Beauty and the Brain

by Duncan, Alice

  “Thank God,” Colin whispered, the words yanked from him by a force outside himself.

  “Yes,” Brenda said, sounding somewhat wry, “unless it clipped his back. The spine is a vulnerable thing. If that dratted board caught him in the back and damaged his spine, it might be bad.”

  “D-don’t—don’t—” But Colin didn’t know what he wanted to say. In truth, he supposed he wanted to tell Brenda not even to hint at such an awful possibility, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t glance up at him, but continued to test George’s limbs one by one.

  Suddenly, she turned to the crowd standing by. “Get me a bucket of water, somebody. Hurry.” Several men ran off to do her bidding.

  Colin wasn’t sure, but he suspected that at this moment, she was being more sensible about George’s catastrophe than he. He was so aghast, he couldn’t even think, much less act. He blinked as she began to tear at her waist. It took him a second or two to realize she was taking off the sash tied there.

  She held it up “This is cotton. It will hold water, and perhaps he’ll regain consciousness with cool water on his head. If he can talk, he’ll be able to help us help him.”

  Three buckets full of water appeared as if by magic at Brenda’s side. She offered the carriers one brief, brilliant smile and said, “Thank you,” as she dunked her sash into the closest bucket. She squeezed the excess water out, folded the sash into a pad, and, leaned over George again.

  As she very gently pressed the cool cloth to the back of George’s neck, then his cheek, and then his forehead, Colin heard the sound of running feet. Turning, he saw Martin racing back to the set, accompanied by a portly man in a dark suit who carried a black bag.

  “Thank God,” he breathed. “I think it’s the doctor.”

  Brenda straightened, still holding the cloth to George’s head. She, too, whispered, “Thank God.”

  It was only then that Colin realized how scared she’d been. And still was. He stared at her, stunned. Had her cool-and-collected attitude been only an act? Had she carried on so splendidly in spite of her fear? Had she been as frightened as he underneath?

  When she withdrew her hand so that the doctor could have access to George, Colin saw that her hand trembled. She stood and actually swayed a little on her feet, and he understood that her poise and self-assurance had been an act, and an extraordinary one. She was a by-God heroine.

  His admiration for her soared like an eagle. Instantly, he stepped up to her and held her arm so she wouldn’t fall. She shot him a quick glance and whispered, “Thanks. I—ah—don’t feel so good all at once.”

  He leaned close to her. “Thank you, Brenda. You were wonderful.”

  She seemed to sway into him for no more than a second, but his other arm went around her and squeezed her close. He didn’t care what anybody thought. She might well have saved his brother’s life, and he wanted her to know how much he valued her assistance.

  Assistance? Dash it, she’d done everything herself. She was no assistant. She was a heroine.

  Her voice came to him, small and breathy. “Um, I’m afraid I might be a little sick, Colin. Please let me go into those trees for a minute.”

  He’d be dashed if he’d let her go now She might have saved his brother’s life. He led her off into the trees himself.

  “Please,” she said, her voice a little stronger. “I hate being sick in front of people.”

  “I’m not people.” The statement made no sense, and he knew it even as the words left his mouth. But, whatever it meant, it was the truth. Colin didn’t want to be “people” to Brenda. He wasn’t ready to admit what he did want to be to her, but he knew darned well it wasn’t simply “people.”

  “Here,” he went on. “Lean over and put your hands on your knees. That might help. Put your head down.”

  He might have been useless in helping her with his brother, but he knew what to do when one felt sick whilst on the trail. He was pleased when she did as he’d advised and without even arguing with him first. Colin could still see the set through the trees, and even as he lightly helped Brenda to keep her balance, he watched the doctor. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he saw Martin and the doctor help George to his feet. His body must have jerked along with his heart, because Brenda spoke.

  “I’m sorry I’m taking so long. My stomach isn’t cooperating this morning.”

