Chapter 11 #3
An older woman came through first with knees that had given her trouble since before the collapse, worse now that she spent her days on her feet instead of behind a desk somewhere that no longer existed.
Rebecca had little to offer beyond what she'd have said to anybody in her position — rest where the work allowed, something to lean on for the worst of it, and a warning about which kinds of pain meant something more serious than wear.
One of Cal's younger men had a burn scar on his forearm from a forge accident that had healed wrong, tight and pulling at the skin whenever he closed his hand fully.
Rebecca examined it, worked the arm gently through its range, and told him honestly there wasn't much to be done for old scar tissue without equipment neither of them had, though a few simple stretches might buy him some ease over time.
Martha inserted herself into the organizing almost immediately, sending people in through the door in an order she'd apparently decided on her own, without asking Rebecca or Grace for input.
"I had a system," Grace said, half amused.
"Mine's faster," Martha said.
"I like hers," Rebecca said, not looking up from her work.
"Of course you do," Grace said.
Later in the afternoon, a woman named Dana Pruitt came through, seven months along by her own count, moving with the caution of somebody whose ankles had swollen past comfortable.
Rebecca's focus sharpened the moment she saw her walk in.
She checked Dana's blood pressure once, waited, then checked it again after she'd rested.
The second reading was 146 over 92, high enough that Rebecca's expression tightened.
Dana admitted she'd had a few headaches lately and that her ankles had swollen more during the past week.
No vision trouble. No pain beneath her ribs. The baby was moving normally.
Rebecca didn't announce anything dramatic.
She explained plainly that she wanted to watch Dana closely for the rest of the pregnancy.
She needed to cut back on the heaviest chores and let somebody else carry the hardest work for a while.
Rebecca wanted to come back and recheck her blood pressure soon, and she gave Dana and her husband a clear list of what meant trouble enough to send for her immediately — a severe headache that wouldn't ease, trouble with her vision, sharp pain under her ribs, sudden heavy swelling, any bleeding, or the baby going quiet when it should be moving.
Grace was already thinking ahead before Rebecca finished. "How fast can somebody reach the Hollow from here if it comes to that?"
Cal thought about it. "Hard rider who knows the road, maybe three hours."
"Which means six before Rebecca gets here," Grace said.
"Best case," Cal said.
Grace turned that over and didn't like the shape of it. Sending for Rebecca after trouble had already started wasn't a plan. It was a bet, and not a good one. There had to be a better answer than simply riding for help once labor turned bad, though she didn't have it worked out yet tonight.
Martha asked the obvious question once the last patient had gone home for the evening.
"You've delivered babies?"
"Yes," Rebecca said.
"How many?"
"Thirty-two," Rebecca said. "Enough to know most babies don't need much help getting here. Enough to know which ones can turn dangerous fast."
Martha studied her a moment, then nodded like the answer had settled something.
Rebecca was worn through by the time supper ended, the ride and a full day of examinations catching up to her all at once.
"Sit," Grace told her, when Rebecca started to get up and help clear the table.
"I'm fine."
"Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor."
"No," Grace said. "That's why mine are easier to follow."
Martha sided with Grace without hesitation, and Rebecca lost the argument before she'd properly started it.
They talked a while longer over what was left of the fire, easy conversation that had nothing to do with medicine or the Hollow's arrangements.
Rebecca asked how often Grace thought a trip like this could reasonably happen.
Grace was already turning over the possibilities — whether people from Cal's could ride to the Hollow instead some months, whether Karen and Rebecca might rotate the visits between them once Karen was home, whether a rider carrying messages both directions might close the gap faster than either of them riding the whole distance every time.
Nothing settled tonight. Just the shape of a problem worth solving properly once there was time to solve it.
Later, in the quiet of the room Martha had found for them, Rebecca spoke into the dark.
"I think I'd like to stay."
"At Cal's?" Grace asked, though she'd understood exactly what Rebecca meant the moment she said it.
Rebecca looked over at her. "The Hollow."
"I know," Grace said. "Couldn't resist."
Rebecca admitted she didn't know for how long. Grace told her that didn't need deciding tonight, or ever, really.
"You don't have to know," Grace said.
"Walter made it sound harder."
"Walter enjoys suffering after the fact. Makes for a better story."
Rebecca almost laughed, then went quiet again, something heavier settling over her. "Daniel would have liked it here."
Grace didn't reach for a speech. "I wish he'd made it here."
"Me too."
They sat with that a moment, the fire outside burned down to embers visible through the gap under the door.
Then Rebecca looked toward the wall, toward the rest of the house and the people sleeping in it, toward everything the day had asked of her and everything tomorrow would ask again.
"There's a lot to do."
"There always is," Grace said, and let the quiet hold until sleep took them both.