Finding Gabriel (4 page)

Together they silently tended to the man’s wound.

Time raced by at a dizzying speed. Such a thing proved unfortunate since time was the only hope the soldier had – and each second was more precious than the very air he breathed.

A violent blast of thunder caused the windowpane to lurch against its sill. Miriam pressed a hand to her heart as she visibly battled her nerves.

Ariah stared at the soldier while the grim reality sank in: the next few hours would determine his fate.

He was in God’s hands now.

•

A resonating knock echoed through the home early the next morning. Nerves dancing, Ariah smoothed down her plain skirts and hustled inside the drawing room. Exhaustion loomed over her mind and body in a dense, impenetrable cloud. She fought to shake away the fatigue with every breath. Her heart was heavy, her limbs listless, and her thoughts thrown into a turbulent whirlwind. Indeed, between concern for her child and concern for the soldier, she’d hardly slept more than twenty minutes.

And rescuing the soldier had been a true battle every step of the way. In a unified effort, she and Miriam had cleaned out the gaping wound, pressurized the bleeding, sanitized the hole to the best of their abilities, and wrapped his head in a thick linen blanket. The man’s powerful body had shifted in agony as they’d labored. Curses, violent words of resistance, and choked sobs had emerged from his lips by turns. As expected, Miriam turned pale and recoiled at the blasphemy. Ariah merely ignored his harsh words and matched the soldier’s defiance with willpower.

“
Dieu!
Surely he’s p-p-p-possessed,” Miriam had cried out, crossing herself in an urgent motion.

Ariah had peered at her sister’s horrified expression with equal parts annoyance and pity. Harnessing back frustration, she shook her head, her concentration never wavering from the task at hand.

“Don’t be silly, Miriam. He’s not possessed. Just confused and flushed with pain.” Washing away the saliva and dried blood, she muttered to no one in particular, “You mustn’t pay any heed. He’s lost, delusional, and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Eventually, after an hour of tending to the near-fatal injury, she and Miriam transferred the soldier into Ariah’s chamber. And, after the most critical time had passed and he still remained alive, Miriam left the room and turned in for the evening.

But Ariah had remained at the soldier’s side through the night. She couldn’t leave him alone. His pain was palpable. It expanded far beyond his external wound. Indeed, Ariah had recognized that numbing terror. It echoed inside her, infusing her soul with agony and shared pain.

The man behaved like a true soldier – even in his sedation. He’d emerged from unconsciousness at random intervals, and he’d fought her at every step. “
Non,
” he’d breathed in a hoarse voice, “just leave me, damn you … leave me and let me fucking die …” But those halfhearted pleas only fueled Ariah’s resolve. To her ears, they’d been nothing less than a cry for help – the remnants of a broken soul begging for a second chance.

So she’d clasped onto his hand in a reassuring grip and rivaled his words with ones of comfort. She’d wiped the sweat from his brow, cooled his fever, and offered a canister of water. She’d pressed the drink to his lips and urged in a tentative whisper, “Please … you must force yourself to drink, monsieur.” To her relief, he’d sipped from the canister a few times before descending into blackness.

And then his eyes had blinked open for a weightless second – glazed, heavy-lidded, and disorientated. Their color and sheer intensity had melted her very soul. They’d been a rich cognac hue and startlingly beautiful. But even more, they’d been deep, thoughtful, and overflowing with unseen pain. Now, standing in the drawing room, Ariah’s pulse surged at the memory.

Gradually the soldier’s struggles had quieted and their gazes merged together. He’d whispered the words, his voice a decadent rumble: “Thank … you …” Ariah had nodded and offered him another helping of water. Within that moment, a silent acceptance overcame the soldier’s entire spirit. And, for the remainder of the night, he’d surrendered to her caretaking while falling in and out of delirium. She eventually fell asleep on the edge of the mattress and woke to dawn’s first rays.

Another knock resounded. Snapping out of her memory, Ariah wrenched open the door and greeted Doctor Mongeau. As usual, the tip of his nose glowed brightly, the wiry tufts of his hair sticking out in every direction. Laugh lines creased the corner of his eyes – a testament to his easy humor and quick wit. Round of stature and kind of heart, Doctor Mongeau had taken an instant liking to Emmaline months earlier – and, after discovering Jacques was away in the war, he’d agreed to make routine calls free of payment. He’d transformed into somewhat of a father figure during that brief time.

