Amara rushed over and knelt down beside Guyla Belle. “Leave this instant, Mr. Gillis.”
He curled his lips and raised a fist.
“Now, Mr. Gillis. I won’t ask you twice,” she said icily and darted her eyes to the shotgun hanging across her mantel.
Mr. Gillis’s gaze followed hers, and he jerked his head back to his wife, staring hard, his jaw cut hard, rigid.
Amara glanced at me, and her eyes shifted toward the gun.
Dashing over to the mantel, I smacked down an itching hand, ready to grab the shotgun. “Leave, Mr. Gillis.”
Mr. Gillis turned toward me, widening his eyes. “Blue devil bitch,” he growled.
Then to Guyla Belle he said real low, “Get up. I’ve got me another sixteen-hour shift comin’ down in that devil hole today, Guyla, so I can put food on our table and keep a roof over our heads. I married myself a lazy, good-for-nothing woman, Guyla, who ain’t fit to be the mother of my son. And now I’m gonna have to work even more hours to pay for the concrete to cover that damn well. You get my son dressed and outta here, and have supper waiting at midnight when I get off.” He looked over to Johnnie, then turned one last contemptuous eye on his stirring wife and stormed out the door.
I hurried over to the threshold. Junia blew angrily, kicked sideways, raring for a piece of him. “He’s gone,” I said, shutting the door.
Guyla Belle groaned and tried to push herself up, and I ran over to her.
“Help me seat her at the table,” Amara said, inspecting Guyla Belle’s face, gently running her fingers over her head. “Get some hot water on, Honey. And grab the Mercurochrome beside the stove.”
At the sink, I filled the kettle and set it on the hot stove. When it whistled, I poured water into a wash basin and placed it on the table.
Amara washed the deep gash on Guyla Belle’s forehead, and I handed her the bottle of Mercurochrome. I grabbed hold of Guyla Belle’s hands as the nurse dispensed droplets of the burning orange medicine onto the open wound. Guyla Belle moaned and sweat popped up on her forehead as she clamped down on my damp hand, her eyes filled with pain and misery.
A while later, Amara had her wounds stitched up and bandaged.
I made tea and set a cup in front of Guyla Belle, but she ignored it, pushing it aside.
“Thank you for pulling my Johnnie out of the well, Honey. I’ve got to get home now.” Guyla stood shakily, walked over to the cot, and kissed her boy. “Let’s get your clothes on, Son. Mama’s got to get home and get the chores done.” She patted the boy’s legs and drew back the covers. “Thank you again, Book Woman, for saving my boy. Might appreciative for your service, Nurse Amara.”
Amara went over to Johnnie. “I’d like to keep you and the boy overnight, Mrs. Gillis,” she said. “Make sure you don’t have a concussion and the boy is stable enough to travel.”
Guyla Belle shook her head. “If you’ll bring me his clothes, we can be on our way, ma’am.”
“They’re over here, Mrs. Gillis.” Amara pointed. “I washed them.” She collected the boy’s freshly cleaned clothes from a corner stool, set them on the foot of the bed, and began to dress him. After he was clothed, the nurse took his temperature with the thermometer, then shook down the mercury in the glass tubing, sticking it back inside its leather case. Amara said, “I’d still feel better if you stayed, Mrs. Gillis.”
“Please stay, Guyla Belle,” I said, following them to the door.
“Sorry for all the trouble,” she said. “Perry weren’t always like this. The coal is the devil, a bad’un, it is. Seeps into good hearts and blackens like the coal ash that keeps finding its way into our fresh-swept rooms.”