The Copper Sign (54 page)

“He hurt himself,” Ellen said vaguely, trying not to sound overly concerned.

“Do you mean his hand? He has been wearing a bandage on it for weeks, but he said it wasn’t very bad.”

“He has a fever and really needs to rest,” Ellen said evasively, working halfheartedly on preparing the meal.

“Something’s burning,” Mildred shouted all of a sudden, and Ellen looked at the pot on the hearth.

“The porridge!” Quickly she started stirring it. “I’m just not a cook!” she moaned in exasperation, stamping her foot on the floor.

“If Isaac can’t work for a while, could you complete the job for him? Please, Ellen, a maid from the village can cook and take care of the children…perhaps Eve, Peter’s sister—she has helped me a few times in the past.”

“He’d have me drawn and quartered if I dared to enter his shop!” Ellen replied, but actually she had already been thinking of doing that.

“Please!” Mildred sat up, looking at her with pleading eyes.

“All right, if you make sure he doesn’t kill me later as a thank-you!” Ellen replied, dishing out the porridge in wooden bowls.

Peter was surprised the next morning when he arrived in the smithy and found Ellen at work at the forge.

“Mildred said your sister could perhaps give her a hand.” Ellen tried to ask in a tone that was friendly but at the same time would show she was the boss. It was clear to her that Peter thought he would be in charge now in the smithy, but there was no getting around the fact that he would have to listen to her if they were going to get along.

“Sure, I can ask her,” he replied with surprise. “Aren’t you going to stay then?”

“Please go and ask her if she could begin today, if possible right away! We need her to cook and to take care of the house, the animals, and the children.”

Mildred had ducks, geese, chickens, and three pigs that spent the day in the yard.

“Good!” Peter was surprised, but he did what she asked.

After he had left the shop, Ellen took a deep breath. The most important thing was to make clear to him from the outset that she knew more than he did and therefore would be in charge in the future. She examined the pieces that had been started. Isaac apparently had a heavy, richly decorated gate to complete. Looking at it closely, she knew what was missing.

“Eve came right away, and she is over in the house with Mildred,” Peter said when he returned to the shop a little later.

“When must the gate be finished?” Ellen asked, without discussing his sister any further.

“We have just two days!” Peter looked worried, and he had every reason to be. Because of his injury, Isaac had not been able to work as fast and had now fallen behind.

“The monks will only give us more orders if we deliver on time.”

Ellen had already looked around, and there was at least enough iron on hand to complete the project.

“Well, then, be ready to work late today and tomorrow. The forge is already hot, and we can start at once.”

“You want to…?” Peter looked flabbergasted. “But I’m no master, not even a journeyman!”

“But I am,” Ellen replied matter-of-factly and put on Isaac’s leather apron. “Now, let’s go,” she said sharply enough to get him moving at once.

Ellen kept working until she could hardly lift her arm anymore, and from the very first day Peter realized she knew exactly what she was doing and was inspired by her ambition. If she made just as much progress the next day, she’d in fact be able to finish the gate on time.

“I’ve heard from time to time what Isaac has said about women—that they belong in the kitchen and not in a smithy, and I used to think he was right. Now, to be honest, I’m no longer so sure. In any case, I like what you have forged much better than what you cook.” Peter smirked.

Ellen just grumbled something inaudible. Even though he was just a helper, she felt flattered by his praise.

In the evening, the barber-surgeon stopped in to see Isaac, as promised.

Ellen had asked Peter’s sister to change the bandage again on Isaac’s hand, but the fever had not broken nor did the wound seem to be healing. In fact, the skin was black and full of pus as before, and it stank horribly. The barber-surgeon looked at the hand briefly and left the house without saying a word.

“There are two possibilities,” he said calmly after they were out in the yard. “Either I remove his hand and part of his lower arm today…”

“Or?” Ellen asked anxiously.

“Or you pray and do nothing. Then the gangrene will move up the arm, God willing, it will reach the elbow, then the shoulder, and in a few days the smith will be dead. Praying in all probability will only help his soul, and his body will rot away, dear woman.”

