Authors: Elaine Coffman
She cried for some time, but he never said a word, nothing to encourage or discourage her. It was as if he was simply offering to be her support, and she guessed that, in a way, he was.
When she was all cried out, he took his handkerchief and dried her face. “My mother always said there was nothing as medicinal as a good cry. Blow,” he said, holding the kerchief to her nose.
She did as he asked, feeling too drained and exhausted to do anything else.
“You call that blowing?” He pushed the handkerchief back to her nose. “Try again.”
She blew harder this time. Apparently it satisfied him, for he wiped her nose and put his kerchief away.
She had never felt so washed out, or so close to another human being, in her life.
“Better?”
She nodded and looked around, seeing for the first time where they were, surprised at just how far they had walked. She could not see any sign of the house or barns, but she recognized the old feed trough as one in a pasture they no longer ran any cows on. She walked over to the trough and sat down, the backs of her legs resting on the lip of the trough. She began swinging her feet.
Reed joined her, parking his big frame on the edge next to her. He gave her a quick look and held out his hand as he asked, “Friends?”
She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Friends,” she said before feeling overcome with shyness and turning her head away.
He scooped up a handful of small rocks and began chucking them at a clump of grass, missing mostly.
She scooped up a handful of her own and showed him how it was done.
“You’re better than me.”
“I’ve had more practice.”
He laughed and chucked another rock. He hit the clump of grass this time.
“I’m sorry I slapped you.”
“I knew you were going to before you did.”
“I’ve thought about what you said…about the wolf. I understand what you were trying to say. When I came here to live with my aunts, I was like the injured wolf.”
“Who allowed the memory of painful traps to keep you living as a house pet instead of returning to the wild and being what you were destined to be.”
“It is much easier to solve the wolf’s dilemma than my own.”
“Regaining lost or injured instinct is difficult, but not impossible. You need to learn to lead a normal life. A good way to do that is through observation, by watching those who lead normal lives and allowing your own instinct to run free.” He sighed. “Your Aunt Dally is still caught in the trap, so she snarls and snaps at those around her, living in a world of her own imagination that is peppered with falsehoods and lies. Vi has learned to hold on to the joy of life, to give her spirit the freedom to roam at will, to wear red petticoats on top of her skirts if she is moved to do so.”
“I don’t want to be like Aunt Dally.”
He chuckled. “I don’t blame you. She could be quite a woman. It’s such a waste.”
“What can I do?”
“If you want to return to the wild, if you want to find your pack, you better learn to howl.”
“Howl?”
“Loud and often.”
“And you? When are you going to set yourself free?”
She felt his arms come around her, his mouth closing gently over hers. Her first thought was to pull away, to run, but she remembered his words and pushed thought aside and allowed instinct to take over. It was instinct that caused her head to fall back, instinct that prompted her to return his kiss. She opened her mouth to his kiss and realized that it could not go on long enough, nor could she get close enough to him to ever want it to end. Her breath caught, trapped against the quickening that beat in her throat. As ready as she thought she was for his kiss, she was unprepared for her reaction to it, for the rush of feeling, the absence of breath, the languid pleasure she found in being touched by him.
“You have so much living to do, so much to learn. There are things I could teach you, Susannah, beautiful things, exquisite things that happen between a man and a woman, things I
will
teach you.”
“When?” Her voice came out a mere whisper.
“When you are free,” he said. “When you learn to howl.”
How could she tell him she felt like howling now?
Jonah stopped by a few days later, on Monday. Susannah was in the yard, hanging out clothes. When she saw him coming, she took the clothespins out of her mouth and tossed them into the basket. She walked up to the fence and waited until he rode up to her.
As he drew closer, she could see he looked tired and worried. “Good morning, Sheriff Carter. Not more bad news, I hope.”
“Doc Bailey thinks it’s typhoid.”
“Oh, my God! No! Not typhoid!”
“Two of the Carmichael kids are dead. Doc doesn’t think Mrs. Carmichael will make it through the night.”
Visions of the Carmichaels’ darling children rose before her. A sharp, piercing pain gripped her heart. “Oh, no. The children. Which two?”
