She glanced at his nakedness as he dressed for work the next morning. Her seat on the bed while nursing Charles offered ideal viewing of Mark's muscles. He looked even more handsome today than yesterday. It was odd how consummation felt like it should've changed everything but seemed to change nothing.

Mark went about getting ready as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened last night. He caught her eye in the mirror while he brushed his hair and smiled.

An embarrassed smile took hold, but she looked away quickly as a hot flush rose up. Certainly he would've made love before getting dressed if he wanted to do so this morning. He'd mentioned that Anna denied lovemaking in daylight, so perhaps he wasn't going to make love before work. And, oh heavens, he was a very good lover.

He walked over and pecked a kiss on the lips. "I'll see you tonight. Do not go wearing yourself out doing dishes. Should another medical emergency happen, I might be back for you." He gave Charles a kiss and then walked to the door.

She shot to her feet with Charles in her arms yet. "You aren't going to make love to me before you go? That certainly wasn't a proper departure after what had happened last night."

The man turned with a broad smile. "Other women would pout or ignore their husbands, but forthright honesty is what I've come to expect from you." He didn't come closer. "Do not doubt that I will be uncomfortable most of this day, with plenty of time for thoughts about last night. However, you need a break to make sure you aren't sore." His hand rested on the doorknob.

She took a step forward to stop him but refrained from going closer when he stopped and waited expectantly. "I..." her cheeks burned, but she squared her shoulders, "Should you need to find me on your lunches, I do not mind that you get dirty and sweaty."

A smile touched his lips, as if he found the invitation heartwarming.

"I love you, and it doesn't mean I only love you after dark. I mean..." Goodness this wasn't coming out right. Drawing a deep breath, she blurted the truth. "I'm your wife and I want you to have me when you wish. I found great pleasure in your bed and have no reason for objection to wifely duties." There. She sat on the bed again.

He walked over with a soft smile and stroked her cheek with a finger. "I found great pleasure last night too. I wish for you to say when you have a desire for affection." His cheeks burned a little pink. "I'm pleased to have a wife who has no hesitations in expressing her love. Today I must decline, however, because I worry that the fresh scar tissue cannot handle more already."

It was bold and inappropriate, but a worry that nagged nonetheless. Shame threatened. "Do I feel like a woman is supposed to?"

"Can I tell a difference in that I had to surgically fix what he did?"

She nodded.

The man visibly bit back a smile. "No, sweetheart. You feel and look like any other woman and pleased me well - get that notion out of your head. Take it easy today, and have a warm bath to sooth aching, if needed. There is scarring inside too that might leave you sore. I'll be back after dinner." He brushed a kiss over the lips and left.


"Your husband said to meet him at the door in five minutes," the innkeeper's widow said that afternoon.

She turned at the sink. "Another call?"

"Yes." The normally friendly woman walked out.

Exchanging a worried glance with Louisa, she washed her hands and followed the woman to the lobby. Mark was already at the door, his face very solemn. "What's wrong?"

He untied Charles from her back and set the cape around her shoulders. Then he handed Charles back to her. "A man accidentally shot his leg a couple weeks ago while cleaning his gun. It sounds like he has gangrene and needs an amputation at the thigh."

"That's horrible. Come, maybe there's something you can do." She pulled him out the door to the buggy.

But he dug in his heels. When she looked at him in confusion why he wasn't hurrying, he cleared his throat. "Tanya, there's nothing to be done to save it anymore. These surgeries are very traumatic for the patient and family. First, they fear how they're going to survive without income. Second, there is the psychological effect of having a severely crippled family member and his own life turned upside-down. There will be sobbing and begging to find some other way. The worst is when the patient begs and fights the chloroform because he knows when he wakes up, his life will never be the same." He swallowed hard. "I need you to help control bleeding during surgery. I will handle the rest."

She wrapped her arm around him in the buggy. "Mark? Maybe you aren't even going to think about this, and I think you have a very good chance of it never happening, but if you for some reason ever did need that amputation because of your knee, I would do everything I could to redesign the house or make a fake leg or do whatever I could to give you independence. I wouldn't see you as any less of a man."

He transferred the reins to one hand and held her gloved hand, but his gaze remained straight ahead. "I'm terrified of today," he whispered, "because that might be me in a few years. I understand all too much his terror and fear."

