Then a hush fell over the crowd and the knot of people loosened. I looked up. Dr. Turner had returned, striding through like a river in its course, cutting its way through rock and soil. When he reached Bridget, he shielded her with his body, leaning over her and speaking low words even as she fought him.

Her shoulders heaved up and down, but her voice quieted to low sobs. Finally, he lifted his head and looked out over the crowd. “What has happened? How did this come about?”

“It shouldn’t have happened.” Nurse Branson’s face was pained. “One of the nurses let it slip about her baby dying.”

Baby . . . dying. The words sliced through me with jagged disbelief and horror. Her baby—Bridget’s baby. I hugged my middle to keep myself together. I felt compelled to be near her—to offer my presence. I had to wait, of course, until the attention was turned elsewhere.

Dr. Turner’s voice was dangerously low. “You’re right, and I hope the nurse responsible thinks better of it before taking it upon herself to deliver such a blow again.”

There were murmurs, and Dr. Thornhill strode through the path Dr. Turner’s entrance had carved. “Thank you, Dr. Turner, but I can take over from here. You need not concern yourself with an acute patient.”

Turner pivoted on his heel, keeping himself between Bridget and Dr. Thornhill. “I am a doctor, and anyone at Hurstwell who has need of me shall have me.”

“You have your own patients, Turner, and I don’t see a single one of them in this corridor.” Another step toward them. “Go about your business and leave her to me. Unless you would declare her a chronic case and make her one of yours.”

I shivered under my wet gown, watching the powerful display of emotions storm below the surface of Dr. Turner’s expression as he rose to face his superior, the masterful way he reined them in as if he had built up that muscle over many years. “Of course not. She is needed at home one day. She’ll remain in acute.”

The two men stood toe to toe now, and the entire lot of us were pulled into their tension. Whimpers and sniffles were the only sounds, the patients not daring to be anything but meek and unobtrusive in this moment.

Dr. Turner released Bridget to the nurses with a pointed look. “Go easy with her, she’s had a great upset.”

“Of course, Doctor.” Nurse Branson turned, arm around her patient, and led Bridget firmly out of my reach.

“Where are they taking her?” I whispered to a patient who stood beside me. She merely shook her head, face pale and drawn.

I asked a nurse too. She brushed me off as if she hadn’t heard me. Perhaps she hadn’t.

No matter. I was Bridget’s friend, and this time I would help her. I would.

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