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Chapter Four
Wounds
ItoldmyselfI would find the source of his injury, tend to the wound, and then sleep. Four hours later, I realized something about myself and all women.
We seldom slept because there was always another task, something else that needed attention. Not that women wanted to stay up washing bottles, switching laundry, and catching up on work, but there was a non-stop voice in our heads saying, just one more thing, and at two in the morning, we’d pass out with our hands on our laptop keyboard.
Sam had a laceration on his left thigh. Something had stabbed him through and through but didn’t hit any major arteries. He had muscular legs, and the thickness of his quadriceps had taken the brunt of everything. My assumption was that he had ripped whatever pierced his leg because the gash on one side was monstrous and jagged compared to the other.
There was very little blood when I cleaned him up and I was uncertain of what to stitch, or rather duct tape. Instead, I took a clean long sleeve shirt and folded it like gauze. I had antibacterial ointment in the medical kit, and I slathered his then clean wounds, wrapped the homemade gauze snug, and used the duct tape to hold it all taught.
I hesitated to give him the injectable antibiotics until he showed signs of fever or swelling. I didn’t know if we might need them later.
Once there was nothing more I could do for his injury, I gave him a much-needed sponge bath, careful to avoid anything too personal. As I wiped away the dirt, a powerful man appeared underneath. Muscle defined every inch of him. Even lifeless, the strength was apparent.
I would have to wash myself in the sink when it was all done. Sweat dripped from my forehead as I kneeled over him. I had made countless trips to the faucet with our lone towel, rinsing, washing, scrubbing, and sweating.
He never woke up, never even roused.
The boys slept with open mouths and heavy breaths through it all. Satisfied I had done all I could, I resigned to crawling into the bed with Sam. There was a small gap between him and the wall, and I crept over his body, trying to squeeze in without spooning the man.
Impossible.
The bed was slightly bigger than a twin, and Sam was broad and over six feet tall. He was also warm, and no longer smelled like a sewer. Sleep came quickly.
My dreams that night were vivid and burned into my memory. I was at the top of the hill on our farm, looking down at our sunken basement. It seemed so far down as if I was staring out from the cliff of a mountain. Then I fell through the air and plummeted into the water. I tried to swim, but my arms refused to move. Only my legs would kick, but the movement did nothing. The basement walls pulled further and further away. I was getting nowhere, like I was running on a treadmill underwater. I sank and thrashed my legs to swim up, trying to catch a single breath. I would succeed briefly, only to be pushed down again without air in my lungs. Furniture from our house swirled around me and knocked me further into the dark water.
The panic felt alarmingly real as I shot up, awake, and gasping for air. Gripping my throat, I held myself, fighting back tears. I rocked back and forth to calm down.
Just a dream, just a dream.
There was a hum to the ship now, almost a vibration. We must have gone underway as I slept. I used my hands to cover my face and let myself cry a little, just for a moment while everyone slept. I wasn’t sure what the tears were for. I was happy we had made it. I was sad for those that hadn’t. Confusion and fear about raising BeLew hung heavy on my mind. I was never much of a crier, unlike my sister.
I took pride in being strong. I fell from my horse and broke my arm - no tears. My brother-in-law hit me in the face - no tears. My sister died in front of me - no tears. In school, a teacher told me crying releases oxytocin and can numb your feelings. A good long cry can heal you, and make you better. Maybe I was crying for relief after all these years of holding it inside.
A gentle hand ran up my back, and I softened. “BeLew, Aunt Row just needs a minute,” I sobbed. “Please go back to bed. I love you.”
The touch fell away, and I wiped my face with my sleeve. Minutes passed until I braced the wall with one arm and lowered myself back down to bed, still weeping. Without realizing it, I had curled into Sam’s side. When I felt his arm wrap around my waist and pull me to his chest, I froze.
I lifted my head and looked up. His eyes were closed with his face relaxed. In the distance, BeLew had not moved from their position.
Was Sam asleep?
His arm tightened against me, and I rested back on his chest. He was warm and strong. It made me feel safe, even if only for a moment. He may have been delirious, thinking he was in his home. Maybe his subconscious thought I was his girlfriend or wife, and holding me was a reflex after years of sharing a bed.
Whatever the reason, it felt good. I let his arm clutch me and I fell back to sleep. That time, it was dreamless.
A gentle knocking on the door awoke me. I had no sense of what time it was. The boys were curled up on their bunks, still sound asleep. I moved Sam’s arm from my waist, and he tensed his grip. His eyes remained closed. I shuffled over him, lifting my right leg up and over his body and setting it on the floor, careful not to brush his injured thigh. His tight hold remained as I squirmed over his chest and slid out. He groaned, and his fingers held onto the edge of my shirt until I escaped his grasp.
There was no peephole. Scared the knocking would wake someone, I opened the door without asking who it was. A woman stood in the hall with a clipboard. Her face was sharp, and she had her black and grey hair in a tight bun.
Lips pursed, she tapped her pencil on some papers and cleared her throat. “Lawson,” she clipped.
“Yes,” I responded, stepping further into the hall. The woman yanked a cart over, full of supplies. She pulled out a stack of papers and a large bag and thrust them toward me. I took the package and stared at her; my face twisted in confusion.
“We will be back for household fingerprinting and blood draw this afternoon. Be sure to fill out the papers prior. A pen is in the bag, along with some food. There’s a map of the ship and your location is starred. Mess hall opens at 0600.”
“Thank you,” I said. “What time is it now?”
