That being said, my heart tells me to leave it as is, though my head is telling me to stick to the rules. This is, after all the first chapter of the story. I might leave it up my critique group to guide me on this one. Since I'm going "indie" publishing I figure I can break a rule or two, as long as it does not hurt the reading experience. Tell me what you think. I LIKE COMMENTS, even if its a criticism. I can learn from those. So here it is -- still a work in progress -- the conclusion to the prologue.
They brought her inside and carefully
moved her from the stretcher to an empty bed. The bed had leather straps and
leg ties for the insane. After Patrick brought the towels. Gloria sent him off
for the hot water. Gloria closed the door. Bee stood quietly watching. The girl
still appeared dazed. From her bag, Gloria produced the scissors. She cut a
slit up the front of the dress and parted it. Such a shame. It was
store-bought, silky, and no doubt expensive, but she needed to examine her
ribs. “Bruised up. Could still be cracked. Just not sure. We’ll have to get
Doctor Zwiefel out here to check on her. Bee, get me a dipper of water. Oh, and
bring a nightgown.”
There was a knock at the door. Gloria
pulled a sheet to cover the girl. Bee left. Gloria took the pan of steaming
water from Patrick, closed the door, then set about cleaning up the battered
girl.
“Dear, this is going to sting. I’m wiping
the blood and dirt from your face.”
Not waiting for a reply, she began to
clean the cuts.
“Oww! Stop!” The girl opened her eyes and
batted the towel away. She scowled at Gloria.
“Ahh, good. You’re awake. How’s your head?
Do you know your name?”
“Sara.” She touched her lip. “I got a
headache." The girl tried sitting up, then fell back, groaning with pain.
“My side hurts. I’ve never hurt like this before.”
“I’ve seen worse. We’ll fix you up. Your
ribs are sore. It looks like you’ve been kicked by a horse.”
“My boyfriend.”
“I’ll want to hear more about that later.
What I’m more concerned about now is the baby. How far along are you?”
The girl eyes widened, “Oh that’s right. I
told you. I just went to the doctor – when was that? Yesterday? He said I was
six or eight weeks along. I’m due in mid-August.
There was a soft knock at the door. Bee
returned with the water. Gloria fished around in her bag, found a bottle of
aspirin, and gave it and the dipper to Sara. “This is Beatrice. Bee saw you out
on the road. Bee, this is Sara.”
Bee took the board out of her apron and
wrote, SARA IS A PRETTY NAME.
“Uh, thank you.” Sara raised her brows to
Gloria.
“Bee can’t talk, but she hears well. She
doesn’t miss much. As I was saying, we need to get you checked. You’ve taken a
beating. That can’t be good for the baby. We have an attending physician,
Doctor Barry Zwiefel. He does routine checkups for us, as well as emergencies.
I think we can call this an emergency.”
“It hurts to move. It's a sharp pain just to
breathe. Can I just rest for a while before leaving?”
Doctor Zwiefel makes house calls. We can
have him here later today. Let’s finish cleaning you
up. Bee brought
some bedclothes for you.
“Thank you.” Sara looked around. “What is
your name? Are you a nurse? Is this a hospital?”
Gloria laughed. “I’m Gloria Eisner. The
people here call me Miss Gloria. I do a bit of nursing whenever the need
arises. And, no, we’re not really a hospital. I manage the tenant house and
supervise the inmates. My husband oversees the work farm.”
“Inmates.” Sara noticed the handcuffs and
straps attached to the iron bedrails. Oh, no. She tried to get out of
the bed. I can’t be tied up. She drew in a breath. Get out. Sara
threw back the covers. Get out now. Her feet hit the floor ready for flight.
Stabbing pain lanced her gut. Shallow
breaths hurt less. Her breathing became more rapid. She couldn’t get enough
air. She tried to breathe yet faster. Panting turned to wheezing. Still not
enough air. Panic gripped her. She couldn’t even scream. Vision blurred. Dark
walls closed in. The room looked small and far away. She felt herself pulled
into a tunnel.
Beatrice
pointed to the handcuffs. She wrote, BED IS SCARING HER.
Gloria gripped
Sara’s shoulders. “Listen, Sara. Relax. Do not panic. Breathe slowly. The cuffs
and straps are not for you. We can change beds later. You are not a prisoner.
You can leave anytime. Slow your breathing. You are getting too much air.”
Gloria hugged her, stroking her back. “Relax … relax.”
Dimly, Sara heard the words. Slowly, her
panting subsided. The lightheadedness eased. She felt spent. She wanted to
sleep, but she had to know. “Where am I?”
Gloria shook her head. “Child, you need to
sleep. We can talk later.”
“No. I need to know now. I have no idea
where I am. He abandoned me. I’ve got nowhere to go."
Gloria considered for a long moment, “Very well. Keep an open mind. In spite of our
name, we’re rather proud of what we have here. You are at the Joshua County Poor Farm.”
Beatrice wrote something, then turned the
slate to Sara, AND ASYLUM.
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