Mother Superior looked the captain up and down. “Captain, may I see your hands?”
McVicars’s hands were ruddy and had mild surface burns from the fire.
“Captain, I insist you have Nurse Cabrelli dress those wounds. You don’t want an infection. Your blood would turn.” The Mother Superior turned to Domenica. “Bring him back for breakfast when you’ve taken care of him.”
* * *
The examining room was pristine. The tile floor was as spotless as the windows, which were washed so clear and clean, they appeared to have no glass in the frames.
McVicars refused to look as Domenica gently swabbed the burned surface of the skin on his hands to cleanse the abrasions. She placed his hands in a pan filled with ice and fresh water. “I’m sorry, but if I bandage your burns without cleansing them thoroughly, you’ll scar. You have beautiful hands—that wouldn’t be right.”
“I’m not going to thank you for the pain. But I will thank you for the compliment. You speak English quite well, Miss Cabrelli.”
“It’s better than my French. I’m on shifts with Mary Gay Mahoney a lot. She’s one of the nurses. She’s from Scotland, too. She has the most exquisite wool blanket on her bed. She said it was made there.”
“How are you going to give up nice things when you take your vows?”
“A nun doesn’t have to give up beauty. That’s one of God’s greatest gifts to the world, isn’t it? Here’s your wedding ring.” Domenica placed it safely in the hospital shirt. She buttoned the flap.
“It’s an insignia ring. I earned it in the Great War.”
“But you were just a boy.”
“Sixteen. That’s why I wear it on the small finger. My hands grew larger than my feet, it seems, in the intervening years. I keep meaning to have it sized.”
“My father could size it for you. He’s a goldsmith. And a gem cutter.”
“Oh, so you’re like Saint Catherine—she was a rich society girl, a flapper, if you will, of her day, who gave up all the fun to go into the convent. Forgive the obvious, but that’s what we Scots call fire insurance. You give your life to good works, and it buys you a chit to stay out of hell when your hour of death comes.”
“For a Protestant, you know a lot about my canon of saints.”
“I read.”
“Then you know that not all jewelers are wealthy. My father makes a living, and like any artisan, he waits to be paid. While Papa waits for his commission, our family goes without while my mother stews.”
“More famine than feast.”
“Italians never starve. We eat with cunning. We live by the sea, so we fish. We eat chestnuts and dandelion greens and eggs. Tomatoes. We make bread. You know. You’ve been to Italy.”
“My mother boiled meat and made porridge, but we always had a bottle of good whiskey in the house so we might chase down all the bad victuals.”
“That’s a fine diet for a cold-weather climate.”
“I’ve never eaten a chestnut.”
“They’re delicious.” The thought of her mother at the stove stirring the chestnuts saddened Domenica.
“I’ve upset you.” McVicars lifted his hands out of the water. “Don’t cry.”
“Keep your hands in the ice bath.” Domenica wiped away a tear with her sleeve.
“I will behave if you tell me why you had a weep.” He placed his hands back into the ice bath.
“I was thinking of my mother.”
Domenica lifted one of McVicars’s hands out of the ice bath. She gently dried his hand and brushed a thick antiseptic goo onto the abrasions.
“What is that?”
“Honey.”
“As in tea?”
“As in medicine. The nuns have their own beehives in the garden. They make their own antiseptic out of honey. People come from all over France for a jar, I’m told.” Domenica gently wrapped his hand in fresh cotton. “I took a small jar and use it for face cream.”
“They should bottle the goo and sell it so women who use it turn out as beautiful as you.”
Domenica turned away from McVicars and stifled a laugh. She had served many male patients in the hospital. Most of them were so full of gratitude that they called her their beautiful angel. It turned out the grateful patients said the same to all the nurses.
Domenica wrapped his other hand. “How does that feel?”
“I don’t have any pain.”
“Sister will make you eat. Once you’re fed and your uniform is pressed, you can go back to the ship and sail on to wherever it is you’re going.”