Chapter 29
Pain. It covered her body, starting in her lower ribs and radiating outward until it felt like fire consumed everything but her legs and arms. Rosalind groaned, then rolled to her side, trying to find a way to relieve the stabbing sensation above her stomach, but the movement caused an even worse flash of white-hot pain to sear through her.
“Rosalind?”
Even through her pain, she recognized the voice, kind and understanding and gentle. She whimpered, then opened her eyes. “Yuri?”
“I’m here.” A hand stroked hair away from her forehead.
He was at her side, sitting beside the bed with shadows beneath his eyes and his hair hanging over his forehead in disheveled tufts.
He reached out and clasped her hand in his, then laid a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “Do you need something? How can I help?”
She shook her head, then whimpered when another flash of pain knifed through her. “It hurts. Everything hurts. I . . . What’s wrong with me? And why are you here?”
She tried to look around the room. She couldn’t see much without moving, but she could tell she wasn’t in her bedroom or even at home.
There were no silk draperies, no fireplace, no gleaming mirror over the mantle.
Instead, she was in a small room with fading wallpaper, and a soft, worn quilt draped over her.
A modest chest of drawers stood against the wall over Yuri’s shoulder, and dim light seeped along the edges of the simple curtains hanging over the window.
“Why . . . Why am I here?” she rasped. Her lungs burned each time she tried to talk, as though she couldn’t afford to expel the breath needed to form words, and there was still that terrible searing pain in her lungs.
Was she bleeding? What was wrong? She reached down to touch the spot with the sharpest pain.
“Don’t touch your ribs, Miss Caldwell, please.” A figure surged away from the wall.
It was the doctor. The young one that Yuri’s sister had married. She didn’t quite remember his name. Nicholas, maybe or Nigel. How long had he been in the room? “What . . . What happened?”
The doctor exchanged a glance with Yuri. “Don’t you remember?”
She pressed her eyes shut, trying to recall what events could possibly have led to her being inside the Amoses’ house.
There had been a house visit at Millicent’s with hot chocolate and pastries; then the fire bell had rung, and they’d all run outside to help.
Then she’d realized the Amoses’ shipyard was burning, and she’d run home.
She could still see her father’s irate face, still feel the pain that radiated through her body when his first blow landed against her ribs.
He’d followed it up with another blow to the same spot just seconds later, then another and another until she’d crumpled to the floor, begging him to stop. That’s when he’d started kicking her.
She gasped and opened her eyes, only to find them wet with tears. “He said he’d keep kicking me until I stood up and quit crying.”
That was the only way she could get him to stop.
She certainly hadn’t been able to fight him.
The pain had been so bad, she’d nearly retched, but somehow she’d managed to suck in her tears and force herself to stand.
“Then he . . . he punched me in the ribs and watched me crumple back to the ground before leaving.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Yuri growled.
“No . . .” She reached out and clasped his wrist. “He’ll only hurt you.”
“He’s not going to hurt anyone.” A deep voice spoke from somewhere in the room.
She had to shift to see who was speaking.
The movement caused her eyes to flood with tears, but at least she was able to follow the direction of the voice to where Deputy Marshal Jonas Redding stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. Yuri’s oldest brother, Alexei, was in the room too, leaning against the wall with one foot crossed over the other.
“Your father’s in jail,” the Deputy Marshal continued. “When the judge returns to Sitka, I’ll be asking him to deny bail.”
“You arrested my father?” She licked her lips. “Because . . . because of what he did to me?”
“Do you understand the damage to your left lung, Miss Caldwell?” The doctor took a step closer. “Do you realize the gravity of your situation?”
She looked back to Yuri, only to find his eyes had grown redder, and moisture was welling in them.
“You have five broken ribs,” he whispered.
“Yes, and at least two of them are broken in multiple places,” the doctor spoke in a clinical, matter-of-fact voice. “That in itself is painful and would take weeks to heal, but one of the ribs punctured your left lung.”
It had? She pressed a hand to the upper part of her chest and sucked in a breath, only then did she realize that breathing seemed to hurt.
She couldn’t take a full breath without pain slicing through her.
She had to keep her breaths short and shallow just to tolerate the pain. “Am I going to be all right?”
