Chapter Seventeen
Augusta momentarily froze, stunned into inaction. It was only when Lady ran up the stairs and started digging at the pile of snow and broken boards with her paws that her mind began to work again.
The shovel.
Where was it? She glanced frantically around the room and found it near the fireplace. She grabbed it and hurried up the stairs as fast as her sprained ankle would allow. “Duncan! Move your arm if you can hear me!”
There was no movement at all. Augusta began shoveling the snow, glancing at the roof to see if the rest of it would collapse.
It seemed to be holding for now, but the entire attic room was exposed to the elements.
Cool air rushed in. Obviously, the snow had grown wet and heavy, becoming too much for the rickety roof to bear.
Could someone suffocate under snow? Of course, they could.
She had to act quickly. But with so much snow, how could she clear it in time to free him?
She dropped the shovel, grabbed his arm, and pulled with all her might.
But Duncan did not move. Lady whimpered, then kept digging, so Augusta did the same, picking up the shovel and removing the snow around his arm.
She paused only long enough to throw away the broken boards.
No wonder the roof collapsed; the wood was rotten.
“Duncan!” she shouted, but there was no response.
She kept digging until she found a strip of brown hair.
Tossing the shovel aside, she used her hands, burrowing down until she uncovered the top of his head.
How many minutes had passed? She shuddered to think.
I will not fall to pieces, Augusta vowed. Her arms ached, but she continued until part of his face was visible. She removed the snow around his nose and mouth. Duncan’s eyes were closed. She tapped his unscarred cheek none too gently. “Duncan!”
At last, he sputtered, snow flying from his mouth as he tried to catch his breath. Thank heavens. “Can you move?”
“No,” he croaked.
“Lie still, I’ll use the shovel.”
Lady started barking, obviously distressed.
“It will be fine, Lady,” Augusta reassured. The puppy settled, sitting and keeping watch over Duncan. Red blotches spread across the snow piled around Duncan’s head.
“You’re bleeding!”
“My head aches,” he slurred.
She felt the back of his exposed head and felt a lump; her fingers were wet. Blood.
“Head wounds bleed profusely,” Duncan said in a stronger voice. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”
“I won’t.” Augusta resumed digging, clearing enough snow to expose his shoulders. “Can you move now?” she asked, worried.
“It happened again,” he mused, not replying to her question. “Another roof collapsed on me. What are the bloody odds?”
“Duncan, please focus! Can you move?”
“Right.” He turned, then cried out in obvious pain. “My shoulder. Dislocated. Again.”
Augusta continued shoveling away the snow until most of his torso was cleared. “Which shoulder?”
“The same as before,” he said with a grimace.
With great effort, Augusta helped Duncan stand, and as he leaned on her, they slowly descended the narrow stairs. His clothes were soaked through and his teeth were chattering.
“We have to remove these garments.”
“My shoulder. You need to do what Patrick did.”
“I am not certain I am strong enough to pop it back in,” she replied worriedly. “Can you lie on the floor?”
Duncan shook his head. “I may never get up again.” He looked around the room. “Take me to the back door.”
Looping his good arm around her shoulder, she guided him toward the door. “What are you going to do?”
“There is another way. It is not ideal, but it will have to do. Open the door.”
Augusta did as he asked.
He leaned against the door frame. “Christ, the pain.” Duncan clasped the elbow of his injured arm and lifted it upward as he pressed hard against the door frame.
The pressure caused him to shout expletives that would make anyone blush.
Then Augusta heard it, a popping sound. All the blood drained from his face, and he wobbled.
Augusta rushed to him, trying to hold him up. “Lean on me. Take deep breaths. Is most of the pain gone? Is the shoulder in place?”
“I-I-I think so,” he replied breathlessly.
At the column of his neck, she could see the raised gooseflesh. “You are freezing.” She closed the door. “Come over to the fire. Slowly now.”
She assisted him into the chair, then, grabbing the hem of his shirt, she said, “I am going to pull it over your head very carefully, without you moving your injured shoulder. We have to remove all your clothes to dry them.”
“Do it.”
It took a few minutes, but Augusta removed the ruffled shirt and hung it on the wooden rack near the fire.
Then she found the quilt and wrapped it around him.
