She prayed the entire way back to the chalet. God knew his inner turmoil, and He would comfort him in the places she could not reach. A quiet dependency rose within her, and she knew that with God on her side, His will would be performed, yet during the war, she’d watched many soldiers who had never awoken from their injuries or that doctors could not fix, die a lonely death. It was during those times when she’d helped at the hospital in Baltimore, that the passion to give her life to see men healed had grabbed hold of her spirit.
A noble contribution, but one she feared she would not endure. She gazed helplessly at Daniel, and her passion wore thin. Either Gwen had grown too close to the patient to stay detached, or she was not cut out to watch patients suffer unto death.
Would he die? She’d need to call for help from the closest doctor. Waiting for the unknown to unfold would be unbearable.
At Daniel’s cottage, Arthur carried the still form into his bedroom, and Gwen hurried ahead to pull back the blankets. His head flopped to the side, and she pumped his pillow on the sides to hold him securely. The ladies left the room while Arthur removed his boots and damp clothing.
In the kitchen, Gwen stoked the fire and put a kettle of water on to boil.
“Please, Mable—go next door, and find whatever you need to care for the baby, and load it into your wagon. I will inform the McAlisters you are busy with nanny work until their son is fully recovered. If they need their laundry done, they can bring it to you.”
She lowered her head and nodded. “You will surely have your hands full here, but I can still perform my duties at the big house. No need for you to make arrangements. I’ll bring the youngster along, and if the family is dissatisfied and tell me to tend solely to the child, I will keep him at the row house.”
“Suit yourself,” Gwen said. “I feel so helpless.”
“The Good Lord will have His way. I hope He decides to let the young master stay with us a while longer. Artie misses him terribly and has hoped that his childhood friend would remember their past adventures.”
“I do see the pain in his eyes when he looks at Daniel. Sometimes, I think it is harder for those who remember than those who do not.”
“Suppose we’ll never know how the mind works. The Creator made that one a mystery, to be sure.”
When Gwen returned to Daniel’s room with a basin of water and clean cloths, he was wearing a fresh pair of pajamas. She grinned, realizing the feat of wriggling clean clothing onto an uncooperative body.
She pulled a light blanket over him and felt his forehead. It wasn’t hot—no fever inflicted him, but his gloomy expression said it all, things were not as they should be on the inside.
For the lack of something to do, she bathed his face and neck to rid it of any remaining dirt, primarily with the hope of bringing him comfort. She’d noticed that touching a patient often brought with it a sense of relief. Depression always accompanied the sickly, and many a lonely soldier had told her of the comfort she had brought, just by wiping their brows.
A short time later, Mrs. McAlister rushed into the room, and Gwen jumped to her feet. “Arthur has told us of the accident. He has gone to town to fetch my husband and the doctor.” She moved closer and looked at her son with hesitant eyes that did not seem to know how to respond. “He looks peaceful enough. What are his injuries?”
“Nothing physical, Mrs. McAlister. The episode came on him quite suddenly.”
“An episode?” The woman appeared shocked.
“He was running toward the water to find Jacob who’d slipped away unnoticed, when his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, holding his head as if it were too heavy to stay upright.”
“And I understand you chose to save the child and leave my son unattended?” Her tone suggested disapproval.
“Daniel pushed me away, and waved me toward the water. I believed that was what he wanted me to do.” Gwen hoped that her memory had not failed her, and that had been Daniel’s true intention.
“But we pay you to care for our son, not his illegitimate child.”
“Daniel has grown to care for the boy. Perhaps if you came around more often, your grandchild would find a place in your heart, as well.”
“Remember your place, Nurse Peters.”
Gwen moved toward the door. “I will leave you alone with your son for a while.”
The woman’s voice peaked. “You most certainly will not! What if he moves? I have no training in such matters.”
She returned to the bedside. “Your son might enjoy it if you just talk with him. We have no idea if he will hear, but I have sensed that patient’s gain comfort in hearing familiar voices.”
“What on earth would I talk about?”
“His childhood, your feelings—anything spoken in a soothing voice will bring him a source of comfort.”
“He doesn’t recall any of it,” she said pointedly. “My son died in the war, and this stranger now lives with us.”
“Then, perhaps speaking the memories aloud will be a source of comfort to you.” Gwen moved toward the door, determined to leave this time. “I shall return later.”
In the kitchen, she busied herself to make a broth
