Father Edward rubbed the crusty snow from his face, rendered so cold by the wind that his flesh seemed to burn. He shed his sodden outer robe quickly, unseating a small pile of half frozen slush. His movements were stiff, slowed by the cold and the bone-deep ache it brought, and by the effort of the long walk through unforgiving deep snow. Still, he moved with haste. The sun was close to setting as he latched the church door behind him and set out with the Newton men. They'd barely arrived before losing the last of the feeble daylight.
The Newtons' home flickered with the red and yellow light of the fire in the hearth, built high against the wind prying through every crack in the log walls and reaching icy fingers between the shutters. The heat was a welcome relief for the men, even while adrenaline kept them from truly appreciating the depth of their chill. Michael and his sons dispersed to seek out dry garments, none quite daring to look towards the hearth.
Jessica sat by the fire, attending a small figure laid out on a makeshift pallet. Her troubled eyes followed Father Edward as he moved to join them.
For the many years Edward had traveled with Carlisle, he had been an apprentice of sorts. Carlisle was a skilled surgeon, a kind and gifted healer. Even after choosing a life dedicated to his faith, Edward had been called to help the ill and injured of his little town. When Carlisle had passed on, there was no other doctor or healer to be found. Jessica and a few of the other women did what they could for the ailments of daily life, and Father Edward was called for the most serious. If he could heal them, he did. If not, then at least he was on hand to administer their last rites.
Father Edward's footsteps were dull on the wooden floorboards. As he approached the still figure lying prone on the pallet, he hoped for the first option. He'd seen so many depart this earth, and felt thankful for the gift of settling their peace so they could go with unburdened souls, but he most truly felt the will of God when his hands could alleviate suffering and return his neighbors to their families, whole in body and spirit. He was generally content with his work in this regard, satisfied to administer God's will for healing or offering support to the dying. It wasn't up to him to decide which way the infirm would go. Edward's prayers only asked for guidance, for peace and for all to know an end to suffering through love.
-
A tiny whimper sounded from the blankets, a weak and deeply pained sound. Jessica bent to whisper words of meaningless reassurance, gripping Bella's hand in her own and dabbing the sweat from her furrowed brow with a soft cloth.
The evening had slipped away after they had peeled back the blankets and examined Bella's injuries. No blood had been shed, and yet they all knew the situation was grim. A single broken bone could be splinted and mend with time, if the person was in good health, the break was clean and no other damage done. But no splint could help this damage. A beam of the roof had fallen across her lower half, crushing both legs and distorting her pelvis. The stain of ugly bruises covered the swollen limbs, burning hot in some areas and fading to dusky cold below the knees where blood no longer flowed. On the very slim chance that she survived at all, Bella would forever be an invalid. They'd helped her to sip a weak tea of boiled willow bark for the pain. They could do no more for her.
After a moment the sound stopped, leaving only the storm blowing outside, the crackle of burning logs and Father Edward's murmured prayers. Soft snores sounded from the cabin's only bedroom and the sleeping loft above, where Michael and the boys had retired hours before.
Time trickled by. Jessica's head sagged, snapping up and then drooping again with the weight of fatigue as she fought sleep. She startled when Father Edward's hand landed gently on her stooped shoulder.
"Rest," he said softly. "I'll stay with her. "