“Are you completely sure that the only possibility of saving him is to remove the hand?”

“Unless there’s a miracle…” He shrugged. That was the way he earned a living. Naturally, it was horrible for the people involved, but usually it really was the only solution.

Ellen thought for a moment about Isaac, who was lying there on the bed, pale and lifeless, paying no attention to the doctor who was examining him. Since the day before he had been conscious for only a few brief moments.

“Please explain that to his wife. I can’t make a decision like that myself.”

The barber-surgeon then had a serious talk with Mildred. She listened, pale and stunned.

“Please, Ellen, I can’t…you must…” she gasped, and sank back onto the bed again. She closed her eyes and moaned.

“She is not much help to you, I’m afraid,” the barber-surgeon said dryly. “You’ll have to make the decision alone. Also, consider that I ask four shillings for an amputation and cannot say with certainty that he will survive, even though I will of course do everything I can to save him.”

Ellen had enough money with her, and if she continued receiving orders from the monks she would be able to support the family for the time being.

“Do it!” she said with determination. “He just has to get through.”

“If you assist me and I don’t have to hire an assistant, I will give you a price reduction on the operation. I see you are a good, courageous woman.”

Ellen groaned, then nodded, and told Eve not to let the children out of the house.

“Let’s go and bring him here.” The barber-surgeon clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

Ellen shuddered.

They entered the room and carried Isaac out into the court where the chopping block stood that was ordinarily used to split wood; then they set Isaac gently down alongside it.

“It would be good if someone else would help hold his legs,” the barber-surgeon said.

Ellen called to Peter, who came out of the smithy slowly and hesitantly.

“Hold Isaac’s legs tightly,” she ordered.

Peter obeyed with reluctance.

Isaac lay there unconscious while the barber-surgeon put a wooden rod in his mouth.

“That’s so he won’t bite his tongue off,” he explained. “You must hold his arm tightly, because if he wakes up he’ll do everything he can to pull it away. It will take all your strength. Perhaps we should ask the young man to do that instead, and ask you to hold his legs?”

Peter shook his head vigorously and begged Ellen with his eyes not to ask him to do that. But he was so devastated by his own responsibility for Isaac’s injury that he didn’t dare to say a thing—if he hadn’t left the tongs near the fire, none of this would have happened.

“No,” Ellen said, summoning up all her courage. “I’ll do it.” If Isaac ever learned that she had helped with the amputation, he would never forgive her.

“All right. Young man, first go and put a flat bar of iron in the forge. We’ll need it later to close the gaping wound or he’ll bleed to death. You’ll go and get it when I tell you, and hurry, do you understand?” the barber-surgeon said.

Peter nodded anxiously, then went back to the smithy where he did as he was told.

The barber-surgeon positioned Isaac’s arm on the block of wood, tied it with a piece of cloth, and then stopped to think where he would begin to cut. His saw looked like an ordinary carpenter’s saw.

Ellen closed her eyes. She held Isaac’s arm as tightly as if her life depended on it, and prayed. The arm twitched, and Ellen could sense how the barber-surgeon’s saw was cutting through the bone.

Suddenly Isaac let out a piercing cry.

Ellen held him tightly and tried to find words to console him, but the only thing audible was the sound of her sobbing.

The barber-surgeon, however, shouted at Peter and told him he had to hold Isaac’s legs tighter.

Ellen thought she would pass out. She was holding the arm as tightly as possible but couldn’t bring herself to look at it. Her prayers became even more fervent, increasing to a silent cry for help to God and all the saints. The barber-surgeon’s work seemed to take forever. Isaac screamed and writhed in pain, then passed out again but continued groaning and trembling as the barber-surgeon continued working on his arm.

“Go, young man, get the iron!” the barber-surgeon shouted all of a sudden.

Peter looked at him hesitantly.

“Go on, hurry up!”

Peter ran as if the devil were after him.

The hot iron burned into Isaac’s flesh and exuded such a bitter odor that Ellen became sick. She vomited and remembered Jean’s story of how his village was attacked.

