Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Boone lifts his chin in greeting, the last of the dusk sun catching his face. When he notices that I am not carrying the staff he made with me, he frowns.
"Your leg alright?”
"Much better," I reply, and I glance down at the spot where the wound once stood. "I grabbed some burdock leaves and made a poultice for it, it’s already healing up."
He eyes me for a moment, clearly surprised. The flames flicker off his face as he turns the rabbits on the stake over the fire.
"Didn’t know you knew about all that."
"Of course I do," I reply, wrapping my arms around myself protectively, even though the warmth of the fire is more than enough to warm my bones.
He pauses for a moment, the crackle the only thing between us for a moment. The smell of the rabbits is making my mouth water, and I’m not the only one, Woodrow winding in and out between us like he can’t wait to take his share.
"What do you use for sickness?” he asks, and I raise my eyebrows at him.
"You testing me, Boone?”
"Seeing how much you know," he fires back, without missing a beat. "So?”
I hesitate, casting my mind back to what I was taught in nursing school. Sickness – peppermint tablets, that’s what we always used.
"Mint," I reply, as though it should be obvious. He parts his lips to ask another question, but I jump in before he can.
"And boiled water to clean a wound," I go on. "And stitches to bring together the two ends of a wound, and boiled rags for a woman giving birth. That good enough for you?"
Though my voice has a note of challenge in it, I can’t help but notice the way he grins at my defiance. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he liked it when I talked back to him this way, like he wanted me to lash him with my tongue.
Just like he had a few days before...
He doesn’t reply, instead turning his attention to the fire again. I bite my lip as he uses a large stick to stoke the flames, tossing another couple of logs on to it to make sure it doesn’t go down.
"How do you know all of that, Cora?"
"You seem to know plenty," I point out. "You dressed my wounds, when I got here..."
"My wife taught me to do that," he replies bluntly, and I freeze, a cold wash of guilt running through me. After everything, now he’s got a wife, too...?
"Your wife?” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
"Anna," he replies, almost matter-of-fact. "She passed a few years back. Fever."
"Oh, Boone, I’m so sorry-"
"Nothing for you to be sorry about," he replies, not taking his eyes off the fire. "Not your fault. Not anyone’s fault."
There’s a gruff edge to his voice that speaks to the depths of his grief, though he clearly doesn’t want me to hear it. I think of reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder, to assure him that it’s alright if he’s hurting, but I get the feeling he’d just brush me off.
A long silence hangs there between us before either of us speaks again.
"So how did you learn?” he asks, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Married yourself?"
I shake my head.
"No, just...educated."
"How’d you come by that?"
"Good luck, I guess."
It's the only answer I can think of right now, given that I can hardly tell him I came from another time. I shift a little closer to him as a breeze rushes out of the forest, a sudden chill moving through my bones. Not at the thought of how much I have left behind – but rather, the thought of what is waiting for me there when I go back.
No matter how crazy it is that I have ended up here, I can’t stop thinking about my other life. My real life, I suppose. Are they missing me there? Are they wondering where I am? Has a moment even passed since I vanished, or does time warp out of place in these parts? I have no idea, and it’s not like there’s some sort of manual I can flip through to get the answers to everything.
Finally, he speaks once more, his voice lower than before, like he’s not even sure he wants to hear the answer.
"You want to go back?”
"To what?”
"To your...to your education," he replies, not looking up. "Your old life."
The question surprises me. It’s not one I have spent a lot of time considering, given that I have no clue if I can leave this place at all. I might be stuck here forever, but even if I wasn’t, even if some doorway did open back up to my old life...would I go?
"I...I don’t know," I confess softly, and I sneak a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I hardly dare voice what’s in my head, certain that he’ll be angry with me.