Authors: Jillian Hart
“But what if we're wrong? What if the tenderness is just part of the healing process? The initial surgery was dangerous enoughâinfection could set in if he goes under the knife again. And if there wasn't anything wrong...”
They would be responsible.
Hattie's eyes flashed. “I've seen my share of surgeries working with my papa. Not everyone survives, but if there's something wrong, it needs to be addressed.”
She swung away, pushing through the door before Maxwell could say anything else.
He followed. Saw her shoulders draw up and drop, as if she'd taken a deep breath to fortify herself.
The man was buttoning his shirt and looked up from the table.
“Mr. Spencer, I'll be frank. I'm concerned about the lingering tenderness you're feeling. I'm sorry that my papa isn't here, but my best recommendation is for you to get on a train this afternoon and head down to the town of Calvin and have a physician examine you. If there is still internal bleeding, your life could be in danger.”
The man barely acknowledged her words, instead looking to Maxwell. “What do you think?”
“I'm not a doctorâyet,” Maxwell hedged. He couldn't fully agree with Hattie's diagnosis, but neither could he disagree. Again, he wished there was a way to be sure.
“Neither is she,” the man said. He didn't outright sneer at Hattie, but it was clear he didn't think much of the doctor's daughter's worries.
“What if she's right?” his wife asked. “What if there is something wrong inside you?”
The man shot a disbelieving look at Maxwell, as if to say
Women!
“What if she's wrong? We ain't got money to waste on train tickets when there's nothing ailing me.”
“I can't say for sure that nothing is wrong,” Maxwell insisted. “Internal injuries can be very tricky.”
Hattie sent a look at him over her shoulder, her meaning clear. She wanted him to persuade the man to her way of thinking. But he still couldn't be certain. He looked away and heard her quiet huff.
“I really think it would be best for you to see a doctorâjust in case.”
The man ignored Hattie and stood from the examination table, straightening his shirt. He left the room without waiting or saying goodbye. It was the first time Maxwell had seen Hattie not escort a patient back to the front waiting room. Maxwell saw the worried look his wife turned in Hattie's direction as she slowly followed her husband.
Hattie's lips were pinched and white as she turned toward the cabinet, straightening an already-neat pile of bandages. She didn't look directly at Maxwell.
“You couldn't have agreed with me?” she demanded.
“How can you be sure of your diagnosis?” he countered.
“I would rather be safe than sorry, wouldn't you?”
“Butâ”
“If he dies, it's your fault,” she said fiercely, before turning and banging out of the room.
She wasn't happy with him, but how could Maxwell have done differently? He hadn't seen the initial wound; she'd done multiple surgeries assisting her father. Should he have deferred to her, even if he was unsure?
He didn't know. At the moment he felt as if he didn't know anything anymore.
* * *
“I'm having doubts,” Maxwell said to his bowl of potpie. He sat in Sam and Emily's small kitchen at their scarred kitchen table.
The events of the afternoon kept replaying in his mind. Had Hattie been right? She'd pushed him, but what if...
“About what?” Emily asked. “Hattie Powell? She might be a little touchy, but she has a good heart. She and I have been friends since the doctor moved to town.”
Familiar heat prickled beneath Maxwell's cheeks. He liked Hattie. But whatever progress he'd made on their friendship had likely been erased when he hadn't agreed with her diagnosis. But that hadn't been what he'd meant by his words.
He shook his head. “About being a doctor. I can't talk to womenânot well, anywayâand I don't know if I trust myself to diagnose patients correctly. How can I be a doctor when I can't be sure what's wrong with someone?”
He couldn't forget Hattie's concerns about the man with the gunshot wound. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if she was right. Had there been a mass beneath the man's scar tissue? Had the skin been hot to the touch? The man hadn't wanted to believe Hattie's concerns, but what if she was right? Maxwell hadn't backed her up.
His two friends considered him in silence. Sam was the first to break it.
