Embers of Love (17 page)

Mrs. Decker gave a huff and looked away. It was clear she didn’t like her daughter seeking someone else’s approval before agreeing to see her mother alone.

“Not at all. Mother sent some grape tarts for Dr. Clayton. I’ll just go deliver them. I’ll meet you back here at the wagon.” Deborah took her brown skirt in one hand and secured a hold on the wagon with the other as she climbed down. Together, she and Lizzie assisted Mrs. Decker from her perch.

“I won’t be long,” Lizzie promised.

Deborah lifted the basket of tarts from the wagon and made her way down the dirt street to the doctor’s quarters. The air was thick with soot from the mill. With very little wind, the smoke seemed to blanket everything. It only added to her anxiety.

Knocking at the waiting room door, Deborah felt a sense of relief when Dr. Clayton opened it. He smiled and stepped back. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

“More so than you know. Mother has sent her black grape tarts,” Deborah said, holding up the basket. “They are quite delicious.”

He closed the door. “I must say were it not for your mother, I might never get a decent meal.” He paused for a moment and shook his head. “No, that isn’t exactly true. Mrs. Perkins has me to the house at least once a week. The preacher and I share their table and hear all of the latest gossip about the town. Annabeth and Maybelle Perkins are better than having a newspaper’s society page.”

Deborah nodded. “I know that to be true.” She pulled the plate of cloth-covered tarts from the basket and placed them on a small table by the door.

Dr. Clayton seemed to immediately sense her mood. “Something is wrong.”

She met his gaze. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“Does this have to do with Mr. Albright and Lizzie’s mother?”

“Mostly it has to do with Mrs. Decker. She has no consideration for Lizzie’s desires whatsoever. She came to visit and went on and on all morning. Even at lunch, which Mother graciously invited her to, Mrs. Decker made everyone miserable. I couldn’t wait until I could suggest I drive her back to town.

“Lizzie accompanied me and on our journey here, her mother berated us both until I very nearly thought I’d push her from the wagon bench.” Deborah looked away. “I wouldn’t really have done it, of course, but she just keeps insisting that Lizzie is married to Stuart Albright and that she should remain so! Furthermore, she’s insisting that Lizzie leave with them when Stuart returns from observing the logging operations with G. W.”

The doctor motioned to one of the chairs. “Why don’t you sit and tell me all about it? Did you mention to Lizzie the possibility of getting an annulment?”

“I did. She said that if her father finds out that she truly is legally married, then she will journey to Houston or wherever necessary and arrange an annulment.”

“So why this degree of contention?”

“I can’t really put my finger on the exact problem. Mrs. Decker is clearly up to something, but I can’t figure out what that might be. Lizzie is quite clueless, as well. There seems to be some reason Mrs. Decker stands behind this marriage – even though she’s divorced herself. But I’m ranting, and that’s hardly fair.” She forced a smile. “How are things coming along for you here?”

“Miserably. I have managed to see one patient, but otherwise, it’s remained as quiet as a graveyard.”

Just then the door burst open, nearly startling Deborah out of her skin. She saw the worried expression of Jeren Perkins and knew something must be horribly wrong.

“They’re bringing an injured man from the mill. There was an accident with one of the saws. He’s nearly cut off his arm, and he’s bleeding profusely.”

Dr. Clayton got to his feet and motioned to the exam room. “Tell them to bring him through the side door. It will be quicker that way. Miss Vandermark, I’d appreciate your help. You know where everything is in the exam room, and I’ll need someone who can work fast to help me.”

“Of course,” she said, feeling a surge of excitement.

The doctor went immediately to wash up, and Deborah opened the side door to admit the men. She had presumed Jeren had exaggerated the degree of injury, but as the men rushed into the examination room, she could see for herself that he had not.

Butch Foster’s clothes were drenched in blood, despite the fact that someone had thought to tie a tourniquet just above where the arm had been cut. The man was pale and unconscious, not offering so much as a moan when the men placed him on the metal table.

Dr. Clayton motioned Deborah to his side. “Hold his arm.”

Deborah frowned. “But I haven’t washed.”