“The twins.”
“Oh, dear God. Matt and John.” Susannah felt like her heart had been ripped out. She kept seeing the Carmichael twins sitting a few pews ahead of them on Sunday mornings, the sun coming through the window and turning their silky blond heads a brilliant white. “They were such sweet boys. They deserved to grow up. It’s such a shame. Such a wasteful shame. My heart grieves for the family. Is there anything that we can do?”
“Stay home.”
She sighed. “Yes, I suppose that is best. You look tired, Sheriff. Do you have time to come inside for a cup of coffee?”
“No. I’ve got a lot of rounds to make. I’m telling everyone to stay put. Don’t go visiting. Don’t go to town unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“No, we won’t. Thanks for stopping by.” She started to turn away, then stopped. “How are the rest of the Carmichaels doing? Have any of the other children taken sick?”
“No, none of the other children have shown any symptoms. Doc thinks Mr. Carmichael might pull through.”
“That is good news, at least.”
“Hold on to it,” Jonah said. “It may be the last good news you hear for a while.”
“I will try,” she said. “I will surely try.”
“Well, I’d best be going. The day isn’t getting any longer, but the list of things I’ve got to do sure is.” He guided his horse into a wide turn. “I hope I have better news the next time I see you. Good day.”
“I hope you do, too. Take care of yourself. We can’t do with you coming down sick.”
“I’m too ornery to get sick,” he said.
“Goodbye, Sheriff.”
Susannah went off to find Reed.
Reed penned the last bunch of bawling heifers, then mounted his horse and headed back toward the barn. He’d barely had time to dismount when Susannah came hurrying toward him, a line of clothespins fastened to the bodice of her dress flapping in unison with each military step she took. He could tell by the way she walked that something was wrong. He stood there, watching her until she stopped and put her hand on the horse’s rump.
“The sheriff was here. He just left.”
“Bad news, I take it.”
“Oh, Reed, it’s typhoid.”
“Damn, damn, damn,” he said, and dropped the reins. He walked a few feet, kicking clods as he went, and stopped. He rammed his hands down into his back pockets, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Typhoid. God Almighty. He didn’t need this. Not here. Not now.
“It’s bad, isn’t it? Real bad.”
“It can’t get much worse.” He caught the mare by the curb strap under her chin, led her to the fence, and tied her. He stood there for a minute staring down at his hands—the hands that used to heal. He knew what a typhoid epidemic was like. He knew that one doctor in town wouldn’t be able to keep up with the number of people falling ill once the epidemic was in full swing. The healer in him called out. The man in him repressed it. He had answered that call once, with his own wife, and paid a dear, dear price. The medical community turned its back on him and stole five years of his life. He didn’t owe them a damn thing.
I will use treatment to help the sick according to my ability and judgment, but I will never use it to injure or wrong them… Now if I keep this oath, and break it not, may I enjoy honor, in my life and art, among all men for all time; but if I transgress and forswear myself, may the opposite befall me.
The words of the Hippocratic Oath.
“Reed?”
“What?”
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing. I’m just feeling sorry for all those poor bastards.”
“Do you think we’re safe as long as we remain at home?”
He shrugged. “It will definitely decrease your chances of contracting it, but who knows? You might have come in contact with it before the sheriff came by. Symptoms don’t appear until about three weeks later.”
“What are the symptoms, besides headache and fever?”
“Coughing, intestinal hemorrhaging, rose-colored spots on the skin.”
“Where does it come from?”
“The cause hasn’t been discovered yet. It occurs in the majority of cases in youths and in adults, most frequently in late summer and early fall, especially if the summer has been hot and dry.”
“How do you know if you’ve got it?”
“In the beginning there’s a feeling of being tired, very tired, which may last for several days. You will get severe headaches and muscular aches, and feel a general dullness and disinclination to do much. You may experience nausea and diarrhea or nasal bleeding, even some deafness. When the fever comes, the symptoms are aggravated, maybe with abdominal tenderness. No two cases are exactly alike. The fever is a continuous one, not periodic. It generally lasts about twenty-one days.”
