Return to Exile by Lynne Gentry

Author:Lynne Gentry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howard Books

26

THE RANCID STINK OF certain death and dying hope fouled the west wing of Cyprian’s villa.

So far, Diona’s fever had followed the typical pattern of typhoid, rising as the sun lowered. In her fevered delirium, she mumbled constantly and picked at her bedclothes.

Diona’s parents stayed close by her mat. Titus paced. Vivia’s hands churned beneath the folds of her stola. Lisbeth thought the woman’s behavior odd compared to most mothers of critically ill children. Usually they were so desperate to relieve their child’s suffering they couldn’t keep their hands off them.

But Vivia kept her hands hidden—as if she couldn’t stomach any contact with things beneath her. The aristocrat’s strange phobia might save her from the bad, but her unwillingness to reach out also kept her from experiencing anything good. The feel of a newborn’s skin. The refreshment of cool water. The dying grip of her daughter, which was exactly where Diona was heading if something didn’t turn around.

Lisbeth had no experience treating typhoid. But she knew two things: First, antibiotics and oral rehydration must take priority over other interventions. She’d already used up one of the three precious rounds of her oral antibiotic supply and poured every herbal remedy Mama mixed down the girl’s throat. Yet, after nearly twelve hours of supportive treatment, Diona’s condition had actually worsened. Apparently stopping typhoid’s predictable progression would be very difficult without intravenous drugs. Second, she couldn’t go back to the future and leave these people to suffer. At least not right away.

“Diona has always been so dramatic.” Vivia watched as Lisbeth and Mama balanced on their knees, wrestling a bedpan out from under their patient. “Pouting over the many suitors her father turned away.”

Titus looked up from his pacing. “It was always for her own good, Vivia.”

“Diona didn’t eat for nearly a week after you forbade her marriage.”

“Don’t blame me. You’re the one who insisted Cyprian had the creeping pox.”

Lisbeth’s head snapped up, and she nearly spilled the foul-smelling bedpan. “Cyprian? Engaged to Diona?”

“Oh.” Vivia tried to appear as if she’d made an accidental faux pas, but the jab felt intentionally placed. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”

“Lisbeth,” Mama interrupted before Lisbeth could press the woman for details, “look.” Her head tilted toward the bedpan. “Blood.”

Satisfying her jealous curiosity would have to wait. “Vivia, how long have Diona’s stools been bloody?” Lisbeth asked.

“Two, maybe three days.” Vivia’s hands twisted.

“Why would you delay your daughter’s treatment?”

“You don’t have to bark at my wife!”

“When Diona added blood to her complaints of belly pain, I thought she was whining about her monthly,” Vivia explained.

“Her bowels could have perforated.” Lisbeth conducted a quick exam. “Low pulse. Spleen swollen and tender. Abdomen distended.”

“Sepsis.” Mama stood. “I’ll get my scalpel.”

“Wait.” Lisbeth’s mind retraced the sketchy details of the ileal perforation surgery she’d observed in the OR as a medical student. “We don’t have intravenous antibiotics, or a way to correct her electrolyte imbalance, or even an NG tube to suction her stomach.”

“We’ll have to improvise.” Mama retrieved her tool satchel.

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