Читать книгу Her Healing Ways - Lyn Cote - Страница 10

Everyone around Lon and Mercy Gabriel froze.

“Did you hear me?” the man shrieked. “I was told a doctor’s here! My wife’s dying!”

Dr. Gabriel put down her cup, swallowing the last of her cookie. She rose and faced the man. “I am sorry to hear that. Why hasn’t thee brought her here?”

“She won’t come! She won’t come into a saloon!” The man swung his rifle toward the Quaker. “You gotta come with me! Now! Save her!”

Lon leapt to his feet, pulling out his pistol, ready to shoot.

“Friend, I am heartily sorry for thee, but I cannot leave all these patients—” the woman motioned toward the crowded room “—to go to one. Thee must bring thy wife here.”

“What?” The man gawked at her and raised his rifle to his eye to aim.

Lon moved toward the man slowly. He didn’t want to shoot if he didn’t have to.

“Thee must bring thy wife here. And then I will do whatever I can for her.”

Lon marveled at the Quaker’s calm voice. It shouldn’t have surprised him that the man with the rifle was also confounded. The man froze, staring forward.

Dr. Gabriel moved away to a patient and began to give the woman another dose of the saline infusion.

“You have to come with me, lady!” the man demanded. “My wife won’t come here.”

Dr. Gabriel glanced over her shoulder. “Is she still conscious?”

The man lowered his rifle. “No.”

“Well, then what is stopping thee from carrying her here? If she is unconscious or delirious, she won’t know where she is.” The Quaker said this in the same reasonable tone, without a trace of fear. Lon had rarely heard the like.

This woman was either crazy or as cool as they came.

The man swung the gun above Mercy’s head and fired, shattering one of the bulbous oil lamps behind the bar.

Lon lunged forward and struck the man’s head with the butt of his pistol, wrestling the rifle from him. The man dropped to the floor.

“Does he have a fever?” the Quaker asked as she gazed at the fallen man.

Lon gawked at her. Unbelieving. Astounded.

“Does he have a fever?” she prompted.

After stooping to check, Lon nodded. “Yes, he’s fevered. Doctor, you are very cool under fire.”

She gazed at him, still unruffled. “Unfortunately, this is not the first time a weapon has been aimed at me.” She turned away but said over her shoulder, “Set him on the floor on a blanket. Then please find out where this poor man’s wife is and see if she’s alive. I doubt there is anything I can do for her. But we must try. And, Lon Mackey, will thee please keep asking questions? We must get to the source before more people die.”

Lon carried the unconscious man and laid him down, then asked another person where the man’s home was. As he turned to leave, he snatched up the rifle and took it with him. He didn’t want anybody else waving it around.

Since the war, nothing much surprised him. But Dr. Mercy Gabriel had gotten his attention. She could have gotten herself killed. And she didn’t even so much as blink.

Mercy went about her round of injections, thinking of Lon and the ease with which he’d subdued the distraught man. She had never gotten used to guns, yet this was the second time today men had been forced to draw guns to protect her.

A young woman with a little girl in her arms rushed through the swinging doors. “My child! My Missy is having cramping. They said that cramping…” The woman’s face crumpled and she visibly fought for control. “Please save her. She’s only four. Please.” The woman held out her daughter to Mercy.

“Just cramps, nothing else?”

“Just cramps. She started holding her stomach and crying about a half hour ago.” Tears poured down the woman’s face.

“Thee did exactly right in bringing her here so quickly. I will do what I can.” Mercy lifted the child from her mother’s trembling arms, tenderly laid the little girl on the bar and smiled down at her. “Thee must not be afraid. I know what to do.”

Mercy felt the child’s forehead. Her temperature was already rising. Mercy fought to keep her focus and not give in to worry and despair. God was in this room, not just the deadly cholera.

The mother hovered nearby, wringing her hands.

Mercy bent to listen to the child’s heart with her stethoscope. “Missy, I need thee to sit up and cough for me.”