“But your education isn't finished yet,” Sam pointed out. “That will probably help in knowing what's ailing people.”
“Yes, butâ”
“And having some experience will help, too, don't you think?” Emily asked. “If you can find someone experienced to work with, like you're doing with Doc Powell, you'll gain a practical education in diagnosing illnesses. With more time, won't it be easier for you?”
Her words had a ring of truth. Wasn't he questioning himself because he didn't have the doc's guidance to rely on?
“You're too hard on yourself.” Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder. “No one expects you to be a doctor yetâyou've still got schooling to go, and like Emily said, with practice under your belt, you'll gain confidence in yourself. Didn't you feel the same when you first went to college?”
Were his friends right? He
had
doubted his abilities when he'd first enrolled in college, until he'd begun to get grades back on the work he'd turned in. Then he'd begun to believe in himself, believe that perhaps he
could
achieve his dream of being a doctor.
“Sam!” a female voice cried from outside, startling all three occupants of the table.
Silverware rattled and plates clinked as both men started to rise from the table. Before they could push back their chairs fully, the door burst open and Hattie swept in, skirts swirling around her. “Sam, I need help! I needâ” her wild gaze swept the front room and finally came to rest on the three of them, motionless around the table “âMax,” she finished.
His heart thrummed once, so intensely it was almost painful.
Her eyes locked with his, and she seemed to steady herself, even as she panted, as if she'd run all the way from town to the Castlerocks' homestead just outside of town. Judging by the roses in her cheeks, Maxwell deduced she might've.
He extricated himself from the kitchen chair and went to her. She immediately grabbed his hand.
“Mr. Spencer is worse. His wife sent for me at homeâI've been to their house and there's blood pooling beneath the skin now. He's feverish and hallucinating andâ”
She gasped for breath, and Maxwell finished for her, a bolt of fear slicing through him. “He needs surgery immediately.”
Her wide eyes and manner communicated that her panic matched his. “There's not time to send for the doctor in Calvin.”
“Then you'll have to do it.” Maxwell took both her hands in his, his intention to offer comfort. He'd seen the scars. Knew Hattie had helped her pa with the initial surgery. She could do it.
Her eyes widened slightly as he looked down into her face, trying to project his confidence in her.
“I'll assist you.”
She still didn't say anything, and he could feel her trembling beneath the clasp of his hands. Finally, she spoke.
“Sam, can you help us get him back to the clinic? The Spencers' home isn't far, and I'd feel better working with Papa's supplies nearby.”
Sam was already pulling on his boots by the door.
“My horse is saddled in the barn.” Maxwell towed Hattie with him toward the door.
Emily stood near the table, seemingly calm even though her supper had been interrupted. “Is there anything I can do?” she called after them. “Anything you need for the clinic?”
Hattie simply shook her head, but Maxwell looked over his shoulder to his friend. “Pray.”
* * *
After a wild flight on foot out to her friends' home and a quick ride back to the clinic, clinging to Maxwell's broad shoulders, Hattie slid from the horse. Breathless, she directed Maxwell to the Spencers' home, where he would meet Sam to bring the injured man to the clinic. She went inside to prep the surgery.
By rote she wiped down the surgery table with carbolic solution, arranged the multiple lanterns around the operating table, and laid out the scalpels and other surgical instruments on the small side table, just as she would for Papa. She donned a large white apron that had also been boiled to sterilize it and laid one out on the counter for Maxwell when he arrived.
It seemed the men were only gone moments before she heard footsteps and a low voice say “Watch his shoulders!”
“On the table, please,” she directed them from where she stood vigorously scrubbing her hands beneath the water pump. She was glad her back was turnedâher hands shook badly beneath the running water. Was she really going to do this? Really going to perform surgery on one of her father's patients? What if...?
But what choice did she have? She couldn't leave the man to die.