His bruises from the carriage accident were now a purple-black hue.
She took off his boots and stockings, then unbuttoned his trousers.
“Can you lift your hips slightly so I can pull them off?”
He nodded, so she dragged the wool trousers and drawers down his legs and off his feet.
Oh my, yes. Her husband was well put together in all ways.
Augusta felt heat rise to her cheeks at the sight of his muscular body.
But this was not the time to admire his attributes, so she stood and hastily hung the wet clothes on the rack. Now to attend to his head wound.
“Are you in pain, aware of anything else? Any possible broken bones?” Augusta reached under her wool skirt and pulled her petticoats to the floor.
She hadn’t worn her corset since the first night, but she kept the petticoats on to stay warm.
But now, they were needed for something more important than her comfort.
“Just my head. What are you doing?” Duncan asked, shivering.
“My petticoats will be useful as bandages.” Augusta picked them up from the floor and placed them on the trunk, then retrieved the other small quilt and laid it over Duncan. “Stay completely covered. I will heat some water for tea.”
Augusta hurried about the cabin, retrieving the food hamper, finding the knife, and cutting her petticoat into long strips.
She then placed McGloin’s sling around Duncan’s injured shoulder and inspected the back of his head.
The lump had grown slightly larger. She bunched a few strips and applied pressure to the wound to stem the bleeding.
She waited several minutes, then inspected the cloth and repositioned it.
When the bleeding slowed, she tied a strip around his head.
Next, boil water. With the tea prepared and the willow bark powder added, she delivered the mug to Duncan’s trembling hands.
“Drink this. It should warm you and assist with your aches and pains. I am going to give you a sponge bath. I apologize for the scent of the soap; it’s the only one I had with me.
” She gave him a smile. “Lily of the valley.”
“You’re taking good care of me,” he said hoarsely.
“Always. Drink.” Lady lay at Duncan’s quilt-covered feet, keeping watch. “Lady assisted me in digging through the snow.”
“Good dog,” Duncan said, and Lady replied with a soft whimper.
“You know more about injuries than I do. How are you, truly?”
“Besides the obvious aches and pains? There are no broken bones, I think. But my head may be concussed.”
“What is that?”
“Dr. Embry said it was a brain injury causing confusion. I’m experiencing that now. It feels as if I am wandering in a fog.”
Augusta gasped. “Is it serious? You do have a rather large lump on the back of your head.”
“No. At least, I hope it’s not serious. The dizziness has already dissipated. I shouldn’t sleep for a while though, not until more of the fog disappears.”
“Thank heavens for Dr. Embry.” Augusta shivered. “I should close the attic door. Will the rest of the roof hold?”
Duncan sipped his tea. “Hard to say.”
“You will tell me if you feel worse? Do not try to be stoic.”
Duncan gave her a wan smile. “I will tell you. The tea is already helping.”
After closing the attic door, Augusta prepared the hot water in the basin, took a strip of cloth, and dipped it in.
At least the water was not as scalding as before.
Rubbing the cloth against the small bar of soap, she stood before Duncan.
Then she rubbed the cloth across his forehead and down his face.
Gently, she dragged the cloth across his scarred cheek.
“That feels good,” he murmured as she dragged the warm cloth along his chin and down his neck.
“I, for one, cannot wait to arrive at your house and take a long, hot bath.”
“Our house,” Duncan corrected.
“Yes, of course. Our house. What is your favorite meal? We will have your cook prepare it when we return.” She wanted to keep Duncan talking to keep him alert.
“I prefer simple foods, like a roast beef—not too bloody—with asparagus, potatoes, and carrots, and mince pie for afters.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Augusta replied as she pulled the quilt away from his shoulders, then dipped the cloth in the water, applied fresh soap, and continued along his arms and across his chest. “Reese loves chicken, and I am rather partial to it myself. We used to buy salmon often from the market. Prisilla makes a lovely dill sauce.”
“We will have that the night Reese and Miss Barry arrive.”
“I cannot wait to see him. And his reaction to Lady. And to you. He will adore you, I know it. Just as I do.” Her voice trembled on the last few words. Her emotions were decidedly engaged, her heart swelling. She was falling in love with her husband.
And she could not be happier at the prospect.