The mother began to weep. Mercy glanced at Indigo, who nodded and drew the woman outside. Then Mercy went about examining the child. Soon she glanced over and saw that Indigo had left the woman near the doors and was continuing her rounds of the patients. Indigo bathed their reddened faces with water and alcohol, trying to fight their fevers.

Mercy listened to the little girl’s abdomen and heard the telltale rumbling. No doubt the child had become infected. Mercy closed her eyes for one second, sending a prayer heavenward. Father, help me save this little life.

A call for help came from the far side of the room. Mercy looked over and her spirits dropped. One of the patients was showing signs of the mortal end of this dreaded disease. A woman—no doubt the wife of the dying man—rose and shouted for help again.

Mercy watched Indigo weave swiftly between the pallets on the wood floor to reach the woman’s side. Mercy looked away. She hated early death, needless death, heartless death. Her usual composure nearly slipped. As the woman’s sobbing filled the room, Mercy tightened her control. I cannot give in to emotion. I must do what I can to save this child. Father, keep me focused.

Mercy mixed the first dose of the herbal medication her mother had taught her to concoct, which was better than any patented medicine she’d tried. “Now, Missy, thee must drink this in order to get better.”

“I want my mama.” The little girl’s face wrinkled up in fear. “Mama. Mama.”

Mercy picked up the child and cradled her in her arms. “Thy mama’s right beside the door, see?” Mercy turned so the child could glimpse her mother. “She wants me to make thee better. Now this will taste a little funny, but not that bad. I’ve taken it many times. Now here, take a sip, Missy. Just a little sip, sweet child.”

Missy stared into Mercy’s eyes. Then she opened her mouth and began to sip the chalky medicine. She wrinkled her nose at the taste but kept on sipping until the small cup was empty.

“Excellent, Missy. Thee is a very good girl. Now I’m going to lay thee down again, and thy mama will come and sit with thee. I will be giving thee more medicine soon.”

“It tasted funny.”

“I know but thee drank it all, brave girl.”

About half an hour later, Mercy was kneeling beside the man who had burst into the saloon and was still unconscious. She carefully gave him a dose of saline water. It seemed a pitiful medicine to combat such a deadly contagion. But it was the only thing she knew of that actually did something to counteract cholera’s disastrous effect on the human body. And no one even knew why. There’s so much that I wish I knew—that I wish someone knew.

It was nearly dawn when she heard her name and glanced up to see Lon Mackey. “Did thee find this man’s wife?”

His face sank into grimmer lines. “She’s dead.”

The news twisted inside Mercy. She shook her head over the loss of another life. Then she motioned for him to lean closer to her. She whispered, “We must find the source or this disease will kill at least half in this community.”

The stark words sank like rocks from her stomach to her toes. She forced herself to go on. “That is the usual death rate for unchecked cholera. Has thee found out anything that gives us a hint of the source?”

“I’ve talked to everyone. The little girl’s mother told me something I’ve heard from several of the others.”

“What is that?” Mercy asked, turning to concentrate on slowly infusing saline into the man’s vein.

“Wild blackberry juice was served at the church a week ago Sunday. There was a reception for the children’s Sunday-school recitation,” he murmured.

Mercy looked up into his face. “Wild blackberry juice? Who made it?”

“It was a concoction Mrs. McCall made from crushed berries, their good well water and sugar. Mrs. McCall was the wife of the first victim. And the whole of his family was ailing first and all succumbed.”

Mercy sat back on her heels. Closing her eyes, she drew in a slow breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Lon Mackey may have found her the answer. “That tells me what I need to know. Thee must do exactly as I say. Will thee?”

Hours ago Lon wouldn’t have done anything a female stranger told him to do. But he would do whatever Mercy Gabriel asked. He just hoped it would work—passions were running high outside the saloon. “What must I do?”

“Go to the McCall house and examine the water source. Examine the house and the grounds with great care. Take a healthy man with thee as a witness.”

“What am I looking for?” he asked, leaning closer. The faint fragrance of lavender momentarily distracted him from her words.