"The only thing to be frightened of is the pain, but that will be controlled with chloroform if needed, just like you did for Anna. After that, we will get through it together - there's nothing to fear once you'd heal. We'd find the best surgeon. And I know he'll be alright because he has an excellent surgeon."

It was worse than imagined. The wife sobbed and became hysterical. The adult son had to drag her out of the room when she refused to listen to anything but beat Mark's chest with her fists to keep him away from her husband. She was too grief stricken to listen to anything Mark tried to explain.

"Please, please," the man begged and sobbed from the bed, his body already hot with fever from the infection and rot.

"You will die within the week without surgery," Mark said in a firm but calm voice. Only the slight quiver in his undertone revealed how this tore him apart, but he kept his emotions in check and continued to try to reason with the man.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, walked over to sit on the edge of the bed and took the man's hot hand. "What is it that you fear?"

That simple question got his attention. He clung to her hand. "Ellie is so frightened. Her father lost his leg in war, and she watched him wither away and die a year later. Without his income, they starved and she lost a sibling to the starvation. My boy isn't quite right in the head and can't work. What's to become of them if you chop off my leg?" His tears fell. "She'll be afraid to tell me things. She'll see that I'm weak and can't get out of bed. I become nothing but a burden, another mouth to feed. She would be better off a widow."

She held his eyes. "Your work is of physical nature here on the farm. But you can read and write?"

"Well enough."

"Can you not hire yourself out for desk work? Your frame is not so large that you cannot use crutches to get around. Once you are healed, there is no reason for you to be bedridden. Your limits are only the ones you give yourself. If you are determined, you will find ways. You will still be the man of the family who supports them. But what are Ellie and your son to do if you die from rot? They both need you very much. And what an inspiration you will be for your son. You cannot live forever to provide for him. Teach him by example that people cannot put ties on what he can do. He looks physically able. Show him that he can have pride in even a simple, physical labor job. God has not let this rot kill you because your work here isn't done."

He nodded and wiped his eyes. "Bring Ellie in for a moment."

She stayed back with Mark as the man spoke firmly to his wife that this needed to be done. He mostly calmed her hysteria and then sent her out.

Standing beside Mark, she kept her head turned away from the gore during surgery. Thankfully, Charles seemed content to sleep on a blanket in the corner of the room.

"Cauterize."

Picking up the medical probe hanging over the fire, she set the hot end to where Mark pointed among the severed flesh. The room dipped as the scent of singeing flesh wafted, and she blinked hard.

"That's enough."

She returned the probe to the fire, walked over to the window and opened it to lean out. It was a hideous surgery, and the heat from the fire raising the temperature of the room didn't help with the nausea.

"Are you alright?"

"I think so."

"I need to cut the bone now. Cover your ears because this will push you over the edge."

Covering wasn't enough to keep out the sound as Mark used a handheld saw. She leaned out the window and retched.

"Tanya, I need you to not think about the blood. He needs cauterizing again, and my fingers are literally in his arteries stopping it."

Something about the slight panic in Mark'a voice strengthened her knees. Grabbing the probe with a rag, she raced over and held back the nausea at the scent of more charred flesh. Once it was over, she returned to the window, the cold air offered blessed relief. "Are you doing alright?"

"Can you bring a chair? I get lightheaded with amputations sometimes."

The surgeon passing out wasn't good. Pushing a chair over, she held his arm to help him sit with his bad leg. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you. My mind got to wandering about what I'm actually doing to him."

She rubbed his back. "You're saving his life."

"Check his pulse and make sure he's still under."

Stepping aside, she set her fingers against the man's neck and frowned. "It's coming up."

"Give him more chloroform. He could be waking up."

Following his directions, she administered more until the heartrate slowed again. Then she glanced at Mark, who appeared to have aged decades in the past couple hours. She took a step toward him just as Charles began to fuss. "Are you alright for a few minutes? I can tie him to my front so he can nurse while we work."

He nodded but didn't look away from his work, so she got Charles situated. Then she fetched a cold rag and applied it to the back of Mark's neck. "Honey, do you feel alright? You're a bit pale."

"Wash your hands again. I need you to stitch," he said weakly.

Cleaning as fast as possible, she looked over her shoulder as Mark drew in deep breaths. Then she took his seat and resumed suturing a flap of skin over the wound. Concern for Mark prevented thinking about the gore.

