Chapter Five

Donovan was awakened the next morning by Amalia bringing him his breakfast. She helped him sit up and set a tray of scrambled eggs with goat cheese and a side of baked beans in front of him. Then she handed him a cup of herbal tea and a glass of orange liquid with an attitude that was not exactly surly, but was not particularly friendly, either. "Carina can't be here this morning. She had to go look at a horse on the reservation."

Donovan tried to conceal his disappointment. "That's good, isn't it? It means she'll make a trade, right?"

"Maybe." Amalia opened the curtains. Meanwhile the tabby cat slunk into the room and leaped onto the bed. Donovan gave her a bit of egg.

"I wouldn't bother feeding that little beggar. Trust me, she gets enough to eat catching mice and lizards."

"It's worth sacrificing a bit of food to make a friend."

Amalia turned to leave. "No wonder you and Carina have so much to talk about. You're cut out of the same cloth."

Donovan scratched the cat's ears and pretended not to notice that Amalia had left the room. "Is it true you're just scamming me to get an easy meal?" The cat purred and butted his hand in answer. Donovan gave her another bit of egg, then finished his breakfast and set the plate aside for her to lick clean. Next he tasted the contents of the glass. The liquid was both sweet and sour, and he wasn't sure if he liked it, but a deeper part of his body seemed to crave it and before he realized, he had drained the glass. By now his tea had cooled enough to drink and he was sipping it when Amalia returned. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of the cat licking the plate and removed the dirty dishes in silence. When she returned a few minutes later, she was carrying the tray of medical supplies. "Time to have a look under those bandages," she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Donovan didn't dare question her qualifications, and he found Amalia's hands surprisingly gentle as she removed the bandage on his shoulder. She examined the wound and seemed satisfied. "It looks a little better. I'm going to flush it with iodine again, but I won't be able to hold your hand this time.” Donovan braced himself for the pain, which mercifully didn't endure long. When she was through, Amalia daubed some ointment and tied on a fresh bandage.

When she unwrapped his leg, however, her eyes narrowed in genuine concern. "This isn't good. It's red, and it's too warm." She frowned at the swollen gash. "I think we need to open this up, wash it out and let it drain, but Carina is the one who has experience with that sort of thing and without her here. . ."

"When will she be back?"

"Tomorrow or the day after if it's a straightforward case."

"Can we get a message to her?"

"Phones out here quit working years ago. I would have to send someone, and there's no one to send." She selected a pair of small scissors from the tray of medical instruments. "I'll cut a couple of those stitches and maybe that will be enough." Before Donovan could question her judgment, she snipped two stitches open. A thick greenish pus oozed out and Amalia dabbed it with a rag soaked in iodine. "This isn't good at all."

"Should we open it the rest of the way up? I’m not afraid of it bleeding."

"Let's see how it does like this. In the meantime I'll see what I can do to boost your immune system."

Donovan watched her rub ointment onto his leg and re-bandage it. "What can I do to help today?"

Amalia stopped rolling a length of clean bandage. "I don't want you on your feet if that leg is getting worse."

"Isn't there something I could do around the house? Something that wouldn't involve a lot of standing, like fixing something?"

Amalia considered. "Think you could fix a sewing machine?"

* * *

Donovan bent over the antique treadle sewing machine, trying to understand why the needle wouldn't move. It didn't help that he had only the vaguest idea how the machine was supposed to work in the first place. But Amalia had explained what was supposed to happen when the machine worked correctly— the foot treadle turned the belt, which somehow caused the needle to move up and down. As Donovan peered at the primitive mechanics he knew it had to be a very simple problem.

Luckily Amalia had a box of spare parts. Was there anything this family hadn't hoarded? Antibiotics, apparently. Donovan resisted the urge to rub his throbbing leg. Amalia had given him an extra dose of echinacea, but from the way the leg was feeling, it didn't seem to be doing much good. As a veterinarian, maybe Carina could get some antibiotics. He hoped she would be back soon.

There it was— a tiny gear with a missing tooth. Having a strong flashlight really helped. Donovan began removing parts so he could get to the broken gear. He laid the pieces out in the order they had to be replaced, just as he had learned in the Guard. Fixing things was something he had done a lot of during his service and while it wasn't one of Donovan's natural talents, it was something he had become competent at with training.

He put the machine back together, then worked the treadle slowly with his good foot. Obligingly, the needle dipped and rose. The next step would be to try sewing a test piece, but Donovan didn't know how to sew. Using the table for support, he pulled himself to his feet and stood listening for Amalia. Hearing nothing, he picked up the walking stick she had given him, hobbled to the kitchen, and peered out the screen door toward the fields and animal pens. There was no sign of her, but that didn't mean much. She could be inside the barn or on the other side of the house. She could be at the creek, or anywhere. He couldn't wander around looking for her. Not with this bad leg. Getting out of bed had been a bad idea.

He was making his way toward his bedroom when a photograph in the hallway caught his eye. It was a family portrait of a kind Donovan had often seen amid the destruction of the homes he raided with the Guard. The man in the picture was round-faced and genial, the woman blonde and smiling in a pink dress that was too clean and fancy for any recent times. Standing between the two grownups was a tall boy in his early teens with a determined set to his jaw, and in front of their parents were two blue-eyed girls, golden hair flowing over their shoulders like melted butter. The younger girl looked a lot like the woman who had gone out on the veterinary call this morning, but it was the older girl, perhaps seven, who Donovan found more interesting. How did this chubby-cheeked girl with the radiant smile grow into the hard-eyed woman who would have just as soon shot him the other night? Donovan stared at the photo, trying to understand who his rescuers were, but the throbbing in his leg reminded him of more important matters. He needed to get off his feet.

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