“After the 1834 cholera epidemic, New York State passed laws forbidding the discarding of animal carcasses in or near any body of water. Does that help thee?” she asked.

Without a word of doubt, Lon rose and strode outside. He motioned to the bartender, Tom Banks, who was adding wood to the fire under the kettle of water the Quaker required to be kept boiling. “We’ve got a lead on what might have caused the cholera. Come with me. She told me what to look for and where,” Lon said.

The two of them hurried down the empty street. Dawn was breaking and normally people would be stirring, stepping outside. But every shop in town was closed up tight and all the houses were eerily quiet. No children had played outside for days now. Even the stray dogs lying in the alleys looked bewildered.

“Do you think this Quaker woman, this female doctor, knows what she’s doing?” the bartender asked.

Lon shrugged. “Proof’s in the pudding,” he said. But if he had to wager, his money would be on Mercy Gabriel.

At the McCalls, the two of them walked around the empty house to the well. He was used to violent death and destruction but the unnatural silence and creeping dread of cholera was getting to him. Everything was so still.

“The Quaker told me to examine the well and any other water source.”

“Doesn’t she know that contagions come from bad air?” Tom objected.

“She knows more than we do,” Lon replied. “Every time I talk to her, I know more about this scourge than I did before.” Of course, that didn’t mean she could save everyone. In times like these, however, he’d found that a show of assurance could avert the worst of hysteria. He didn’t want anyone else bursting into the saloon and letting loose with a rifle.

The two of them approached the well. It was a primitive affair with the pump sitting on a rough wooden platform.

“I don’t know what we’ll find that’s not right,” Tom grumbled. “From what I heard, the McCalls always had sweet water. That’s why they always brought the juice.”

Lon stared down at the wooden platform. Part of it was warping and lifting up. “Let’s find a crow-bar or hammer.” They went to the barn and found both. Soon they were prying up the boards over the McCalls’ well.

Both of them cursed when they saw what was floating in the water.

They cleaned out the well and then pumped water for a good half hour. Then they capped the well cover down as tight as they could. Tom and Lon walked silently back to the saloon. Lon hit the swinging door first and with great force, his anger at the senseless loss of life fueling a furious fire within. The two swinging panels cracked against the wall. Every head turned.

Lon crossed to the Quaker doctor. “We found dead rats floating in the McCalls’ well.”

The Quaker rose to face him, looking suddenly hopeful. “That would do it. Had the well cover become compromised?”

“It was warped and loose.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “We need to find out if everyone who is ill has been brought here. Anyone who drank the juice or who came in contact with a person falling ill from it should be checked. Then we need to make sure that every house where the illness has presented is scrubbed completely with hot water with a high concentration of lye soap.”

“That will end this?” Lon studied her earnest face, hoping against hope that she would say yes.

“If we kill off all the bacteria that carry the disease, the disease will stop infecting people. The bacteria most likely move from surface to surface. I believe that in order to become ill, a person must ingest the contaminated water or come into contact with something an infected person has touched. Does thee need anything more from me to proceed?”

“No, you’ve made yourself quite clear.”

She smiled at him. “Thee is an unusual man, Lon Mackey.”

He couldn’t help but smile back, thinking that she was unusual herself. He hoped she was right about the cause of the cholera. Only time would tell.

The last victim of the cholera epidemic died seven days after Mercy and Indigo came to town. When people had begun recovering and going home, the few remaining sick had been moved to one of the small churches in town after it had been scrubbed mercilessly clean. And the vacated saloon was dealt with in the same way. The townspeople doing the cleaning complained about the work, but they did it.

Eight days after getting off the wagon train, Mercy stood in the church doorway. She gazed out at the sunny day, her body aching with fatigue. She had slept only a few hours each day for the past week, and her mind and body didn’t appreciate that treatment. Only three patients lingered, lying on pallets around the church pulpit.

The new mayor came striding up the path to the church. “The saloon is clean and back in business.”

She gazed at him. Even though she was glad there was no longer a need for a large hospital area, did he expect her to say that the saloon being back in business was a good thing?

