Читать книгу Cowboy Creek Christmas: Mistletoe Reunion - Cheryl St.John - Страница 12

Chapter Two

The boy child’s shy expression was enchanting. He had shiny black hair and thick lashes like his father. Who was his mother? If things had gone differently, Sam’s son might have been her child. Nearly a decade had passed since she and Sam had been engaged. He had wanted a family. Of course he had married.

What kind of woman had Sam chosen? Surely someone with all the admirable feminine qualities Marlys’s father wanted her to possess. Someone focused on a marriage and not schooling and a career.

Marlys remembered meeting her father’s colleagues as a child, recalled her self-conscious feelings of inadequacy and the discomfort of being stared at. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, August. How old are you?”

“Eight, ma’am.”

“Do you enjoy school?”

“Yes, very much. Miss Aldridge lets me bring home her very own books. I’m careful with them.”

“I should like to meet Miss Aldridge.”

“Do you have any boys or girls?”

“No, I don’t. But if I did, I’d be proud if they were smart and liked to read, like you.”

August tilted his head to glance up at his father.

Sam clamped a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “Why don’t you hang your coat and go see if Israel needs a hand sorting the type.”

“Yes, sir.” August dutifully hung his coat and headed toward the room in the rear with the open door.

Marlys caught the wistful expression on Sam’s face. “He’s a bright boy,” she said.

“Yes. He is.”s

“Do you have other children?”

“No. My wife died when August was born. My mother helped care for him. He stayed with her during the war, and she continued to look after him when I returned. Until just a few months ago actually.”

There was a whole history of love and loss in those few words. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife.” She wrapped her scarf around her hair and buttoned her coat. “I will return tomorrow. I would like to pay for an advertisement.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

She lifted her gaze to his midnight blue eyes, puzzled. Fascinated in some unexplainable manner. “Your wife must have been...” She grasped for something comforting because it was expected. Yet she was always at a loss for words in these situations. “Just what you wanted in a life mate.”

“She was a lovely young woman.”

“Will you want to do another interview then?”

“Yes, perhaps in another week or two. We’ll generate interest with this first article, and with your advertisement, and then follow up so people don’t forget.”

“I read your book,” she said. She hadn’t been going to admit it, but there was no reason to withhold that bit of information. “It’s not my usual reading material, but it held my interest. You’re a very good writer.”

“I don’t know whether or not that’s a compliment. Your usual reading material is medical journals and field experiments.”

“I read history and—” She stopped abruptly. He was teasing her.

He was smiling, the corners of his dark-lashed eyes crinkling. The resulting flutter of anticipation was one she’d only experienced when facing a particularly stimulating curative challenge. How strange. But maybe she was responding to the challenge of convincing him to write about her in a way that would help grow her practice? Sam was no inexperienced journalist looking to make a name for himself. He’d been a city editor in New York, and the book he’d written about his Army experiences had been highly successful. He was well-known and admired.

“I’ll see you when you return to schedule your advertisement,” he said.

Pete held open the door for her, and she stepped onto the boardwalk, where the frigid air stole her breath. She glanced back into the newspaper office in time to see Sam’s tall form disappear into the back room where his son waited.

When faced with the choice between a life as someone’s wife and the challenge of learning and a career, she’d made her decision. She rarely paused long enough to consider what she may have missed. The past was the past, and both of them had moved on. She was satisfied with the path she’d chosen.

And now here he was, back in her life. Samuel Woods Mason. Still fascinating. Still charming. Still enigmatic and charismatic.

Still her one regret.

* * *

In the days that followed, Marlys’s plans didn’t go as expected, but such was the life of a doctor. She was surprised but gratified when three uniformed soldiers showed up in her office.

The shortest soldier removed his hat upon seeing her. “How do you do, ma’am. Is the doctor in?” A second man was occupied keeping the third fellow upright, with no free hand available to remove his hat. The patient grimaced and stood on one foot, leaning all his weight on his friend.

“I’m Dr. Boyd.” She hurried forward. “What is the injury?”

“You’re the doctor?” the first man questioned, but was cut off by his comrade.

“It’s my leg and foot,” the man in pain barked. “Horse reared and crushed me against a building.”

“Let me take a look at it.” She gestured to a narrow hallway. “Take him into the first room.”

“You sure about this, Ben?” his friend asked, eyeing Marlys.

“Get me to the room like she said,” Ben demanded, and hopped forward.

“His name’s Benjamin Cross,” the first man told her. “That’s Enoch, and I’m Jess. There was a note on Doc Fletcher’s chalkboard saying he’d be out all morning. Sheriff told us you were here.”

“Are you able to remove your trousers, Mr. Cross?” she asked.

Pain wasn’t enough to dull his discomfort with the suggestion, because the patient flushed, glanced around but finally unbuttoned his uniform pants. His friends helped him remove them and got him situated on the examining table. Marlys took a pair of shears and cut the leg of his gray flannel union suit from ankle to knee. “How long ago did this happen?”

