With Autumn's Return (Westward Winds Book #3): A Novel (16 page)

Feeling beaten and defeated, Elizabeth descended the stairs.

Jason pulled the watch from his pocket and opened it. Two seventeen. The middle of the afternoon. That was what he
thought, and it concerned him. He hadn’t heard any sounds from Elizabeth’s office since this morning when she’d left in Richard and Miriam’s carriage. Jason had recognized the driver and had seen Elizabeth speaking with a young woman whose clothing announced that she was a servant. That had been hours ago. It was possible that nothing was wrong, that that had been nothing more than an ordinary house call, but Jason doubted it. Something was amiss. His intuition told him that.

Covering the distance from his office to his front door in a few long strides, Jason went outside and looked at Elizabeth’s window. The sign still indicated that she was gone, so perhaps he was mistaken in believing she needed his help. And yet . . . Obeying an instinct he couldn’t ignore, Jason turned the doorknob. To his surprise, it opened. That was odd, for Elizabeth was conscientious about locking the door whenever she left the office. “I have too many medicines here,” she had explained when he’d commented on the fact that she secured it even if she was only coming next door to see him. “I can’t risk someone helping themselves to the wrong one.” But now, though the sign proclaimed that the doctor was gone, the door was unlocked.

Jason stepped inside. “Elizabeth!” There was no answer, and yet the office did not have that peculiar feeling a building did when it was empty. “Elizabeth!”

It took only seconds to cross her waiting room, but when he opened the door to her office, Jason stopped in his tracks. He’d been right. Something was wrong, for Elizabeth was slumped over her desk. She wasn’t asleep. He knew that from the ragged breathing and the shudders that wracked her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Slowly she raised her head from her folded arms, revealing a face that was swollen and blotchy, eyes and nose that were red from weeping. Gone was the confident woman he knew. In her place was one who appeared devastated by whatever life had sent her way.

“I failed,” Elizabeth said, her voice distorted by tears. “No one would listen to me, and now Miriam may die.” A broken sob escaped. “You were right when you told me people were not ready for a woman doctor. I should never have tried.”

As his heart ached at the pain she was enduring, Jason searched for a way to help Elizabeth. There had to be something he could do. Words were fine, but she needed more. Though he’d never before done anything like it, Jason crossed the room, moving behind Elizabeth’s desk. Before she could protest, he reached down and pulled her from her chair, wrapping his arms around her when she was upright. Her body stiffened for an instant, and he feared she would push him away, but then she relaxed and let herself lean against him.

He pulled her closer, hoping that his nearness would comfort her while he searched for words to ease her pain. Despite her final statement, questioning the wisdom of choosing this profession, Jason realized that Elizabeth’s worries were not for herself. She was suffering because of her patient. “Tell me about Miriam,” he said softly.

Elizabeth nestled closer to him, burying her face in his chest, her motion sending the sweet scent of lavender upward. Jason took a deep breath, knowing that from this day forward, lavender would always be linked to thoughts of Elizabeth and memories of his attempt to comfort her.

When she spoke, her words were so muffled that he had to strain to hear them. “I can’t tell you anything more than
that she’s very ill and that I’m worried about her. I tried to tell Dr. Worland and Richard that, but they wouldn’t listen to me. Richard just insisted I leave and let Dr. Worland take care of Miriam.”

Jason thought quickly, hoping the idea that popped into his mind wouldn’t offend Elizabeth. She might view it as undermining her authority, but it appeared that the situation was so dire that there were few alternatives. “Perhaps I could convince Richard to let you treat Miriam. He’s a friend as well as a client. If I go there as a friend, he might listen to me.”

Relief flowed through Jason as Elizabeth’s expression changed from despairing to mildly hopeful. “Would you do that? I hate the idea that Richard doesn’t trust me.” Her voice broke again as she said, “He told Miriam I wasn’t a real doctor.”

And that hurt. Stroking her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, Jason murmured, “That’s not true. You know that. Those were the words of a man who loves his wife and who feels powerless to help her. I’m not saying it’s right, but I can understand that Richard might be afraid to trust anyone other than the doctor who’s been in Cheyenne for decades.”

Elizabeth nodded, and Jason hoped it wasn’t simply his imagination that her eyes looked brighter. “It hurt my pride,” she admitted, “but that’s not important now. All that matters is Miriam’s life.”

Jason agreed. “I’ll do whatever I can,” he promised. For Miriam, but mostly for Elizabeth. The strong, independent woman who’d been so quick to defend herself and her gender had been battered, revealing an unexpected vulnerability. To Jason’s amazement, he found that vulnerability endearing.
Perhaps it was nothing more than masculine pride or bravado, but his heart swelled at the thought that he might be the one person in Cheyenne who could help her. And suddenly nothing was more important than making Elizabeth smile again.

