Stone Dreaming Woman (11 page)

“What happened?” Jenny’s calm question caught him off balance.

“A thirteen-year-old boy stepped in a leg-hold trap. It almost took his foot off, and when he realized he couldn’t get out and he’d lie there until he froze to death, he took out his hunting knife and finished the job, then tied his belt around his leg and crawled home. I’ve controlled the bleeding, but without medical attention in the next few hours he’ll die. I have to call Angus right away and pray he can make it all the way up there.” Jenny’s mind smoothly shifted gears.

“Take me with you. I’m a medical doctor. I’m fit to make the trip, and I’m an hour closer.”
Now I’ve done it,
she thought.
The cat is out of the bag and all of Elk Gap will think they have a two-headed sideshow freak on their hands. But I had to own up. A life is at stake.

“You’re a what?” She watched his light eyes go wide with shock and surprise as he sat abruptly on the nearest kitchen chair.

“Medical Doctor. University of Virginia, Class of 1907. Internship at Atlantic Memorial, Arlington, Virginia, and Surgical Residence at Mount Hope General Hospital, New York City.”

“You are telling me the truth, aren’t you? If so, you’re a godsend!” The relief and gratitude in his eyes erased the misgivings she’d had only a moment before and loosed a return rush of gratitude in Jenny. Possibly Sergeant Adair could prove himself the exception to the jealous hostility she had experienced from every other man who knew of her academic and scientific achievements.

“I’ll show you my credentials, if you’d like,” she offered, extending professional courtesy.

“That’s not necessary. You couldn’t have me on about something that serious. Can you really help Jimmy? Do you have everything you need, then, or do we need to go to town and get supplies from Angus?”

“No, there’s nothing I need. It’s all upstairs.”

“Oh, Miss Weston, that explains so much!” She had no idea what he meant by that remark. “Would you come with me, then? Jimmy Richardson may not have much time.”

“I’ll go change clothes.”

He finally found his feet. “Wear whatever you have that’s warm. It’s cold out there,” he called as she flew up the stairs. “Mavis, I need to get Fleur saddled. If she comes down in the next minute or two, I’m in the barn.” This time it was Mavis who said goodbye to his retreating back.

Jenny took the stairs two at a time, and on her way to dress she stopped momentarily to stick her head into her uncle’s room.

“There’s a medical emergency at North Village. I’m going with Sergeant Adair.”

“So you told him?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have, but it’s a traumatic amputation. That means there’s not a moment to spare. I have to leave immediately.” Without waiting for his reply, she ducked into her room, yanked off her skirt and petticoat, then pulled on two pairs of skating socks and her divided riding skirt. Two sweaters followed, and she reached beneath her bed for her black alligator medical bag. She rejected her wonderfully warm sable coat because she could not ride in it. That left only her somewhat unsatisfactory brown tweed jacket. It would have to do. At that moment Mavis came up the stairs with her own hip-length black fox coat in her hands.

“Here, Jenny. I know it’s too big, but put on another sweater. You’ll freeze otherwise.”

“Thank you, Mavis. I promise I won’t wear it out.”

“So you’re a medical doctor. I swear, I never! Well, then, good luck and Godspeed.”

“I only hope I can treat this case successfully. That’s how it’s done, Mavis. One case, one patient, one procedure at a time.” She put mittens on over her rabbit-lined gloves and let Mavis tuck her own heavy, knitted fascinator down the front of the jacket. By the time she was back downstairs, both Toby and Shane were outside with the horses. Shane took her bag and secured it in his saddlebag while Toby gave her a hand up. She gathered Fleur’s reins and followed Shane’s breakneck gallop down the lane and out onto the North Village Road.

Even at the pace he set, she paid attention to where she was going. In the fortnight she had been riding Fleur, she had seen the trailhead to North Village, but mindful of his warning to stick to the road until she knew her way around, she had not done much but explore the first quarter-mile. She had turned back when the going became rough.

As soon as the trail started up the hill, he slowed to a walk. It climbed precipitously, full of switchbacks and rough places, and would obviously be dangerous at a faster pace. Twice it crossed a creek, where the footing became precariously icy. She wondered if Midnight’s fall had been in one of these treacherous spots. She gave Fleur her head and let the mare choose her own path. Fleur put her nose down and picked her way deliberately until the trail smoothed out, then relaxed and pulled up the hill with all the legendary Appaloosa strength and stamina and the quiet confidence of consummate training.

