Читать книгу Her Healing Ways - Lyn Cote - Страница 11

The morning after the final patient had recovered, Mercy decided it was time to find both a place to live and a place to start her medical practice. She wondered if she should ask Lon Mackey for help.

As she stood looking down the main street of the town, Indigo said, “Aunt Mercy?”

Mercy looked into Indigo’s large brown eyes. Indigo had always called her Aunt Mercy—the title of “mother” had never seemed right to either of them. “Yes?”

“Are we going to stand here all day?” Indigo grinned.

Mercy leaned her head to the side. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.” She didn’t reveal that the thoughts had been about Lon Mackey. He had vanished several days ago, returning to the largest saloon on the town’s one muddy street. His abrupt departure from their daily life left her hollow, blank, somehow weakened.

Indigo nodded as if she had understood both Mercy’s thoughts and gaze.

Mercy drew in a deep breath and hoped it would revive her. This was the place she had been called to. Only time would reveal if it would become home. “Let’s pull the trunk along. There must be some rooming houses in a town this size.” The two of them moved to the drier edge of the muddy track through town.

Mercy’s heart stuttered as she contemplated once again facing a town unsympathetic to a female doctor and a black nurse. Lon Mackey’s withdrawal from her sphere also blunted her mood. As she strode up the unpaved street, she tried to center herself, calm herself. God is a very present help in time of trouble. Lon Mackey helped me and accepted me for what I am—there will surely be others, won’t there?

A large greenwood building with big hand-painted letters announcing “General Store” loomed before her. Mercy left the trunk on the street with Indigo and entered. Her heart was now skipping beats.

“Good day!” she greeted a man wearing a white apron standing behind the rough wood-slab counter. “I’m new in town and looking for lodging. Can thee recommend a boardinghouse here?”

The man squinted at her. “You’re that female doctor, aren’t you?”

Mercy offered her hand. “Yes, I am Dr. Mercy Gabriel. And I’m ready to set up practice here.”

He didn’t take her hand.

She cleared her throat, which was tightening under his intense scrutiny.

“I’m Jacob Tarver, proprietor. I never met a female doctor before. But I hear you helped out nursing the cholera patients.”

“I doctored the patients as a qualified physician,” Mercy replied, masking her irritation. Then she had to suffer through the usual catechism of how she’d become a doctor, along with the usual response that no one would go to a female doctor except maybe for midwifing. She could have spoken both parts and he could have remained silent. People were so predictable in their prejudices.

Finally, she was able to go back to her question about lodging. “Where does thee suggest we find lodging, Jacob Tarver?”

He gave her an unhappy look. “That girl out there with you?”

Mercy had also been ready for this. Again, she kept her bubbling irritation hidden. If one chose to walk a path much different than the average, then one must put up with this sort of aggravation—even when one’s spirit rebelled against it. “Yes, Indigo is my adopted daughter and my trained nursing assistant.”

The proprietor looked at her as if she’d lost her mind but replied, “I don’t know if she’ll take you in, but go on down the street to Ma Bailey’s. She might have space for you in her place.”

Mercy nodded and thanked him. Outside, she motioned to Indigo and off they went to Ma Bailey’s. Mercy’s feet felt like blocks of wood. A peculiar kind of gloom was beginning to take hold of her. She saw the boardinghouse sign not too far down the street, but the walk seemed long. Once again, Mercy knocked on the door, leaving Indigo waiting with the red trunk.

A buxom woman in a faded brown dress and a soiled apron opened the door. “I’m Ma Bailey. What can I do for you?”

Feeling vulnerable, Mercy prayed God would soften this woman’s heart. “We’re looking for a place to board.”

The interrogation began and ended as usual with Ma Bailey saying, “I don’t take in people who ain’t white, and I don’t think doctorin’ is a job for womenfolk.”

Mercy’s patience slipped, a spark igniting. “Then why is it the mother who always tends to sick children and not the father?”

“Well, that’s different,” Ma Bailey retorted. “A woman’s supposed to take care of her own.”

“Well, I’m different. I want to take care of more than my daughter. If God gave me the gift of healing, who are thee to tell me that I don’t have it?”

“Your daughter?” The woman frowned.

Mercy glanced over her shoulder. “I adopted Indigo when she was—”

“Don’t hold with that, neither.”

