CHAPTER ELEVEN
Paul carries an ax, and my father a machete and a shovel. I bring a basket holding bandages, a bottle of whiskey, needles, and thread. No one speaks, allowing me to run through the things my mother taught me: how to start a heart. How to stanch a wound. How to tie a tourniquet. How to stitch a person back together. Some of these things I’ve never done, but my mother made sure I knew how to, just in case.
The smell of smoke reaches us long before we arrive in the town. Something’s burning. When we finally emerge from the forest, we see it’s the church. The roof has already collapsed and smoke billows from its shell. People have formed a fire line and swing buckets of lake water from hand to hand, dousing the house next to the church, but I fear it, too, will go up in flames before long. Someone will then have lost a home, and all their belongings along with it. My heart squeezes tight at the thought. I know what that feels like.
Down the way, in the park, a tent has been set up. It seems to be a hub of activity, so my father steers us there, but once we step under the canvas awning, we realize the tent is a hospital. My father pats me on the shoulder before he and Paul step back outside. He knows I’ll be able to help here.
A huge woman barking orders spots me and waves me over. “What’s wrong with you?” she says.
“Nothing.” I hold the basket I carry out to her so she can see inside.
She cocks an eyebrow at me. “You know about healing?” She plants her hands on her wide hips and assesses me with muddy eyes. “What do you know?”
“I can stitch wounds and set bones.”
“Good enough. I got work for you.” She nods at a man in the corner with a bad burn on his hand. “See to him. Oh, and my name’s Adelaide Corry. Holler if you need anything.”
I sit down before the man and wince. The burn’s not terrible, but still, it must hurt. There’s not much I can do but clean it as carefully as I can and wrap it in a clean bandage.
“What about butter?” he asks. “That’s supposed to be good for burns.”
I shake my head as I tie off the bandage’s knots. “No. The skin’s got to breathe to heal. Butter will just give you an infection. There.” I sit back to admire my handiwork, and then offer the man a swig of whiskey. “Keep it clean, and wash it tomorrow. And no butter!”
He nods as he heads out of the tent, but I’m pretty sure from the look he gives me that the first thing he’ll do when he gets home is find a pat of butter and smear it all over his hand.
Next is a little girl with a cut on her arm, followed by a woman with a bad bump on the head. I do the best I can, stitching and bandaging and hoping that I’m helping. My hands have work to do, and it’s good work, needed work. Important work. I feel like myself for the first time since we arrived here.
As the day wears on, the number of people needing help diminishes. The temperature under the canvas climbs, so when we can, Ms. Adelaide and I sit outside, watching what’s going on in the town while we wait for our next patients to arrive. I look for Bran, but he’s not among the people passing by.
Ms. Adelaide tells me who they are. “Sidney Morrow,” she says, nodding at a man carrying a length of hose. “Lives out toward the gravel pit. Missus has three girls, another on the way. Pretty lucky that she can pop babies out. Not many women can do that anymore. Madda’s probably out there right now, seeing to her. Their house is a ways away. Don’t know why anyone would want to live so far from town, but I guess people need to live somewhere. Oh, and there’s Peter Vickers. He does woodwork. Made me the most beautiful table…”
I’m busy cleaning a gash on a little girl’s leg when Bran finally appears. Soot is smudged across his cheeks and he looks exhausted, but he’s safe.
“Ms. Adelaide?” he says. “May I borrow Cassandra for a moment?”
She sits down and takes over. “Go on, girl. Chief’s son wants to see you.”
“Thanks, Ms. Adelaide.” I set down the rag and smile. “I won’t be long.”
She snorts and waves me away.
The air outside reeks of smoke. I start to ask Bran whether he’s okay, whether his mother is safe, but he just takes my hand and pulls me into a run.
“Where are we going?” I say.
He only tightens his grip.
Together we race across the park and into the underbrush, crashing through willows and fireweed until we reach the shore of the lake. He drops my hand and starts pacing while I try to catch my breath.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Gravel crunches under his sneakers. His gray eyes never leave mine.
I take a seat and wait.
The earth is still. Waves do not lap upon the shore. Birds do not call in the trees, nor does wind stir the forest. The earthquake has disturbed the order of things and it will be some time before the earth’s clock resets. Bran’s agitation mars the stillness.
Minutes slip away. Finally, I can stand it no more. “I should probably get back.” I push myself up and dust off my pants.
“No.” Bran catches my hand and turns it over to examine my palm. “Stay a little longer?”
“Let go,” I whisper. “Please. Let go.”
“Why?” He traces my lifeline.
In answer, I lean in and kiss him. I have never kissed a boy before, but I am possessed by immediacy. Now or never.
He smells of ash and tastes of blackberries.
I pull away and dash back to the tent, startled by what I just did and too scared to wait for Bran’s reaction.
Ms. Adelaide looks up from the little boy she’s tending when I step back inside, and gives me a puzzled look. I duck my face and begin rolling bandages. I’m blushing. I know I am, and Ms. Adelaide’s chuckle tells me she knows too.
The little boy leaves, and Ms. Adelaide motions for me to join her back in the doorway. She doesn’t say a word, though I feel her looking at me before turning her attention across the way. I look too, wondering what it is she’s focused on. The church is still smoldering, but it looks like the house next to it will survive after all. Down by the store, a couple of women have built a fire, a proper one for cooking, and have prepared a haunch of venison to roast over it.
“Working hands have empty stomachs,” Ms. Adelaide says. “No better way to knit a broken world back together than to share a meal.”
I nod as my gaze comes to rest on the men gathered at the general store. They’re waiting for something. My brother is standing among them. Already Paul is fitting in here better than I ever could have imagined. Bran stands next to him, pushing his hair away from his face. I wish I were there too, but I’m not. I’m here in this tent, left to watch from a distance. My hand finds its way to my mouth and I touch my lips, remembering. I kissed Bran. I’d like to kiss him again. I’m sure of that, but what I’m not sure of is if he’d like to kiss me, too.
Ms. Adelaide nudges me. “So, Bran, huh? Well, be careful of his mother. Crazy as a loon, that woman. Oh. I almost forgot. Madda stopped by on her way back from the Morrow house. Seems all that shaking shook Mrs. Morrow’s baby loose. A little girl, healthy as can be. Who would have thought, on a day like today?” She smiles and shakes her head. “Madda said she’d like to talk to you.”
“Do you know about what?” I ask.
Ms. Adelaide shrugs. “Maybe about healing? I told her you did good here. Why don’t you go find out for yourself? She’s up at her cottage-know where it is?”
“No.” I’m only half listening as more men gravitate toward the general store. My father is there now too, standing on the far side of the group, hands on his hips, legs wide. His
Ms. Adelaide nods at him. “That’s Henry Crawford. Bran’s daddy’s best man. The new chief, since Bran’s daddy