Mark washed his hands, felt the man's brow and checked his breathing, and then laid down on the floor.

She glanced at him in alarm. "Mark?"

"Keep stitching. It's always by the end that I feel like I'm going to pass out. Feet or hands don't bother me, but entire appendages are too much."

"I can't say I blame you. It'll be too late for you to do more blacksmithing when we get back, and it'd be good for you to have a night off. When we get back to the inn, do you want to take Charles for a walk?"

"A snowstorm is supposedly moving in from the West. I am game for eating in bed and doing nothing all evening."

She smiled and tied another stitch. "That sounds nice. Are these close enough?"

He sat up and looked. "They're starting to get a tad spread out. Go back to how you did them over here at the beginning. Do you want me to take over? I don't feel like I'm going to be a damsel in distress anymore."

A laugh bubbled up. "I'm fine. You rest. Well, actually, can you take Charles off? He's starting to gnaw, and it hurts."

"What are you doing, my boy?" He freed Charles and set him on the floor for a moment as he reached around and buttoned her dress again. "I enjoy Mama too, but we must be gentle."

"Mark!" she gasped in embarrassment.

He chuckled and kissed her cheek. "Forgive me, that wasn't very gentlemanly."

"No, it wasn't. And you're not apologetic in the least." She threw him a look and held back a smile.

"Guilty. It's not often I can earn a blush from you. While you're suturing a man doesn't seem like an appropriate time for seducing a blush." He smiled and walked Charles to burp him. "I should enjoy an evening with you and Charles - I believe it'll be a first since his birth where one of us wasn't nursing the other back to health. Which reminds me, have you put on any weight this week?"

She winced. There went the hope that he'd forget to ask for a few more days. "He's nursing more, and you worry far too much, you know that?"

"Tanya," he warned. "What's your weight?"

"Louisa says the scales here are in pounds rather than stones."

"And?"

She chewed her lip. "Ninety-one."

"Ninety-one?! That's not much more than what you weighed when we wed!"

"Shhh! We will talk about it later." She glanced at him as she tied the final stitch. "How much do you weigh in American pounds?"

"Two hundred fifteen!" he barked. "Ninety-one?!"

Her eyebrows shot up, but he was a large-framed man and carried solid muscling. "I subtracted Charles weight from mine when I stood on the scale, and he's seven pounds. Is that good?"

"Not for his age," he snorted. "But it's far better than your weight!" He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "There has to be something I'm miss...ing..." His eyes flew to her waist, the wheels in his head visibly turning. "You ate wild gamemeat that you caught yourself. Are you certain that you cooked it all the way?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Parasites would make sense why you can't gain weight - "

"Ew! But my stomach would be bloated, not going down."

"Not if they aren't tapeworms."

She washed her hands. "I have no other symptoms of parasites, Mark. It's not as if I ate feces for meals," she huffed.

"The rabbit meat could've been infested. Tanya, it could be a number of parasites, possibly some even not discovered yet. Let me give you a treatment and see if it works. We'll find a wet nurse for Charles for just a couple days because I don't know if it will leech into your milk."


The inn had an empty room next door that night, thankfully. Mark could be heard pacing in the next room most of the night as the medicine took effect. A knock sounded. "Are you doing alright, sweetheart?"

She curled up on the bed in agony and burst into tears.

The door opened and he strode inside with Charles asleep in his arms. "Tanya?"

"Go away." She buried her face in the pillow and wept.

"I'm sorry, but we have to make sure - "

"I'm full of worms!" she wailed.

He was silent and then his weight shifted the bed. "Love, I know it feels gross, but this is good - it's an easy fix to get you well."

"No! It'd be better if it was some disease! It's disgusting and, and..." the sobs made it impossible to continue.

"Ohhh, my love, I caught worms while in prison." He snorted. "That sentence alone should make you feel better - I've had worms and been in prison."

It was almost enough to laugh.

He rubbed her back.

Then her face crumpled. "Have I had them my whole life to be underweight?"

"It's possible for a few years, but you likely would've died before now if it'd been since childhood. It likely diverted nutrients from Charles during pregnancy, which explains his low birth weight. You still losing nutrition explains why your milk production is dwindling." He pressed a kiss to her brow.


