Some Enchanted Waltz (44 page)

Maura returned with the sterilized instruments. She stood beside the bed next to Dan, holding them on a silver tray as Mrs. Chatham and Dr. Kehoe assisted him. Tara could only stand at the window and watch. She’d never been any good at medical stuff. She did what she had to until Dan arrived. Now, she was shaking so badly she feared she would pass out from shock.

“The bullet just missed entering his lower left quadrant,” Dan explained, as the people beside him looked at each other as if he’d quoted scriptures in Latin. He looked at Dr. Kehoe. “The abdominal cavity is divided into four sections, thus quadrants. We need to explore the lower left quadrant for any and all possible injuries from the bullet’s path. It entered below the quadrant, in the hip region. Its path may have been deflected up into major organs. I’ve not located the ball as yet. God, what I wouldn’t give for a primitive x-ray machine right now.”

“It may have deflected off his hip bone.” Dr. Kehoe suggested. “Traveling up into the intestinal regions, the lower stomach.”

“It depends on the angle of the gun when it was fired, and the muzzle velocity. It appears that the man aimed low or else Adrian moved as he was firing.”  Dan continued, enlarging the opening of the skin with a surgical knife and probing with his forefinger inside of Adrian’s body. At his probing, Adrian’s eyelids fluttered briefly, he groaned and twisted away from the invasive fingers.

Tara spun about with her hands over her mouth. Gagging, trying to hold back the vomit rising in her throat, she grabbed the water pitcher from the dressing stand as a fit of retching overwhelmed her.

“Damn.” The tall Norwegian swore as he withdrew his fingers and shook his head. “My hands are too big. We need small hands, thin fingers.”

Tara lifted her face from the pitcher to find all eyes turned toward her.  “I can’t!”

“Mum, you’ve the smallest hands here.” Mrs. Chatham moved toward Tara.

“No.” Tara protested as the housekeeper placed an arm about her and walked her toward the bed. “I’ll faint . . . I’m not a doctor.”

“Tara.” Dan was shaking her, his bloody hands leaving rings about her arms as he released her. “You have to. We need to find that bullet. If his intestines are pierced, I can try to repair the damage. I’ve seen it done a million times. But, first, we have to find the the bullet, and the path it took through his body.”

Tara moved as if in a dream, outside of herself. Her two fingers gently probed the bloody mass of tissue inside her husband’s body. She could feel no hard lead ball within.

Her fingers touched a hard, smooth surface. She pulled her hand back with a jerk. She gagged, tried to back away. Dan stood behind her, preventing her escape.

“Easy, my girl.” His baritone whispered. “What did you find?”

“I touched bone.” Tara shivered, and jerked her head back, trying to control her gag reflex.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes—“

“Again, just to make sure. Close your eyes this time. Just concentrate on what you feel. Trace the tip of your finger over it and tell me what it feels like.” Tara listened to his soothing voice. She closed her eyes and carefully probed inside the wound again, following the entry path. Her forefinger was buried up to the last knuckle, and still the path continued through his body.

“What the devil?” Dan exclaimed from behind her. “Wait,” He ordered. Tara withdrew her finger from Adrian’s side. Dan drew closer and lifted Adrian slightly, turning him on his side expose his back. A small hole the size of Tara’s thumb oozed crimson just above the back of his hip.

“An exit wound.” Dan muttered in a rush of breath.

Both Dan and Dr. Kehoe heaved a heavy sigh of relief as Tara stood by her husband’s unconscious form, staring at her hand with horror as it dripped crimson. Gradually she became aware of her own sobs as tears dripped down her chin.

“Oh, Shit--Tara. She’s in shock, Maura take her out of here.”

Chapter Thirty Two

“He’s lost a lot of blood.” Dan informed Tara as he stood in the doorway to the small bedroom across the hall.

“That’s not good.”

