by Eric Flint
Hans's grin faded. "The Committees of Correspondence recommend it, but Gretchen would carry her pistol no matter what is said. Anne and the old woman were kidnapped. She is also concerned about this English doctor Adam brought out of Jena."
Sharon knew a concerned Gretchen was no one to mess with. "Just see to it she doesn't create more patients for Balthazar." She glanced back to see how the Balthazar Abrabanel was faring, but Rebecca's father seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. With her father tied up in surgery, he'd not only insisted on returning with her but riding in the back of the truck as well, probably to keep Adam Olearius company.
The ambassador, on the other hand, had not recovered from his brief whirlwind tour of Grantville, and hung on with his expression still dazed.
A little payback for how we felt, being dropped here. Say hi to the twenty-first century, pal.
When they stopped just outside the village, Sharon saw a crowd of people clustered outside the farmhouse Adam indicated as Uli and Drud's. She helped Abrabanel down from the truck bed, then went to retrieve the medical cases.
Gretchen led the group in. No one paid any attention to them, which puzzled her until she saw Anne being dragged out of the house between two farmers. Her light brown eyes narrowed as she saw the terrified old woman already bound to one of the two crude wooden stakes erected in the center of a heaping pile of firewood. "Was machst du da für scheiße?"
No one wanted to look at her, and several women muttered to each other in low voices.
"We burn the witches," one of the men called out at last.
Sharon, busy carrying medical supplies from the truck, also came to an abrupt halt. "Jesus." She put down her bags and headed for Tibelda. "I abandon you for a couple of hours, Jefferson, and look what happens—you have a barbecue without me."
"Next time," Anne said, sounding breathless but relieved, "I'm hiding in the closet."
One grim-faced farmer moved to stop Sharon, but Hans got between them and unconsciously imitated his beloved brother-in-law. "Don't even think about it."
"We have no quarrel with you." The man flung a hand toward the farmhouse. "They tried to poison Drud, and for that they will burn. It is justice." He went after Sharon again.
Hans pushed the farmer back, and used another of Jeff's favorite phrases. "Over my fucking dead body."
Gretchen turned her lethal gaze on the man. "You kidnapped these women and forced them to help you. Now you intend to burn them for trying. This is your idea of justice?"
"They have been of little help, I assure you," a snide voice said.
The Teutonic goddess swiveled and watched the older man approach. "You would be the English doctor."
"I am William Harvey," he said. "As I've told these good people, I don't believe these women are witches. Mentally deprived, perhaps, and criminally negligent, surely, but—"
"But you would have watched them burn." Gretchen studied him for a moment. "What does that make you?"
Twin red spots appeared on the great man's cheekbones. "You do not know whom you are addressing, madam."
"I know exactly what you are," she said flatly. "Do you know who I am?"
Apparently the villagers did, for her expression made everyone shuffle back. One of the peasants bumped into Harvey, who tripped over the hem of his robes. As he tried to regain his footing, the physician doubled over and howled.
"Oh, for crying out loud." Sharon finished untying Tibelda before she ran over to Harvey, whose face was contorted with pain. "What did you do? Stub your toe?"
"My gout." He pulled back the tattered hem and displayed a badly swollen foot. "I must soak it in cold water at once, or I will be lame for weeks."
Hans helped Sharon support Harvey as he called two of the sturdiest village men to take him. Still cowed by Gretchen's presence, the crowd dispersed as the men led Harvey to a neighboring home.
"I think we can go in now," Hans's sister said. "Hans, stand guard."
Inside, Sharon saw Anne sit down by the fire, while Father Mazzare joined Uli at Drud's bedside and Gretchen spoke to a much calmer Tibelda.
Adam went to the hearth to speak to Anne. As soon as he touched her hand, his head snapped up. "Lady Sharon, come here, quickly."
Sharon caught the urgency in his voice and hurried over. Anne sat very still, and was dead white. "Honey, what is it?"
"We had a bit of a crowd control problem." She spoke slowly, as if getting out each word took tremendous effort. "I had to take some of Tibelda's tonic, to prove it was harmless." She swallowed. "Surprise, it's not."