Ariah’s fatigue melted away in the doctor’s presence. But today his skin was strangely ashen and devoid of its customary color. And when he strode forward, his back was set in a prominent, painful hunch. Concern knotted Ariah’s chest and weighed heavily on her heart.

“
Bonjour,
Monsieur Mongeau. I’m so relieved you’re here this morning.” Ariah signaled him across the threshold with an insistent wave.

A leather medical bag was secured beneath his arm. Like the rest of him, it was well worn and brimming with character. Steadying his body, he latched onto the doorjamb and then straightened his posture. He was clearly short of breath – though he fought to conceal his weakness.

After a full minute, Ariah took hold of his forearm and gently guided him forward. Rivulets of water slipped down the sleek material of his cloak and dripped onto the floorboards. A light coating of sleet dusted his shoulders and contrasted against the black fabric.

“
Merci,
madame,
merci.
My, that thunderstorm’s going to be quite the beast.” Fat raindrops rolled off his cloak and dribbled from the hat’s brim. “Ah, look at me, making a god-awful mess on your floorboards.”

Ariah waved off the last remark. An image of those same floorboards – stained with a stranger’s blood – jackknifed into her thoughts. “Surely you didn’t walk here?”

“Oh, no, no. Not today.” He chuckled and peeled away his leather gloves. “Acquired a carriage, actually. The driver shall be waiting for me just outside.” Wired spectacles balanced on the bridge of his nose. Condensation fogged the slates of glass like dense puffs of smoke. Ariah wondered how he managed to see.

As if reading her thoughts, Doctor Mongeau stripped the spectacles from his face, retrieved a handkerchief, and wiped away the mist. “Ah,” he murmured, simultaneously replacing the glasses. “That’s much better now.” He paused and examined Ariah’s face as if seeing her for the first time since his entrance. Clearing his throat, he shuffled forward as his forehead creased in concern. “Why, madame! You look paler than a ghost. Simply dreadful!”

“Easy with the flattery, monsieur.” Ariah’s voice held a playful, teasing note. Arching a fine brow, she stepped aside and allowed Doctor Mongeau to pass.

“My apologies. It’s just that I’ve never seen you so weary. So weary or so very anxious, for that matter.” He removed his cloak and wool hat as he spoke, folding the material over his forearm in ritualistic fashion. Sudden agony warped his features. “I take it Emmaline’s condition has worsened?”

“It’s rather difficult to say. Her temperature comes and goes as it pleases. Just last night she was positively on fire, but this morning she appears to be doing quite well.” Ariah took both garments from his arm and flung them over the coat-rack. They hung haphazardly, though she didn’t bother to fix them as she normally would.

“Ah, I believe I shall be the judge of that,” Doctor Mongeau said with a gap-toothed smile.

Oliver chose to enter the drawing room at that moment. Doctor Mongeau turned to the creature with a slight bow. “Good day to you, Monsieur Oliver.”

Miriam followed after the dog and tipped her chin in greeting. Then she claimed a seat by the hearth and absorbed its heat. Muttering a loud groan, Oliver plopped onto his rug and promptly fell asleep. Raspy snoring soon permeated the drawing room and brought a small grin to Doctor Mongeau’s lips.

Ariah wandered over to Miriam and grazed her sister’s forearm. “Emmaline is doing well?”

“It s-s-seems s-so. She still hasn’t seen the s-strange m-m-an.”

Doctor Mongeau’s bushy brows perked at Miriam’s remark. “What is this, now?”

Mon Dieu!
What had she been thinking, taking in a strange man – and keeping him beneath the same roof as her daughter, nonetheless! Lost in thought, Ariah paced the cramped entryway and threaded fingertips through her hairline. He was a man whom she knew nothing about! He could be a thief, a killer, a rapist … or worse. Surely she was losing her sanity.

But then she remembered his agony, the intensity of his eyes … the small amount of gratitude he’d shown when she’d given him water. Beneath his ruined exterior, she’d sensed an exquisite desperation and need.

Steadying her with a gentle hand, Doctor Mongeau said, “Continue like this, and I fear you shall burn a hole straight through the floorboards.”

Ariah stopped mid-step. Turning to him, she forced a smile and regained her composure. “Oh, forgive me. It’s been a rather exhausting night.”

Miriam nodded in agreement and scratched beneath Oliver’s muzzle. “To say the very l-least.” The creature bellowed a low whine, demanding her undivided attention.

