A Wanton Woman (Mail Order Bride of Slate Springs 1)

She held her arm to her chest and her face was etched with pain. I knelt down before her and looked into her eyes. “Agnes, I’m a nurse. Can I look at your hand?”

Perhaps it was my soft tone or the fact that she was hurting so badly, but she held her arm away from her body. Her hand was curled and her little finger, while it should have been aligned with the others, stuck out to the side at an awkward angle. It was very broken.

“I’m sure you can see that your finger is broken.”

“I’ll take you to see Doctor Deeter,” Mr. Thomkins said. Luke, Agnes and I all looked up at the man. He didn’t even want to lower himself to help his wife.

“Celia is a nurse,” Luke said.

Thomkins’ eyebrows went up on his pasty face. “A woman to help Agnes? She’s not having a baby. Her finger’s broken.”

“We can all see that, Thomkins,” Walker snapped. “Let Celia help so Agnes doesn’t have to be in pain longer than necessary.”

Thomkins pursed her lips.

“How do I know you’re really a nurse?” he asked me.

“You don’t,” I countered, then ignored him. Agnes eyed me, but warily. “I am a nurse and I can help you. Let’s go back inside where it’s warmer.”

I looked to Luke over her shoulder and he nodded. He then deferred to Mr. Thomkins to assist his wife back in the house. Once she was settled on the couch, I sat beside her and carefully held her hand.

“Your finger is out of joint, not broken. We need to put it back into place.”

“Will it hurt?” she asked, her voice meek and laced with pain.

Mr. Thomkins scoffed, but I ignored the tone.

“Yes,” I told her. She deserved the truth. “Mr. Thomkins, will you allow your wife to have some whiskey?”

His eyes widened. Until now, I hadn’t realized he had jowls, but they shook and had me noticing the way they wobbled. “Whiskey? Now see here—”

“She’s not going to corrupt her to the devil’s spirits, just get her numb from the pain,” Walker told him.

“I do not need whiskey,” Agnes replied. “I’ve delivered three children, one breech.”

I blanched at the pain she’d gone through. I’d assisted in a number of childbirths to know what a woman went through to deliver a baby, but breech? I cringed and counted her lucky to have survived. Where were the children? With a nanny, grandmother? Or were they old enough to remain alone? Neither Walker nor Luke asked after them, so I had to assume they were fine. I was sure I’d meet them soon enough in a town this small and find out for myself.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded, then met my eyes. She wasn’t meek now. The pain was something she could control, that she had power over. Unlike her husband’s usual overbearing demeanor, this was her choice.

“All right. I’m going to pull on your finger so that I can turn it, realign the bones and put it back into place.”

I didn’t delay, didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. I didn’t count. Just did as I said and quickly reset her finger. She hissed out her breath, but held herself still.

“All done.” I let out a breath I’d been holding. “Luke?”

“Yes?” he replied instantly.

“I need some strips of cloth to bind her fingers together.”

He turned and left the room.

Agnes was pale, her lips thinned with pain and sweat dotted her brow, but she was calmer.

“Your finger should be sore for a few days; keep it immobilized.”

Luke returned and handed me a thin strip of white cotton. I smiled at him and went about gently wrapping it around her injured finger and the one next to it, tying them together.