She came to stand beside him and put her hand on his sleeve. “You have to help; you know that, don’t you?”
He pulled away from her. “Don’t.”
“Reed, you’re a doctor.”
“You gave me your word that you would not mention that fact.”
“People are dying. Mrs. Carmichael is practically dead. Her twin sons already are. Those boys were only ten.”
“I know what typhoid does.”
“Then how can you stand there when people are dying and not lift a finger to help?”
“Because I am not a doctor any longer. There is nothing I can do.”
“I don’t know how you can sleep at night.”
“I am old friends with insomnia.”
“I thought I knew you. I thought you were a kind and decent man. I see now that I was wrong.”
She turned and he closed his eyes, listening to the sound of her footsteps fading away. She didn’t know what she was asking. She did not know that if she asked anything of him, anything that was within his power, he would do it for her.
Anything except this.
Three weeks later Dr. Bailey died of typhoid, and the town was left in a state of panic.
Jonah stopped by the farm and broke the news late one evening, when everyone was gathered in the parlor.
The moment the words left Jonah’s mouth, Reed caught Susannah’s quick glance in his direction. He looked off, preferring to stare out the window, where he kept his gaze riveted on the weather vane that whirled on top of the barn, his mind in turmoil.
“What’s going to happen now?” Violette asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” Jonah said. “All we can do is pray.”
“That seems the only choice left,” Dahlia said.
“The nearest doctor is over a hundred miles away, and new cases are developing daily,” Jonah said. “Those who are caring for the sick are overworked to the point of exhaustion. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.”
“I suppose we’d better see what we can do,” Violette said.
“I appreciate your offer to help,” Jonah said, “but I wouldn’t feel right about that. The elderly have been especially susceptible.”
“There is nothing to worry about on that score,” Violette said. “Dally and I had typhoid when we were younger. It hit our entire family. Our baby brother Robert died from it.”
“I almost died from it,” Dahlia said. “I was near death for two weeks.”
“You had the lightest case of all,” Violette said, “and you know it.”
“That’s not the way I remember it,” Dahlia said.
“I can help,” Susannah offered, leaving her rocking chair.
“I appreciate that, Susannah. I surely do.”
“Shall I come into town tomorrow, or do you need me somewhere else?”
“No, town would be a good idea. Doc Bailey’s wife and daughter are still caring for all the patients they can. We took out all the pews in the First Methodist Church and made it into a hospital.”
“I’ll be there early,” Susannah said.
“I’ll be there early as well,” Violette added.
“We’ll all be there early,” Dahlia chimed in.
Once again Reed did not glance up, but he felt as if every eye in the parlor was staring directly at him. He did not look at anyone as they bid Sheriff Carter goodbye. Immediately, then, Reed made his apologies and left, telling Susannah and her aunts that he still needed to bring the milk cow in from the pasture—a lame excuse, but the only one he could think of.
He did not sleep much that night, and what little sleep came his way was interrupted by the return of the old, haunting dreams that brought back in vivid detail all he had tried to forget—the waxen face of his dead wife, their stillborn child, the insane look of vengeance on the face of Adam Copley…the added horror of the aftermath.
When he finally drifted off into a deeper sleep, he dreamed again, not of the pain of the past, but of Semmelweis and Oliver Wendell Holmes and the devotion to rigid cleanliness and asepsis he had adopted in obstetrical procedures because of their belief in aseptic techniques. When he awoke, the dream was fresh in his mind, but he pushed it aside and dressed. He had chores to do. He had no room for dreams. Not anymore.
Susannah was milking Peony when Reed went into the barn. She didn’t say anything.
“Good morning,” he said.
She remained silent, but she did nod at him briefly.
“You’re up early.”
“I want to get an early start,” she said, sounding very cool.
“You are still planning to go into town?”
Her hands stilled and she turned the full power of those golden eyes upon him. “On my part, there was never any doubt. I believe you have enough reservations for all of us.”
“And your aunts?”
“They are dressed and eating breakfast now.”
“Susannah, I don’t think this is wise.”
