Page 58 of The Enemy's Daughter

Enola dismounts her horse with a grunt. “This is it.” She glances away. “The original hospital... burned down. We use this house now, and when needed, the one next door.”

“Oh.” I deflate a little. Seeing a real hospital would have been a dream come true.

We’re barely through the doors when we’re hit by the sound of loud moaning from upstairs. My skin tingles with excitement. Never knowing what you’re going to face makes healing such a rush.

A woman’s cry splits the air, and my gaze shoots to Enola.

She chuckles. “That’s probably Sabrina Peterdorn.”

I raise a brow. “Any idea what’s happening to—

My words are cut off by a man, yelling in pain. It’s the type of sound that comes from setting a bone or pulling an arrow. Or maybe he’s being stitched back together somewhere deep and internal without proper pain management. My pulse quickens. Henshaw did say he was a surgeon.

“Oh, and that’s probably Allen Peterdorn.” Enola stops at a bathroom down the hall to wash her hands.

“Her husband?”

Enola nods with a spirited grin.

I take my turn washing my hands and follow her upstairs. There’s a sterility to the house. It lacks the usual things you’d normally find, like wall hangings, furniture, and window coverings. The air carries a scent of cleaner: vinegar and something else that tickles my nose. I’ve never smelled it before.

The layout of the house is similar to Tristan’s in that the bulk of the bedrooms are upstairs, but it’s easily three, maybe four times the size. Two staircases arc in opposite directions from the entryway and come together on the second floor. They lead to an open area lined with shelves of supplies like towels, buckets, jugs, and cups. Doors line the hallways in both directions, and I catch a glimpse of Caro with her short brown hair and unmistakable glower as she leaves a room.

Another moan comes from Allen, but now the sound is close. Just feet away.

Caro’s irritated gaze snags on me before turning to Enola. “It’s too busy of a day to be visiting.”

Enola’s arm wraps around my waist. “We’re not visiting. Dr. Henshaw is expecting us. Isadora will be observing him today.”

“Well, he’s not here.” Caro’s face finally loses its frown; she’s all too pleased to deliver that news. “The Jenkinses’ littlest fell out of a tree. He may not be back.”

Disappointment crashes through me.

“Of course he’ll be back.” Enola gestures toward Allen’s room. “He has to return for the Peterdorns. We’ll stay out of your way. Maybe we can make some beds while we wait.”

My gaze returns to the Peterdorns’ door, which is open a crack. What exactly is going on in there?

As Caro walks away, I move closer and peek inside. The room is bare except for a large bed. Two people lie on it together, wrapped in each other’s arms. Mr. and Mrs. Peterdorn, I gather. They spot me right away.

“Oh. Um. Just checking that everything is all right in here,” I mutter, backing up a step.

Mrs. Peterdorn rolls away from her husband, revealing her very pregnant belly. Spirals of brown hair fall from her ponytail.

I almost laugh with relief. Is that what it is? She’s giving birth.

Her face contorts. “Another one’s coming.” Curling back into her husband, she grips his neck. Then they simultaneously wince in pain as the contraction comes.

Wait. Is he? Are they?

No way.

He’s obviously only taking on some of her pain, not her physical condition. Will he continue until the baby crowns? Is it possible to give him pain medicine so he could take on more? Will he need medical attention too?

I can’t imagine any man from the clans being willing to suffer like this.

I half skip over to Enola, who stands next to the shelves, pulling down fresh linen into her arms. “They’re pain sharing,” I yell-whisper, my eyes wide in disbelief.

Enola smiles. “Well, of course they are.”

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