After the barber-surgeon had packed some herbal medicines around Isaac’s arm and then wrapped everything in a clean linen bandage, they carried him back into the room. His face was as pale as wax, like that of a corpse.

“But why did you burn his flesh again?” Ellen asked the barber-surgeon, horrified. “I’m sure you saw how an almost insignificant burn wound caused his hand to rot. How could you inflict a much greater wound on him and believe everything will heal now?”

“Even the smallest wound can become gangrenous,” the barber-surgeon replied, “and it doesn’t matter if it’s a burn or a cut. Nobody knows why flesh rots. They say the cause is too many bad fluids in the body.” The barber-surgeon shrugged. “The smith has lost a lot of blood, and let’s hope we have drained the bad fluids. You will have to change the bandage regularly. Pray that the arm does not become gangrenous again, and if the Lord is merciful, he’ll pull through.” The barber-surgeon raised his eyebrow. “I’ll come back to see him again tomorrow and will bring you some new herbs for the compresses.” He patted Ellen on the shoulder. “You were very brave.”

In the middle of the night, Ellen sat bolt upright in bed. She had heard Isaac screaming. Her bed was not far from his, and she listened intently. Everything was quiet; she was probably only dreaming. When she closed her eyes again she could hear the saw scraping against the bone again, and again she could hear Isaac screaming and in her mind’s eye could see how he struggled to get up.

Ellen was relieved when she woke up in the morning and the night—and her nightmares—were over. She didn’t dare go to Isaac and be there when he woke up and realized that his hand had been cut off. He would curse Ellen as soon as he learned she had not only let it happen but even had arranged it and assisted. She knew Isaac would not understand that she would have done everything in her power to save him for the sake of Mildred and the children.

Ellen and Peter finished making the gate and took it to the monks early in the morning along with two of Peter’s friends. She came home exhausted at lunchtime and could hear Isaac shouting. Mildred sat on her bed in the kitchen, trembling and sobbing. Marie and Agnes hid in their mother’s arm and were crying also. Ellen knelt down alongside her sister and hugged her until she had calmed down a bit.

“Don’t go to see him now. He needs some time!” Mildred said, holding Ellen’s arm and trying to stand up. “He knows now that you were holding him when…” Mildred stopped in the middle of her sentence. “He hasn’t stopped shouting and cursing you.”

“But what could I have done differently?” Ellen looked at her sister helplessly.

“I know there was no other way to save him,” Mildred sobbed. “But he just won’t understand that. What’s going to happen now?” she whispered, exhausted.

Ellen avoided Isaac as long as he was in a rage.

Mildred looked in on him frequently, even though she herself could barely stand, and Eve or the barber-surgeon changed the bandages every day.

For three days, Isaac fumed and screamed, and then he fell silent. He lay motionless with his face turned to the wall, ate what Eve brought him, but didn’t say a word to anyone.

Almost four weeks had passed since the barber-surgeon had amputated his hand, and Isaac still was being awakened at night by bad dreams.

One night Mildred suddenly began moaning loudly. Barefoot and still half asleep, Ellen staggered over to her sister’s bed.

“What is wrong with Mother?” Marie asked. She had been lying alongside her and was now rubbing her eyes sleepily. She hid anxiously behind Ellen as she fanned the fire.

“I think the baby is coming!” Ellen gently stroked the child’s head.

Peter’s sister had also been sleeping in the house the last few days, and she entered the room, yawning.

“Eve, go and get the midwife,” Ellen said calmly as she placed a kettle of water on the hearth. Then she took Marie and Agnes by the hand and brought them to their father.

“Wake up!” Ellen shook him. “You must take the children. Mildred is in labor, and I have to return to her.” Ellen’s severe tone left no room for argument, and Isaac raised his blanket.

“Come here, it’s cold,” he said to his daughters. Eagerly they crawled into their father’s bed, happy he wasn’t shouting anymore and was finally speaking to them again.

After what seemed like an eternity, Eve returned with the midwife. “I can already feel the little head,” the old woman said reassuringly after placing her hand briefly under Mildred’s shirt. “It won’t take much longer,” she said, stroking Mildred’s sweaty face. “Soon it will be over.”