A Harvest of Hope (31 page)

D
r. Bjorklund, I know it is none of my business, but you don't look too well. I'll do more of the paper work tonight. You should go on home.”

Astrid looked up, realizing she was rubbing her forehead again. Most likely because she had a headache. “Thanks, Miriam, I think I will.”
Tired
sat on her as if it had been sewn onto her shoulders. Surely she should be getting her strength back by now. Yes, she'd had some sort of a nervous breakdown, but that was some time ago. It seemed the better Elizabeth felt, the worse she felt.

Now, where had a thought like that come from? Doctors were not allowed to be tired. At least if she was tired there should be some good reason. And why did all her staff think it was their job to watch out for her? She should be watching out for them. When had she last done any planned teaching for these nurses in her care? After checking to make sure the charts were in alphabetical order, she rose and blew out a breath. Surely a good night's rest would get her back in working order.

Ever since the telephones had gone out, she'd been catching herself worrying about the hospital, as if she were miles away rather than a few doors. Maybe they should set up a bell to ring if she was needed. Similar to the fire bell. Sure, let everyone in
town worry about who is sick or got hurt that the doctor is needed at the hospital.

She hung her apron on the hook by the door, took her shawl from another, and stopped. She set her black bag up on the desk and searched through, mentally checking off her necessities. She, Elizabeth, and Ingeborg all kept pretty much the same supplies in their bags, not that her mother was called on to use hers much anymore.

Bag in hand, shawl around her shoulders, and hat pinned in place, she headed for the door. “Good night.”

Miriam nodded and smiled, as did Gray Cloud. One more month and the two Indian nurses in training would be returning to their reservation to assist Dr. Red Hawk. That would give him four nurses with at least rudimentary training in patient care.

She paused and inhaled the crisp air. It wasn't freezing yet but would be before dawn. Each night was growing colder. The moon cast her shadow as she headed up the street.

“Astrid!” one of the four men coming toward her called out.

“Trygve? What's happened?”

“Oh, we need some stitches, I think.” He was probably trying to sound casual. It wasn't working.

“What happened?” Even in the moonlight she could recognize that one of them was limping, one man was holding an arm to his chest, another was holding a bloody head as his buddy helped him along, and four had bloodied faces, which included Trygve's, and swelling eyes.

“Just a disagreement.”

Astrid turned and headed back into the hospital with a sigh.

As they entered, Miriam strode toward them. “What happened?”

“Divide them between the examining rooms. You two go in there, please.” She opened the door to the examining room. “Trygve and you, sir”—she motioned to the fellow clutching his arm—“in here. Gray Cloud . . .”

“I get basins and soap.” The round little woman rolled her eyes as if this were nothing new to her.

“Bring a bowl of ice too, please.” Astrid frowned at Trygve. “Sit in the chair there. You'd better tell me all that happened. No one was drinking, were they?”

“On the job? Of course not.” Even Trygve couldn't glare well with one eye rapidly swelling shut. His split lip had quit bleeding.

“We'll ice you and go see to the others. Are you injured anywhere else?”

“No. Not unless pride counts.”

“You're not dizzy or having trouble breathing?” He shook his head and winced.

She heard a snort behind her. Miriam held a pan of ice and a couple of wet cloths. The girl should be looking as if she were worried about her loved one. Instead, she looked either bemused or mildly disgusted.

Astrid crossed to the other fellow and pressed around his shoulder briefly. “I thought it appeared dislocated. Let me examine the other two, and I'll return to tend your dislocation. Miriam, prepare some ice packs for Trygve and this man. Then come over to the other room.”

She stepped into the next room. “Can you both speak English?” The man in the chair nodded. She recognized the other fellow stretched out on the table, but she could not remember his name.
Check for
further bleeding and then ask for necessary information.
As always, her mind went into doctor mode as she crossed to the examination table and removed the dirty handkerchief that had failed to stanch the bleeding from the man's forehead. “Mr. . . . ?”