Spencer gave a low moan as they gently laid him out on the table. Hattie took a steadying breath and looked at the patient. His face was mottled with sweat, pinched with pain. She took a clean cloth from the nearby counter and mopped his brow. He seemed to slip in and out of consciousness even as she watched.
“You'll have to instruct me,” Maxwell said.
“Sam, can you steady our patient on the table for a moment?”
The second cowboy nodded and kept his hands on Spencer's shoulders.
Looking to Maxwell, hoping he couldn't read the panic swelling in her chest through her expression, she whispered, “Wash up first. Soap all the way to your elbows. There's an apron for you on the counter.”
She half expected him to balk at wearing the apronâsomething a woman might wearâbut he didn't. Perhaps he'd seen his professors wearing them, or perhaps he just wanted to preserve his clothing.
Sam helped her remove the man's clothing and then she covered his lower body with a sheet. Then she realized the clothes had contaminated her clean hands and she would need to wash up again. Papa would have known to undress the man first. She'd known but had been preoccupied.
She passed Maxwell as he tied the apron around his waist, shaking her head at her mistake.
“There's a sterilizing solution just there.” She pointed over her shoulder to the counter. “Wet a rag with it and wipe down his torso.”
When she rejoined Maxwell and Sam at the table, she did her best to clear her mind of her fears and the faint disappointment in the mistake she'd already made. There was no room for error here, no room for hesitation or self-recrimination. Only action.
Breathing a prayer, she took a rag from the small side table and demonstrated to Maxwell how to apply the ether. He held it over Spencer's nose and mouth until the man was still on the table, and Hattie nodded.
The scalpel was cold and heavy in her hand as she wielded it just above the swelling on the man's upper left side.
“If y'all don't need me, I'm going to wait out front.” Sam's face had turned suspiciously white.
She nodded, and his footsteps retreated.
One deep breath.
She made the first cut. Blood welled, and for a second she was terrified.
Maxwell must've observed at least one surgery in his time at medical school, because he blotted the oozing redness with a clean towel. The motion of his large, callused hands doing the task she normally would've done shocked her from her frozen state.
It was different, standing on her papa's side of the operating table. But not impossible. It couldn't be.
“How did you know I would be at Sam and Emily's house for supper?” Maxwell asked. His attention was on both the patient and on Hattie, awaiting further instruction.
Finding her focus, she leaned forward into her task, answering him only absently. “I didn't. I thought you'd gone home, but I knew Sam would be the best person to be able to find you quickly.”
She didn't mention the intense relief that had flashed through her when she'd seen him sitting at Sam and Emily's dining table. What was it about the cowboy that steadied her?
“It was God's providence that you were there,” she said instead. “Any more delay would've been dangerous to our patient.”
She asked him to move one of the lamps closer, and he complied immediately. She could sense his avid interest as he assisted her, but she only halfway registered it.
“How old were you when you first assisted your pa in a surgery?” he asked next as he handed her a clamp before she could even ask.
“Fourteen. My mother was furious. She'd tried to keep me out of Papa's practice, but his usual assistant was gone, or sick, I don't remember, and he didn't want to perform the surgery alone. I itched to prove myself, and I did. We saved that patient's life.”
She bit her lip as her tool slipped, but then gasped as she recovered it and saw a large swelling that she would've missed otherwise. She moved to examine it closer and dimly registered the press of Maxwell's shoulder against hers as he leaned over the patient, too.
“Has your mother never helped your father as a nurse?”
Hattie's lips twitched, but she was concentrating too hard to outright laugh. “Mama can't stand the sight of blood. She's more than content to keep up the house and take care of Papa's needs. I think she wished for a bigger family.”
She knew her parents had wanted a son. If they'd had one, would Hattie be the doting daughter her mama wanted? Some of her bitterness over what she couldn't be for her papa, and the life her mama wanted to confine her to, must've leaked into her voice because Maxwell hesitated slightly at her side.
“You don't want a family of your own?”