Breathe Again

Chapter 23

Martin returned from the war severely wounded and fighting for his life; brought to her door covered in grime and blood and hardly resembling the man who'd left her almost four years before. For three months, they worried he wouldn't make it. The doctor's who tended him wanted to amputate his leg after a cannon exploded near him in battle.

Shrapnel lodged so deeply within that there were shards embedded clear to the bone. Refusing to die without both legs still firmly attached, Martin forbade the doctor's from taking it, even when the infection worsened and appeared to be gangrenous.

For a month after his return, Dottie worked tirelessly at debridement of the wounds. Martin was delirious with pain and fever. Many days he lashed out at her in a rage and called her hateful names until he slipped back into unconsciousness.

She was sure he was lost to her, reliving the horror of the battles he'd survived only to have his life taken by his stubbornness and refusal to remove his mangled limb.

Countless nights he would awaken, yelling out commands, locked in a feverish haze of remembered battles, and she became the nearest enemy. One night after finally breaking free of the nightmare's hold and realizing he was moments away from strangling her, he forbade her from sleeping in their room even to nurse him through the night.

The infection in his leg showed little improvement, and it seemed that death would be a welcome respite from the terror he faced.

After his fist met with her unsuspecting cheek for the third time within a month, she learned to recognize the signs leading up to his violent outbursts. It wasn't until later when she came to realize that while fever caused the majority of the attacks, several were simply his way of lashing out at his helpless circumstances.

Martin wasn't usually a vicious man. But, the war had scarred him far deeper than any shrapnel could ever penetrate. She knew it was a pitiful excuse to explain his actions to her mother one day, but there was little else she could do except bear it.

With each visit, Doctor Finkle proclaimed Martin couldn't possibly last another day; only to find a week would pass, then a month, and then another, until suddenly he was on the mend. Debridement of the diseased flesh and attentive doctoring on her behalf helped the infection and the resulting fever break.

Even though he no longer hung at death's door, Dottie kept her careful vigil and hoped they would be able to find a new regularity to their lives.

However, once Sterling returned relatively healthy, with no missing limbs or visible defect, several months after Martin began to improve, things changed for the worse. Not even her mother knew the full extent of what had transpired leading up to Martins death.

He was full of rage and jealousy and consumed by unrelenting pain. The way Martin railed on, it was clear, at least in his mind, that life had treated him unjustly. All because Sterling appeared unharmed and Martin didn't.

To deal with the constant agony of his leg wound, Martin medicated his condition with a bottle of whiskey and doses of morphine Dr. Finkle was quick to provide.

One day he returned home after going into town and informed her of his surprise meeting with Sterling. Dottie's stomach dropped to the floor at the mention of his name, but Martin paid no attention to her distress.

"He walked up to me, as though he was glad to see me. Threw his arms around me, embraced me as though we were long lost friends. Can you believe it?" Martin seethed, pacing awkwardly across the kitchen floor, "The gall of the man."

She turned and stared at him where she stood mixing cake batter at the kitchen counter, her brow lowering into a frown. "Why wouldn't he be glad to see you?"