Pride and Prejudice FF

Unbreakable Bonds

Multiple DeathS in this posting

Previously:

""I was hoping you would give your consent for me to wed your daughter, Miss Mary Bennet. My practice is on solid ground, I can well provide for her, and she loves Scotland as well as I." He spoke a little longer and then fell quiet.

"If she is agreeable, I see no reason to hinder such a union." His mind then turned to Mrs. Bennet and Rosie, both now in a different kind of battle, one which was questionable as to if doctors had been gifted enough skills to save them.

Different Fight

Ch. 31

Dr. McBride's colleague stood next to Miss Rosie Tyler as she lay in the bed of the Bennets' guest room. He had traveled through London and had actually met her once. However, he had met her before her mind had been robbed of most of its senses. She had been full of fiery determination and an unyielding spirit as strong as any ancient oak tree. Poor Rosie now lay beaten with bruises, split lips, and a swollen eye. The room itself was decorated with flowered wallpaper and a cherry-wood set of drawers, all seemed to wish to cradle the woman who had been so horribly mistreated by society and then beaten so badly by a man in his attempt to get at the Rhys and Bennets.

The skilled doctor was a man of both science and compassion. He had seen plenty of wounded men and women, injuries such as gunshots, sword slashes, broken bones, and such. He could mend every single one of them. And all the outer markings on Rosie he could take care of. However, she had not been shot. And yet, her body bore the unmistakable signs of a fierce struggle.

"I am not a violent man; however, it is a good thing Mr. Tyler lies dead, or I might be tempted to go grab a gun."

The doctor's frustration could be heard as he leaned, propped his hand on the headboard, and looked down at Rosie. Her pulse was weak, a skill he had picked up while living on the Asian continent, her breathing shallow. The gentleman had stitched her split lip, set her dislocated shoulder, and bound her ribs, but any other possible damage remained a mystery. Her battered form seemed to mock him, defying his knowledge and experience.

Dr. Hallstrom then began to pace the room, the floorboards creaking under his weight. The flicker of the fireplace cast shadows on the walls, dancing like specters. His hands, once steady during amputations and childbirths, trembled as he examined Rosie's bruised abdomen. There were no gunshot wounds to suture, no bones to set. Only the invisible battle raging within her—a war of ruptured organs and hidden bleeding.

"Confound it," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I think I would prefer a neat gunshot wound. Bullets follow predictable paths; their damage is quantifiable. But this…" He waved his hand towards Mrs. Rhys's friend lying in bed. "Defies the scope of my training. My logic. Clearly, something inside you is tangled up in a ball of pain. I have no scalpel sharp enough to cut through all the questions I have."

He came back to his patient's bedside and pressed his palm against Rosie's forehead, willing her fever to break. The room smelled of lavender and despair. Outside, rain tapped against the windowpane, a mournful rhythm. Dr. Hallstrom's frustration brewed like the storm raging beyond the glass. He was a healer, doggone it, but he was only human. Yet Rosie's life hung in the balance, and he felt powerless.

He sank into the chair by the bed, its upholstery worn from years of use. The flickering candle cast shadows on Rosie's face, emphasizing the bruises. Her eyelids fluttered, and he leaned closer, as if he could coax her back from the abyss. "Fight, my dear," he whispered. "Fight as you did against Mr. Tyler."

As any good doctor did, he continued to fight for Miss Rosie's life, but he found himself longing for the clarity of gunshot wounds, the simplicity of broken bones. But Rosie's battered body defied categorization. She was a puzzle, a riddle, and he feared he lacked the pieces to solve it.

Dr. Hallstrom may have been doing all he could to save Miss Tyler's life, but Dr. McBride was checking Mrs. Bennet out and then pulled Mr. Bennet out of the room. His mouth was turned down, and his eyes were not shining. It was those signs that let Mr. Bennet know their talk was serious enough as not to be had in his and his wife's private quarters.

"Mrs. Bennet is not to get out of bed for the duration of carrying this child. The trip into the forest put way too much stress on her, and we, sadly, do not have enough knowledge of how to take care of women as physically weak as she."

"What do you think the odds are she will survive the child's birth?"

"I think…" Dr. McBride spoke as sincerely as he knew how. "If you follow my instructions without steering off course, even once, she has a good chance; however, there is still a high chance I will end up having to use forceps. However," His voice took on a deeper, and far more serious tone. "If you do not, I guarantee you I would have no choice but to use a chainsaw."

Epilogue

A soft wind once again blew over the grounds of the Meryton cemetery only this time it was not Mr. Bennet standing next to his late wife's grave; it was a small group and they were standing next to two graves.

"Some days I hate being a doctor." Doctor Halstrom spoke low to Dr. McBride. "I just know if I had more knowledge I could have saved Miss Tyler."

"And I feel any better?" Dr. McBride's fist was just as tight, if not tighter than his colleague's.

"No one blames you, either one of you." Mr. Bennet spoke as he looked at his wife's grave while holding his young son.

"I managed to pull Mrs. Bennet through the birth only to lose her when Caleb was but six weeks old." Dr. McBride wanted to propel something against a wall. "I pray for the day forceps are safer to use, surely, someone can be led to see a way for them to made as not to put a woman in such danger. I so hated having to use them."

"Let us go home." Mr. Bennet had been feeling all ranges of emotions, been tempted to get stuck in a few; however, the bond he had felt with Mahalia was still strong and it shouted to him Caleb must not be neglected. A will would be made that would reflect his parents' unbreakable bond. And, hopefully, their son would benefit from that bond even if he would not ever see his mother face to face while he walked the grounds of Longbourn.

*forceps are thousands of years old only they were not nearly as safe as they were not nearly as safe as they are now, and held a lot or risks to the women they were used upon, though not as deadly as a chainsaw.

Breathe easy Jan... I am looking into an alternate epilogue which is why I am on not marking this as complete quite yet.