With a slight tremble in her hand, she did as instructed while Wynn made the shallow cut on Marina’s back. Taking a rod with cotton wrapped around the tip, he dipped it in the alcohol, then lit it afire with a match. He popped the burning cotton end into one of the glass cups, then immediately yanked it out and placed the cup on Marina’s back. Three more times he did this.
“The fire helps create suction, which will loosen the mucus. The Chinese have been practicing the art for centuries, and it’s become popular in French hospitals.” He set his extinguished cotton rod on the trolley. “It’s the best option we have.”
“I trust you.” She did, she realized with a start. With no reservation.
It was difficult to decipher his entire expression with the lower half of his face covered by a mask, but she knew he weighed her words carefully.
“I’m glad,” he said at last.
Was that relief she heard? The shame of the words spoken to him that night so many weeks before burned through her as thoroughly as the fire had those bits of cotton. Apologizing was not a task she was entirely familiar with, having done so only on limited occasions. In circles of nobility, opinions were often treated as facts and boastful comments taken as law. It was then easy to accept every instinct and word issued as the right one. Never doubt; only confidence. Until meeting a man who forced her to look beyond the shallow waters in which she’d tread her entire life.
She cleared her throat. “That night we last spoke—”
The curtain ripped open and the towering Sister Elton stared at her. “I saw you take the cupping trolley. Is there— Oh. Dr. MacCallan.” Her eyes swiftly took in the scene. “Congestion, is it? She take any of that broth?”
Svetlana shook her head. “She started coughing.” Marina mumbled incoherently. Svetlana dabbed a wet cloth across her fevered forehead.
“When she rouses we’ll try Bovril with milk. She’ll need nourishment. They all do.” With that terrifying truth, Sister Elton returned to her duties on the floor. Marina’s labored breathing filled the small space. She wasn’t alone. Harsh breathing, hacking coughs, gasping, and cries of pain spiraled through the ward as the rows of patients struggled for life. Svetlana had overheard a nurse say six of the men had died since that morning after being struck down only the night before.
Pulling the single chair close to Marina’s head, Svetlana sank onto it. “What happens next?”
Crossing his arms, Wynn leaned against the wall. His critical gaze swept over Marina, possibly analyzing every drop of sweat, shiver, and erratic breath.
“We wait. The first twenty-four hours are the worst. If she makes it through, she stands a good chance at recovery.”
Svetlana followed Wynn’s gaze, but instead of a patient or medical prognosis, all she could see was her sweet little sister. Always kind and trusting. The peacemaker who bound their mismatched family together. Svetlana pushed a wet strand of hair from her hot cheek.
“She doesn’t deserve this. If anyone must be sick, it should have struck me.”
“No one deserves this. Every patient in this hospital has been battling for far too long. Your sister in the Revolution and the soldiers in the war. To survive four horrendous years of bombing and killing only to be taken down by a fever. It’s beyond reckoning.”
“What is this reckoning?”
“Beyond reckoning. It means beyond understanding. Difficult to come to terms with.”
The prolonged tension throbbed. “Much the same could be said of our acquaintance.”
“If one was attempting to define the thing, yes, I suppose they could.” His gaze moved to her, piercing skin and bone straight to the spikes of her pride. “Though I’ve never been called difficult a day in my life. They must be referring to you.”
She opened her mouth for a retort but promptly closed it as she realized she’d been about to prove his point. If he was set on taking her down a gilded peg, then she would return the favor. After all, he wasn’t completely blameless in provoking her hurtful words.
“One could say charm is rather difficult to come to terms with.”
Instead of being insulted as she intended, he laughed. “Not in my case, so I’ll take that as a compliment.” Pushing off the wall, he stood next to Marina’s bed. One by one, he popped the glass cups from her back and placed them on the trolley. Round bruises now marred the pale skin. “The bruising will go away in a few days. Her breathing should be easier.”
Marina twitched away from him and mumbled.
Svetlana pulled the blanket over her sister’s bare back. The sheets needed to be changed again. “She’s not sleeping well.”
“And likely won’t until the fever breaks. It’s the body’s way of fighting off the virus.”
“Is Dr. MacCallan here?” The voice came from the other side of the curtain.