Her Healing Ways (7 page)

Lon mumbled. He was somewhere between waking and sleeping. Mercy wished this move had not been necessary on such a chilly night, when he was still so vulnerable. But autumn was progressing
and there was no holding it back. And this quiet place would be better for him. The loud nights in the back room of the saloon had been a trial.

“Thank thee, friends. Thank thee much,” Mercy said to the volunteers.

“Our pleasure, Doc,” one of the older men said. Then he hurried out the door as if this kind act were a form of mischief he might be caught doing.

She shook her head and then shivered sharply. November had come today, and the crisp air was penetrating. She added another log to the stove and then sat down in a rocking chair she'd purchased the day before. She wet a cloth with wood alcohol and bathed Lon's face with it. The heat from his skin warmed her hand.

This fever could kill him. The thought opened a deep abyss within her. She prayed aloud, “Father, I know this fever always comes with surgery. How can I break this good man's fever?”

She bathed his neck and wrists with the alcohol.
Lon, keep fighting. Don't give in.

“Janette,” Lon mumbled, “Janette.”

That woman's name again. Mercy froze in place, hand on his arm. He mumbled the name a few more times and then spoke with agitation. Mercy only heard, “Wait…heart…Thomas…fickle.”

Inside her came an explosion of feelings. Her heart pounded. Her breath became shallow and short. A startling realization she couldn't ignore pierced her.
I care for this man, this gambler.
No, she couldn't let this be true.
No.

“Mercy,” Lon interrupted her. His eyes had opened.

His voice shocked her as much as the unexpected feelings that had welled up because he had said the name of another woman. Clamping down on the riot inside her, she braced herself and assured him, “I am here, Lon Mackey. Thee is in my new office.”

“Thirsty.”

She lifted his head and helped him drink a full glass of water. Tendrils of unwanted feelings made the act torturous. “Can thee drink more?”

“Tea?”

She busied herself at the stove where a cast-iron kettle sat. She made a pot of sweet tea and sat down. Lon drank the cup of tea eagerly. She stopped her unruly fingers from smoothing back his tousled hair.

“You shouldn't have to take care of me like this,” he said in a harsh tone. His eyelids slid down. She touched his hot forehead with her wrist. He was awake enough to turn his head from her touch. She tried not to take offense at his rudeness. But it was hard not to, especially now when she sensed that she felt more than friendship for him.

What had caused this overwhelming cloudburst of feeling? Could she be feeling jealousy?

Mercy's innate honesty forced her to look at her
reaction without equivocation. Did she have a right to feel jealous over Lon? Of course not.

But she did. Mercy sat back in her rocker and closed her eyes. Where had this come from? Why hadn't she realized the direction her emotions were taking? And how could she stop this imprudence before it went any further?

 

Over two weeks later, as the local café was just brewing its first morning coffee, Lon knocked on the door of Mercy's office.
Dr. Gabriel's office.
Not
Mercy's.
Thinking of her as “the Quaker” might be a better, more aloof way to think of her. He stepped inside.

The Quaker looked up from her desk and smiled. Recovered from his fever, he had taken pains to present himself freshly shaved and sheared, dressed in his brushed and ironed gambler's clothing.

He would pay his bill for this doctor's service and make sure that she didn't think of him as anything except an acquaintance, a former patient. And then he'd go back to his life in the saloon. “You look as if you've been up all night,” he said gruffly. He immediately regretted it, since it revealed his concern for her.

“The Dunfield baby had a fever last night. His parents have been so good to let us rent their cabin, I could not but help them. I just stopped here to leave a note that anyone needing the doctor should come
to our cabin. Thee is looking well,” she added, her blue eyes glowing with warmth.

He turned on the spot, as if showing off the suit to a prospective customer. “So glad you noticed, Miss Gabriel.” Why had he called her that, as if she were some young lady he was interested in? “I mean,
Dr.
Gabriel.”

She tilted her head to one side, studying him.

Before she could speak, he said, “I've come to pay my bill.” Some of the men who'd witnessed his stabbing had picked up his winnings and held them for him. It was nice to know a few decent men still walked the earth. A few.

