Cynthia Bailey Pratt Read Online Free Page A

think it’s too bad. I can’t bandage it myself, though, and . . .I’d rather not have a doctor.”
    Despite his evident exhaustion, Jocelyn realized Hammond was trying to encourage her. His voice was bright and bracing, though not very loud. Lifting his arm with an obvious effort, he threw off the blanket.
    Although she wanted to run away, Jocelyn fought down her fear and approached the man on the bed. Surprised by the steadiness of her hands, she set the jug of water on the floor. Tenderly she helped him remove his old coat. His simple woolen waistcoat came off easily. Underneath, a wide rusty stain on the left was plain as only blood can be, fresh red glimmering in the center of the stain. His shin stuck to the long wound under his chest, and Jocelyn thought she’d never find sufficient courage to pull the material away.
    “Do it quick,” Hammond said before setting his teeth, but he could not stop a cry of pain as she tugged. Jocelyn thought he should have cursed her for being such a clumsy idiot. Her head spun, and she sat heavily on the bare floor.
    When she looked up, Hammond was peering down the length of his body at the sluggishly bleeding wound. “That’s not bad at all. Just sliced along a rib. If it went in as far, I’d be waking with the angels by now. As it is, I’ll never know it happened in a day or two.”
    He looked at Jocelyn and smiled with a sweetness she did not expect. Her own lips curved in answer. “That’s the worst over, my boy. Now if I can ask for the loan of the bottom of your shirt . . .”
    Jocelyn knew her face was hot and hoped it might be passed off with her dizzy spell. “I would be glad to give it to you, sir, but it’s my only one.” She was amazed by how quickly she learned to lie, never having practiced.
    “Well, then, we’ll have to sacrifice the bottom of the bed-sheet. I’ll pay the landlord for the loan, if he ever discovers it.” The linen at the inn appeared to have been recently washed, a thing Hammond said he’d scarcely expected.
    “Is there anything of my shirt that isn’t such an unbecoming shade of red? No, don’t tear anything higher than the middle; I still have to wear the upper half in public. Tear off a piece. Dip it in the water and give it to me.”
    He demonstrated cleaning his wound, and when Jocelyn took the makeshift sponge, Hammond lay back and stared at the wall. Though she went as slowly and carefully as she could, once Jocelyn thought she felt him shudder, and she whispered an apology. He shook his head and continued to stare at nothing.
    “Good lad,” he said when she finished and put down the pinkish cloth. “I’m afraid this isn’t very easy for you.”
    “No, sir,” she confessed.
    “We’re nearly done. Rip the bedsheet.” Jocelyn turned back the bottom of the blanket and tried to pull a seam on the sheets. The landlord’s wife was too good a seamstress and her stitches defeated Jocelyn.
    “I can’t get it started, sir.”
    “There’s a knife in my left boot. Use that.”
    Timidly Jocelyn took the knife from the dark leather against his shin. The knife was long and thin with a dangerously sharp edge. It looked more like a wicked weapon from some melodrama than a knife a gentleman might use for slicing fruit. Jocelyn half-expected to see some dark stain on the blade and relaxed when she saw no such mark. Somehow ripping the coarse linen into strips made her feel better about her squeamishness.
    “Good,” Hammond said when a small pile of bandages lay on the bed. “Make some of that into a pad, and then I’ll show you how to bandage such an unwieldy thing as the human torso. It’ll be useful to you, no doubt, should you ever join the Army.”
    Jocelyn thought that the bandaging went fairly well. At least, Hammond’s face wasn’t set into rigid lines, and he didn’t seem to sigh as much as before. She tried to touch him lightly. Although she’d often seen her cousins without their shirts, she felt the considerable