Sharon checked her pulse, which was practically nonexistent. "Overdose?"
"Not sure." Anne's voice dropped to a whisper. "My heart rate's dropped, and I've got one hell of a migraine. I've been so dizzy and nauseated that I can't stand up straight. Where's your Dad?"
"He was operating, so we drafted Dr. Abrabanel." Sharon waved Balthazar over. "Got another patient for you."
Anne related the circumstances while the elder Abrabanel performed a brief exam. He left her to pick up the leaves Harvey had thrown on the floor, and examined them for a moment before he returned.
"I fear this was not caused by lily of the valley, Anne." He displayed a dark green leaf tinged with purple. "This, I believe, is the source of your illness."
At the sight of the plant, she stirred. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Digitalis purpurae." Balthazar gave her a sympathetic smile. "A very dangerous substance for a healthy woman to digest."
"Foxglove—Jesus Christ, no wonder I can't move. She called it fairy's glove, and I thought it was a diuretic." Anne closed her eyes. "Maybe Harvey is right."
"Tibelda." Sharon's voice snapped across the room. "Come here. Now."
The old woman reluctantly left the priest and came to the hearth. "She was not supposed to drink the tonic herself."
"Will it kill her?" Sharon demanded.
"I don't know." Tibelda lifted her chin. "I do not give it to people who are well."
"What concentration did you use, and how many leaves?" Balthazar listened as the old woman gave him her measurements, then nodded. "That would be sufficient for someone of Drud's size. Anne, as long as you do not take another dose, the effects will wear off. However, you must rest and someone should stay with you. Sharon, I will need you here with me."
"Allow me the honor, sir." To Anne, Adam said, "The villagers have made rooms available for Dr. Harvey and me, and I insist you take mine for as long as you need it."
"Insist all you want." She swayed as he helped her from the chair. "Just hold on to me or I'm going to fall flat on my face."
Hans stood by Sharon to watch them go. "They look good together, ja?"
"Sure they do," she said. "Not everyone falls in love at first sight, like Jeff and your sister, though."
He gave her an odd look. "Are you so certain of that?"
* * *
"This is silly, Ambassador. Put me down, I can walk."
He shouldered the door to his room open. "I thought we agreed you would call me Adam."
"Put me down, Adam."
"Dr. Abrabanel insists you rest, Lady Anne." Olearius carried her the last few yards to his bed. "You do not wish to make more work for him, do you?"
"No wonder you're a diplomat." As he eased her down, she struggled to sit up. "No, let me. I'll lose consciousness if I'm prone."
"Prone to what?" He sat down on the edge of the mattress. "Independence? Stubbornness? Determination?"
"All of the above." Anne edged backward until her shoulders rested against mound of pillows he piled behind her. "I meant if I lie down, I'll fall asleep."
"Sleep then, my lady." He smoothed some rumpled hair away from her cheek. "I will watch over you until you awake."
"I don't need a baby-sitter either." She caught his hand, and focused on the fine scars crisscrossing his palms and fingers. "Where did these come from?"
"Sharpening quills, scraping vellum, grinding inks." He made a see
saw gesture. "A scholar's work is oftimes hazardous."
"Tell me about it. I nearly poisoned myself in the name of nursing today." She licked her lips. "Lord, I'd kill for a cup of coffee right now."
"No need to plot a murder." Adam disappeared for a moment, then brought back a steaming cup.
The rich, familiar smell made Anne blink. "I'm hallucinating." She took the cup, inhaled, then took a cautious sip. "I'm not hallucinating. Oh, my God. This is real coffee." She sipped again, and moaned. "Adam, I'm in love with you."
Amusement made his eyes gleam. "On so short an acquaintance?"
"Forget that. This is honest-to-God coffee here." She took a third sip, then forced herself to hand the cup back to him. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't drink it, not on top of Tibelda's tonic. I'll throw up."
"Perhaps later, when you are feeling better." He set the coffee aside. "You have a fondness for the brew, then?"