 11 

I
t was a week later, and Elizabeth was still worried about Miriam. Though she tried to concentrate on the article in Mr. Taggert’s
Telegraph
while she waited for patients to arrive, her thoughts tumbled faster than the leaves that had torn from the trees during the last thunderstorm. If Miriam’s case of diphtheria followed the normal pattern, she should have reached the crisis by now. The next few days would determine whether or not she lived. Elizabeth had gone to Maple Terrace two days after she had made her diagnosis, hoping to check on Miriam’s condition, but Richard had announced that his wife was too ill to have visitors. The way he’d emphasized the word
visitor
had told Elizabeth that Jason’s conversation with him had not changed Richard’s mind. He still did not consider her a real doctor, and he was not about to let her treat his wife. Though that realization was painful, the memory of Jason’s concern helped to mitigate it.

Elizabeth felt her lips begin to curve into a smile, and she laid the newspaper aside. Her eyes were reading words,
but her brain was not registering their meaning. Instead, her thoughts focused on Jason and how he’d tried to help her. His concern had told her that he cared, and that had warmed her heart. But it wasn’t simply Jason’s concern that assuaged some of the pain of being rejected by both Richard and Dr. Worland. It was the way he’d demonstrated that concern.

He’d held her in his arms. It was the first time a man had done that, and it had felt so very good. Jason had given her comfort, but he’d given her so much more. Even now, when she closed her eyes, Elizabeth was filled with the memory of how wonderful it had felt to have his arms around her. Jason’s strength had buoyed her. The steady beat of his heart had helped calm her ragged breathing. And when his heartbeat had accelerated, Elizabeth had felt an unexpected warmth flowing through her veins. She had no words to describe it. All she knew was that Jason was a special man. Somehow, just by drawing her into his arms, he had turned a truly horrible day into one that lingered in her memory and made her smile.

Elizabeth was still smiling when the doorbell tinkled. Rising quickly, she walked into the waiting room, where a woman and a small boy stood.

“Dr. Harding?”

As she had been trained, Elizabeth assessed the woman’s health as she nodded. The potential patient was about Elizabeth’s height, with brown hair and eyes, and she guessed she was a few years older. Elizabeth gave her a warm smile of greeting.

“I am Dr. Harding,” she confirmed. “What can I do for you? Are you here for yourself or your son?”

The woman laid a comforting hand on the boy’s head. His hair was lighter brown than his mother’s, but there was
an unmistakable resemblance. All except for body stature. The child, who appeared to be around four years old, was heavily built, while his mother was very thin.

“Both,” the woman said, her eyes softening as she looked down at her son. “I hope that’s all right. Louis is a little scared of Doc Worland. I thought you might be gentler with him.”

“I will certainly try.” Elizabeth’s opinion of Dr. Worland sank to a new low. Though the man must surely have some good characteristics, she had not seen them. While she led her patients into her office, Elizabeth learned that the woman was Laura Seaman and that her son was indeed four years old. “What seems to be Louis’s problem?” she asked as she lifted the child onto the examining table.

“It’s his ear.” Laura Seaman gestured toward the boy’s right ear. “He keeps tugging on it. When I ask him why, he says it hurts. He won’t let me touch it.”

Elizabeth nodded, then turned her attention to Louis. “I bet you don’t feel much like playing when your ear hurts, do you?”

He shook his head.

“Then let’s see what we can do to fix it. Will you let me look inside your ear? I’ll try very hard not to hurt you.”

Louis stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I’m a big boy. I won’t cry.”

Elizabeth suppressed a smile, remembering how often she had told Charlotte and Abigail that she was a big girl, only to be informed that she was their little sister. “You are indeed a big boy. Now, let me see what I can find.” It took only a few seconds to identify the cause of Louis’s earache. “It’s no wonder your ear hurts,” she told the child. “You have a large pustule in it.”

Though Laura Seaman gasped, as Elizabeth had hoped, Louis seemed impressed by the unfamiliar term and the fact that whatever it meant, he had a large one. Little boys, it seemed, were not that different from little girls, and at this age, bigger was better. “What’s a pus . . . pust . . . whatever it was you said?”

Grabbing a piece of paper from her desk, Elizabeth made a quick sketch. Though she would win no awards for artistic ability, she suspected that Louis would be intrigued. “This is what your ear looks like.” He nodded solemnly. Her pen moved again. “This is what a pustule looks like.” When Louis nodded, Elizabeth tapped her pen against the drawing of his ear. “You have a pustule right here.”

“Is it serious?” Laura had been silent while Elizabeth had examined her son, but now she could not conceal the worry in her voice.

“No,” Elizabeth was quick to reassure the young mother. “It will probably drain on its own at some point, but Louis will be more comfortable if I lance it today. Is that all right with you?”

When Laura agreed, Elizabeth turned back to her patient. “I’d like to make this pustule go away. It may hurt a little. Do you think you can be brave?” His eyes widening with either anticipation or apprehension or perhaps a combination, Louis nodded. “All right. Let’s get ready.” Elizabeth drew a small scalpel and a piece of cotton batting from one of her drawers.