"Do I get to hug you now?" he asked a few days later.

The humiliation didn't burn quite as hot now that he and Charles were done with precautionary treatment too. "You should run screaming from me." She continued to put her hair up in a twist as his arms slipped around from behind.

He frowned. "We both can probably run faster without worms weighing us down."

She spun around and swatted his shoulder.

The man simply laughed. "You're taking it far too hard. I have seen disgusting things. Worms do not move me. Your cheeks are pinker and Charles seems more satiated already the past day or so. All I care about is you're both getting better." He stepped forward and slipped his arms around again. "I don't have to go to work for another hour." A kiss pressed to the crook of her neck.

"Why the late start?" She put a pin in her hair.

"I worked Sunday." He pulled the pin from her hair to let it cascade down.

"Mark - "

"Shhhh, the babe is sleeping." The man reached around and unbuttoned the front of her dress and reached inside.

A soft sigh escaped. "You're not subtle at all. I shouldn't hold any appeal for a long time."

"Oh, you hold very much appeal," he whispered in her ear and bared her shoulder to press kisses to it.

"You're twisted, you know that?"

A chuckle vibrated deep in his chest against her back. "And you like it." He shed his own shirt.

Seeing him in the mirror was too much. She spun around and captured his mouth. "Oh god, I love your muscles." Her hands skimmed over his thick shoulders. Passionate flames lapped until she jerked his hips closer.

"Oh!" He smiled in surprise, the hungry look in his eyes growing. "I like that you're eager." The man offered tantalizing kisses as he relieved her of clothes. "Mmm, Tanya, I can tell you're starting to put on weight already." Then he leaned in and whispered in her ear, his hot breath stirring strands of hair, "I love that your hips have flesh for me to hold now. No silly notions of being afraid to gain too much. Your weight will level itself out, and you'll be beautiful no matter what you weigh."

A giddy giggle broke free. Curves. She finally had curves, albeit tiny ones. And it was so comforting to know that Mark wouldn't care how much the scale said.

"I want you again," he panted in bed a bit later as he laid on top. he sprinkled hungry kisses along her neck. "Your passion makes me want you more."

She pushed on his chest until he rolled her on top. "Blacksmithing is making your muscles bigger," she panted between hungry kisses.

"You like large muscles?" A note of laughter tinted his tone, and he raised his head to kiss along her throat.

"I like yours," she purred and closed her eyes. Then she pulled him up to a sit and straddled his hips, linking her hands behind his neck. Holding his gaze, she opened her mouth to ask. The courage faded, but he waited ever so patiently. "Is it wanton to make love in your lap like this?"

"We are both free to make requests and free to deny them." A gentle smile softened his eyes. "I should very much like to make love to you like this. You are not sore?"

The answer made his head fall back with a gasp of ecstasy.

She laid tucked against his side a bit later, her chest heaving as much as his.

"Does it frighten you to not be in close contact during that act? You seem to prefer being held tight."

Her finger stilled in tracing the muscles of his chest. "If your chest is touching me, it is not like him," she said softly. "He had his way twice."

His breath stopped.

"And his chest never touched me - rather he leaned his weight into his hand around my neck. If I feel your heart against me, it's not like him."


She walked down the road with Charles tied under the cape to deliver Mark and the blacksmith lunch that afternoon. The force of the hammer echoed louder in the empty street than usual on this blustery February day. A man's roar of effort followed another hard clank. She frowned. He must be working on something big. Stepping under the roof, she stepped around saddles and horseshoes hanging on a makeshift wall.

Mark roared with the force as he used two hands to slam down the hammer on a glowing red horseshoe.

"Perhaps we move onto something more durable," the blacksmith said and cooled the horseshoe in a bucket of water before adding it to a substantial pile.

She hung back to watch. It was as if Mark was angry.

"Here's a plow that must be made. Hammer a straight rod." The blacksmith set a glowing red, crooked pole on the anvil.

Mark roared with another swing so hard that the rod broke in two. The end the blacksmith didn't hold with long pliers shot through the air and impaled the ground a short distance away.

"Do you need a break?" The blacksmith sounded a bit leery.

"No," Mark snapped and dragged a sleeve across his wet brow.

"Your back won't work tomorrow if you keep up like this all day," the man warned.