“I’m sorry I imposed on thy time,” Mercy said and walked away. She tried to draw up her reserves, to harden herself against the expected unwelcome here. No doubt many would sit in judgment upon her today. But she had to find someone who would take them in. Lon Mackey came into her thoughts again. Could she ask the man for more help? Who else could put in a good word for them?

Heavenly Father, plead my case. For the very first time, she wondered if heaven wasn’t listening to her here.

Midafternoon Lon took a break from the poker table. He stepped outside and inhaled the cool, damp air of autumn. He found himself scanning the street and realized he was looking for her. He literally shook himself. The Quaker was no longer his business.

Then he glimpsed Indigo across the mud track, sitting on the red trunk. As he watched, the female doctor came out of a rough building and spoke to Indigo. Then the two of them went to the next establishment. Dr. Gabriel knocked and went inside. Within minutes, she came back outside and she and the girl headed farther down the street to the next building. What was she doing? Introducing herself? Or trying to get a place to stay? That sobered Lon. No one was going to rent a room to a woman of color. Lon tried to stop worrying and caring about what happened to this unusual pair. This can’t be the first time the good doctor has faced this. And it’s not my job to smooth the way for them. In fact, it would be best if they moved on to a larger city.

He turned back inside, irritated with himself for having this inner debate. The saloon was now empty, sleepy. Since his nighttime schedule didn’t fit with regular boardinghouses, he’d rented a pallet in the back of the saloon. He went there now to check on his battered leather valise. He’d locked it and then chained it to the railing that went upstairs, where the saloon girls lived. He didn’t have much in the valise but his clothing and a few mementoes. Still, it was his. He didn’t want to lose it.

Mentally, he went through the few items from his past that he’d packed: miniature portraits of his late parents, his last letter from them as he fought in Virginia and the engagement ring Janette had returned to him. This last article wasn’t a treasured token but a reminder of how rare true love was in this world. He wondered if Mercy Gabriel had ever taken a chance on falling in love.

That thought ended his musing. Back to reality. He’d have to play some very good poker tonight and build up his funds again. He lay down on his pallet for a brief nap. The night was probably going to be a long, loud one.

Mercy faced cold defeat. She had been turned away at every boardinghouse door and had been told at the hotels that they had no vacancies. She sensed the reason was because of Indigo’s skin color, a painful, razor-sharp thought. A cold rain now drizzled, chilling her bone-deep. She and Indigo moved under the scant cover of a knot of oak and elm trees.

“Well, Aunt Mercy, this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve slept under the stars,” Indigo commented, putting the unpleasant truth into words.

Mercy drew in a long breath. She didn’t want to reply that those days had been when they were both younger and the war was raging. Mercy had found little Indigo shivering beside the road, begging. Mercy had turned thirty-one this January. The prospect of sleeping out at twenty-one had felt much different than sleeping without cover nearly a decade later. Both she and Indigo sat down on the top of their trunk. Father, we need help. Soon. Now. Then defeat swallowed her whole.

The acrid smoke from cigars floated above the poker table. Lon held his cards close to his chest just in case someone was peeking over his shoulder for an accomplice, cheating at the table. So far he hadn’t been able to play for more than chicken stakes. Piano music and bursts of laughter added to the noisy atmosphere. He was holding a flush—not the best hand, but not the worst, either. Could he bluff the others into folding?

“You got to know that strange female?” the man across from him asked as he tossed two more coins into the ante pile. The man was dressed a bit better than the other miners and lumberjacks in the saloon. He had bright red hair and the freckled complexion to match. Lon thought he’d said his name was Hobson.

Lon made an unencouraging sound, hoping to change the topic of conversation. He met the man’s bid and raised it. The coin clinked as it hit the others.

“You know anything about her?” Hobson asked.

Lon nodded, watching the next player, a tall, lean man called Slattery, with a shock of gray at one temple. He put down two cards and was dealt two more.

“You know anything about her? I mean, can she really doctor?” redheaded Hobson asked again.

“She’s a doc all right,” Lon conceded. “I saw her certificate myself. She showed it to me the second night she was in town. It’s in her black bag.”

“We need a doc here,” Hobson said as the last of the four players made his final bet of the game.

“Don’t need no woman doctor,” Slattery replied. “She’s unnatural. A woman like that.”

