August 1885

The walls of the hospital corridor were stark white, blindingly so, but they didn’t bother him anymore. Neither did the tangy, overpowering smell. He was used to it. He’d been here five long months. This morning they’d taken his bandages off for good. This afternoon he was going home.
Leaning heavily upon the round-handled, mahogany cane given to him by the hospital, Gabriel Drayton continued his labored progress down the endless white hall. He’d been doing the ...