"I'll work on the goddamn ship anchor." Mark walked over to the fire where a thick chunk of metal burned.

She stepped forward and offered the blacksmith a sandwich. "I see it's a productive day."

"Aye, and he's going to pay for it tomorrow. As angry as a bear he is today."

Approaching the fire, she stayed back from the intense heat where Mark began to mold the metal. "I brought lunch."

He glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not hungry," he growled and resumed.

"At least take a break with me and come cool off outside."

"Take that babe inside," he ordered without turning.

"It would be good for you to come take a walk for just a few minutes - "

"No!" he shouted and spun around, his face and clothes covered in soot and bathed in sweat.

She remained silent. He'd been so gentle and tender this morning. Something had set him off since, and he wasn't in the mood to discuss it yet. So she set the basket on the ground. "It's here if you want it." Then she turned to go.

"I'm so furious I could smash a whole goddamn ship!" he roared.

Turning to face him, she drew a deep breath and held Charles through the cape. her heart broke. That devastated, angry gleam in his eyes was familiar. It was the detail of the assault that angered him. The details had never seemed important enough to say aloud. Until now.

"How many times?" he seethed and stepped closer, angry tears shining in his eyes.

She looked away. Somehow it was too hard to talk about and look him in the eyes. He needed to know - even with the understanding that the answer would rip out his heart - he needed to know how many times she'd been raped that night. "Twice," she whispered. "The rest you don't need to know."

"Yes, I do," he hissed. "You are mine! I have a right to know how he hurt you! I have a right to understand what may frighten you and what memories he burned in you! You are mine to protect and keep from harm, real or imagined!"

Tears welled at seeing this tear him apart. "You cannot undo it."

His lip quivered, his rage so profound that it took any form of escape - even in tears. "I wish I would've torn him apart when he was in my hands. I wish you could find safety in watching me destroy him, that fear would never flash in your eyes again."

She cupped his sweaty face in her hands and held his eyes as her own tears fell. "It is your gentleness that protects me from the fear. I don't need you to kill him to make me feel safer. I understand that when men get upset, they want to physically destroy things to work through the anger...but I don't need you to do that to feel safe. I know that you'll physically protect me. I need you to protect me from the fear. Just the fear."

He gave a slow nod, as if digesting her words. "I need to work through this anger."

With a sigh, she let go of his face and searched his eyes. "Would it be best to tell you the details? This isn't the first time you've gotten upset, and it seems to happen each time you find out something more."

"You should only speak of what you wish. Rehashing it all at once might be too painful. If you prefer to leak details as you're comfortable - "

"But do you want to know?"

"Tanya."

"Mark, I want an honest answer. I know I don't have to tell you things, but I want to know what you want too."

He looked away. "I think I know everything, and then I find out more and it drives me insane."

"Come walk. I will tell you everything, but if I don't walk, I'll have a meltdown talking about it."

After three laps down the street, she finished and didn't move to hold his hand or have any physical contact.

He remained silent, his face impassive as he stared at his feet and continued walking. "Does it upset you to talk about it - besides in the obvious sense? I don't have to return to work immediately if you wish to stay a bit longer."

"No, I think I prefer to not have male company right now." She glanced up at him.

"That's understandable. I quit work in a couple hours to check on the appendectomy and amputee patients. If you decide you want to talk before I go, or if you desire to come along strictly for medical purposes, you just need to say."

She didn't go inside immediately when he returned her to the inn's front step. Instead, she watched him limp down the street. He seemed calmer than expected. Minutes later, a man's roar of efforts followed by the excessive slams of a hammer rang down the street. He sounded even more torn apart than before. With a heavy heart, she took the babe inside.


A conversation was needed with Mark to help him work through this anger. She'd felt the same emotion at first after he'd been harmed in prison. He stoked the fire just as she arrived. "I thought you might need company on the walk back."

He turned, his expression so solemn. "I'm too tired to smash a ship anymore."

"I'll let the Navy know." She smiled.

That won a small smile.

He took off the leather apron and drank several ladles of water. Then he nodded to go.

She slipped her arm through his and fell into step beside him. The moment he opened his mouth to protest, she cut in. "I don't care that you're dirty and sweaty. We sweat all over each other this morning, and neither one of us minded."

An earnest smile finally broke free. "That's a bit different."

