The Moon by Night Read Free

questions when I ask them.”
    James came dashing up with four thick wool blankets in his arms. “Take two to Dr. White,” Cheney ordered, “then go get a stretcher.”
    Cheney tucked the two blankets around the injured man, carefully avoiding even the lightest touch on the steel bar. James came running back with the stretcher, a six-foot length of canvas rolled up scroll-style between two wooden rails. “Unroll it, James, so that one rail is very close to this gentleman. That’s it. Now go around to his other side.”
    â€œSir, what is your name?” Cheney asked, getting down close to the victim’s face and making him look at her.
    â€œMelbourne,” he said faintly. “Cornelius Melbourne.”
    â€œAll right, Mr. Melbourne, this is James Roe. He is going to help me get you onto the stretcher. He is going to pull you up on your side, and I’m going to position the stretcher under you, and then James is just going to lower you down onto it. Do you understand, Mr. Melbourne? Do you hear me?”
    â€œYes…I…understand.”
    Cheney motioned to Officer Goodin, who leaned down close to her. The patient’s eyes were focused on her face, and she sensed that her calm expression was his tentative hold on life right now. She spoke in a steady voice, neither loud nor soft. “Officer, I want you to hold that spike steady as James pulls him up onto his side. Can you do that? Hold it exactly in place?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” he answered calmly. He went to kneel by James.
    Cheney once again leaned close over the man. “Mr. Melbourne? We’re ready. Just relax and let us do the work. Understand? Don’t move; don’t strain; we will do it for you.”
    â€œDon’t…move,” he repeated, his gaze burning into hers.
    Officer Goodin put both his long hands on either side of the spike in the man’s chest. She nodded at James. He lifted, Cheney shoved the stretcher under him, and they lowered him down, all in mere seconds. Cheney looked up and saw Dr. White and John standing by, watching.
    â€œDr. Duvall?” Officer Goodin said, holding out his hand to her. Looking up at him, she shook her head and cut a glance at Melbourne. Officer Goodin nodded understanding, then leaned down close to where she knelt by the victim to speak to her. “Dr. White says the gentleman who drove the coal cart was just kind of shaken up, nothing broken, no cuts.”
    Cheney nodded. “Good. James, go ahead and get the wagon turned around, then Officer Goodin and John can load the patient. No bells on the way back. Go as quickly as you can, but as smoothly as you can.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” He ran to the wagon and hopped up on the seat. Briskly he pulled the reins and made a clicking noise. Slowly the great horses began to back up.
    Officer Goodin motioned toward the body propped up against the phaeton. “I would like to take her to St. Luke’s.”
    â€œOf course. She goes in first,” Cheney ordered, and he nodded understanding.
    Cheney looked back down at her patient. Melbourne stared at her, not speaking, not moving. She bent close over him again. “In just a few minutes, you and I are going to board the ambulance. It’s a very short trip to the hospital. For now I would like to listen to your heart. Would that be all right, Mr. Melbourne?” She was making conversation, trying to keep him as focused and alert as she could. If he didn’t give up and slip into unconsciousness, he might very well live—after a successful surgical procedure to remove the spike.
    As she kept talking to the man, one part of her mind was busily demanding, And who is going to do this surgery? You? You’ve never done any kind of procedure even remotely like this. Dev is on Long Island tonight, and the surgery must be done as soon as we reach the hospital…if he lives that long….
    But I can’t do