He mumbled his name.

His companion repeated it. “Dmitri Rasinov. Razzie.”

That was it. Now she remembered his wife was Marina. “Do you normally bleed easily with a cut? Is it hard to make it quit bleeding?”

He nodded but kept from flinching when she washed the gash in his forehead.

“I'm washing this with carbolic acid to get rid of any dirt and germs. Nurse Hastings will close it with several stitches. The gash is deep, and we don't want it to break open again, particularly if you bleed easily. That could happen from something as simple as smiling.” While she talked, she washed the wound, the red blood welling up immediately. It seemed to be slowing some, or was she just seeing things? Suddenly, she was uncertain of her own observations. “I'm putting this pad on, and I want you to hold it in place, with pressure. Can you do that?”

He nodded. But when he raised his hand, she could see swelling on two fingers. “Was that injured in the fight too? Broken?”

He shrugged and had the grace to look sheepish. “I am not a good fighter.”

“I should think not. What is your wife going to say?”

“Plenty,” the man mumbled from between swollen lips.

“Your residence?”

“Post office box 3.”

“You'd never fit into it. Where do you live?”

“Cannot remember. Brain is foggy. Mrs. . . . uh, that house near your mother.” He sucked in a breath when she probed his fingers.

“We'll splint these fingers. That means using your hand is going to be difficult.”

“I have to work.”

“I know.”
What I really want to know
is what in the world happened.

She asked him the standard questions, all the while probing for further injuries, including right around the gash. Was it mushy regarding the bone or just swollen? She couldn't be sure. She would check again in a day or so once the swelling had abated.

Miriam sutured the head wound as Gray Cloud assisted. She
was using tiny stitches to minimize scarring. She did better than Astrid could have, at least now, as bone weary as Astrid felt.

“Good job. Gray Cloud, would you please bandage him up while Miriam splints the fingers? Miriam, in the position of function, I trust you know.” She watched as her two nurses calmly and efficiently did what they were asked, as if they'd been doing this for years, not just months.

“Now, if you feel dizzy, sit down before you fall down and get your head down between your knees. I'm sending some pain pills home with you, since you'll probably have a raging headache. If you start to see double, or anything else unusual, come back in here. We'll take the stitches out in ten days to two weeks. Keep your forehead clean.”

“We change the bandage?” Gray Cloud asked.

“You're right. See you back here in a couple days for a clean one.”

Except for a huge black eye, the fellow's companion in the chair seemed to have survived well enough. She prescribed more ice packs and returned to the other room with her nurses.

Dislocated shoulder. Usually they turned out all right, but sometimes, if a blood vessel or nerve was pinched, they could be terrible.

“I live at the boardinghouse.” The man on the table answered her question. “And not married.”

“You lost a couple teeth?”

The fellow nodded. “Doesn't happen very often.”

With Trygve's help they were able to lever the shoulder back in place. Miriam coached Gray Cloud as she applied a sling and swathe.

Three eyes, already purple and swollen, would announce to the world they'd been in a fight.

Finally, with the others gone out the door, Astrid and Miriam returned to Trygve. “You want to tell me the whole story now?”

“Not much to it really. You know the pressure those guys
have been under to get the apartment building done. They've been working by lantern light, and when one guy accidentally dropped something, it hit another and a fight broke out. I tried to stop it.” He slipped his tongue across the swollen split lip. “Ran into a fist.”

“I didn't know you were working even after dark.”

“Just this week. There's so much work, Thorliff would hire women, if they knew how to use a hammer and saw.”

Miriam's eyebrows shot up. “You think women can't build too?” she asked, and there was a sharp edge on her voice.

“I . . . uh . . . I don't think they are trained for it. I know my tante Ingeborg can use a hammer and saw pretty well. But then, she does everything well.”

Nice save
.
Astrid smiled at him. That was certainly true about her mother.