"I was a confirmed addict, until we ran out about a month ago. Where in the world did you get it?"
"Dr. Harvey introduced me to the drink in Holstein." Adam reached behind her to adjust a pillow. "Apparently he carries a prodigious supply of the beans, wherever he goes."
She wondered what Harvey would take in trade for his prodigious supply. Maybe Mike Stearns wouldn't miss one or two of the town's pickup trucks. "What did you think of Grantville?"
"I saw so many wondrous things, my head fair spins." He tapped his temple. "It is a marvelous place, but you are all so very far from home."
"This is our home now." Anne looked out through the small window at Uli's farmhouse. Tibelda reminded her so much of Granny, and over the past months Sharon had been like a sister to her. Even the lofty Dr. Harvey had brought something back to her life—pride in her work and her heritage.
The coffee didn't hurt, either.
"I am glad you feel that way." Adam watched her eyelids droop. "Does your husband share the same sentiments?"
"No husband." Anne yawned, then lifted her left hand and languidly wiggled her ringless fingers. "No time . . . for . . . one. . . ."
As she fell asleep, Adam caught her hand and gently lowered it to rest at her side. "Ah, but Lady Anne, you are in a different time now."
* * *
Despite his aggravated gout, Harvey refused to be kept from the patient, and limped in several hours later. Since Drud's heart rate had improved, and his fever remained low-grade, Balthazar called everyone to the table. Father Mazzare tactfully invited Uli for a walk and guided the peasant woman out of the house.
"Sharon has stabilized the patient, and will monitor him so that we may concentrate on diagnosing his condition," The physician scanned the faces around him. "Dr. Harvey, you have far superior knowledge of anatomy, while Frau Tibelda understands the nature of botanical medicines. I myself have studied a wide variety of healing practices used in many different lands and have learned much from my new colleagues in Grantville. If we consult together—"
"With her?" Harvey rose to his feet, gasped, then dropped back in his chair. "It is our duty to drive women practitioners out of our profession, man, not collaborate with them!"
"If it wasn't for Frau Tibelda, Drud would be dead," Anne said from the doorway. She still looked shaky, but the color had returned to her face, and her voice was much stronger. "I didn't keep him alive until you got here. The medicine she made did."
When Harvey glanced at Balthazar, he nodded.
"Very well." The English physician regarded the herbalist with thinly veiled dislike. "We will consult on the matter . . . together."
Anne thought of morning ward rounds as they went together to examine Drud. Balthazar listened as she described the patient's progression, and showed him the makeshift chart she'd kept on his vitals. Sharon had performed an EKG earlier, and explained the results to Tibelda and Harvey.
"An incredible device." Harvey examined the paper strip. "It also supports my diagnosis. As you can see"—he pointed to several clusters—"the lines that are shorter, here, here, and here. This can only be attributed to dysfunction."
"The lines are the same, at the same spaces," Tibelda said. "Would they not grow more shallow as his lungs seize?"
Balthazar examined the tape, then consulted the vitals on Drud's chart. "You are both right. The lines do indicate a dysfunction, but one that is regular. This condition may have originated much earlier in his life, and been of some duration."
"Wait." Anne recalled something the English physician had said. "Dr. Harvey, you told me you'd seen a lot of people with this condition die. How old were they?"
"Most of them were children or adolescents." Harvey's shrewd eyes moved to the patient. "Now that I think of it, I've never actually treated a middle-aged person with this type of dysfunction."
Anne took a quick breath. "A congenital heart defect, like abnormal walls, or valves, or vessels. That's it. He's had this from birth, Dr. Abrabanel."
"Corrective surgery or implanted devices sustain patients in your time, Anne, but as for the present"—Balthazar shook his head—"such a defect means retarded growth and development, and an early grave. Even if Drud somehow survived childhood despite this, as an adult his health would have rapidly deteriorated."
"Perhaps not." Tibelda looked thoughtful. "Anne, what manner of defect would make Drud this way?"
