Chapter Six: Doctor Stanton
I awoke some time later (I'm not sure how long I was asleep) to the hushed voices of two men and a woman. At first I felt frightened, wondering why they were in my room. Where was my mother? Where were my brothers and sisters? Then, slowly, memories flooded back into my mind, and I knew where I was.
I struggled, wheezing, into a sitting position. A man with a concerned, wrinkled face, turned to me.
"Ah," he said. He had a slight British accent. "You should be resting."
"How long have I been asleep?" I asked, my voice cracking. I leaned my head back into my pillow. Suddenly, holding it up seemed such a struggle. I was hot, and sweaty, despite the cold that I knew was outside.
"A couple of hours, Charlotte," answered the woman.
I looked up into the kindly eyes of Abigail.
"Why don't you go see to your other chores, miss?" asked the wrinkled man. "I will need to listen to her breathing, and I can't do it properly with you bustling about."
Abigail nodded, gave me one last worried look, and exited the room. I suddenly felt terribly modest and self-conscious alone in the room with the two men.
I forced myself to look up and recognized the second man as Colonel Tavington. He was pacing my room. I could not tell if it was out of concern or boredom.
The wrinkled man walked to my bedside. "I need to listen to your breathing," he stated simply. "Colonel Tavington, help me hold her up."
The colonel joined the wrinkled man on the opposite side of my bed. I looked at him, curiously, fishing in the pools of blue that were his eyes for answers.
"This is Dr. Stanton," he told me, as though that was all the explanation necessary.
"Try and sit up," said the doctor.
I struggled to sit, but found it incredibly difficult. I felt a warm hand on my back, gently helping me up. I looked at Colonel Tavington, and he smiled at me. Even though the smile seemed somewhat forced to me, I accepted it and smiled back, weakly.
The next thing I felt was a cold metal instrument, also on my back. My robe had been removed while I had slept, I prayed by Abigail, and not one of the men. I felt exposed and violated in nothing but the thin white nightgown, but in my current state, there was nothing I could do about it.
"Take deep breaths in and out," Doctor Stanton instructed me.
I attempted to do so, but after my first deep intake of air, I began coughing uncontrollably once again. I could feel the cold metal circle press against my back harder, and Colonel Tavington grabbed hold of my shoulder as I fell forward limply.
"Are you sure she can do this right now?" asked Colonel Tavington.
I was shocked by his apparent concern for my health, and would have told him so, but I could barely breath, let alone speak, until my coughing subsided.
"I assumed she would begin coughing, which is actually more helpful to me than hearing her regular breathing. Hearing her cough leads me closer to a diagnosis."
Finally, I regained my ability to breathe.
"She can lie down again," Dr. Stanton told Colonel Tavington, as though I wasn't even there.
Colonel Tavington gently laid me back down upon my pillow.
Dr. Stanton turned to me suddenly. "How long have you been feeling ill?" he asked me, accusingly.
I thought. "Just since today, I think.," I answered.
"Are you sure?" asked Dr. Stanton, skeptically.
"Sir, my brother was killed about three days ago," I answered him. "So yes, I have been feeling poorly. But I believed it was from grief alone."
The doctor nodded, and pulled Colonel Tavington away. They tried to converse quietly, but I was still able to hear them speaking.
"What have her living arrangements been since you captured her?" asked the doctor.
"She's stayed in a tent," Colonel Tavington answered.
"Did she have any blankets?"
The colonel gazed up toward my ceiling, thoughtfully. "Damn," he muttered, finally. "No. She's had a cot, and nothing else."
"Well, two nights like that in the cold air, and then today, would have to be the causes of her illness."
"What do you think is wrong with her?" asked Colonel Tavington.
"I believe she has an illness called bronchitis. She will, unless it progresses into pneumonia, get well, but she is going to have to stay abed until I say otherwise."
Colonel Tavington nodded. He muttered something to the doctor, they shook hands, and then Dr. Stanton left the room.
Colonel Tavington walked to my bed, sitting in a chair that was on the right side of me.
"You have bronchitis," he stated simply.
"Yes, I heard," I answered weakly.
"You'll have to stay in bed."
"No doubt a harder blow to you than to me," I said, remembering that he was my captor.
His blue eyes looked somewhat startled at this, and he looked at me intensely. "I know what you think of me," he said. "And yet there is something about you that I like, Charlotte Peterson. I can't put my finger on it, but it's there, for sure."
"Well then...thank you, I believe."
"Right well, you're looking quite pale again. Perhaps you'd best get some rest."
"Yes, perhaps that would be for the best," I admitted.
He nodded, and turned to leave. Then I remember something.
"Sir!" I called, which spurred a brief fit of coughing. He waited for me to recover, and, once I had, I continued. "How is your muscle? The one you bruised?"
He smiled at me, his fiery blue eyes twinkling. "Quite well, thank you."
He turned and left my room, shutting the door behind him.