“I took up a collection from the people you helped.” He drew out an envelope and handed it to her. “When do you think you’ll be leaving town?”

Mercy made him wait for her answer. She opened the envelope and counted out four dollars and thirty-five cents. Four dollars and thirty-five cents for saving half the lives in this town of over a thousand. She wasn’t surprised at this paltry amount. After all, she was a female doctor, not a “real” doctor.

Mercy stared into the man’s eyes. “I have no plans to leave.” She had thought of going on to Boise, but then had decided to stay where she had shown that she knew something about doctoring. Many would discount her efforts to end the epidemic, but others wouldn’t—she hoped. “And, friend, if this town doesn’t want a recurrence of cholera, thee should have all the people inspect their wells and streams.”

The mayor made a harrumphing sound. “We’re grateful for the nursing you’ve done, but we still believe what real doctors believe. The cholera came from a bad wind a few weeks ago.”

Mercy didn’t bother to take offense. There are none so blind as those who will not see. “I am not the only doctor who believes that cholera comes from contaminated water. And thee saw thyself that the McCalls’ well was polluted. Would thee drink water with a dead rat in it?”

The mayor made the same harrumphing sound and ignored her question. “Again, ma’am, you have our gratitude.” He held out his hand.

Mercy shook it and watched him walk away.

“The thankless wretch.”

She turned toward the familiar voice. Lon Mackey lounged against the corner of the small white clapboard church. He looked different than the first time they’d met. His clothing was laundered and freshly pressed, and his colorful vest was buttoned correctly. He was a handsome man. She chuckled at his comment.

“It is so predictable.” She drew in a long breath. “I’ve heard it all before. ‘You’re just a woman. What could you possibly know?’ Over and over.”

“Why do you put up with it?”

She chuckled again.

The sound irritated Lon. “I don’t know what’s funny about this. You should be taken seriously. How much did the town pay you?”

Mercy sighed, handing him the envelope. “Human nature is what’s funny. Even when confronted by the truth about the cause of the epidemic, the average male and most females refuse to believe a woman would know more than a man would.”

They’d paid her less than five dollars. He voiced his disgust by saying, “But your idea about the cause of cholera is based on what male doctors have discovered, isn’t it?”

She nodded, tucking the envelope into the small leather purse in her skirt pocket. “But I could have gotten it wrong. I am, after all, just a poor, inferior, weak female who must always defer to men who always know better than women do.”

Her words grated against his nerves like sandpaper on sensitive skin. Why? Was he guilty of thinking this, too? He found himself moving toward this woman. He shut his mouth. He didn’t want to know more about Dr. Mercy Gabriel. He didn’t want to walk toward her, but she drew him. He offered her his hand to cover how disgruntled and confused he felt by his reaction to her.

She smiled and shook it. “I thank thee, Lon Mackey. Thee didn’t balk very much at following a woman’s directions.”

He didn’t know what to say to this. Was she teasing him or scolding him? Or being genuine? He merely smiled and turned away. The saloon was open again and he had to win some money to pay for his keep.

He would be staying in the saloon almost round the clock for the next few days—he’d seen the men of the town coming back full force. How had he come this far from the life he’d been born to? The answer was the war, of course.

He walked toward the saloon, hearing voices there louder and rowdier than usual. No doubt watching the wagons carrying people to the cemetery made men want to forget the harsh realities of life with lively conversation and laughter. Nearly seventy people had succumbed to cholera. How many would they have lost if Dr. Mercy Gabriel hadn’t shown up? Was he the only one who wondered this?

And why wouldn’t the Quaker woman leave his mind?

Images of Mercy over the past few hectic days popped into his mind over and over again. Mercy kneeling beside a patient and then rising to go to the next, often with a loud, burdened sigh. Mercy speaking softly to a weeping relative. Mercy staggering to a chair and closing her eyes for a short nap and then rising again. He passed a hand over his forehead as if he could wipe away the past week, banish Mercy Gabriel from his mind. But she wasn’t the kind of woman a man could forget easily. But I must.