She turned back to her desk and lifted out a paper, which she handed to him. He was slightly surprised that she had the bill ready. This must have shown on his face.

“I must earn a living, too, Lon Mackey. And I don't think I would make a very good gambler.”

He wished she wouldn't look him in the eye, as she always did. It was unnerving. Young women just didn't look into a man's eyes. They had special ways of… How did a woman like this grow up without the slightest idea of how to entice a man?
Why am I thinking that?

He pulled out his wallet and counted out her fee. She took the money from him, wrote “Paid in Full” and the date on the bill, and returned it to him, saying nothing. She just looked into his eyes.

Her blue eyes were her most attractive feature.
He gazed into them as if discerning afresh the innocence of her soul. Janette had blue eyes, too. This snapped him back to the present. “I'll bid you—”

“Are thee certain thee wants to return to the saloon?” she asked.

Her question ignited his irritation. Of course Dr.

Mercy Gabriel would want to “save” him. “I like gambling,” he retorted. “It's an easy life. No work.

Nobody counting on me. I do what I like.”

“An easy life as long as no one shoves a knife into thee again.” Her tone was desert-dry.

“I don't expect you to understand me—”

“But I do understand thee,” she interrupted him. “Were thee a major or a colonel?”

“A colonel.” He gripped his walking stick, angry at his slip. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“I was in the war, too, thee recalls.” She gazed up at him. “It isn't hard for me to see that thee…thee possesses the ability and habit of command. Thee took charge in the epidemic here and helped bring it to an end. I'm a doctor. I hold the lives of my patients in my hands. I understand the wish not to be responsible—”

Lon burned, and disliked the reaction. How could this woman understand him better than he did himself? He didn't want anybody's sympathy, much less that of this woman who wouldn't leave him alone—even when she wasn't in front of him.
Why couldn't he banish his concern for her? His awareness of her?

“You understand nothing.” He turned and left.

 

Mercy rose and walked to the door Lon Mackey had slammed behind him. She walked out into the alley and glimpsed his back as he turned toward Main Street. The conversation had been brief in the extreme, but much had been revealed. The war had left its mark on their generation. Not just in the countless lives lost, but in all the shattered bodies, shattered dreams and shattered lives. And would the nightmares ever completely stop? Sometimes she still woke with her heart pounding, her ears ringing with cannon fire and a barrage of rifle fire. The sound of drums and the Rebel yell echoed in her mind.
Yet I didn't have to face battle and dread death, as Lon had. All I had to do was stand helplessly by and watch men die…
Mercy swallowed a moan of remembrance. No wonder Lon shied away from any connection to her or anyone else. No wonder.

Lon Mackey deserved a home, a loving wife and healthy children. When would the long, bitter fingers of the war release them all?

Down the alley, she glimpsed Indigo talking to that same man she had previously seen her with. Mercy stepped back into the doorway but was still able to observe them. She heard Indigo laugh. Evidently, love was in the fall air here in the Idaho Territory. Soon, Mercy would have to steel herself to speak to Indigo,
to find out about this man who was making Indigo smile even when he wasn't near.

Suddenly, Jacob Tarver came around the corner of the building. “Miss Gabriel, I'm sorry! I hate that this has happened!”

“What has happened?” she gasped.

“Come on! It's all over the front window. I've never seen anything like it.”

Picking up her skirts to run, Mercy followed the agitated man around to his storefront. All over his large front windows someone had used soap to print the words
Kick out the female doctor. Or else.
Scrawled under this was a string of curses.

Mercy stared at the words, stunned. “I never thought anything like this would happen here,” Jacob Tarver said.

Anger flashed through Mercy. “Coward!” she shouted.

Jacob Tarver jumped and stared at her.

“Not thee, Jacob Tarver. I'm not holding thee responsible,” Mercy declared. She gestured angrily at the soap message. “Only a coward tries to frighten women!”

She swung around to glare at the crowd of people gathering in the street to gawk at the hot news of the day. “Does any of thee know who wrote this vile message? Does thee?”

