The Lost

Four

Sebastian Dushayne laughed at the dismay he saw on Mistress Isabelle Reynaud’s face. This woman must have come from a convent to be so shocked by the sight of a man without his shirt on. He hoped seducing her, introducing her to the world of carnal pleasure, took a very long time. It was hard to tell with the i

Letting go of the bedposts, he sat upright. “For God’s sake, Healer, finish this or I will be in misery all day.”

“You should not have gone swimming today. You know that after a storm the fire worms are found in unexpected places.”

“Yes, yes, now come and finish taking the bristles out. They hurt like hell.”

“How do you treat them?” Isabelle asked, walking closer to him, her expression now very serious. She no longer saw him as a man, he thought, but as a patient.

“I remove bristles with tweezers and then rub the area with papaya to ease the discomfort. With stings from sea life it is wisest to stay still for a while to be sure that the sickness has not reached other parts of the body. There have been deaths from the worst stings. Of course, Sebastian does not have to worry about that, though I tell him he could lose an arm. I can usually find a way to keep him in bed.”

Now Esmé was trying to shock the girl. They were closer to enemies than lovers, and her idea of a cure for any of his ills usually involved as much pain as she could possibly induce.

“It sounds like an excellent treatment, Healer.”

Sebastian watched Isabelle’s demeanor, standing back, behaving as if she were in training and not the one who should be teaching. He could tell that it was not easy for her to be so subservient. Somewhere she had learned self discipline.

The burning along the right side of his rib cage made him swear. “Give me the papaya if you two are going to talk all day.”

It took less than five minutes to finish the treatment. He pulled his cotton shirt over his head but left the buttons undone. He could tell by the healer’s stony expression that she was going to dismiss Isabelle the moment he left. “I know what you are thinking, Esmé, and I tell you that you must work with her.”

Before he could walk out the door, Isabelle objected. “Mr. Dushayne, the healer will work with me when she can trust me and not one moment before. She is established here and I am the newcomer. Why should she believe that my ways are superior? Indeed, that is not always true.”

Sebastian shook his head. “As you wish. But that behavior will be seen as a weakness. Do not forget you are here to sing as well. Come to the courtyard of the castillo before the last meal of the day.” This time he left before either one of them could object.

Isabelle made a nasty face at his departing back and then closed her eyes and prayed for self-control. Her temper was one of her greatest weaknesses. One of many.

Now she had to decide which was more important, to convince the woman, Esmé, she had no interest in Sebastian Dushayne or to convince the healer, Esmé, that she was not going to compete with her.

“The master wants you.”

Isabelle could get really tired of that term for their boss, but Esmé’s statement did choose the subject for her. “Maybe so, but I do not want him.”

“You lie.”

“No,” she said, understanding the misunderstanding. “I can see that it sounds like it. He’s very appealing. Who wouldn’t want him? His eyes demand everything you have and he has a weary way with the world that makes a woman think he needs her. Of course I want him.”

“Then why say you do not?”

“Because, Mistress Healer, I do not want him on his terms. I want love too. I want to receive as much as I give. I want true sharing. And it’s clear that he does not know the meaning of the word.”

“Hmm. I think you want too much.”

“I’ve been told that before.” Isabelle shrugged, undaunted.

“Call me Esmé or simply Healer. And I will call you Isabelle. The next person who walks through the door, you will treat and I will decide if you stay.”

No sooner were the words spoken than a boy came hopping through the door, doing his best not to cry.

Isabelle turned to Esmé for permission. The woman nodded with a smile that Isabelle hoped was pleasure at her fawning but feared was satisfaction at Isabelle’s likely failure.

Patience, she reminded herself. Pretend that Esmé is this island’s version of the nun in charge.

After his own questioning glance at the healer and a second nod, the boy plopped down in a chair and put his foot up on a stool.

“I see you have a splinter,” Isabelle said after examining the foot without actually touching it. Beyond filthy, the soles of his feet looked calloused. Did none of the children wear shoes?

“A splinter. Yes.” The boy nodded.

“Tell us how it happened.” The boy explained and with her usual prayer for guidance, Isabelle went through the process of removal. She never once looked to Esmé for help but always included her in the explanation of what she was doing. It did not take long to remove the splinter. It was set rather deeply but was in one good-sized piece. The boy bit his lip and did not show that he felt pain.

With the splinter out, his toe began to bleed.

“Stop the bleeding,” Esmé demanded.

“No, I think not, Mistress Healer.” Isabelle thought she deserved points for her model behavior. “The blood cleans the site of the wound and pushes out anything that might cause infection. We should keep him here until it stops, which will be any moment now.”

Even as she said the words the bleeding stopped and a scab began to form.

They all stared at the spot and then Isabelle said, “As a rule, I prefer to let the air reach it, but since it is on his toe and he does not wear shoes, I think it should be covered.”

“I agree.” Esmé handed her a large bandage and Isabelle completed the work and the boy trotted off with a smile and a piece of some sweet that Esmé gave him for “not crying like an infant.”

Isabelle cleaned up the work area and did her best to estimate where everything went when not in use.

Esmé circled the room with her arms behind her back, which tested Isabelle’s pride to the limit. “Very good, Isabelle. You may stay for the rest of the day and then I will decide.”

“No, Mistress Healer,” Isabelle spoke firmly but with respect and thanked her years of experience. “You must decide now. I know that I am good at this work. You have the advantage of years more experience with the illnesses here, but I can give the islanders protection against illnesses that you know nothing about. We are evenly matched and could complement each other. I am willing. It is up to you.”

“All right.” The healer shrugged her shoulders, which made Isabelle feel that she had given an ultimatum where none was necessary, which meant that the healer still had the upper hand. The islanders’ health is why you are here. Isabelle pushed the prideful vanity out of her head.

Esmé might drink too much, be vain and greedy, but she was true to her word. By midafternoon they had treated another simple wound and talked to two pregnant women, girls really. They obviously had children young here.

By the time Esmé showed Isabelle to her cottage, “with two hours to rest before you sing,” they had established a cordial working relationship. Despite that, Isabelle doubted they would ever be friends.

It had been a very mundane afternoon. Her calling here might be to help the villagers, but Isabelle did not think they needed her medical expertise. They had excellent care in the Mistress Healer, and her ability as a midwife was impressive.

Isabelle hoped she would feel more useful when she began the inoculation program, though the chance of the children being exposed to measles and mumps was amazingly limited. According to Esmé, you could leave the island, but once a person did, he never came back. And any visitors who came from the hotel came in the evening and never saw anyone but the master and a few of the servants who lived at the castillo. Exposure to illness was limited but, remembering the boy’s bare feet, tetanus inoculations were essential.