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table. He was sharpening a razor on a strip of leather.
    â€œYou’ve got a strong stomach?” he asked.
    â€œI . . . I don’t know. I suppose so,” Christy said.
    The doctor gazed at her steadily, and for a moment she thought she saw a hint of a smile. “We’ll know soon enough, I expect,” he said. “I’m going to shave Bob’s head. I just need you to hold it steady.”
    Carefully the doctor washed his hands in a basin. As he began shaving Mr. Allen’s head, Christy tried her best to hold it steady while keeping her hands out of the way. Already, watching the smooth skin of the man’s skull appear, she felt woozy. She wondered how long she would last in her new occupation as nurse. She felt herself swaying. To steady herself, she looked up at the ceiling.
    â€œYou still with me?” the doctor asked as he reached for his scalpel.
    Christy swallowed. Her stomach did a somersault. “I’m fine,” she lied.
    â€œGood. Now, I’m going to be making my incision. Then I’ll carefully drill the hole through Bob’s skull. You may not want to watch.”
    â€œYou may be right,” Christy said, managing a weak smile.
    â€œBet you weren’t expecting this when you set out for Cutter Gap,” the doctor said.
    â€œI’m starting to get used to the unexpected,” Christy said.
    â€œThat’ll serve you well here.”
    Christy glanced down at the thin red line trailing his scalpel. Quickly she looked away.
    She met the gaze of Mrs. Spencer, who was holding Mrs. Allen’s hand. Mrs. Allen rocked back and forth, her face taut with fear.
    â€œSteady now,” said the doctor. “Keep a tight hold. Your legs holding out?”
    â€œIt’s my stomach I’m worried about.”
    â€œDon’t think about it,” the doctor advised. “So you walked all the way here?”
    Out of the corner of her eye, Christy could see the doctor setting down his scalpel and reaching for a thin, pointed, metal tool. “With Mr. Pentland,” she answered.
    â€œIn those frocks,” Dr. MacNeill said, “I’m surprised you made it this far.”
    â€œSo am I, now.”
    The doctor laughed slightly, then fell silent. “No movement,” he commanded, his voice tense.
    The room went still. Christy held Mr. Allen’s head, his skin oddly cool against hers. Dr. MacNeill’s breath was labored. A baby cried, then stopped, as if it understood the importance of the moment.
    Christy tried not to think about what was happening just inches from her own hands. A man’s skull was being opened. His life hung in the balance. Here, in this primitive cabin in the middle of nowhere, she was helping a doctor try to save a man’s life.
    If he died, it would be her fault.
    There was only one thing to do now.
    Christy closed her eyes and began to pray.

Six
    T hat’s all, Miss Huddleston.”
    Christy looked up at the doctor in surprise. How long had he been working on Mr. Allen? How long had she been praying?
    â€œI can finish up here,” Dr. MacNeill said. “You get yourself some fresh air. I suspect you could use it.”
    Slowly Christy released her hold on Mr. Allen. “You’re sure?”
    â€œQuite sure. And thank you. You did a fine job.”
    Christy allowed herself a momentary glance at the patient. Mr. Allen’s face was a ghastly white in the glow of the kerosene lamp. She caught sight of the incision the doctor had made, and her stomach climbed into her throat.
    She reached for the wall. “I’ll be . . . going then,” she said, making her way dizzily through the crowd.
    Outside she breathed deeply of the cold air, trying to shake off the effect of the nightmarish scene. She shivered with the realization of what she’d just done. Was it only yesterday morning that she’d hugged her mother goodbye? How she longed for just a moment in the Huddlestons’