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He shook his head once and wished he hadn’t. His skull felt like the entire sawmill had smashed into it. Elvira was snuffling, and that was odd. All his nurses were trained to hide their emotions; he’d have to speak to her about the lapse.
He’d swear he had heard Winifred’s voice, but he must have dreamed it. Did he also dream that he heard an argument between Winifred and Darla Bledsoe? Winifred’s words had made him want to cheer, but he found he couldn’t utter a sound.
He felt Elvira move away from him. Someone else was in the room, but he couldn’t tell who it was. Doc Graham?
No. Whoever this was smelled good.
Then he heard Winifred’s voice again. “Zane.” That was all she said, but it was enough. With an effort he opened both eyes and squinted against the light.
Her face was blurry, but her touch on his hand was real enough. He tried to say her name.
“Zane, you are going to be all right. I know you are.” Her voice sounded so calm, so sure. He prayed to God she was not lying to him. His right temple felt like it was exploding and he couldn’t keep his eyelids open.
“Head hurts,” he managed to say. “Get Samuel.”
He sensed her leave his bedside and heard the door open. “Get Dr. Graham,” she said to someone. A moment later someone bent over him and he smelled the antiseptic of Graham’s hospital smock. A cold stethoscope settled on his chest.
“Samuel,” he murmured. “Bad headache.”
“Small wonder,” the physician muttered. “I’ll get some laudanum.”
Winifred settled again by Zane’s bedside, listening to his ragged breathing. She knew he was in pain; his almost bloodless lips were pressed into a thin line and one hand opened and closed convulsively. Dr. Graham returned with a half glass of something in his hand and helped Zane to raise his head and swallow it down.
“How’s Ike?” Zane murmured.
Dr. Graham straightened. “His arm’s broken in two places. But you’ll like this, Zane. His wife’s expecting. Ike said if it’s a boy he’s going to name him after you.”
A fleeting smile curved Zane’s mouth. “Austen,” he muttered. “Nathaniel hard to say.”
The door closed behind him, and Winifred tried to stop the tears stinging her eyes. Dear God, would he really recover? She watched his bare chest rise and fall as his breathing slowed. His tense mouth began to relax and the frown creasing his forehead smoothed out.
She brushed her lips lightly against the cool skin of his cheek, then let her head droop forward until it rested against his rib cage. His hand settled against her hair.
“You really are here,” he said, his words slurring. “Thought I was dreaming.”
She couldn’t answer. Behind her the door opened and Elvira tiptoed in and touched her shoulder. “Come and rest, Miss Von Dannen. I’ll make some tea.”
Winifred nodded, swiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks and followed the nurse into the hallway.
“Doc Graham thinks the worst is over.”
The nurse’s words brought a fresh onslaught of weeping and while the water heated in the tiny nurse’s room, Elvira joined her in a good cleansing cry.
* * *
The following morning Winifred stepped into the hospital entryway to find Rooney Cloudman pacing up and down outside the door to Zane’s room, a bouquet of yellow roses in his gnarled hand. He thrust them at her.
“These are for you, Miss Winifred.”
She buried her nose in the blooms. “Oh, Rooney, they are beautiful.”
“I heard about what you said to Darla Bledsoe t’other day. Just wanted you to know you done right.”
Winifred gulped. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have stopped her that way, but I just couldn’t... Heavens, it’s probably all over town.”
“Yep, it’s all over town all right. Haven’t heard so much cheering since Thad MacAllister brought in his bumper wheat crop last summer.”
Winifred’s face heated. “I should not have presumed.”
“Aw, now, Miss Winifred.” He laid his arm across her shoulders and squeezed. “Me and Sarah, we think you should presume all to hell.”
Winifred laughed in spite of herself. When a chuckling Rooney left the hospital, she entered Zane’s room and received her second shock of the morning. Zane was propped halfway up in bed, laboriously spooning oatmeal into his mouth.
“Oh, Zane! You’re sitting up.”
“Damn right. Head still aches, but—” He broke off to drag in a breath and plunged his spoon into the bowl. Winifred noticed his hand was shaking. She reached to take the utensil.