“You got that right, kid. The bullet went through his hip. Fortunately, it passed through him low enough to miss vital organs. We need to do a peritoneal lavage, for safety sake.” Dan rattled off, “It’s a fancy term for washing out the abdominal cavity with a saline solution. It will help me to ascertain any further injury from the bullet course”

“Are you saying it’s not serious?” Tara breathed.

“Oh, it serious, not necessarily fatal. My main concern is that the bullet might have perforated his intestines.  If it’s a small tear, I can stitch it. That depends on where it is. I  couldn’t do a colostomy. I haven’t the tools or the experience.”

Tara studied him. No longer her beloved sarcastic companion, Dan had become the medical professional. She had never seen this side of him before. He was cool, clinical and self-assured, and she had no idea what he was talking about.

“In the long term, he might lose all motion in his left leg. He might not be able to walk. He might walk with a limp. He might still develop septicemia. We aren’t out of the woods yet, he’s weak from shock and loss of blood.” Dan’s somber eyes offered little comfort. “I’m going to clean up. I’ll let you know what we find out from the lavage.”

“It was clear.” Dan informed Tara an hour later as she entered Adrian’s chamber. “Just a small amount of blood from his wound, a slight pinkishness to the fluid.”

Tara gave him a level look as she stopped halfway between the door and the bed.

“The lavage. It was clear. That’s good news, girl.”

Good news
. Adrian lay still and pale on the bed, covered only by a sheet. His usual sun kissed glow was gone. His face was chalk white, the skin beneath his eyes grey, his mouth twisted in a grimace.

Tara embraced him desperately, washing his face with her tears. “Oh, God . . .”

Dan watched her from the opposite side of the bed. “He woke. I gave him more of Mrs. Chatham’s sedative. It should help the pain, for now. Dr. Kehoe left a bottle of Laudanum. I’ll use that later.”

“He was awake. Did he ask for me? Why didn’t you send for me?”

Dan grimaced, looking hard away from her. “I didn’t think you should see him like that. It was during the lavage. It was enough to hold him down for it”

“I was downstairs for only a few moments, in the kitchen.”

“You didn’t hear him then? Good. I was surprised when you didn’t come barreling through that door. He was furious.”

Tara hugged the unconscious form of her spouse to her again. “Angry with me?”

“No.” Dan’s voice rose with the pronouncement as he gave her a curious look.  “He was afraid you were dead. He thought the bullet grazed him and took you out. I told him you were fine.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” The force of the accusation made her throat ache.

“Like I said, he had the basting tube stuck inside the incision I made, and he was thrashing about, mad as a bull, ready to kill the bastard he thought killed his wife, and in an extreme amount of pain. I didn’t think you needed that little scene right now. Besides, with Dr. Kehoe and me trying to hold him still so Mrs. Chatham didn’t impale his internal organs with the tube, we had our hands full.”

She smoothed the soft raven locks of her beloved on the pillow. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. Good God, he’s alive, we’re all alive, and safe, for the moment.”

“You never did tell me what happened to you?” Tara offered him a shaky smile.

“Later, I’m so tired I could drop. I sent that idiot they call a doctor home. You were right, kid. He would have finished our boy off if you hadn’t intervened. Tried the cobweb prescription on me, too. Even said a good bleeding in two days time would speed his recovery. What our man here needs is transfusion. We haven’t anything close to the equipment needed for that undertaking.”

“Will he die?”

“I don’t know---he lost a large amount of blood----I just don’t know.” Dan shook his head, offering her nothing to cling to. “If we were back in our own time a physician ordering a few units from the blood bank in the lab would be all it would take---and some strong antibiotics. He’s weak. He could very well recover with the proper care, or he could develop septicemia--blood poisoning.”

Tara pulled her gaze away from the frail form on the pillows. “Please, Dan, there has to be something we can do.”