“Happened right in front of the sheriff’s office,” Jess said. “Took us maybe ten or fifteen minutes to find you.”

“You’re fortunate, Mr. Cross.” She probed the area of his ankle, which was beginning to swell. “I don’t believe anything is broken. And I can encourage blood flow away from your foot to prevent more swelling and to help the soft tissue heal faster.”

“How are you going to do that?” Ben asked, looking at his purpling foot. Sweat beaded his forehead.

“While Enoch goes to the Cowboy Café for ice, I’ll give you something for pain, and then we will soak your foot in warm water, and I will massage the blood from the injury, upward back toward your heart. When Enoch gets back, we will ice it.”

“I never heard of such a thing,” Enoch said. “My pa got a crushed foot, and the doc put it in a cast.”

“How did he walk afterward?” Marlys asked.

“Well, he limped and used a cane.”

“Exactly. I don’t think Mr. Cross is ready to retire from his Army position and take to using a cane. I’d rather treat the injury and enable his body to heal the damaged tissue.”

Enoch just looked at his companions.

“It’s up to you, Ben,” Jess said.

Ben didn’t waste any time making his decision. Pain was a strong motivator, and the prospect of losing mobility—and employment—obviously added fuel. “What she’s saying sounds better than being a cripple,” he answered. “Go.”

Enoch turned and headed out.

Marlys diluted a pain remedy and gave it to her patient. He grimaced but swallowed it all. She heated water, dissolved Epsom salt, along with drops of hyssop, cypress, yarrow root, parsley and fennel oil, in a pail and had Ben soak his foot and ankle. After a few minutes he was resting somewhat more comfortably on the padded table. Using the oiled water, she massaged his foot and ankle in firm upward motions. He winced once or twice, but for the most part remained at ease.

“What did you give him?” Jess asked.

“It’s a boiled mixture of bark, roots and leaves to help with pain.”

He looked at his chum and then at her. “Seems to have worked.”

She nodded. “This procedure would have been quite painful without it. It’s necessary, though—motion will help the healing process and prevent his ankle from becoming stiff.”

Ben opened his eyes and attempted to sit up.

“Stay lying down, Mr. Cross. You’re doing very well.”

“Good thing Dr. Boyd was here,” Jess told his friend. “You’re going to be just fine.” Jess gave her a nod.

“What is the Army doing in Cowboy Creek?” Marlys asked.

“Delivering food to the Cheyenne.”

She paused her work on her patient’s foot momentarily. “Nearby?”

“To the south.”

“I read General Sherman had ordered provisions until a more permanent arrangement could be made by the peace commissioner.” She continued her effort to massage blood upward. “Have you seen their camp?”

He nodded. “Saw it last time we were through. They’re doin’ some farming.”

That made sense, since the tribes didn’t have freedom to travel, and their hunting was limited. The settlers would claim they had rights to the land if the Indians weren’t going to farm it. “Could you give me directions to get there?”

“Respectfully, Doctor, it’s not safe for you to ride into their camp alone.”

“I want to help them.”

“They don’t know that. Do you speak Cheyenne?”

She shook her head. “I don’t, but I can speak other languages, and there might be someone to interpret until I pick it up.”

He cast her a doubtful glance. “All the same, not a wise idea.”

“Perhaps you could take me with you.”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. These distributions have to be handled delicately. Our orders are to send in as few men as possible while guarding the perimeter, deliver our parcels peaceably and leave. Taking a woman along would land us in hot water.”

“Of course.” She didn’t want to get the soldiers in trouble. But she wasn’t going to give up on the idea, either. I’ll just have to find an escort.

Enoch arrived with ice. The sound of additional boots on the floor in the waiting area caught her attention. “Are there patients arriving?”

“No, ma’am,” Enoch said. “I mentioned Ben’s treatment when I was at the café, and some of the men wanted to see what was going on.”

She blinked, gathering her thoughts. “What exactly do they want to see?”

“This here hot and cold treatment.”

“I carried ice!” someone called from the other room.

“Watch Mr. Cross a moment,” she said to Jess. “I’ll be right back.” Enoch followed her out of the exam room.

It had begun to snow, and four cowboys hung dripping dusters on hooks inside the door. “I’ll wipe that up,” one of them told her. “Wanted to see the soldier’s foot.”

She’d never had an audience before, and she didn’t know what to make of this one. She looked from face to face, seeing only sincere curiosity. “If Ben doesn’t mind, I’ll allow you in, two at a time.”

Enoch accompanied her back to the room, where he relieved Jess, and within minutes Jess was relaying what he’d witnessed to the group of cowboys.

Ben shrugged his acquiescence, and she had no lack of help chipping and dumping ice into a tub. She wrapped Ben’s foot in a wet cloth and instructed him to lower it into the tub. He winced and cursed inventively. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Would you like another dose of the pain medicine?”