The farther they went up the ridge, the deeper and darker the woods became. Then they dropped over the top and onto a relatively flat area or, Jenny thought, an area at least less steep. She saw smoke ahead, and a thinning in the trees that might be called a clearing. That had to be North Village. When the trail widened. she drew Fleur abreast of Midnight.

“Is that where we’re going?” she asked, pointing vaguely to their left.

“Yes. It’s not far now. But we’re still not moving above a walk. Come summer, when the snow is off, you’ll see just how rough this is.” She took his warning to heart and dropped back, letting him break trail.

The sun was climbing toward noon as they arrived in North Village. “Village” seemed a dignified name for the varied structures laid out circle-fashion, like an Indian encampment. She counted only three substantial log buildings. Her heart twisted when she took in the rest, a strange and ramshackle combination of wattle and daub, hides, salvage lumber, and brush.
Don’t tell me people actually live in those,
she thought, a chill going through her.
They’re just asking for an epidemic here.

“This is North Village,” he said, with one all-inclusive gesture of his left hand. He paused to indicate a white clapboard structure a hundred yards or so to the west. “That’s the schoolhouse and also Father André’s church.”

He rode through the center of the circle, past a depression in the snow that looked like a very large fire pit. She tried not to stare as dark eyes peered from doorways and childish faces peeked out from behind corners. It seemed routine to Shane, for he did no more than glance around as he led her to the largest house in the village, a good-sized shotgun log cabin with a cedar shake roof and a porch set well off the ground on sturdy piers.

Shane dismounted and tied his reins around the porch railing, then turned to help her down. This time, however, Jenny did not wait for him but tethered the mare herself while he untied her medical bag.

They were met at the door by a tall, graying woman of indefinite age. Her eyes, so black they lacked clear delineation between iris and pupil, regarded Jenny without expression. She wore a belted buckskin dress with a blaze of bright beadwork across the shoulders, and she had drawn her hair back into a single, wrist-thick braid. Shane said something to her in his language of soft sibilants, and Jenny realized she had heard the same Iroquois when he had quieted Midnight while she cleaned his wire cuts. The older woman nodded, ushering them into the warm cabin.

Jenny took it all in with one brief glance. To her right, a huge fireplace of river-worn granite stones dominated the whole wall; a fire leaped brightly on the hearth. One rocking chair stood close to it, draped with a bear robe; an ancient Sharps buffalo rifle dominated the mantelpiece; and a collection of traps, snowshoes, parflèches, and bright, dried corn hung suspended from the rafters. Then the world narrowed to her patient.

She had expected to find him in the bedroom, but instead he lay beneath a three-point Hudson’s Bay blanket on the long table at the far end of the room. His slim body made only a small, pathetic shape beneath the cover, his face ashen and his eyes filled with terror. Shane spoke to the woman who hovered beside him, evidently his mother, and she and a slightly younger boy stood aside.

“His name is Jimmy Richardson,” Shane volunteered. “These people are his mother and his brother, and the other woman is his aunt. Incidentally, this is her house. They want to know what you need.” Jenny peeled her coat, gloves, and scarf off in one motion, dropping them on a bench.

“Hot water to wash, and I need to boil my instruments. Then the fire must be put out completely.”

Shane gave her a questioning look. “You want them to put the fire out?”

“Ether is flammable.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Jenny turned to the boy. She stroked the sweaty hair from his forehead and took his hand reassuringly. “Jimmy, everything will be all right. I’m a doctor and I’m here to help you. Don’t be afraid. Do you understand?” He nodded, drawing meaning from her tone even though he might not have understood everything she said. His pulse was racing from shock and fear, but it was strong. At least she had that much to go on.

Shane had evidently forewarned them, for a large kettle of water just below a rolling boil hung over the fire. She set her medical bag on the bench next to the fireplace, sorted out the instruments she would need, set them in a rack, and lowered it into the scalding water. Then she dipped some out into a graniteware basin, rolled her sleeves back, tied an apron over her clothes, washed her hands, and rinsed them with alcohol.

