Healing Hearts (Easton Series #2) by Anna Murray Read Free Book Online Page A

before she could
jump away from the bedside. He wrapped his sure fingers round her upper arms
and pulled her close, into his tight embrace. “Play dead,” he choked.
       His words churned in her gut. She
had to lead him away from his demons. “Yes, I understand, sir. They’re gone
now. The enemy is retreating.”
       “Don’t take the grays lightly,
corporal! Skirmishers will get you easy from a hundred yards.”
         His grip on her arms was solid,
determined. She took a deep breath to steady herself.
       “True enough, sir, but we’re safe
behind this rock.   Oh look, sir! Our
scout is here with a report. They’ve retreated. This area is clearing!”
       “Good, good. Morphine,” he
mumbled.
       “We have enough, sir.”
       Jed’s grasp on her arms eased, and
Hannah pulled away from hiss madness. He was whispering, and she could no
longer make out his words, only the tone of his voice. He was soaked in sweat,
and his breathing was labored.
       “Calm yourself, sir. You’re safe
here.” She ran her fingers through his hair, touching his scalp. Her nervous
hands searched out a dishtowel on the table, and she wiped his brow.
       Jed extended a clammy arm. “Hold
my hand.”
       She wrapped her fingers firmly,
trying not to think about how the warmth of his hand travelled up her arm and
settled in a place dangerously close to her heart.
       He needed distraction. She hummed
a soft lullaby from her childhood, one she sang to sick children.
       Jed calmed, and she felt him
peering at her in the dark. After a few minutes he spoke.
       “I’m fine. Go back to bed, Hannah.”
He slipped his hand from hers and rolled to face the wall.
       “You sure?”
       “Yes.” His voice was a dull thud.
       “All right. Good night, sir.”
       Hannah slipped from him, climbed
the stairs, and tried to sleep. After frustrating minutes of fitful tossing and
turning she rose and dressed. Her face hurt and her mind was spinning as she
processed what she’d seen and heard. Lighting a lantern, she crossed to the
large bureau and opened the bottom drawer. She’d seen the journal many times, while
arranging her clothes in the drawers, but she’d let it lie.
        Until now. Now, she needed to know. Knowledge was the key to treating
the whole patient, wasn’t it?
       Her lithe fingers opened his
medical journal, and her eyes filled with somber notes about cases he’d seen
during the war. Symptoms, treatments, and results were listed under patient
names. Fascinating and informative, Hannah couldn’t put the book down. Reading
between the lines of his observations, she found Jed’s fear and frustration. Scurvy. We have not fresh vegetables, read one shaky entry. Another day’s account was so terrible and shattering she
had to skip over details. A man Jed had treated survived the amputation of his
legs, only to die two weeks later of pneumonia, and within sight of his
childhood home.
       Hannah skimmed, reading between
the lines, to find what she was seeking: hints of Jed’s own illness, his
depression and experimentation with drugs. He was there, listed as “Patient X”,
along with a history of night terrors, sweats, and his pursuit of a remedy. He
used whiskey, ether, opiates. Hannah rushed through the pages to find further
references to “X”. It seemed he’d treated the symptoms, but the disease wore on
in spite of his best efforts . Not sure
I’ll make it back to Mariah , he scrawled in a margin, I’m living in hell on earth.
       The scribbles ripped at
Hannah’s heart.
       She put the journal away when
tears began to blur the anguished words. She understood the horrors that never
leave a person. It would take a long time for him to heal, as it had for her.
         In this strange new place one
thing was now clear: Dr. Cole had neglected to tell her about her most
challenging case.

 
    Chapter 7

       M orning brought the
bitterness of harsh reality, and J ed felt