Inseparable

Anastasia: Part One

Gabriel

Greensboro, flourishing with over 20 stores, five saloons, and a boarding house, provided me with a steady practice. My office in town for about four years earned me the people's trust and some friends. My position granted me knowledge of everyone's personal lives, willingly or not. Rumors circulated about a famous author, Mr. Bauchman, who bought a horse ranch outside town. It was said he was a widower from a wealthy English family.

June days were scorching, and this morning is no exception. I open my office door around nine, welcoming the fresh breeze into the reception area. The downtown area buzzes with activity. My typical days involve tending to wounds and stitching cuts, armed with a selection of medicines and herbal remedies, including treatments from Romania that my mother used.

The distant rumble of the horses and carriage reached my ears about two miles before they reached town. It wasn't until the carriage turned down Main Street that I could listen to the conversation. Men were inside the carriage with a young lady, and one or two men were driving the horses.

A female voice worriedly asks, "Oh, Daddy, please tell me Winter will be alright."

A male voice reassures her, saying, "Hush, baby, they are tending to the horse; my only concern is for you."

It was silent until they were at my front door. An extremely tall and muscular Native American man around 6'5 inches, possibly taller, was carrying a petite female, her bright red hair cascading over his massive arms. A redhead squat sort of man was trailing behind him.

This man was probably the girl's father; they both had the same bright red hair. He appeared to be in his late 30s, with glasses and flushed cheeks.

"You, Sir, are you the town physician?"!

I nod at him and head toward the back of my office, where my exam room is located, ushering the group with me.

Her father says, "My daughter Anastasia was thrown off her horse after a snake spooked it."

"Was she bit? "

"No, just the horse and we are not sure if it got bit; it got frightened and threw Anastasia off." Her father looks at the Native American man for confirmation, then he removes a heavy woven cloth from the girl as the tall man lays her on the exam table.

Then, I saw the girl's swollen and slightly twisted leg. I cut her pants leg off what I was sure were expensive handmade leather riding pants. Her boots had already been removed, but she still had socks on. As I unveiled her leg, I saw the purple and blue discoloration had already started, and her entire calf was swelling.

"I'm very sorry, Miss; this will hurt a bit."

The moment I catch sight of her eyes, the intensity of them hits me with more force than any punch ever could. A sensation within takes hold of me as if I am on fire from within. Each moment, our eyes gaze at one another, igniting and smoldering. I tried to focus; she was looking at me clearly in pain, and tears were already staining her cheeks.

I move to my cabinets, retrieving morphine tablets. Walk over to her, trying not to make direct eye contact. My body is still warm. This is unlike anything I've ever felt.

I tell her, "Put one of these under your tongue; it will help with the pain."

As I carefully examine her leg, starting from her foot and working my way up to her calf, she winces in pain. Noticing a slight protrusion of her tibia. The bone is at an abnormal angle I continue the assessment, checking her knee and thigh. Apologizing, I place my hands on her hips to ensure stability.

"It appears she's broken her tibia bone—a rather nasty break. I should be able to set it and prevent permanent damage, but I'll have to wait for the tablet to take effect."