“I’d like you to hold your mother’s hands.” That would keep Louis steady. “When I tell you, take a deep breath and hold it until I tell you to release it.” There was no medical reason for the child to do that, but it would give him some
thing to think about other than the pain Elizabeth was about to inflict.

“Ready? Breathe in.” Within seconds, she had lanced the boil. “You can breathe again,” she told Louis, pleased that he had barely winced. When she’d cleaned his ear and applied salve to the small incision, she smiled at her patient. “You were the bravest patient I’ve ever had. Would you like a licorice stick as a reward?”

As the boy grinned and popped the end of the candy into his mouth, Elizabeth turned to his mother. “His ear should heal quickly. I’d like you wash it every morning and night. Just put a little warm water on a soft cloth and dribble it inside. That’s all he needs.”

Laura stroked her son’s head. “Thank you, Doctor. Louis seems happier already.”

Elizabeth gave her a crooked smile. “Licorice will do that.”

“You’re too modest. Doc would never have taken so much time with a little boy.”

Though Elizabeth didn’t want to talk about Dr. Worland, she couldn’t ignore Laura’s comment. “I believe all my patients deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. Age doesn’t matter.” She lifted the boy from the table, placing him on the floor. “You said you also wanted to consult me.”

Laura looked at her son. “Louis, I want you to play in the other room so Mama can talk to the doctor. I’ll be right in here, and you’ll be able to see me.”

“I’m a big boy,” he announced as he took long strides toward the waiting room.

When he was seated on one of the benches, apparently content to munch his licorice, Laura turned to Elizabeth. “I didn’t want him to overhear our conversation. I’m never
sure how much he understands.” She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath once she settled into a chair in front of Elizabeth’s desk. “Dr. Harding, Louis is four years old. Lloyd and I want another child. We have ever since he was born, but it hasn’t happened. I hoped you’d be able to help us.”

Elizabeth reached for a clean sheet of paper and began to take notes. “Did you have trouble conceiving Louis?”

“Not at all. It happened the first month we were married.”

Then it seemed logical that she would have had a second child or even more by now. “Was there anything unusual about your delivery?”

Laura inclined her head. “The midwife thought it was going too slowly, so she gave me something to strengthen the contractions. I can’t remember what she called it.”

“Ergot?” Even as she pronounced the word, Elizabeth hoped she was mistaken.

“That’s it.”

Laura’s smile told Elizabeth she had no idea how dangerous the medication was. “Do you recall how much the midwife gave you?”

“A lot. She said it would help the baby come more quickly, so she gave it to me a few times then, and after he was born, she gave me more.”

Trying to keep her expression impassive to avoid worrying her patient, Elizabeth said, “Some people believe it’s helpful in delivering the afterbirth.”

She must not have succeeded, for Laura raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t?”

Elizabeth’s chair creaked as she leaned forward. “It’s a very powerful medicine. I prefer to use other methods.” Ones that
might not have such serious aftereffects. “Would you mind sitting on the table and removing your shoes and stockings? I’d like to examine your feet.”

“All right,” Laura said, her reluctance obvious, “but . . .”

Two minutes later, Elizabeth expelled a sigh of relief. “Everything’s fine,” she said, smiling when Laura giggled as she touched the inside of her arch. The fact that her feet were ticklish confirmed Elizabeth’s opinion.

“What did you expect?”

There was no reason to dissemble. “I was concerned about how much ergot you were given. It can cause permanent damage to the extremeties. When I was studying to be a doctor, I had to amputate a woman’s foot because she’d taken too much ergot.”

Laura shuddered. “Do you think the ergot is the reason I haven’t had another child?” she asked when Elizabeth completed her examination.

“I don’t know. It would be unusual, but I can’t rule it out. Everything else seems normal.”

Squeezing her eyes closed to keep the tears from falling, Laura shook her head. “Oh, Doctor, Lloyd and I want another baby so badly.”

“Have you considered adoption?” Just last Sunday the minister had announced that two little boys had been orphaned and had asked the congregation to pray for them.

Laura shook her head. “Lloyd won’t agree. He says that if God wants us to have a baby, he’ll give it to us.” She blinked back tears. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

Elizabeth wished she could offer encouragement. Unfortunately, she could not. “I’ll do what I can to help you, but I have to be honest. It may take a miracle.”

Elizabeth was still thinking about Laura Seaman and wishing she had had better news for her when she heard the door open again. The softer footsteps told her her visitor was not Jason, and though she would have enjoyed seeing him, Elizabeth’s spirits rose at the prospect of two patients in one morning. The rent for this office was far from exorbitant, almost covered by what Phoebe paid her, but an additional patient or two would make a difference.

A welcoming smile on her face, Elizabeth entered the waiting room, then felt her heart plummet when she recognized the woman who stood by the doorway. Delia. Elizabeth hadn’t seen her since the day she had been practically evicted from Maple Terrace. By now Miriam’s crisis should have passed. There should be no need for a doctor unless . . . Elizabeth didn’t want to complete the sentence.