Lon started a slow burn. Images of Mercy Gabriel caring for the cholera victims spun through his mind. “She’s a Quaker. They think different, talk different.”

The other player, a small man with a mustache, grunted. “Forget the woman doctor. Play cards.”

“She’s honest and goodhearted.” Lon heard these words flow from his mouth, unable to stop them.

“I don’t hold with Quakers’ odd ways,” Slattery said.

Hobson glared at Slattery as he laid down his cards. “My grandparents were Quakers. You could look your whole life and not find finer people. So what if they say ‘thee’ and ‘thy’? It’s a free country.”

As Lon laid down his own hand, he sighed. His flush beat every other hand on the table. A tight place within him eased—winning was good. He scooped up the money in the ante pile.

“Well, nobody would take them in,” Slattery said, looking irritated at losing but satisfied to be able to say something slighting about Dr. Gabriel. “She has a black girl with her. Tells everyone she adopted her. If nobody takes them in, they’ll have to go elsewhere. And good riddance, I say.” Slattery shoved away from the table and headed toward the bar.

Hobson looked after him and turned to Lon. “We need a doctor in this place. Logging and mining can be dangerous. Anybody see where those two women went?”

“When I came in, they were wrapped in blankets, sitting on the trunk under that clump of oaks at the end of the street,” Lon said.

Hobson stood up and headed toward the door.

The quiet man with the mustache looked to Lon. “Let’s find a couple more—”

Two other men came and slid into the seats left vacant by Hobson and Slattery. Out of the corner of his eye, Lon glimpsed Hobson leaving.

Lon hoped Digger was going to help out the two stubborn women. He didn’t like to see anyone homeless, but they had chosen a path that put them at odds with popular sentiment. In any event, how could he provide them with a place to stay? Would they want to bunk in the back of the saloon, as he did? Of course not. With regret, he turned his mind to his new competitors.

Mercy shivered as the night began to fold them into its cool, damp arms. She and Indigo had wrapped themselves in their blankets and perched on top of the trunk, which was wedged between two trees so it wouldn’t move. Oil lamps and candles shone in the dwellings so they weren’t sitting in complete darkness. Mercy kept her eyes on those lights, kept praying that someone would offer them a place, someone would come out—

A man was striding down the street in their direction. Was he headed past them for home? She heard him coming, splashing in the shallow puddles. A lantern at his hip glimmered.

“He’s heading straight toward us,” Indigo whispered.

Mercy caught the fear in Indigo’s voice, and it trembled through her. Was violence to be added to insult here? She leaned against Indigo, her voice quavering. “Don’t be afraid. No one is going to harm us.”

“You that woman doctor?” the man asked in a brisk tone, his copper hair catching the lantern light.

“Yes, I am.” Mercy didn’t know whether she should stand, or even if she could.

“You two can’t sleep out here all night. Follow me.” The man turned and began striding away.

His unforeseen invitation sent her thoughts sprawling. “Please, friend, where is thee going?”

He turned back and halted. “I’m Digger Hobson, the manager of one of the mining outfits hereabouts. I’m going to take you to the mining office for the night.”

She didn’t want to turn the man down, but how would they sleep there? Her nerve was tender, but she managed to ask, “Mining office?”

“Yeah, I bunked there till I got a place of my own. Now come on. Let’s not waste time.” The man strode away from them.

With a tiny yelp, Indigo jumped off the trunk, swirled her blanket higher so it wouldn’t drag in the mud, and began hauling the trunk behind her.

Coming out of her shock, Mercy followed Indigo’s example and grabbed the valises, hurrying on stiff legs through the mud. The two of them caught up with Hobson where he had stopped. The building had a hand-painted sign that read “Acme Mining Office.”

“Come on in. It’s not much, but it’s better than sleeping out under the trees all night. I can’t understand why no one would take you in.”

Mercy could only agree with him. But she was so unnerved she didn’t trust herself yet to speak.

“Some people don’t like me because of my color,” Indigo said, surprising Mercy. Mercy hadn’t mentioned the rude comments people had made about Indigo. But since none of them had kept their voices down, Indigo had probably overheard them. The area around Mercy’s heart clenched.

“I fought in the war to set you free,” Digger said. “Some folks think you all ought to go back to Africa. But I don’t think I’d like to go there myself.”