"Hush, husband. I am enjoying a stroll on your arm. You wouldn't deny me simple pleasures."

"No, I wouldn't," he chuckled. It was good to hear him happy.

Before she could say another word, a man tore down the road on a horse geared for carriage pulling rather than horseback riding. He skidded to a halt, his horse frantic from its master's panic. The man had a gash on his brow and blood covered his pants, but he didn't seem to notice. "Gather all the men you can find! My father's carriage overturned down the road - he and my mother are trapped inside! Another was trampled by his horse!"

Mark spun to her. "Leave Charles with Louisa and fetch my bag." Then he turned to the blacksmith, and they started banging on doors to get men to help.

She ran back out with his bag just minutes later to find four men pulling together a horse and cart. Mark sat in the driver's seat and took her hand, pulling her up in the seat beside him as three other men climbed in the cart. "I'm sorry, but I might need you, Tanya." He snapped the reins.


Blood stained the snow embankment. A man lay sprawled on his back in the road with a pool of blood under his head. His horse laid a few feet away on it's side, its legs and neck clearly broken. Both appeared dead. The carriage lay overturned and crushed on the side of the road/ A woman's cries came from inside.

"Check for a pulse on the rider while I see what damage is in the carriage," Mark said and jumped out the minute the cart stopped.

She ran to the man and knelt as Mark and the men tried to tear apart the carriage to see inside. The metallic sting of blood assaulted her nostrils. So much blood everywhere. She set her fingers alongside his neck. A faint pulse. "Sir? Can you look at me?" She leaned closer and fell back on her bottom in horror - the man's head had been bashed in and matter had oozed out of his skull. It had to be brains from a horse kick to the head.

"Tanya, is he alive?!" Mark yelled.

The shock kept his words from processing for a moment. All she could do was stare at the gore.

Mark limped over and felt the man's pulse. Then he leaned forward and must've seen the injury. "Come. The wife doesn't seem to be too injured, but the husband is conscious and bleeding from a belly wound. They're both still in the carriage." He pulled her up.

"What?! Mark, he's alive! We can't just leave him!" She dug in her heels.

He turned to hold her eyes. "He's unconscious and there's nothing we can do to save him. Them, we can. I will send a man over to sit with him on the chance he wakes up before he dies, but he won't. I need you with me working on the couple."

With one last glance back at the dying man, she let Mark pull her away.

"Tie a horse to it!" Mark yelled.

The men tied the reins to the roof of the carriage that had collapsed, and they pulled as she led the horse forward.

"Stop! It's dragging! Tanya, come here!" He leaned into the broken window of the carriage and felt around. Then he turned to her. "You can fit through there. I need you to go in there and get her dress off. She has a large petticoat. We get her out, and then you get the petticoat under him and give us the edges to lift him out. The son is fetching saws so we can make the hole bigger, but we don't have time to wait - he's already unconscious from shock or blood loss." He lifted her up. The carriage groaned. "Be careful, Tanya. Bring the lantern so she can see!" he yelled to one of the men.

She used her arms to lower inside, toeing to feel the way so as not to step on the couple. The stench of blood inside overwhelmed, and she had to breathe through her mouth to halt the nausea. Light appeared.

An older woman curled up in the distorted corner of the carriage held her husband's head in her lap. It was hard to tell who was covered in more blood. Something suspiciously like intestines hung out of the man's belly. "Where are you hurt?"

"Get him out," the woman sobbed.

"We need to use your dress as a sling, but I need to know where you're hurt." Her hands shook. Fear wouldn't help the situation. They needed help, and Mark needed her to do it.

Then the light caught movement on the man's belly. A tiny river of blood squirted with each beat of his heart. "Mark! An artery is severed!" She tried to stay on her feet crouched down to avoid the glass underfoot, but it was impossible to maneuver in the mangled space. Grimacing from the sharp shards underfoot, she walked on her knees. Something warmed her knees and shins from the cold. It was wet and a bit slippery. And then it dawned - his blood. Oh god, he bled out everywhere - more blood than she'd ever seen come from one body. Intestines were severed and bleed out too. The man was so pale. It was a perfect horror scene. Panic welled. "Mark!"

"Use her petticoat and pack it as much as you can," he said in a calm voice. "Where the intestines are bleeding, tie the petticoat around them to cut off blood supply. We can resect those without causing him issue."