“I know you don’t, but someone has to help. We can’t just turn our backs on the suffering of others, like some people apparently can.”
She did not look at him when she spoke this time, but went on with her chore, the sound of the milk hitting the pail somehow a haunting reminder of how empty his life had been since Philippa’s death. “I’ll hitch up the buggy,” he said, and left.
Sometime later, Reed stood in the shadows of the barn and watched Susannah and her aunts climb into the buggy. He saw Susannah guide the mare into a wide turn-saw, too, the long look she gave the barn, as if she knew, somehow, that he was inside watching.
He knew there was no way he could offer to help without revealing his past. It wouldn’t take anyone long to realize he had doctoring skills that went far beyond those of a drifter. He would either have to admit his medical background and the reason for abandoning it, or he would have to stand back without lifting a finger and watch people die.
Reed caught his gray mare and rode into town.
As he neared Bluebonnet, he expected to see some changes due to the ravages of the epidemic. But he did not expect to see signs of total deterioration. On the outskirts, he passed garbage scattered among the foul-smelling carcasses of dead animals. He dreaded what he might find at his final destination.
Susannah and her aunts worked until well past the lunch hour. When they finally did stop to eat, Susannah wanted fresh air and a chance to be outside and away from all the sickness more than she wanted food. After washing her hands and face, she unbuttoned the high neck on her dress and splashed water on her throat, then went outside to stand on the wooden walkway that ran along the street. She leaned against a post and listened to Jonah as he talked to a gathering across the way.
He was on the top step that led into Adolph Gunter’s drugstore, telling the crowd to be calm. As Susannah listened, her gaze drifted over the various signs that decorated Gunter’s drugstore. Behind Jonah loomed the big sign that proclaimed DRUGS 8c MEDICINES. Painted on the wall to the left of the door were the words SYRUPS, CORDIALS, ICE, SODA WATER. To the right were the words GENUINE COLOGNE WATER, PERFUMES, TOILET ARTICLES, SPONGES.
Her gaze traveled back to the sheriff as he said, “I sent a telegram to Austin asking for help. I received a reply this morning.” As he was taking a yellow piece of paper out of his pocket, Susannah was distracted by the sight of Reed. Her heart began to pound harder and harder while she watched him ride up a short distance away from the crowd and pull his horse to a stop.
Jonah unfolded the telegram. “The governor’s office writes that the typhoid epidemic has spread to other towns. The governor won’t be sending any help because there isn’t any available.”
The crowd interrupted with a buzz of discussion among themselves. After a few minutes, John Drysdale asked, “What about a doctor? Will they be sending us a doctor?”
Jonah shook his head. “No. There was a shortage of doctors before the epidemic struck. Now it’s even worse.”
“We’ve got to have a doctor,” Pearlene Mapes said. “There were sixteen new cases brought into the church this morning. God only knows how many more have taken sick but are too ill to leave home. It’s your job, Jonah. You’re the sheriff. It’s up to you to find us a doctor.”
Jonah looked apologetic. “Pearlene, you know I’m doing all I can, but I can’t pull a doctor out of a hat.”
Everyone began talking, making demands that Jonah find the town a doctor. Jonah held up his hands. “Don’t you think I’d do anything I could to get a doctor if it were possible?”
“We need a doctor and we need one now,” Ben Boggs shouted, and the crowd roared agreement.
Jonah took no time in answering, “Just where in tarnation do you think I can find one?”
“Right here,” Reed said. “I’m a doctor.”
The crowd grew stony as every head turned to stare in the direction of the voice. Susannah held her breath, knowing what those three words cost Reed, how very difficult they were for him to say. His next words, she knew, tore the heart out of him.
“Before you start thinking your prayers have been answered, I think it’s only right to tell you why I turned my back on the life I had chosen for myself, why I preferred to be a drifter to healing the sick. Nine years ago, I lost my wife and baby in childbirth. In spite of all my fancy training and knowledge, the simple fact was, I was unable to save them.”
Susannah took a quick breath and brought her hand up to spread over her heart, as if this simple gesture could still the erratic pounding that seemed loud enough to be heard across the street. She wondered if those listening would be forgiving and accepting of what Reed offered, or would they be rigid and hard-nosed at the expense of their loved ones?