“Sergeant, I’ll need your help in a minute, but all I’m going to do now is examine him.” She turned the blanket back, and Jimmy whimpered in terror. Shane laid his hands gently on the boy’s shoulders, speaking to him softly in Iroquois. She lifted the makeshift bandage away from his lower leg—Shane had only folded something like a towel around it—and swallowed hard at the abomination she saw. The trap had all but severed his leg just above the ankle. Its jaws had shattered and degloved the tibia and fibula, and she could see where he had severed the last remaining strip of skin.
You brave, brave child
, she thought, near tears. She replaced the makeshift dressing.

“I’ll perform a proper amputation and give him a stump he can walk on,” she said quietly. Shane nodded. “Tell him I think he’s very brave, and tell him he’ll walk again. Also, tell him I won’t touch him until he’s completely asleep, and he won’t feel a thing. You can handle the ether for me, but if you’re the least bit squeamish, don’t stay. If you start to feel lightheaded or sick, get out immediately. Understand?” He looked startled as she took charge, but she kept her gaze level, asking for his acquiescence to her authority.

“I understand.”

“Good. And ask him when he last had anything to eat or drink.” She took a new ether mask from her bag, filled the reservoir, and set the mask aside while Shane talked to the boy.

“He said he ate supper last night but all he’s had today was water early this morning.”

“Good. That’s probably going to save him a lot of misery. Tell him that in a few minutes he’ll go to sleep, and when he wakes up he’ll feel better, his leg will be fixed, and everything will be all right.” She completed the final preparations for surgery. She took the rack with her instruments from the boiling water and wrapped a sterile towel around it, then brought it to the table and set it down out of Jimmy’s line of vision.

“Now, please have them put the fire out.” After a little discussion, the boy’s aunt went outside, and a moment later two men with metal buckets took care of the fire by the simple expedient of shoveling everything from the hearth and taking it outside. Jenny adjusted the ether mask, and Jimmy did not wince when she pressed it over his face and secured it behind his head. His eyes searched hers, then drifted oddly and closed. She waited the proper interval, then tested his corneal reflexes and adjusted the ether drip again.

“All right, Sergeant. Just watch this, please. I think there’s plenty of ether. If not, here’s more.” She set the bottle at his elbow. “I may ask you for more or less ether. If I do, here’s the adjustment knob. This way for lighter, that way for heavier. Only a quarter turn at a time unless I tell you otherwise.” She tied on a surgical mask, then pulled the blanket up to the boy’s waist. Fortunately someone had removed his pants or she would have had to cut them off. She reset the tourniquet high on the boy’s thigh. Then she rinsed her hands with alcohol again, took a pair of sterile gloves from her bag, broke the seal, and slipped the gloves on. She carefully cleaned the leg with alcohol, draped it in sterile towels, and prepared to get down to serious work. She made two semicircular incisions in the skin, the one over the shin concave and the back one like a long shirttail. However, when she came to the nitty-gritty business of dissecting the muscles away from the tibia, tying off arteries, and severing the fibula very high, Shane looked away. Eventually she reached up into the incision with a bone saw.

“I may have to ask you to steady his leg. Just let me see how I do here.” It was the first thing she had said since she started. “No, stay where you are,” she amended. “I’m managing fine by myself. He’s so young and small that his bones aren’t heavy.” She sawed through the tibia and rasped the raw bone smooth, working very carefully. This was where it counted. Irregularities in the bone tended to become spurs later. After a time she concluded by bringing the muscles down to pad the end of the tibia, then approximated the flaps of skin and stitched them with precise, interrupted silk sutures. She loosened the tourniquet, then waited as the stump pinked up with returning blood. As she expected, the wound oozed slightly here and there, but there was no overt bleeding. She cleaned it once more, then applied a heavy, soft dressing and taped it down.

“All right, Sergeant, that’s it,” she said with a sigh. He turned off the ether drip and set the mask aside. The rank, clinging odor filled the room, along with the cloying, urine-like stench of blood. But Jenny scarcely noticed, filled with the elation of a successful surgical procedure, a life saved. This was medicine, the very purpose for which she had been put on earth. She placed her instruments carefully in the same basin she had used to wash and gave them a rough cleaning, rinsing her gloves at the same time and folding everything in a towel. Not until she removed her mask did she realize she had been working in a state of concentration that approached a trance. Now she felt limp with the aftermath of her own adrenalin. She dried her instruments and returned them to their case, promising a more thorough scrub when she had the time. Finally she asked for clean water, carefully washed her hands, and paused to rub a dab of Honey Almond Cream into them against the drying effect of alcohol.