It must've been the panic lending strength because she grabbed the woman's petticoats and ripped off a strip without much effort. Her hands shook as she tied it around his intestines as tight as possible. Then she ripped more petticoat and hesitated. She'd have to jam them inside his belly.

"It's the only chance to save him. Don't think, just do, sweetheart. Put the cloth into the artery with enough pressure to halt the exanguination."

Clever. The scientific terminology did something psychologically - he became not a man who was dying with horrific injuries but a textbook case, as if Mark read the step-by-step directions.

"Good. More cloth. Now, reinstate the colon gently back into the quadrant where the spontaneous hernia occurred."

She actually cracked a smile at his grasping at straws for terminology. That was one hell of a hernia.

"Good girl. Apply dressing tight to hold the site, and examine for obvious fractures in the femurs, ulnas, and such."

Check for broken arms and legs so they knew what to be careful of when lifting him out. Arms looked good. Right leg good. Blood soaked his other pant leg. Oh god, this wasn't going to be good. Leaning over, she sucked in a deep breath, which was a mistake in this blood-filled cavern. Bone stuck out of the leg. "Left tibia with compound fracture!" Tearing off more petticoats, she swallowed down bile as she made a tight bandage around it to staunch the bleeding and somewhat stabilize the appendage..

"Are you a doctor?" the woman sniffled.

"My husband is. We need your petticoats to lift him out."

"My arm is broken."

She helped the woman slip off the garment that was thankfully from the waist down. "Crawl over to the window so they can get you out." The men lifted the wife out while she got the dress under the man. Then she looked over at the distance to the window and the height from the ground to window. Even if able to drag him over, she couldn't lift him high enough for the men to reach the edges of the makeshift sling. One problem at a time.

Crawling under the window, she grabbed an end of the petticoat and pulled as hard as possible. He barely budged.

Mark climbed on top of the carriage as the men began sawing to widen the hole. He reached in to try to grab the material, but it was another arm's length away. No matter how he manuevered, he couldn't get his shoulders through.

"Pull me." She grabbed the dress tight and stood. His arms wrapped around her chest, but the second he pulled, the walls of the carriage groaned and collapsed in a little more. He was instantly gone and all sawing ceased.

"The carriage will collapse on them," Mark said, his voice a bit distant. "It's too unstable to even get her out. If we cut a hole in the other sides, it'll cave." Panic grew in his voice.

That left going through the ground. She looked down. The other carriage door was right underfoot. "I need a wood plank or bar or something for leverage!"

"What?" Mark's voice came closer, but the men apparently didn't dare climb up to the window again.

"If I get the door open inward, we can curl up in the hole as you all push the carriage up."

"Tear apart the harness!" he yelled. Seconds later, a short metal pole lowered through the window. "Do you have it?"

"Got it!" She jammed it under the door edge. It didn't take long for sweat to run down her back. The door splintered and cracked, bit by bit. It was taking far too long with how fast the man bled out.

"Is it working?"

"Not really," she panted.

"Something wider with more leverage! Make something!" he ordered the men.

Scratching at the front of the carriage. The men must be tearing apart more horse harnessing. The carriage groaned.

"Stop!" Mark yelled.

Her heart froze as creaking joined the groaning. She looked up. The wood of the upper wall splintered. And then a loud crack and everything shifted. She screamed and ducked as it started to cave in.

"No!" Mark's scream cut over the noise.

Every bone didn't crush. She looked up. It stopped.

Hands curled around a hole near the floorboards. A male roar of sheer will. Mark. He pulled hard enough to cause tension to keep the carriage from folding in on itself. More hands appeared and frantic orders.

Grabbing the pole, she jammed it under another chunk of door and splintered it enough to rip off a chunk. It was a small hole, but it had to do. There was no more time. Fear of death fueled strength, and she managed to drag the man over. Bending his legs up to fit in the hole, she climbed on top of him. There was one chance to do this. "The hole is small! If you slip with the carriage, we'll both be crushed! Go!" Straddling the man's belly, she tucked her head down by his and covered her neck and head with her arms. And prayed.

Shouts and male roars of effort filled her ears as her heart froze and waited for the carriage to shatter every bone. The carriage groaned and small pieces of wood fell on her back, The sound of the carriage collapsing drowned out all other noise.