She looked around her at the pale and weary townsfolk who were showing little reaction. All of them seemed to be wrapped in some kind of spell—an atmosphere Susannah found wholly in keeping with her own present state of exhaustion.
She looked at the sheriff for his reaction, knowing he would be the one to set the tone of things.
Jonah didn’t hesitate to express his feelings on the subject. “Thank you for your offer, Doctor. I think I speak for everyone here when I say we’d be pleased to have you help.”
Irene, the wife of just-deceased Dr. Bailey, who was a gentle, meek soul, spoke up. “I know my husband would want you to use his office for the good of the town.”
“That is very generous of you,” Reed said. “In view of the situation, I think it best if I take you up on your kind offer.”
A step into Dr. Bailey’s office was a step back in time for Reed to when his days had been filled with the struggle against gunshot wounds, cholera, scrofula, diphtheria, smallpox, malaria, and yellow fever—all manner of diseases with little more to treat them than many of the patent medicines and cure-alls he saw lining Dr. Bailey’s shelves.
He took inventory of the equipment and medicines he had to work with, then headed for the church where the hospital had been set up, knowing it would test the mental and physical stamina of the hardiest to deal with the sick there. However, he still was not prepared for what he found.
The church was stuffy and stifling. The windows were closed, the air warm and heavy with the smell of death and dying. Only a few of the lamps on the walls were lit and not giving off enough light to see to the patients’ treatment, yet it was more than enough light to see the gruesomeness of what lay before him. The room was packed with the sick, writhing and moaning, some occupying soiled pallets or small beds, others on the bare floor. Lying among the newly afflicted were the bodies of the dead, ghastly corpses with glazed eyeballs staring up into vacant space, flies swarming around their open mouths.
“Holy mother of God! Why haven’t the dead been removed?”
“There aren’t enough folks willing to touch them,” Violette said. “They are afraid of getting sick.”
“You!” Reed said to a young boy of about fifteen who carried a water bucket and a dipper around. “What’s your name?”
“Albert Russell, sir.”
“Go find Sheriff Carter for me, Albert. Tell him to come on the double.”
“Yes, sir.” Albert dropped the water bucket and took off running.
Reed turned to Violette. “Where does that water come from?”
“The cistern at the edge of town.”
“I don’t suppose that water has been boiled.”
“No.”
Reed shook his head and swore softly. “Take that bucket and dispose of the water. As soon as I can, I’ll mix up a solution of carbolic acid. I want that pail and anything that comes in contact with a human to be cleaned before and after contact. All drinking water must be boiled. Where is the closest kitchen?”
“The hotel.”
“I’ll see if the sheriff can send someone over there to take care of the drinking water. In the meantime, we will have to do without.”
A few minutes later Jonah walked in. “We’ve got to get these bodies out of here,” Reed said. “Find someone to do it, if you have to hold a gun to his head. Get the dead out of here and buried as quickly as possible.”
“We’ve got a shortage of coffins.”
“Then bury them without coffins.” Reed looked around. “Is there anyone you can enlist to help you?”
“I’ll help,” Dahlia said.
There were so few willing to work that Jonah took her up on it. Within a few hours, Dahlia had organized the three ministers in town and put them in charge of locating new graveyards, finding materials for coffins, and gathering crews of men to dig graves.
In the meantime, Violette had directed the cleaning of the hospital, and everything was scrubbed down with soap and hot water. As Reed had ordered, anything that the sick or those treating them had come in contact with was cleaned with carbolic acid.
Reed found Susannah in a dusky corner of the church, working quietly to clear a billiard table that had been moved into the back of the room. She was making it into a bed. “Can you come with me?” he asked.
Susannah accompanied Reed as he made the rounds and examined the sick, administering what supplies they had of whiskey, opium, and morphine to ease suffering.
“Isn’t there something more we can do for them?” Susannah asked.
“All we can do is make them comfortable. We’ll try to hold the fever at bay until the fever stages pass, and hope for the best.”