Doctor Mongeau’s grin broadened. “Then let us see to Emmaline right away,
oui
?”

Ariah froze in her tracks. She swallowed deeply, her hands twisting together in a nervous gesture. “Actually, I was hoping you might examine someone else this morning.”

He cocked a brow at her words, curiosity flickering in his charcoal-gray eyes. “Someone else? What is this madness?”

“I’ll bring you to him. Come with me, monsieur. And kindly take care to keep quiet. I don’t wish to wake Emmaline.”

•

The bedchamber was silent and still. Only the rain’s melodic pitter-patter breached the quiet. A brittle shaft of light burst through the window and illuminated the man’s reclined form. Dust motes fluttered midair, falling like delicate snowflakes in the transient sunshine. Situated on the end table, the whale lamp burned low from the previous evening. A delicate illumination danced across the soldier’s features and helped soften the angular lines of his bandaged face.

He was much too large for the bed – easily over one hundred eighty-five centimeters. Both heels hung off the mattress’s edge, and the width of his shoulders nearly spanned the headboard. Regardless, at least for the time being, he appeared rather content. Even at peace. His body remained motionless, only the shallow rise and fall of his chest contending he still lived.

Ariah eased inside the room and mutely signaled Doctor Mongeau to follow. Careful not to disturb the rest of the household, she closed the door behind them. “We must keep quiet. Emmaline doesn’t know of him yet, see,” she said, needing to break the tension-filled silence.

The doctor nodded while his gaze widened in disbelief; his expression bordered between confusion and outright alarm. Not speaking a word, he tossed Ariah an inquisitive, sideways glance and inched toward the stranger.

“I … I found him just last night. Some wretch shot him, discarded his body in the Seine, and left him for dead.”

The doctor nodded once more and placed the medical bag atop the mattress. Wasting no time, he crouched beside the bed and examined the bandaging. The linen was wrapped lengthwise around the man’s head, blanketing the wound from jaw to hairline. Doctor Mongeau’s wrinkled fingertips ran over the material in a deft touch and felt for the opening. “Quite nice handiwork here. You disinfected the wound first, I suspect?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Though all I had was water, alcohol, and iodine.”

Doctor Mongeau slid his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, gave a sharp cough against his shoulder, and proceeded to unwind the linen. “Ah, that should do just fine. I’ll check for infection, anyhow.”

He placed the linen on the end table. A firm ball of cloth was secured underneath the bandaging. It was positioned directly over the injury and soaked through with blood and saliva.

“Pressurized the bleeding, I see. Very good.”

Executing years of medical expertise, Doctor Mongeau carefully pried the cloth from the man’s face, his touch delicate and featherlight. Below the rag, the flesh appeared tender and inflamed. Jutting at awkward angles, fractured bone speared through the skin like so many knives.

Ariah inhaled a strained breath as the doctor cocked his head and examined the wound closely. His nose drew centimeters away from the wound, both eyes sharpened, and his brows hooked together. “Bit tender – but I can’t see any true sign of infection.” He nodded and set the bloodied rag aside. Ariah watched with a torrent of relief as he continued the assessment.

Then, swept with delirium, the soldier spasmed, tossed about, and rambled incoherently. The doctor pressed two fingertips against the man’s neck and felt for his pulse. He turned to Ariah with a satisfactory nod. “The bone should heal itself, I believe. That shall take sufficient time, of course – but it’s not the chief concern of mine.”

“And what is, exactly?” Ariah knelt beside Doctor Mongeau, folding her skirts beneath her legs.

“Well, infection. Infection and his fever. He’s been in and out of consciousness like he is now, I suspect?”

“Yes. Rather delusional, too.”

“Indeed. I would expect nothing less.”

Murmuring to himself, he unclasped the leather medical bag and riffled through its disorderly contents. “Let me see now. I should have a salve somewhere in here – ah, yes – there we are.”

He extracted a small tin. A pungent odor emerged as he unscrewed the lid. Ariah jumped to her feet and covered her nose with the edge of her shawl. Apparently immune, Doctor Mongeau offered no direct reaction to the musky smell. He merely grinned, shrugged his frail shoulders, and continued working. “Stinks like the devil, yet works like a charm. I’ll leave it in your care, along with a hearty dose of laudanum. With regular changing of the bandages, the salve should help ward off infection.” He shook his downcast face. “I’m afraid the left side of his mouth may be paralyzed from the trauma.”