"It could be aortic valve stenosis—having two flaps in a valve in his heart, instead of three. Over the years, the flaps tend to become calcified, and that causes regurgitation of blood into the ventricle. In other words, his heart doesn't pump enough blood out." She rubbed the back of her neck. "But Balthazar is right, it doesn't fit. An untreated defect would become very serious in adulthood. Drud's symptoms appeared out of nowhere."
The old woman turned to Drud's wife, who had silently returned with Father Mazzare. "Tell them, Uli."
"I don't know what do you mean, old woman."
"No one cares about that"—Tibelda shook her head—"but I took the fairy's glove from your own garden."
Suddenly Uli became very interested in examining the floor. "I grow it because it is pretty."
"Tell them!"
The command made Uli explode. "I grew the plant and made your tonic and gave it to Drud! I put it in his cider! Every day!" The farmer's wife clenched her fists, then she seemed to crumple. "He forgot to take the cask I put it in when he went to Jena two days ago. When they brought him back, they wouldn't leave. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't tell them."
"Well, why the hell not?" Sharon demanded. "Do you have any idea how much time it would have saved us?"
"Do you think I wish to be branded a witch? Like her?" Uli gestured wildly at Tibelda. "Live, like her? Hiding in the forest? I have Drud, and friends here! I would be despised, driven from my village!"
Anne felt the dregs of her migraine flaring up again. "But you had no problem with using her to clean up your mess."
"What else was I to do, when he came?" Uli pointed toward Harvey. "He would not go, he would not leave Drud alone. He would have had them burn me."
"This man might have died . . . simply because of my presence?" Harvey looked stricken.
Sharon touched his hand. "You didn't know."
With visible reluctance he turned to Tibelda. "I owe you an apology, madam."
"Do not strangle yourself on the words, physick." The old woman waved her hand. "I have no need of them."
Father Mazzare went to Uli, and took her hands in his. "I believe she needs more from you, my child."
The peasant woman cringed. "She hates me."
"No," Tibelda said, in an unfamiliar, gentle voice. "I have never hated you. I have always protected you, child."
Uli slowly walked over to kneel before the herbalist. "I've pretended for too long, but I was so afraid. You know that, don't you?" She buried her face in Tibelda's skirt and sobbed. "Forgive me, Mother."
As the Grantvillians stared, the old woman rested one hand on her daughter's head, and carefully stroked her
hair.
* * *
Two days later, Drud had recovered enough to be moved, and the entire group relocated themselves and their patient to Grantville for further treatment at the hospital. By then Tibelda and Uli had reconciled, and were in agreement with James Nichols' decision not to perform heart surgery.
"Your daughter's herbal treatments have been successful for the past twenty years," Nichols told Tibelda. "I see no reason to discontinue the medical regime, unless you do?"
Pleased at being treated as an equal, the herbalist shook her head. "It is as you say, physick. Now, what is this about working in a lavatory?"
"Jeff Adams is setting up a laboratory where he can work with you on developing new medicines," Nichols said, and smiled as he took the old woman's arm. "Let me show you around."
Anne Jefferson was already working on Uli, and nearly had her convinced to move to Grantville, and begin interning as a nurse in Anne's fledgling training program. "You already know a lot about cardiac care," she pointed out. "And Drud is interested in joining our construction crew."
"I would like to stay close to my mother," Uli admitted. "And if we live here, we need not worry about being burned as witches if anything goes wrong."
She laughed. "No, you'll probably be drafted to help fix it."
Anne left work that evening to find the ambassador waiting patiently outside the hospital's main entrance. "Adam, what are you doing out here?"
"I wanted to bid you farewell before I leave." He sketched an elegant bow. "Would you allow me to escort you home?"
"Okay." She took his proffered arm and tried not to feel depressed. The man was an ambassador, after all, and travel went with the job. "So, are you excited about the trip?"
"The duke has requested I forego the second half of my journey after I complete my mission in Persia. He is quite interested in pursuing new trade with you Americans." He guided her around a puddle on the street. "I should be returning to Germany in a few months."
"I see." She felt better, for some reason. "Will you be stopping by Grantville on your way back?"