The doctor’s throat worked, and for a moment it almost looked like he, too, might be fighting tears.
“I don’t know. Your lung was collapsing when your butler brought you to us, and you were suffocating.
I inserted a small steel tube between two of your ribs to relieve the air in your lungs, but we need to take it out this morning.
The problem is, we don’t know if the damage to your lung was minimal and it will repair itself, or your chest will fill back up with air once the tube is removed. ”
“And if it fills back up with air, does that mean . . .” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, trying to understand despite the fiery licks of pain that refused to leave her alone. “Does that mean I’m going to die?”
“We’ll do everything in our power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“That doesn’t mean no.”
“No, it doesn’t.” The doctor dragged a hand over the front of his face, his eyes bloodshot. “I might be able to insert the cannula once more, but if that doesn’t provide enough time for your lung to repair itself, there’s nothing more I can do.”
“And if my lungs heal? How long until I fully recover?”
The doctor just shook his head. “It will be a long process, and I can’t guarantee success even with that.
We know your ribs will heal if we bind them, but there’s a correlation between binding ribs tightly and pneumonia.
On top of that, we have infection to worry about from the cannula being inserted.
I’m sorry, Miss Caldwell. I wish I could give you better news.
Truly I do. But I also want to be honest.”
Her throat suddenly felt dry. “What’s my chance of survival?”
He ran his eyes over her in a manner that felt detached and clinical. It wasn’t cold, but it was nothing like the way Leeland looked at her, and it was different from how Yuri looked at her too. “The fact you made it through the night and are now awake and talking is a very good sign.”
“I like numbers. Give me a percentage, doctor.”
“Forty percent.”
Yuri jerked, his hand tightening around hers. “Forty percent? But she survived the night. I thought—”
“We’ve yet to see how she does with the cannula out, but her breaths are awfully shallow. That alone makes contracting pneumonia a near certainty. Then it becomes a question of whether her body is strong enough to fight it off.” The doctor held up his hands. “There’s only so much I can do.”
Yuri turned back to her, then raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “You’ll fight it off, Ros. You’re strong enough to fight it off. I know you are.”
She wanted to say he was right, that she would fight no matter what lay ahead, but she was so very tired, and in so much pain, and the idea of even getting out of bed and walking on her own seemed impossible.
“Is it all right if I ask you a few questions about last night, Miss Caldwell?” The Deputy Marshal moved closer to the bed.
She nodded.
“Do you want me to get Bryony while Jonas talks to you?” Yuri asked. “Would it help to have a friend?”
“No, I’ll . . . I’ll be all right.” At least she hoped she would. The truth was, the longer she talked, the harder it became. It seemed like something stole even more breath from her lungs each time she spoke.
“Not too many questions, Jonas. She needs rest.” The doctor stepped away from the bed, giving Deputy Marshal Redding room to come to her side.
The lawman pulled a small notebook and pencil stub out of his shirt pocket. “Do you know why your father attacked you?”
She swallowed and looked away. “It was my fault.”
“None of this is your fault,” Yuri snapped, his hand tightening around hers.
“No. It is . . . I should have known better than to confront him after the arson.”
“Why would you confront him without anyone there to protect you?” Yuri growled.
“I couldn’t help it.” She paused, sucking in a few more shallow breaths, trying to get enough air to continue speaking. “I was spending the night at Millicent’s, and we all came running when we heard the fire bell. But when I saw the fire was at your shipyard, I just knew.”
“Did you ask your father directly if he set the fire?” the Marshal asked.
She shook her head, again trying to avoid words.
“When I got to the house, two of the arsonists were there . . . My father agreed to pay them half the money when they took the job . . . and half upon completion. But he refused to give them the second part of their payment. He said . . . he said the job wasn’t complete because they didn’t burn the entire shipyard to the ground. ”
“And you asked him about it? On your own? Ros . . .” Yuri’s throat worked.
She pressed her eyes shut. “That’s why I said it was my fault . . . I should have known better than—
“No. None of this is your fault. Do you understand me? The blame for this lies entirely on your father.”
“But—”
“But nothing. He’s the one who hit you. He’s the one who couldn’t control his temper. He’s the one who . . .” Yuri just shook his head, but she could see him fighting off more tears.