Free Boston Jane by Jennifer L. Holm

Mary would not lose her arm.
    “No,” I said.
    “There’s always puking.”
    Many physicians believed that having a patient puke removed the bad poisons from the body. But as we had spent most of the voyage puking, I hardly saw the value in this remedy.
    “I can honestly say that puking has done nothing to improve her health thus far.”
    “Then I reckon we could bleed her,” he said, rubbing a hand through his greasy hair. Little white flecks fell to his shoulders.
    I remembered Papa’s feelings on bloodletting.
    Sturgis picked up a knife and bared Mary’s pale arm. The blue vein beneath her skin seemed so frail.
    “No bleeding,” I said firmly. “We can lance the wound.” I hesitated, casting a suspicious eye at his dirt-encrusted fingernails. “I shall do it.”
    Sturgis belched again. “You?”
    “Yes,” I said, pulling myself up. “My father’s a surgeon.”
    He shrugged and stepped aside. I took one of Sturgis’s knives. I was thankful that Mary was in a swoon.
    “Know what you’re about there, girl?” Sturgis asked skeptically.
    “Yes, of course,” I said quickly.
    It wasn’t exactly the truth, although I had learned quite a bit from watching my father before I’d entered Miss Hepplewhite’s school. I had seen Papa lance any number of boils. It was not unlike carving into a rotten apple that had been left too long in the sun.
    I sliced gently into the inflamed wound, and the smell of rotting flesh filled the cabin. Believe me when I say that I very much wanted to rush outside and get sick, but I imagined Papa standing there with a rueful grin on his face.
    “It’s dirty work helping sick people,” he would say. “But it’s even dirtier work burying them.”
    I swallowed hard and steadied my resolve. I used my best needle and a piece of silk thread to stitch it up. Mary’s face was waxy, and she didn’t stir.
    “There,” I said, meeting Sturgis’s bloodshot eyes.
    “Not bad, girl. You’re good with the needle.”
    I looked at Mary’s arm. The stitches were straight, small, and neat. I could almost see Papa’s proud smile. “Well done, Janey,” he would have said. “Well done.”
    “Thank you,” I said with a shaky smile. “I had a good teacher.”
    Father Joseph agreed to watch Mary while I went above to get some air. I was exhausted from taking care of her, and worse, I was frightened. What if she didn’t recover? It would be all my fault.
    The sky was just beginning to turn a dusky pink, the salty air bracing. I looked out at the ocean, at the endless rolling waves, and wondered wildly if we would ever reach Shoalwater Bay.Would we ever be off this ship? My childhood dreams of sailing seemed very silly now.
    The only thing that made this long, dreadful trip bearable was the knowledge that William was waiting for me at the other end of it. I clung to this thought even as I clung to the rail.
    Captain Johnson was stomping about, shouting out orders. He caught sight of me and roared, “What are ya doing up here, lassie?”
    I shook my head wordlessly. The captain scared me fairly to death.
    “Well?” he hollered.
    “I’ll take responsibility for her, sir,” a voice behind me said.
    It was Jehu Scudder. He met the captain’s gaze with steady eyes.
    The captain grimaced and then wandered off, no doubt to shout at some other poor soul.
    “Thank you,” I said in a low voice.
    Jehu nodded.
    “Heard from Sturgis that Mary’s taken a bad turn,” he said. “Think she’ll make it?”
    It seemed somehow worse hearing him give voice to my worry. I thought of Miss Hepplewhite’s advice to always be cheerful.
    “I’m sure she’ll get better,” I said, forcing myself to smile.
    He looked at me carefully, as if he didn’t quite believe me, and then nodded shortly and stared out at the water.
    I suddenly felt nervous to be standing here, unescorted, with this strange man. I struggled to remember Miss Hepplewhite’sadvice on such situations. Rules of Conversation