“You’re mature enough to know what will upset your father,” Rebecca explained, inspecting the rather nasty cut on the girl’s palm. “And too graceful for this to be an accident.” She turned Fannie’s wrist from side to side, checking for further damage. “At least sans feline,” she amended.
The child pursed her small lips.
“This is deep,” Rebecca declared to the girl’s rather bellicose expression. “It needs to be stitched.”
Fannie tugged her hand back, tucking it to her body.
“Fortunately, I’m quite skilled at such. Even with one arm,” Rebecca assured her, using her calmest, most professional tone as she scanned the girl’s body to verify that her hand was the only injury. “Unfortunately, that means you’ll need to accompany me to the kitchens, where I have my tools and supplies.” She cocked her head at the child. “Will you do that?”
“Will you tell my father?” Fannie countered after a moment.
Rebecca resisted a smile. The girl was not a fool. And not easy. But somehow that made her, not more likable per se, but at least more interesting. A challenge. While people might not be her forte, challenges, at least ones with a mental component, were not something she shied away from.
She gave a shrug, as if she didn’t know to what the child was referring. “Tell him what? That you’re found?” She glanced toward the door. “Considering the entire household is searching for you, I believe that’s only fair.”
“About this.” Fannie gestured toward the mess.
“I imagine he’ll notice,” Rebecca commented wryly. “While you could blame it on Rose, I’m not sure that would be fair to him.” She pulled the clean cloth that she usually used to wipe her equipment from the pocket of the work apron she’d borrowed from the kitchen staff.
“No,” Fannie agreed, shaking her head a little as Rebecca proceeded to wrap the compress around the girl’s small hand as tightly as she could manage, halting the bleeding a touch so she could have proper time to clean and stitch.
“I could blame it on Michael,” the child offered. “He’s never scolded.”
Rebecca bit back a grimace. Oy, children were selfish monsters.
Well, most people were selfish; it was just jarring to hear evidence of it spoken so frankly. Even for someone like her, who preferred honesty.
To be fair to Fannie, she was not acting, merely thinking out loud. Testing the world in a way. Looking for, if not guidance, a guide.
Sort of like their mitzvot and the commentary used to decipher them.
“There’s a first time for everything,” she murmured as she finishedtying the cloth. “But Michael is your brother,” she reminded Fannie as she released her hand. “He trusts you. Do you want to change that?”
“I could blame it on you.” The girl gazed up at Rebecca, challenge in her eyes.
“You could try,” she told Fannie. “But given the fact that my whereabouts are accounted for during the time this occurred, it would be a difficult sell.”
“But not impossible,” Fannie argued back. She folded her arms over her slender, lanky little body, wrinkling her small face combatively, before it crumbled.
Double oy.Tears.While her occupation put her into contact with them on occasion, she generally ignored them in favor of professionalism, permitting her patients’ loved ones to do the cajoling.
However, she and the girl were alone, and she was not going to be able to help if Fannie wasn’t a touch less… upset by whatever drama she was imagining. Yes, Berab was an absent, if not incompetent parent. Though, to be fair, in her experience, very few people—Jew or gentile—were competent parents, regardless of station or resources.
Yet, she had no doubt that this parent, if nothing else, loved his children. “Come,” Rebecca said, crawling out from beneath the table and rising. “Let’s get this mended, and we can discuss the accuracy of that statement.” She extended her good hand toward Fannie.
The girl stared for a moment before wriggling forward herself, then accepting the offer and permitting Rebecca to help her stand.
She had expected the child to shake off the appendage the moment she was on her feet, but instead the girl nearly clung to her side and permitted herself to be led through the house, down to the kitchens.
The space was empty when they arrived, the rest of the household still searching, but the fire had been stoked, so the air was comfortable as Rebecca escorted Fannie to her workspace. Pulling outanother clean cloth, she laid down the girl’s hand, opening the bandage so she could set about preparing the cut to be stitched. Rebecca grabbed the dark jar toward the end of the table.
“What’s that?” Fannie asked.
“Eau oxygénée.” Rebecca removed the lid she’d tightened herself earlier. Rather impressive for someone using only one hand. “It’s a water combined with parts of air,” she explained as she dipped another cloth in it, then carefully closed it once more. “I synthesized it earlier today.”
“What does it do?” the girl asked with surprising interest.
“Besides explode when combined with certain other compounds?” Rebecca’s lip tipped at the child’s scowl. “Don’t worry. We won’t be using any of them, and it’ll be off your skin shortly, so there will be no accidents,” she assured her. “It has a bleaching effect, which helps prevent infection,” she explained, swiping the cloth over the wound.