“Not me, either, sir. I’m an American,” Indigo stated.

“Thee is very kind, Digger Hobson.” Mercy found her voice. She wondered why this welcome hospitality still left her emotionless inside. Perhaps rejection was more powerful than kindness. But that shouldn’t be.

“We need a doctor here. I wouldn’t have asked for a female doctor, but if you really got a certificate and everything, then we’ll make do with you. Mining can be a rough trade.”

Mercy tried to sort through these words but the unusual numbness she hoped was due to the chill and fatigue caused her only to nod. Certificate? Who knew she had a certificate?

Her dazed mind brought up a scene from the saloon infirmary. Lon had been looking over her shoulder as she had dug into the bottom of her black bag. She’d taken out her framed certificate so she could search better.

So Lon had been talking about her? What had he said?

“Dr. Gabriel is tired,” Indigo said. “Where are the beds?”

Mercy realized that she had just been standing there, not paying attention to this kind man.

“There are two cots in the back room. I’m going farther up the mountain now, to get to bed. Have a busy day tomorrow.” As he spoke, he led them through an office area into a back room where there was a potbellied stove and two bare cots.

“Do you have bedding with you?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Indigo stammered.

As Hobson turned to leave, he lit a tall candle on the stove. “Good night, ladies.” He handed Mercy the key. “Lock up behind me. Two women alone can’t be too careful.”

When Mercy did not move, Indigo took the key and followed him back through the office. Mercy waited, frozen in place, watching the flickering, mesmerizing candle flame. She had heard of people falling asleep standing up. Was that happening to her?

Indigo entered, helped Mercy off with her blanket and steered her into a wooden chair beside the stove. “You sit here, Aunt Mercy. You look really tired.”

Mercy sat, the numbness still clutching her. This was more than the usual fatigue, Mercy sensed. Indigo began humming “Be Thou My Vision” as she opened the trunk, got out their wrinkled sheets and pillows, and made up the two cots. “God has provided for us again.”

Mercy wanted to agree. But her tongue lay at the bottom of her mouth, limp and wayward. Then Indigo was there in front of her, kneeling to unbutton her shoes. “You’re just very tired, that’s all. I think you need a few days of rest and good food. And you’ll be right as a good spring rain.”

Indigo led Mercy over to the cot nearest the stove. “I think I’ll make up a small fire and brew a cup of tea for both of us. Then we’ll go to bed and let the fire die down on its own. It’s not that cold, not as cold as it can be in Pennsylvania in late September.”

Indigo kept up small talk as she cared for them both. Mercy let herself sit and listen. She could do nothing more. She was tired, not just from the cholera epidemic or walking behind the wagons to get here. She was tired to the marrow of her bones from the unkind way people treated each other.

The mayor’s insults the other day, diminishing her role in stopping the epidemic which could have killed him. The unfriendly and judgmental way people had looked at them today as they walked down Main Street. And Lon Mackey, who she’d begun to consider an ally, disappearing from her life when she most needed help. These had leeched the life from her.

In this whole town, they had encountered one kind man out of how many? The others, when they had ample room to take them in, would have let her and Indigo sleep outside. Well, she shouldn’t be surprised. There had been no room at the inn for Mary and Joseph. And baby Jesus had been born among the cattle. Lon Mackey’s face came to mind clearly. She had been hoping he would come to their aid, clearly. Foolish beyond measure. She sighed and closed her eyes. Whatever connection she had felt with him had been an illusion. Something inside her flickered and then went out, extinguished.

Despite his best efforts, Lon woke while it was still morning. Dr. Gabriel’s face flashed before his eyes. He rolled over. Around four o’clock in the morning, when the saloon had finally shut its doors, he’d been unable to keep himself from going out with a lantern and checking to see if the two women were still sitting under the tree. This concern for their welfare could only spring from the life-threatening circumstances under which they’d met and nothing else, he insisted silently.

When he’d found, in the early morning light, that they were no longer under the tree, he’d been able to go to his bed and sleep. He would let the God they believed in take care of them from now on.

Though it was much earlier than he ever cared to be awake, he found he could not go back to sleep. He sat up, disgusted with himself. After shaving and donning his last fresh collar, he strode out into the thin sunshine to find breakfast. The town was bustling. He stood looking up and down the street. Then drawn by the mingled fragrances of coffee, bacon and biscuits, he headed for breakfast at a café on the nearest corner.