  She sounded apologetic. Colin couldn’t believe it. He turned and stared down at her. “No, no,” he assured her. “I’m not being impatient. It’s only that George seems to be all right. He’s standing up.”

  “What?” She jerked upright. “Where?”

  “There.” Colin pointed at the scene.

  Slowly, slowly, Martin and the doctor were walking George toward the lodge. Colin pushed his glasses up his nose and peered through them, wishing his eyesight were better. “Does it look to you as though his arm’s hanging at an odd angle?”

  She clutched at his arm with a viselike grip, peering hard herself “I think so. It looks as if the doctor’s got it in some kind of sling-like thing. That’s probably only to hold it in place until he can get him inside.”

  Suddenly recalling why they’d come into the trees, Colin turned toward Brenda, who lost her footing and fell against him. “Are you feeling better?” He didn’t want to rush her, but he had a compelling need to see to his brother’s welfare.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine now. Thanks. I guess seeing George walk helped my tummy.”

  “Good. Can you walk? I’ve got to see George.”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  She took a step, and her knees seemed to give out. She looked up at him plaintively. “Listen, Colin, I’m still a little shaky. You go on to help with George. I’ll follow you when I can.”

  He wouldn’t allow such a thing. She’d saved the entire day, for the love of God. With a short, “Nonsense,” Colin lifted Brenda right off the ground. She responded with a tiny squeal.

  Then she sighed, her bones seemed to melt, and she relaxed into his arms. She was light as the proverbial feather as Colin ran with her into the lodge.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The doctor and Martin had led George into the small parlor, where he now lay on a chaise longue. The doctor said that was the best place, because the chaise had no sides and he could work on the boy from all angles.

  Martin had placed a sentry at the door, the big cameraman, Ben. Ben eyed them doubtfully “Something wrong with Brenda?” he asked. “The doc’s busy with George right now.”

  “I’m fine,” Brenda said, although her voice sounded weak. She felt weak, for that matter. This had been a truly dreadful morning. Although it did feel rather nice to be in Colin’s arms. She wished he weren’t such a worm. It was very discouraging to know how deeply she cared for him. She’d always assumed she had better taste than to fall for a worm.

  “Are you sure?”

  It took her a second to realize it was Colin who had spoken, and that he’d been asking about her fitness to stand on her own. With a big sigh, she said, “Yes. Thank you.” In truth, she wanted to stay right where she was, which would be a disaster. It was too easy, while in his arms, to pretend that he cared for her.

  But he didn’t. All he wanted was a brief sexual liaison with her.

  It was all too disheartening to think about at the moment. Colin set her gently on her feet and didn’t release her until he was sure she wasn’t still wobbly. That was nice of him. She guessed he wasn’t a total worm.

  Colin opened the door as quietly as he could and entered before her. Brenda glared at his back until she realized he was too worried about his brother to remember proper courtesy. So she followed him into the room.

  George’s back was to them, but Brenda was encouraged to see him sitting on the chaise in his underwear. Colin hurried over and stood behind the doctor, who was bending over George.

  “How is he?” Colin asked breathlessly.

  “I only broke an arm, Colin. I’m not deaf,”
George said, in a tone that sounded remarkably good-humored, all things considered.

  Brenda honored him for trying to joke under the circumstances. She hurried over, too, no longer feeling light headed and with her balance finally restored. George’s face was as pallid as a winter moon, and the grimace on his face, which she imagined was supposed to be a smile, looked only pained. He was really trying hard to be brave through his ordeal. He didn’t notice her, but was squinting up at Colin, who was also pale.

  It seemed to Brenda that Colin appeared nervous and didn’t know what to do with his hands. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he wanted to hug his brother, but he couldn’t very well do so with the doctor hovering over George’s shoulder and arm. Gently, he felt for damage. Every time he did, George winced. Brenda noticed him gripping the chaise with his undamaged hand, and his knuckles were dead white with the pressure he had to expend not to cry out or jerk away from the source of pain.