Her mind sifted through all the people she'd met who had objected to her profession. She couldn't pinpoint one who stood out from the rest. Would this
event lead to worse? Perhaps violence against her or against Indigo?

No one replied. Most looked worried. But a few looked pleased. Was it one of them? How could she find the culprit?

Y
esterday's ugly words had been scrubbed from the general store's front window, but not from Mercy's tender mind and heart. The same melancholy that had plagued her after the cholera epidemic was creeping over her, trying to imprison her again.

Mercy sat at the table in the snug log cabin. By the window's faint, gloomy light, Indigo was washing the breakfast dishes. Lon had recovered, which was good. But the shadow remained over her heart.
What am I to do? Why do I keep hearing Lon say, “You understand nothing”?

“I know you're disheartened, Aunt Mercy,” Indigo said, drying her hands on a dish towel and glancing over at Mercy.

Mercy smiled even as tears stung her eyes.

Indigo had taken a job as a waitress in one of the cafés in town to make extra money. Now she was leaving for work. Soon, Mercy was all alone in the
cabin. Lifelong habit made her pick up her Bible. She turned to the Beatitudes, which her father had taught her was the best place to start when faced with a challenge. In the dim, lonely cabin, she read aloud, hearing her father's calm, measured voice in her mind.

Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness's sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.

Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you…

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.

Mercy stroked the well-worn, black leather binding of the Bible. Words could be deeply loving, as her father's had always been to her and her sisters. Or they could be cruel because of the hate and fear behind them.

She thought she had become inured to the general objections to her joining what was deemed a “male” profession. Sometimes she even tried to be amused by the repeated litany of protests. But yesterday's offensive act took opposition against her to a new level of hostility.

Would the words on Jacob Tarver's window
keep sick people away from her when they needed doctoring?

“No,” she said aloud. Yet she still did not want to go to her office. In fact, she felt as if bands were holding her back. She rose and carried the open Bible to the window. “I follow this unusual path because I was chosen to do this work. When the circumstances get desperate enough, they will come for my help.”

This reminder triggered a new flow of confidence. She continued, “They needed me when the cholera was killing people. Lon Mackey needed me when he was stabbed. Chen An needed me to deliver her baby. How do I get them to come to me
before
the need is dire, Father?”

She looked down and her gaze fell on the verse, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”

She glanced around her. Except for the faint light from the cabin's two windows and the glow of the low fire on the hearth, there was no light here.

Lon Mackey came to mind. But he always came to mind whenever she felt under stress. Could he help her here? Persuade others that since he'd fully recovered that she was a good doctor? That was tempting, but she didn't want to have to beg for help or involve Lon. He'd been through enough battles. She needed to face this one alone—or at least, without human help. God had never forsaken her. And hadn't now, either.

Closing her eyes, she prayed,
Father, let my light shine before men and let them praise Thee.
And to herself, she said,
I can stay here and wait for a special miracle, or I can proceed with one of my plans for this town right now, today. Release me from this holding back.
She resolutely closed her Bible, set it on the table and donned her shawl and bonnet.

If the people of Idaho Bend were not going to come to her, she would go to them. She stepped out into the dreary morning, trying to draw in the cool air. Her anxiety made it difficult to take more than shallow breaths.

With a decisive snap, Mercy shut the door of the cabin behind her. She approached the modest white-frame Dunfield house and tapped on the door. Young, pretty Ellen Dunfield, with her rich brown hair and matching eyes, answered the door. She was holding her one-year-old son with his halo of curly brown hair. Blonde, four-year-old Missy huddled close to her mother's side. “Dr. Gabriel, what can I do for you today?”

Courage.
Mercy suppressed her uncertainty. “I just wanted to ask thee a question. Would thee be interested in learning more about the new ways of keeping thy family in good health?”

The young woman blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Great strides are being made in understanding how the body works and how to keep it healthy.” Mercy infused her words with as much confidence
as she could muster. Low, gray clouds hung overhead. Her breathing remained shallow. “Would thee, as the mother in thy home, be interested in learning some of these discoveries?”

