in the hot water carefully. When it was sanitary, she washed her hands in the basin on the end table, and turned to her patient. She held the cloth in one hand, and the other hovered over the glass. Her pulse was loud in her ears. She closed her eyes, grasped the glass in her fist, and yanked. Blood began to ooze from the wound, and she pressed the cloth onto it. She kept pressure on it, and watched the red spread through the cloth all the way to her palm. She kept the pressure on, praying for it to stop bleeding. At last it did, and she rinsed the cloth.
Her hot water was running out, and she took the pot in her hand, intending to refill it with water. In that instant, the boy awakened with a violent movement, and grabbed her by the wrist. She screamed and jerked back. He held fast to her wrist, and stared into her eyes. She dropped the pot and clawed at his iron fist with her other hand, but he just looked at her. He didn’t hold her painfully tight, just tight enough that she couldn’t leave. At last she stopped struggling, staring with huge blue eyes into his green ones. All she saw was in them were questions, pain, and confusion. He looked around the room, and back to her eyes. She was screaming in her mind. Just let me go, I’m trying to help you! Maybe he saw it in them, or maybe he grew weary, but he released her wrist, and she stumbled backwards, bumping into the doorframe. Vern snatched up the water pot off the floor and fled the room, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against it, heart pounding. She took shaking steps towards the kitchen, and then lifted her head. He still needed to be treated, awake or not, and if she acted scared, nothing would go her way. She made herself stop shaking, took a gulp of her coffee, and refilled the water pot. It was hot in another two minutes, and she went back to the door. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to turn the handle, and step inside. He was sitting up on the edge of the bed, examining his surroundings, and looking down at his chest in confusion. She set the water pot down on the table and stood in front of him, hands on hips. He looked up at her, eyes mellow but ready. She pointed to the bed, and motioned for him to lay back down. He cocked his head at her. Lay down! He looked up, hesitated, and then shrugged and laid back. She took another deep breath, that had worked better than she’d thought it would. He was remarkably aware, considering what he’d been through. He watched her, as she took the cloth and dipped it into the basin. She didn’t want to, but she turned to him and began to wipe away the blood. He kept his eyes on her face. It was almost chilling, the way he watched her every move and didn’t seem to care what she was doing. Once or twice he winced as she wiped especially deep into the wound, but she only caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She was trying desperately to focus on what she was doing, and not the strange eyes on her face. When the half dozen small wounds were cleaned and the glass removed, she spoke to him.
“Can you sit up?” He looked at her blankly, and she motioned, and repeated the question. He looked at her, slightly confused, but sat up. She smiled and nodded. He hadn’t spoken since he’d woken up, but he looked satisfied that that was what she’d meant. She took the length of bandage, and wound it around his torso. He watched her as she did it, and she felt herself blushing. She had to get uncomfortably close to get all the way around his broad chest. He just looked at her. When she finished, she stepped back and tucked her long unruly hair out of her face. He just stared at her, and she stared back for a moment. She glanced at herself briefly in the mirror, and she was a sight. Her waist length hair was tangled and in her face, she had smudges of his blood on her shirt and up her forearms, there were dark purple circles under her eyes, and smudges of red dirt on her jeans and shirt. She sighed a little, and shook her head. Without looking back at him, she began to pick up the floor. She took his heavy black coat and hung it on the hooks on the door, and finally remembered the satchel hung slung around her shoulder. Somehow it had managed not to get in the way, and she’d completely forgotten it. She took it off, looked at it, and hung it on the hook on top of the coat. She glanced over at him, and found his eyes were fixed on the satchel. She shifted, and picked up the blood stained shirt and both of their boots. She set his next to the table, and opened the door to leave the room, only to run straight into her Grandfather.
“Gosh! Grandfather! You scared me. Did everything go okay?” He nodded silently, bushy brows furrowed, and stepped inside. She turned to watch, boots in hand. Grandfather thrust his hands into his pockets and he and the boy stared at each other for a moment, before Grandfather asked,
“Did you find out why he passed out?” She explained about the glass and the coat.
“I haven’t given him any food or water yet.” She added. Grandfather nodded, and the boy’s eyes slipped to her again.
“I’ll take care of the rest, Vern. You did well. Go to bed.” She nodded, grateful, and moved to close the door, when the boy spoke. She didn’t understand what he said, of course, but her grandfather turned to her and said,
“He says ‘Thank you’”. Vern just stared at him.
“How did you…?”
“Go to sleep, Vern.” She frowned, wanting to repeat the question, but another wave of exhaustion swept over her, and she just turned and closed the door behind her. She plodded upstairs with heavy feet, yawning. When she got up to the door, she heard the door downstairs open, and heard her Grandfather call up,
“Vern? Lock your door tonight.”
…..
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