prepare our patients for travel.” He nodded to Jess. “I’m appointing you to figure out how we’re going to get out of here.” He winked. “Since you have all that luck, Captain Randall, eh?”
If his chief had told him to sprout wings and fly to the lines of Torres Vedras, he could not have been more surprised. Anger followed: How dare he give me the impossible task, Hippocrates? Shame tread on anger’s heels when he glanced down at the fear in his wife’s eyes. Humility traipsed along behind them both, eyes cast down as always. He thought of everything he had promised when he swore Hippocrates’ stupid oath. Nowhere did anything explain this situation, but the burden was his. So be it.
First things first; even Jenks and his labored breathing could wait for a moment. He draped his arm around Elinore’s slight shoulders and stooped a little to whisper in her ear. “Elinore, I don’t want you to doubt that I can do this,” he whispered. “I can tell you not to worry, but Iknow you will. I insist, however, that you don’t go into agonies about arriving at a solution by yourself. Let me do that now.”
She seemed to understand what he meant. “What can I do to help?” she whispered back, after a moment’s thought, her cheek still close to his, her lips near his ear this time.
Give her something to do. “Under my cot I have a cotton satchel like this leather one I carry my medicine in,” he told her. “Get in my trunk and figure out what I should transfer to the satchel. We’re all going to be traveling light.”
She nodded and went into the sleeping tent, leaving him with the larger problem. He wanted to follow her, sit on his cot, and wait for Sheffield to take charge. He wanted to feel sorry for himself, but a larger thought intruded and would not leave. Obviously he thinks I can make order out of this mess, he told himself. Perhaps I can.
Thoughtfully, he walked around the marching hospital, looking for a solution. Bones had left nothing behind that would be of any use, except the tent and all the cots inside. And that was it, pure and simple. “Well, now,” he said out loud.
He was back in his tent in a moment. Elinore looked up in surprise. She held up one of his shirts. “These are all disgraceful,” she scolded. “Didn’t you ever go to a party in Lisbon? I know why I am shabby, but why are
you
so shabby?”
He had the grace to feel a twinge of embarrassment. “I’d really rather flop on my cot with a good book, Elinore,” he told her. “Even in Lisbon. Oh, especially in Lisbon.” He grinned at her. “And now you’re regretting your marriage to such a boring man, I vow.”
She said nothing, returning no answer beyond a blush. She looked so darling there with his shirts in her hands that he wanted to touch her in places anatomical and see if she reacted as his lecturer on
partes della femina
predicted. He did not doubt that he had the touch, which brought a blush to his own face.
Back to the problem, or rather, its solution. “Elinore, come with me now. I need an interpreter.”
She asked no questions, but dropped the shirts on his cot and followed him from the tent. He told himself that hetook her hand to hurry her along, but he knew he just wanted to feel that much of her.
It was a short walk through muddy streets to the alcalde’s headquarters. He didn’t know what it was constructed of, but the whole structure seemed to be peeling. A sharp rap on the door brought the alcalde himself, looking impatient and ready to be disagreeable, rather like a burdened relative who has been praying for his houseguests to leave, and feeling no patience for the stragglers remaining.
Before he had a chance to close the door on them, Jess greeted him in Spanish and asked to come inside. “We are allies,” he reminded the Spaniard pointedly, and it gained them entrance, although not the offer of a seat or a glass of wine. Never mind; he didn’t require niceties. He had explained the
If his chief had told him to sprout wings and fly to the lines of Torres Vedras, he could not have been more surprised. Anger followed: How dare he give me the impossible task, Hippocrates? Shame tread on anger’s heels when he glanced down at the fear in his wife’s eyes. Humility traipsed along behind them both, eyes cast down as always. He thought of everything he had promised when he swore Hippocrates’ stupid oath. Nowhere did anything explain this situation, but the burden was his. So be it.
First things first; even Jenks and his labored breathing could wait for a moment. He draped his arm around Elinore’s slight shoulders and stooped a little to whisper in her ear. “Elinore, I don’t want you to doubt that I can do this,” he whispered. “I can tell you not to worry, but Iknow you will. I insist, however, that you don’t go into agonies about arriving at a solution by yourself. Let me do that now.”
She seemed to understand what he meant. “What can I do to help?” she whispered back, after a moment’s thought, her cheek still close to his, her lips near his ear this time.
Give her something to do. “Under my cot I have a cotton satchel like this leather one I carry my medicine in,” he told her. “Get in my trunk and figure out what I should transfer to the satchel. We’re all going to be traveling light.”
She nodded and went into the sleeping tent, leaving him with the larger problem. He wanted to follow her, sit on his cot, and wait for Sheffield to take charge. He wanted to feel sorry for himself, but a larger thought intruded and would not leave. Obviously he thinks I can make order out of this mess, he told himself. Perhaps I can.
Thoughtfully, he walked around the marching hospital, looking for a solution. Bones had left nothing behind that would be of any use, except the tent and all the cots inside. And that was it, pure and simple. “Well, now,” he said out loud.
He was back in his tent in a moment. Elinore looked up in surprise. She held up one of his shirts. “These are all disgraceful,” she scolded. “Didn’t you ever go to a party in Lisbon? I know why I am shabby, but why are
you
so shabby?”
He had the grace to feel a twinge of embarrassment. “I’d really rather flop on my cot with a good book, Elinore,” he told her. “Even in Lisbon. Oh, especially in Lisbon.” He grinned at her. “And now you’re regretting your marriage to such a boring man, I vow.”
She said nothing, returning no answer beyond a blush. She looked so darling there with his shirts in her hands that he wanted to touch her in places anatomical and see if she reacted as his lecturer on
partes della femina
predicted. He did not doubt that he had the touch, which brought a blush to his own face.
Back to the problem, or rather, its solution. “Elinore, come with me now. I need an interpreter.”
She asked no questions, but dropped the shirts on his cot and followed him from the tent. He told himself that hetook her hand to hurry her along, but he knew he just wanted to feel that much of her.
It was a short walk through muddy streets to the alcalde’s headquarters. He didn’t know what it was constructed of, but the whole structure seemed to be peeling. A sharp rap on the door brought the alcalde himself, looking impatient and ready to be disagreeable, rather like a burdened relative who has been praying for his houseguests to leave, and feeling no patience for the stragglers remaining.
Before he had a chance to close the door on them, Jess greeted him in Spanish and asked to come inside. “We are allies,” he reminded the Spaniard pointedly, and it gained them entrance, although not the offer of a seat or a glass of wine. Never mind; he didn’t require niceties. He had explained the
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