On the way, he saw Dr. Gabriel step outside a mining office and begin sweeping the wooden platform in front of the place. Something deep inside nudged him to avoid her, but he couldn’t be that rude. Tipping his hat, he said, “Good morning, Dr. Gabriel.”

“Lon Mackey, good morning.”

“Is this where you stayed last night?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “A man, Digger Hobson, let us stay. I’m just tidying up a bit to thank him for his kindness.”

“I’m glad to hear you found a place. Yesterday, I saw you going door to door…” He caught himself before he said more.

“It is always difficult for Indigo and me in a new place.” She also paused and gazed into his eyes.

He glanced away. “You still think you can establish yourself here?”

“I do. I hope…” Her voice faded.

He denied the urge to try to talk sense into her. Still, he lingered. This woman had earned his regard. And the feeling of working together to fight the cholera had taken him back to his previous life when he’d had a future. He broke away from her effect on him. “I’ll bid you good day then.”

Mercy wanted to stop him, speak to him longer. But even as she opened her mouth, she knew she must not. Their paths should not cross again except in this casual way. Why did that trouble her? Just because she had found him so easy to work with meant nothing to her day-to-day life. She went on sweeping, quelling the sudden, surprising urge to cry. Lon had believed in her abilities and trusted her in a way that few other men ever had, and it was hard to simply let that go.

At the sound of footsteps on the office’s wooden floor, she turned to greet Indigo. “Thee slept well?”

“Yes. I feel guilty for lying in so long. You know I never sleep late.”

“I think thee needed the extra rest.” She watched as Lon Mackey walked into the café on the corner. She had no appetite, which was unusual, but the two of them must eat to keep up their strength. “Indigo, would thee go down to the café, buy us breakfast and bring it back here?”

Indigo’s stomach growled audibly in response. The girl grinned. “Why don’t we just go there and eat?”

Because he’s there. “I’m not in the mood for company this morning.” That wasn’t a lie, unfortunately. Mercy pulled her purse out of her pocket and gave it to Indigo. She gave Mercy a penetrating look, then left, singing quietly to herself.

Mercy walked inside the office and looked out the smudged front window. She thought of going around town again this afternoon, trying to get to know all the residents, trying to begin to soften their resistance, to change their minds about a woman doctor. But the thought of stepping outside again brought her near to tears.

For the first time she could recall, she had no desire to go out into the sunshine. No desire to go on doing what she must in order to change opinions about her. To carry out her mission. This sudden absence of purpose was alien to her.

The fact was she didn’t want to talk to or see anyone save Indigo. Or, truth be told, Lon Mackey. Though she’d been hurt that he hadn’t come to her aid, the fact that he’d gone looking for her in the early morning had lifted her heart some. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered in spite of the lingering warmth from the potbellied stove.

She went over in her mind the brief conversation with Lon about his concern and about his opposition to her way of life. What they had said to each other wasn’t as telling as what they hadn’t said. She couldn’t have imagined the strong connection they’d forged, and she couldn’t believe it had ended when the cholera had.

Something was shifting inside her. And she was afraid to venture toward its cause.

A week had passed. Friday was payday and the saloon was standing room only. The poker table was ringed with a few farmers, but mostly miners and lumberjacks watched the game in progress. In the back of Lon’s mind, the fact that he hadn’t seen Dr. Gabriel on the street since she’d moved into the mining office niggled at him. Had she fallen sick? Should he go check on her?

He brushed the thought away like an aggravating fly. He’d done much this week to rebuild his reserves. And tonight’s game was not for chicken stakes. Nearly a hundred dollars in gold, silver and bills had been tossed into the ante. If Lon lost this game, he’d be broke again.

His three competitors included the same small, mustached man whom Lon had gambled with every night the past week. The other two were a tall, slender young man and a dark-haired miner. The young half breed spoke with a French accent. Perhaps he was a mix of Métis, Indian and French. Either way, Lon pegged him as a young buck out to have all the fun he could, no doubt with the first good money he’d ever earned. The miner looked ill-tempered, old enough to know better than to cause trouble. But wise enough? Time would tell.

Lon stared at his cards—just a pair of red queens. That scoring combination was all he had worth anything among the five cards dealt him. He hissed inwardly in disgust. A pair was just above a random hand with nothing of scoring strength.