I awoke some time later (I'm not sure how long I was asleep) to the hushed voices of two men and a woman. At first I felt frightened, wondering why they were in my room. Where was my mother? Where were my brothers and sisters? Then, slowly, memories flooded back into my mind, and I knew where I was.
I struggled, wheezing, into a sitting position. A man with a concerned, wrinkled face, turned to me.
"Ah," he said. He had a slight British accent. "You should be resting."
"How long have I been asleep?" I asked, my voice cracking. I leaned my head back into my pillow. Suddenly, holding it up seemed such a struggle. I was hot, and sweaty, despite the cold that I knew was outside.
"A couple of hours, Charlotte," answered the woman.
I looked up into the kindly eyes of Abigail.
"Why don't you go see to your other chores, miss?" asked the wrinkled man. "I will need to listen to her breathing, and I can't do it properly with you bustling about."
Abigail nodded, gave me one last worried look, and exited the room. I suddenly felt terribly modest and self-conscious alone in the room with the two men.
I forced myself to look up and recognized the second man as Colonel Tavington. He was pacing my room. I could not tell if it was out of concern or boredom.
The wrinkled man walked to my bedside. "I need to listen to your breathing," he stated simply. "Colonel Tavington, help me hold her up."
The colonel joined the wrinkled man on the opposite side of my bed. I looked at him, curiously, fishing in the pools of blue that were his eyes for answers.
"This is Dr. Stanton," he told me, as though that was all the explanation necessary.
"Try and sit up," said the doctor.
I struggled to sit, but found it incredibly difficult. I felt a warm hand on my back, gently helping me up. I looked at Colonel Tavington, and he smiled at me. Even though the smile seemed somewhat forced to me, I accepted it and smiled back, weakly.
The next thing I felt was a cold metal instrument, also on my back. My robe had been removed while I had slept, I prayed by Abigail, and not one of the men. I felt exposed and violated in nothing but the thin white nightgown, but in my current state, there was nothing I could do about it.
"Take deep breaths in and out," Doctor Stanton instructed me.
I attempted to do so, but after my first deep intake of air, I began coughing uncontrollably once again. I could feel the cold metal circle press against my back harder, and Colonel Tavington grabbed hold of my shoulder as I fell forward limply.
"Are you sure she can do this right now?" asked Colonel Tavington.
I was shocked by his apparent concern for my health, and would have told him so, but I could barely breath, let alone speak, until my coughing subsided.
"I assumed she would begin coughing, which is actually more helpful to me than hearing her regular breathing. Hearing her cough leads me closer to a diagnosis."
Finally, I regained my ability to breathe.
"She can lie down again," Dr. Stanton told Colonel Tavington, as though I wasn't even there.
Colonel Tavington gently laid me back down upon my pillow.
Dr. Stanton turned to me suddenly. "How long have you been feeling ill?" he asked me, accusingly.
I thought. "Just since today, I think.," I answered.
"Are you sure?" asked Dr. Stanton, skeptically.
"Sir, my brother was killed about three days ago," I answered him. "So yes, I have been feeling poorly. But I believed it was from grief alone."
The doctor nodded, and pulled Colonel Tavington away. They tried to converse quietly, but I was still able to hear them speaking.
"What have her living arrangements been since you captured her?" asked the doctor.
"She's stayed in a tent," Colonel Tavington answered.
"Did she have any blankets?"
The colonel gazed up toward my ceiling, thoughtfully. "Damn," he muttered, finally. "No. She's had a cot, and nothing else."
"Well, two nights like that in the cold air, and then today, would have to be the causes of her illness."
"What do you think is wrong with her?" asked Colonel Tavington.
"I believe she has an illness called bronchitis. She will, unless it progresses into pneumonia, get well, but she is going to have to stay abed until I say otherwise."
Colonel Tavington nodded. He muttered something to the doctor, they shook hands, and then Dr. Stanton left the room.
Colonel Tavington walked to my bed, sitting in a chair that was on the right side of me.
"You have bronchitis," he stated simply.
"Yes, I heard," I answered weakly.
"You'll have to stay in bed."
"No doubt a harder blow to you than to me," I said, remembering that he was my captor.
His blue eyes looked somewhat startled at this, and he looked at me intensely. "I know what you think of me," he said. "And yet there is something about you that I like, Charlotte Peterson. I can't put my finger on it, but it's there, for sure."
"Well then...thank you, I believe."
"Right well, you're looking quite pale again. Perhaps you'd best get some rest."
"Yes, perhaps that would be for the best," I admitted.
He nodded, and turned to leave. Then I remember something.
"Sir!" I called, which spurred a brief fit of coughing. He waited for me to recover, and, once I had, I continued. "How is your muscle? The one you bruised?"
He smiled at me, his fiery blue eyes twinkling. "Quite well, thank you."
He turned and left my room, shutting the door behind him.