He flinched when Miriam poured some carbolic acid on a cloth and cleaned his lip. She refilled the ice pack and waited for him to hold it on his eye.

“That sure is cold.”

“Ice generally is.” There was no mercy in the young woman's voice.

Astrid said, “Once you get home, you might want to chip off some ice and pack that eye again.”

“I will.” Trygve stood. “Can I walk you home, Astrid? Or are you staying longer?”

“I'll take care of the charts,” Miriam said. “I got enough information, and we can get more if we need to.”

Trygve grimaced. “Ja, you know where to find us.”

Astrid threw her bloody apron in the laundry, repinned her hat, and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “Thanks, Miriam, Gray Cloud. You both did a fine job. Next time we have a laceration, I'll expect you to suture it.”

Gray Cloud widened her eyes but nodded at the same time.

They'd just gotten to the door when Miriam caught up with
them. “In all the blood and mess I forgot to say thank-you.” She spoke directly to Trygve. “It is so beautiful.”

“You are welcome. I was hoping you'd be happy with it.”

“I am. Oh, I am.”

Astrid couldn't hide her grin, didn't even try to. She knew what Miriam was referring to, for Trygve had asked her if she thought Miriam would be happy with his handiwork. She'd been so surprised at the detail on such a small piece. If those two didn't figure out the depth of their caring for each other . . .

Once they were finally out the door, Astrid blew out a breath and glanced up at the moon, silvery and without warmth. “What a night.”

“She really likes it, huh?” he asked.

“I'd say so. How could she not?” His shrug reminded her of when he was a boy and he'd brought flowers he'd picked to her. Profuse thanks always embarrassed him.

They walked a bit before he said, “I should have known better than to get in the middle of that fight.”

“Well, this was one way to have some time with Miriam.”

“That's one way of looking at it.” He smiled down at Astrid. “I am going to marry her, you know.”

“I know she has a commitment to the hospital and her training first.”

“I'm not in a hurry. I just wish I was sure she loves me like I love her.”

“Ask her.” The cold was beginning to seep through her wool shawl, in spite of their walking quickly. How could he doubt after the look she'd given him? Surely sparks had nearly lit the hospital entrance.

“Easier said than done.”

“Don't tell me you're shy. Trygve Knutson shy?”

From the distance ahead of them came a cry of “Help!”

They both stopped. Astrid stared forward. “What was that?”

The call came again from the road to the Bjorklund farm.

Trygve took off running with Astrid right behind him. The black bag banging against her side was slowing her down.

Mr. Rasinov lay crumpled on the ground at his companion's feet.

The man was kneeling beside him. “He just went down. I can't carry him by myself, and I was afraid to drag him.”

Astrid knelt beside the man with the stitched gash in his head. He was breathing, and his heart was fast but not racing. “Stay with him, please. I'll run back for a stretcher and help.” Since her house was closest, she raced up the steps and burst through the back door. “Daniel, I need you now!” She shouted in spite of puffing for breath.

“What?” He burst into the kitchen.

“Get some blankets and a quilt. We have to carry a man back to the hospital. He's out on the road to Mor's. I'll go get Thorliff too.” She ran across the street and up on that porch. The light was on out at the newspaper office. Hollering for her brother, she headed there.

“What is it?”

“A man down on the way to Mor's. Trygve and Daniel . . .”

He was gone before she could finish.
Go help them or get
to the hospital to prepare?
It had to be that head injury.

“Astrid, were you calling for Thorliff? What is it?” Elizabeth stepped out onto the porch.

“I just treated and released a Mr. Rasinov after suturing a laceration near his temple.” She sucked in a breath. “I should have kept him for observation, but he appeared fine. Thank God one of the other men was walking him home. He collapsed and is unconscious.”

“Possibly bleeding in the brain. Or a blood clot. Were his eyes all right?”

“Ja, in the hospital. It was too dark to check on the road. What can I do? I should never have let him go.”

“Put him to bed and watch for swelling. Did you palpate the site of the gash?”