  Clasping her hands to her bosom, she cried. “Oh, George! I’m so sorry you had to have that awful thing fall on you, but I’m so glad you weren’t hurt worse?” A tear leaked out of her right eye, and she clashed it away, irked with herself for succumbing to emotion when George needed everyone’s strength.

  “Brenda!”

  She squinted at him, wondering why he didn’t sound happier to see her. They were friends, weren’t they? She noticed his pallor suffuse with a deep crimson, and she understood. He was embarrassed to be seen in his undies. Only with effort did she refrain from rolling her eyes. As if she hadn’t seen men in their underwear millions of times.

  “Don’t be shy, George. I’m an actress, remember? I’ve seen everything.” She winked at him to keep the atmosphere light.

  It was an exaggeration, but George seemed to relax, which made it worthwhile. The doctor shot her a frown over his shoulder but didn’t complain about her presence, which was a darned good thing, because she wasn’t about to be ousted from this room by some old-maid doctor.

  “Martin said you’re the one who helped me the most when I was knocked out, Brenda. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  How sweet of him. “It was nothing, George. Anyone would have done the same.”

  “Maybe, but nobody else did.” George managed a fairly substantial grin that faded into a moan as the doctor pressed a particularly tender spot.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to hurt you, young man,” the doctor said in a voice that tended toward a false heartiness.

  Brenda supposed doctors had to be that way or their patients would object. Personally, she preferred plain speaking. “Is there anything I can do to help, Doctor?”

  The doctor’s eyes squinched up as he peered at her. He looked doubtful. “I don’t believe this is a job for a lady, ma’am.”

  If there was anything guaranteed to infuriate Brenda, it was even the slightest indication that some man considered her beneath him because of her gender. “I’ve helped during bone-settings before, sir. I’m stronger than I look.”

  “I’m sure that true,” the doctor said in a tone that clearly conveyed his doubt. He sounded, in fact, as if he were only humoring her. He glanced at Colin. “You’re this young man’s brother, aren’t you, sir? Perhaps you’ll be willing to assist in this next phase of our work here.”

  She didn’t want to do it, but Brenda stepped aside. This wasn’t the time to argue with the obnoxious medical man. It helped her emotional state some when Colin glanced at her, almost spoke, then pressed his lips together as if he, too, believed the doctor was wrong in his assessment of her prowess as a medical assistant.

  “Maybe I can do something to help?”

  They all turned to gaze at Martin, who appeared fairly shaky and definitely pale. He shrugged uncomfortably. “I, er, guess I can hold him down. Or something.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Although I’ve never been very good with these types of things.”

  Brenda put a hand on Martin’s arm. “I’ll do it, Martin. Don’t worry.”

  “Really, ma’am, I—”

  Colin cut the doctor off before he could finish his objection. “She’ll do fine.” Glancing at Martin, he said, “Why don’t you get poor George something to drink, Martin? Maybe brandy or something to help the pain.”

  “I’ll give him a dose of morphia after I set the bone,” the doctor said, sounding a bit grumpy. “But I suppose a sip of brandy won’t hurt. It’s not the wonder drug everyone seems to believe it to be, you know. Not nowadays when we have anesthesia other than alcohol to assist.”

  “Get some brandy anyway, Martin,” Colin said in a chilly tone. “I’ll drink it if George doesn’t want it.”

  George chuckled weakly.

  Martin’s spine straightened, and he grinned at George. “Right-o. I’m much better at fetching drinks than at setting bones, believe me” With a. quick salute, he was off to the bar, looking much relieved.

  The doctor grunted. He eyed Brenda with distaste when she stepped up to help him. She smiled serenely back at him “And what would you like me to do, Doctor?”

  What he wanted her to do was go away and she knew it, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Very well,” he said after a second or two, during which he was obviously stewing. “If you will hold his left shoulder down. He will probably jerk when I pull the bone back in place.” He frowned at George. “Please lie flat on your back, young man. Here, I’ll help you.”

