Finding the Baby
Copyright© 2026 by Heel
Chapter 3
The doctor did what he could.
For days he cleaned the wound, changed the bandages, and watched for fever. The swelling in her thigh slowly eased, but the deeper truth did not.
When the stitches had settled and the bleeding was long stopped, Dr. Turner stood beside her bed again.
“Lift your foot,” he said quietly.
Moira stared at it.
Her leg lay stretched before her, pale and thinner now. The thigh ached, yes—but below the wound there was only a strange heaviness. A distance. As if her lower leg belonged to someone else and had been laid beside her for safekeeping.
She commanded it.
Nothing.
Her toes did not so much as twitch.
She tried again, grinding her teeth until her jaw trembled.
A faint flicker ran through her calf. The foot remained limp.
The doctor pressed a firm thumb into the sole.
“Do you feel that?”
“Pressure,” she said. “Not pain.”
He nodded once, slow and careful.
“The arrow cut deep. It likely damaged the nerve. I had hoped—” He stopped himself. “I am sorry, Mrs. Halley.”
She swallowed. “You’re saying it won’t mend.”
“I’m saying it may never carry you.”
Silence spread between them.
Outside, a wagon rattled past. Somewhere down the street a hammer struck wood. Life continued, indifferent.
“My child is out there,” she said.
His voice softened. “And you won’t reach him by tearing the wound open.”
“Then make me something that lets me walk.”
He looked at her long and hard. What he saw must have convinced him, because he finally nodded.
________________________________________ It took him two days.
He fashioned a thick leather sheath—more like a deep holster than a shoe. It was stiff, shaped to cradle her foot. Above, a strap would hold her ankle rigid so it would not fold or twist.
When it was ready, he helped her sit upright.
“Slide your foot in,” he instructed.
She gripped the edge of the bed and guided her unresponsive foot into the leather holster. It felt strange—no resistance from her muscles, only the dull awareness of being positioned.
The brace held her foot straight.
Then he attached a wide leather belt to the upper edge of the holster. The belt ran upward along the outside of her leg, across her hip, and diagonally over one shoulder like a sash.
He tightened it carefully.
The effect was immediate.
The belt lifted.
Her braced foot rose slightly off the floor, suspended by the tension across her shoulder. Not high—just enough that when she stood, it would hang clear instead of dragging.
He handed her a pair of wooden crutches.
“Your good leg does the work,” he said. “The belt keeps the other from scraping. You swing it forward with your body.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.