The giant nodded. “There is, we can keep his wound clean, keep him drinking fluids and completely prostrate until the wound begins to close so his hip joints and ligaments don’t heal cockeyed. We can do it, with a lot of care, we can keep him going;. I’ll try to think of something we can give him to emulate antibiotics. I can’t promise anything. I’m a bit rusty. Oh, God, I’m tired, what time is it?” Dan leaned against the bed post and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Ten, maybe eleven p.m.” Tara released Adrian. She adjusted the pillows beneath his head and stroked his pale cheek. “Dan, we need to talk.” She straightened.

“You’re wondering about my medical talents. A bit much for a Paramedic, hey?” He paced to the foot of the bed, and then across the room to the chaise and plopped down with a groan.

 “Surgical Nurse, 347th Medical Unit, Baghdad, First Gulf War. That’s what I was, at twenty five. You weren’t the least bit curious as to how I knew so much about drugs and their components earlier this morning? Or was it last night?” He felt his shirt for the perpetual pack of cigarettes he needed whenever life became stressful. Not finding it, he stood up and moved across the room to where his soiled jacket lay on the floor near the washbasin. Finding his tobacco and his pipe, he gave Tara a short nod of relief.

“I was more concerned with Adrian at the moment. You were a paramedic or EMT on the rescue squad in Marinette, I remember.”

“Yeah,” Dan lit his pipe and tossed the thin wooden stick that resembled a kabob prong into the hearth fire. “Took me close to twenty years to be allowed even that much. I was dishonorably discharged from the army in ’92, had my nursing license revoked for drug abuse during my tour of duty.” He stopped to inhale, and more importantly, Tara assumed, to assess her response to his confession.

He blew out a ring of smoke and continued as she remained impassive. “The constant flow of bloody bodies needing to be patched up got to me. Especially when it became little kids, casualties of the bombing you hear little about in the news. I started doing the morphine meant for the patients.  After being dishonorably discharged, I was shipped off to a psych ward to be weaned off the drugs. It’s the part of my life I usually don’t share with anyone.”

“You saved his life.” Tara offered. 

“We’re not done yet.” He returned, holding her grateful gaze.

Chapter Thirty Three

Why did a fever always come in the wee hours of the night?

Tara sat beside Adrian wringing out the cool water to apply the compresses to his burning skin. Mrs. Chatham was with her, dutifully tending the sick man as the long night stretched on.

I love you. I need you. We’re a family. I need you to stay with me.

Her desperate thoughts repeated themselves endlessly in a frantic prayer.

I need you.  Don’t die.  Without you, I have no future.

Tara soothed the silken locks on the pillow, winding one thin strand about her fingertip. Why did her attempt to save him bring destruction upon them? Why did O’Reilly believe Adrian was the informant? It was Reynolds, she remembered now. Reynolds betrayed his own by giving the time and place to the authorities, and the password to gain admittance to their covert meeting. And then he had the gall to send his co-conspirators a note stating that he could not attend the meeting due to illness.

And now her Adrian was being blamed for betraying them instead of him.

Was that her punishment for interfering with history? For changing Adrian’s fate? Was he to die a slow, lingering death from a gunshot wound instead of being hung as a traitor?

“Forgive me, my love.” Tara said in a choked whisper, unable to resist the condemning voice of her own conscience. “It’s my fault. I killed you.”

“There now, Madame.” Mrs. Chatham’s steady hands drew her near. “You’re exhausted. Let’s get you to bed. I’ll watch over his lordship.”

“I won’t leave him.”

“He’ll need you later. I’ll have to tell him when he wakes up that you are asleep. He won’t like it, Mum. Take your rest now. I’ll call you if need be.”

The clock chimed three in the morning. She’d been awake for the past twenty four hours. Twenty four hours of panic, crisis, and nerve rending terror.

Tara weaved back and forth, unable to resist her body’s yearning for rest. “I’ll stay.” She said with resolute determination.

“And you’ll rest, either way.” Mrs. Chatham’s voice became stern. “See now, that lounge chair in the corner. You’ll be only a step away.” The housekeeper didn’t wait for Tara to approve. With more strength then Tara believed the woman possessed, she took hold of Tara’s arm, pulled her from the chair and walked her to the sofa in an iron grip.