“I'm terrible busy, ma'am.”

Smiling, Mercy held up a hand. “I should have been more specific. What I would like to do is set up an afternoon meeting for townswomen, perhaps in one of the churches. I would have Indigo and a few other young girls babysit the children. Do thee think that thee would attend a meeting like this? Perhaps with tea served?”

Mrs. Dunfield pursed her lips, considering this. “There are new ways to keep children well?”

Gratefully, Mercy felt her lungs loosen. She was able to draw a deep breath. “Yes, there are. In Europe and America, doctors are learning more about the causes of disease and how to prevent it.”

The boy interrupted by holding his arms out to Mercy. She reached out and took the child, who patted her cheek with a pudgy hand.

Missy looked up at Mercy. “You like babies, don't you, Dr. Mercy?”

Mercy chuckled. “Yes, I do.”

“Why don't you got any?” Missy asked.

Mrs. Dunfield scolded Missy, “Hush! Where are your manners?”

“I don't have a husband,” Mercy replied. “To have babies, there must be a father and a mother.” She tapped Missy's nose, teasing.

“You are a good woman,” Mrs. Dunfield announced, as if someone were there, disparaging Mercy. “I hate what that sneaky coward wrote on Mr. Tarver's window.” The young woman glared at the unknown scoundrel. “So if you know ways for me to keep my family healthy, then I should learn them. What church will you be holding the meetings at?”

Mercy pushed on, her usual sturdy confidence nearly restored. “I was wondering if thee would ask thy pastor if I might use thy church building some afternoon next week, perhaps Friday at 2:00 p.m. I need time to let everyone know about the meeting.”

“I will ask him,” Mrs. Dunfield said. “I'm going to a prayer meeting tonight. I'll do it then.”

“Excellent. And if he says I may, I will put an ad in the paper.” The little boy babbled and Mercy handed him back. “Now I'm going to talk to a few of the other good mothers here in Idaho Bend and see if they would come.”

“Can I go, too?” Missy asked.

Mrs. Dunfield hushed the child again.

“If thy mother doesn't need thee, I would be happy to have thee with me for company.” Mercy looked to the mother.

“If she wouldn't be any trouble to you,” Mrs. Dunfield said.

“Missy is no trouble at all,” Mercy said. “Go get thy shawl, child. And we will set out to make our round of visits. I will have her home by lunchtime,” Mercy assured the mother.

Soon she and Missy were walking down the rutted streets of the town, knocking on doors. Predictably, most of the women were hesitant or guarded, a few were hostile and a sparse few were enthusiastic. As they walked down Main Street, Ma Bailey flagged them down. “Why do you have the Dunfield girl with you?”

Mercy stared into the woman's pudgy face. Nosy, nosy, nosy. “Missy is accompanying me. Missy, why doesn't thee tell Mrs. Bailey why we are walking through town?”

“Dr. Mercy is going to teach lessons on how mamas can keep their children from getting sick. Will you come?”

“All children get sick,” snapped Ma Bailey, ever the cheery ray of sunshine. “Have you found out who wrote those nasty words about you?” The woman didn't look upset, just eager for information.

Mercy tried to divine whether Ma Bailey knew the answer to her own question. “When does thee expect thy daughter and her husband to arrive?” she asked.

Worry etched itself into the deep lines of Ma Bailey's face. “I don't know, exactly. I'm so hopin' that they'll get here before she delivers. I heard you're good at deliverin' babies. I hear you even delivered a Chinese one.” Ma Bailey frowned and shook her head, resuming her normal attitude of general disapproval.

“I'd never had the privilege of delivering a Chinese
baby before. And the baby's mother and father were as thrilled with the birth of their son as thy daughter and son-in-law will be with their newborn.” Mercy turned to leave this grumpy woman.

“What do you think of that half breed courtin' your girl?” Ma Bailey's voice was sly.

Unable to speak, Mercy made no reply but merely waved her hand and walked away with Missy. She had not gotten a clear look at Indigo's beau, but had thought he looked dark enough to have Indian blood. She hated the demeaning phrase
half breed.