  “Oh, jeeze,” George whispered. He’d gone pale again. Brenda understood completely.

  The doctor assisted George to lie on his back, and George only offered up a couple of groans. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he looked more scared than hurt.

  “You may hold down his legs, if you will please,” the doctor said to Colin. “Be sure he doesn’t move too much. Neither of us will want to have to do this again.”

  “God, no,” muttered George. The perspiration had started to drip from his face.

  Brenda gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Buck up, George. You’ll be fine in a little while. I wish I could do something to deaden the pain.”

  “Shoot me?”

  Brenda smiled at him She loved a big spirit, and George had one.

  The doctor, she noticed, didn’t even crack a grin. “We’ll take care of his pain afterwards.” The words were clipped and cold.

  Brenda, feeling a trifle cold herself, snapped, “Yes, but that doesn’t help poor George at the moment, does it?”

  “I know you aren’t versed in medical science, Miss Fitzpatrick, but for your information, we need Mr. Peters’s cooperation in the setting of this bone. If we knock him out with opium before we set it, we might not do it properly.”

  Not only didn’t Brenda believe him for a second, but she also wanted to kick him in the hind end and tell him she knew animal doctors with nicer bedside manners than he possessed. What possible harm could it do to ease poor George’s pain before the doctor set the bone? She held her tongue for George’s sake, but she detested the doctor.

  “Let’s just get this over with.”

  That, from Colin, who was nearly as pale as George and was perspiring, too. Brenda felt sorry for both Peters brothers and wished she could do more to help than just hold a shoulder. “It’ll be all right, George,” she whispered softly. “We’ll give you some painkiller as soon as this is over, and then you can sleep.”

  She noticed the doctor, who had been digging around in his black bag, glaring at her, and deduced he didn’t approve of lay people speaking to his patients about medical procedures, even those as humane as promising relief from pain. She glared back at him and pressed gently on George’s left shoulder.

  The doctor snapped his bag shut with more force than seemed necessary. “Very well. Mr. Peters, please hold your brother’s legs tightly. We don’t want him moving.”

  Brenda wanted to ask if it wouldn’t be better to drug the poor patient if he really wanted him to be still but didn’t. She’d only aggravate the fool further,
and that wouldn’t do George any good.

  “Here’s the brandy!”

  They all glanced up to see Martin standing in the door, holding up a brandy bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.

  “God, I could really use a drink,” muttered Colin.

  Brenda couldn’t help it; she laughed. So did George, thus astonishing everyone in the room. The doctor, exasperated, snapped, “Give the patient a small drink if you must, Mr. Tafft.”

  Plainly cowed by the doctor’s crisp manner, Martin glanced from Brenda to Colin to George and shrugged. Following the doctor’s instructions, he uncorked the bottle and poured out a finger of brandy.

  Brenda knew that one was supposed to savor brandy; to swirl it and sniff it and make a big production of drinking it. She’d never understood the mystique surrounding the drink and was glad when Martin eschewed such traditions in favor of speed. George, whom she’d never seen take a drink of alcohol before, sniffed the glass and wrinkled his nose.

  “I think I’d prefer opium.”

  The doctor snorted again. Brenda grinned. Colin said, “Drink it, George. It might help.”

  “If I don’t choke to death.” He drank it, though, and then coughed, which hurt his arm and made him groan.

  Brenda could hardly wait to get this over with and get the poor boy sedated.

  “Are we quite ready?” the doctor asked snappishly.

  George, whose eyes were watering, and who didn’t seem able to talk, nodded.

  Colin said, “Yes. Please. Let’s get this ordeal done.”

  Brenda didn’t speak, figuring silence on her part couldn’t hurt and might keep the doctor from being any more aggravated than he already was.

  “All right. Hold tight.”