He gazed around at the other players, trying to gauge by their expressions and posture how good their hands were. Could they have gotten even worse hands? Was that possible?

The small man was tapping the table with his left hand and looking at Lon in an odd way. Lon decided he would lay two cards facedown and deal himself another two. He hoped they’d be better than the pitiful ones he’d dealt himself first.

The miner hit the other man’s hand, which was tapping beside him. “Stop that. You tryin’ to fiddle with my concentration?”

Lon held his breath. He’d seen fights start with less provocation than this.

The small man hit back the offending hand. “If you been drinking too much, don’t take it out on me.”

The miner lurched forward.

Fortunately, the onlookers voiced loud disapproval of the fight—it would spoil their fun. The miner scowled but sat back in his chair.

Reminding himself of the pistol in his vest pocket, Lon put two cards facedown and drew two more cards. His pair of queens became a triple, two red and one black. Better. But not much.

Then, as the dealer, he went from player to player asking if they wanted to draw again. There was another round of calling and betting. The small man was still watching Lon with an intense gaze. Was there going to be trouble?

The man asked, “You fight in the war?”

Lon shrugged. “Most of us did, didn’t we?”

This appeared to aggravate the small man even more. He looked at Lon with narrowed eyes. Lon tried to ignore him. Winning the game was what mattered. Nothing was going to distract him from that.

The final round ended and each player laid down his cards. Lon wished he could have had another chance to make his hand better, but he laid down his three queens. And nearly broke his poker face when he saw that he had won. Victory and relief flowed through him.

The sullen miner’s face twisted in anger. “You sure you’re not dealing from the bottom of the deck?”

Lon looked at him coolly. “If you don’t want me to deal, you deal.” He began shuffling the cards with rapid and practiced hands. The men standing around liked to watch someone who could handle cards as well as he could. He didn’t hold back, letting the cards cascade from one hand to the other and then deftly working the cards like an accordion. He held his audience in rapt attention.

The young Métis who’d lost his gambling money rose, and another man slid into his place. Lon nodded to him and began dealing cards for another game. One of the saloon girls came over and tried to drape herself around Lon’s shoulders. Not wishing to be impolite, he murmured, “Not while I’m working, please, miss.” She nodded and moved over to lean on the dark-haired miner.

Lon hoped she would sweeten the man’s temper but the miner shrugged her off with a muttered insult. Lon looked at the cards he’d dealt himself and nearly revealed his shock. He held almost a royal flush: jack, queen, king, ace and a four.

The odds of his dealing this hand to himself were incredible. The other players turned cards facedown and he dealt them the number of cards they requested. Lon put the four down and drew another card. He stared at it, disbelieving.

The betting began. Lon resisted the temptation to bet the rest of his money on the game. That would signal to the other players that he had good cards, which in this case was a vast understatement. He bet half the money he had just won. The other players eyed him and each raised. The second round of betting took place. Then Lon concealed his excitement and laid out the royal flush—ten, jack, queen, king, ace.

He reached forward to scoop up the pot. The small man leaped from his seat, shouting, “You can’t have dealt honestly. No one gets a royal flush like that!”

Lon eyed the man. He’d played cards several times with him over the past days, and the man had been consistently even-tempered.

“You’re right!” The dark-haired miner reared up from his chair and slammed a fist into Lon’s face. Lon flew back into the men crowding around the table. He tried to find his feet, but he went down hard on one knee. He leaped up again, his fists in front of his face.

The gold and silver coins he’d just won were clinking, sliding down the table as the miner tipped it over. “No!” Lon bellowed. “No!”

The miner swung again. Lon dodged, getting in two good jabs. The miner groaned and fell. Then the small mustached man pulled a knife from his boot.

A knife. Lon leaped out of reach again. He fumbled for the Derringer in his vest. The small man jumped over the upended table. He plunged his knife into Lon just above the high pocket of his vest.

As his own warm blood gushed under his hand, Lon felt himself losing consciousness. The crushing pain in his chest made it hard to breathe. He looked at the man nearest him, a stranger. He was alone in this town of strangers.

No, I’m not.

Lon blinked, trying to get rid of the fog that was obscuring his vision. “Get the woman doctor,” he gasped. “Get Dr. Gabriel.”