“Yes’m, please.”

She diluted and administered the herbal mixture, and it didn’t take long for her patient to relax.

The observers were surprisingly quiet, occasionally whispering among themselves. Soon she asked Ben to remove his foot from the tub. “We’re going to do hot water mineral therapy again and then one more round of ice. Are you doing all right?”

“Ben, your ankle is already half the size it was when we brought you in,” Jess told him. More men clambered to get a look as Marlys dried it off and rubbed oil into the flesh.

“Would this treatment work if a horse stepped on ya?” one of the men asked.

“I need more water heated, if a couple of you don’t mind,” she said. “There are kettles on the stove. I’ll answer your question when the water is ready.”

Within minutes her helpers had emptied the deep bucket and replaced it with steaming water. Collective silence ensued as she added oils and Epsom salt. With her damp sleeves pushed up over elbows she began the massage.

“What good does that rubbing do?” one of the men asked.

“It works the blood back toward his heart and supplies oxygen to his injured muscles and tissues. I first made certain he had no broken bones or cuts that needed treatment,” she explained. “If he had, I’d have cared for those first and then assessed whether or not this procedure was safe. Since I believed there were no underlying problems, I felt it was harmless to treat the crushed area.”

“And what did you add to the water?”

“My own mixture of oils. The smell helped him be more calm, and the oils contain healing properties.”

“Will he be able to walk on that foot?”

“He’ll need to keep it elevated and rest until the bruising goes away, but I believe he’ll be just fine.”

“Are ya done gawking?” Ben asked.

“I’m going to go clean up your floor,” the man who’d promised told her. “Glad you’re going to be all right, soldier. Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’ll let Sergeant Calhoun know about Ben,” Enoch said as he left.

The few remaining men departed until only Jess remained.

“Where is the rest of your regiment?” she asked.

“Camped outside town.”

“Mr. Cross can stay here as long as needed,” she told Jess. “I have passable quarters set up in the rear, so I can stay and check on him during the night.”

* * *

The next morning brought the Army sergeant, who thanked her and paid her generously for her services. He arranged to have meals for the soldier sent from the Cattleman Hotel. Several new patients ventured in with various complaints, from foot fungus to stomach aches and coughs. She suspected one or two were there merely to see the recovering soldier, but she treated them anyway.

By the end of the day it was clear that if business continued at this pace, she was going to need help. Just running the dirty laundry out and picking it up left her waiting room unattended. She needed time to restock supplies and clean, as well. But despite the difficulties, her day had been exhilarating. Obviously this influx of patients was a result of yesterday’s news, so it could slack off at any time, but while the surge lasted, she was relieved to use her skills.

She hadn’t had time to return to the newspaper, so at the end of the week she wrote out her advertisements, made certain Ben was settled, and trudged along the snowy street. Her research about Kansas had revealed freezing temperatures and snow any time in late October, but she hadn’t learned about the wind until she’d climbed down from the train and chased her hat across the platform. She got a firm hold of the Herald’s doorknob and pushed, so she didn’t lose hold of it, and entered.

The interior was warm and smelled of oil and ink. The desks and filing cabinets had been organized and arranged, and it looked like a place ready for business. Sam stood from where he’d been seated at a desk and motioned for her to come behind the divider. “Dr. Boyd.”

“Mr. Mason.” She removed her wool mittens, unbuttoned her coat and took the papers from her skirt pocket, unfolding them and joining him to spread them flat on his desk. “How much for these two advertisements?”

“May I take your coat and get you a cup of coffee?”

“I won’t be staying long. I have to get right back. One of my placements is a request for an assistant.”

“Sounds like you’ve already been busy. I heard talk about the soldier you’re treating.” His deep blue eyes still held a measure of reserve.

“How much do I owe?”

“I charge by the word as a rule.” He took a pencil from behind his ear and quickly calculated the words on her two notices, then gave her a price.

She paid him. “When can I expect these to run?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll be printing five issues a week to start. Would you like your advertisements in consecutive issues, as well? As long as I have the type set, I’m happy to do that for free for, say, another week? Or until you find your assistant, if it takes less time than that.”

She blinked in surprise. “Yes, thank you.”

He wrote her a receipt and handed it to her. “My pleasure.”

“Also,” she said, “you’ve probably met more townspeople than I have since you’re gathering news. Would you know of a guide or anyone who would be willing to escort me on a short trip outside of town?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“There’s a Cheyenne encampment to the south. I want to visit them.”

“Visit the Cheyenne?” Lines formed between his brows when he frowned. “Tensions are high between the Army and the Indians. There’s only a tenuous balance of peace. I don’t know that that’s wise.”

Her determined gaze locked with his, and she hoped he could see that she would not be dissuaded. “I’m going.”