When they had crossed the street, Missy said, “I don't like that woman. She has mean eyes.”

Mercy made no direct reply, but said, “I think we will stop at Jacob Tarver's store and buy a certain little girl a peppermint drop. What does thee think of that idea?”

Missy smiled. “I like peppermint.”

“I do, too. And I think thy mother might enjoy a peppermint drop also.” But Mercy's mind was preoccupied with Ma Bailey's gnarly question. If Indigo's interest in the young man, who evidently was of mixed birth, was common gossip, then it was time that she and Indigo discussed her future. There was no getting around it any longer.

 

Lon walked out the saloon door and nearly collided with the Quaker and that little girl who'd survived cholera. He cursed himself for not looking before stepping outside the barroom's swinging door.

“Good day, Lon Mackey,” the woman doctor greeted him.

“Hello, mister,” the little girl said, waving up at him.

“Good day to you both.” Though he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to walk away. He fell into step with them, cursing his own weakness.

“We're going to the store for candy,” the little girl said, skipping. “For peppermint candy.”

“Aren't you a lucky little girl?” He felt like an idiot, saying those words.

“Where are you going?” the child asked.

“Missy, it is not polite to question grown-ups,” Mercy said gently.

“I'm going to see if the supply wagons brought any recent newspapers,” Lon replied.

The three of them arrived at the store. Mercy let Missy go inside to have time to enjoy gazing at the array of penny candy in the glass case. She looked up at Lon. “Have I offended thee, Lon Mackey?”

Her frank question bowled him over. He looked into her blue eyes and wished he hadn't. Her eyes were the windows to her soul, her pure, generous, selfless soul. “I am at fault,” he admitted against his will. “I was abrupt to the point of rudeness. And after all your…kindness when I was wounded.”

“I pressed thee too much, intruded on thy private sorrow about the war. I apologize to thee. Meddling is a sin, too.”

He chuckled suddenly. “You? Meddle? Never.”

She laughed, too. “Oh, a direct hit.”

“You're not letting that incident…about Tarver's window get to you?” His self-protection alarm was clanging. He needed to get away from this woman who somehow always stripped him of his mask.

“It hurt,” she said simply.

Missy came out. “Dr. Mercy, I know which peppermint candy I want.”

Welcoming this chance to retreat from the field, Lon tipped his hat and hurried away.

The cloudy day did nothing to still his restlessness. He walked faster. Part of him wanted to grab his valise and set out west for Boise and maybe farther. But he found himself bound to Idaho Bend.

At night, he'd been gambling and winning, but he'd begun to hate the saloon—the drunken behavior, the raucous laughter, everything he used to enjoy. Then another upsetting thought hit him.

Who had scrawled those awful words on the store window?

Lon wanted to put his fist into someone's face. Now his stride lagged—he found he couldn't go on. He was still weak from his stab wound and the subsequent fever. He closed his eyes a moment, then turned back to the saloon where he needed to rest until evening. Forced to walk slower, Lon glowered at the sleepy Main Street and lonely sky. Maybe it was time to move on. Yet he couldn't force Mercy Gabriel's face from his mind. He
knew she was the anchor that tethered him here. And that must end. Soon.

 

Evening had come. Mercy watched Indigo setting a new red-and-white-checked oilcloth on the table. It was pretty and gave the humble cabin a festive appearance. This, along with a morning spent in Missy's lively company and the setting in motion of Mercy's plans for better public heath, should have revived her spirits. But it was her meeting with Lon that had truly lifted her up. She had been surprised by his honest apology and heartfelt thanks, and she'd spent the rest of the day fighting the urge to smile constantly. She was trying very hard not to think about what it all meant.

“I've been meaning to tell you,” Indigo said with her back to Mercy, “that I've invited someone to eat with us this evening.”

Mercy inhaled. Was Indigo finally ready to share with her the man she'd become interested in? Would he be suitable or dangerous to Indigo's reputation? Mercy plunged ahead. “Is he the young man I've seen thee talking to?”