“We can’t save that part anyway. Hold on to it while I cut away the remaining piece. All we can hope to do is stop the bleeding and keep the man from infection.” He worked quickly, freeing the arm from the man’s body. Deborah stood rather dumbstruck for a moment, not knowing what to do. She looked down at the arm, then back to Dr. Clayton.

“Put it in the spare washbasin,” Dr. Clayton instructed.

She did as he told her, washed up, and hurried back to the table to see what she might do to help. The men who had brought Mr. Foster in had backed away from the scene, keeping their distance from the injured man. Dr. Clayton was already busy examining the oozing stump and cleaning out pieces of debris. Time seemed to stand still, yet Deborah knew the minutes were flashing by. When Lizzie called out from the front room, Deborah had nearly forgotten all about her. The medical emergency had consumed her focus. She glanced at the clock and realized it had already been an hour.

“I’m in here helping the doctor, Lizzie.”

Her friend came to the entrance. “What’s happened?”

“Mr. Foster lost an arm at the mill. The doctor’s trying to get the wound cleaned and cauterized so that he won’t bleed to death.”

Dr. Clayton stopped and looked at Deborah with a frown. “Mr. Foster? As in a relative of Mrs. Margaret Foster – the very one who cursed me?”

“The same. This is one of her sons.”

He shook his head and went back to work.

“Lizzie, if you don’t mind – I’m going to be a while. Why don’t you take the train back? They’ll be returning shortly, and you can hitch a ride in the engine. Let Mother know what’s happened and tell her I’ll be home later.”

Her friend hesitated but finally nodded. “I’ll do that.”

The train whistle blasted and Deborah motioned her toward the door. “Hurry or you’ll miss your ride.”

As Lizzie left, Mr. Perkins showed up, anxious to know of Butch’s status. “Will he live?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Dr. Clayton replied. “He’s lost a lot of blood and infection is bound to set in. I’ll do what I can to ward it off, but there’s no guarantee.”

Mr. Perkins nodded and then seemed to notice Deborah. “This is no place for you! Why are you here?”

“I asked her to stay,” Dr. Clayton told him. “She helped me set up the examination room and knew where my instruments were. She also has proven herself to have a strong stomach and stable nature in the face of such matters.”

Mr. Perkins looked to the men who’d brought Butch to the doctor. “Why don’t you men get on back to the mill? You too, Jeren. I’ll stay and see what happens.”

“Do you want me to go find Mrs. Foster?” Jeren asked.

“No,” Dr. Clayton replied before Mr. Perkins could speak. “Not yet. I don’t need to have a distraught mother hanging over my shoulder. She has little use for me as it is.”

“You heard him. Go on with you now.” Mr. Perkins inclined his head. “See to things at the mill.”

Jeren nodded and took the two men with him as he left. Deborah couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when Mrs. Foster did learn of her son’s condition. If Dr. Clayton could save him, this might turn out to be the very thing that would change Mrs. Foster’s mind about him. Mother always said that God worked in mysterious ways, and Deborah supposed losing an arm might well be one of the strangest she’d seen.

“He was a good man,” Mr. Perkins said, coming alongside the table. “Hard worker. I hate to see this happen to him.”

“If he lives, he’ll have a long recovery,” Dr. Clayton told Perkins. “He’ll have to learn to do for himself all over again – this time without two hands. He certainly won’t be able to work at the mill.”

“No, I don’t suppose so. Not unless I could find something for him to do that required only one arm.”

“His balance will be off, and the pain will be excruciating for a long time. Of course, that’s only if he can somehow recover from the blood loss.” Dr. Clayton stood back and eyed the patient in serious contemplation. “He’s a fighter; I’ll say that for him. I would have expected to lose a lesser man by this point.”

“Well, I think I’d best go find Mrs. Foster, now that you have things under control. She won’t take kindly to being left in the dark about this.”

“She won’t take kindly to me treating her son,” Dr. Clayton declared with a shake of his head. “She won’t like that at all.”

Mr. Perkins rubbed his finger and thumb over his graying reddish mustache. “Hopefully you’ve saved the boy’s life. She can’t fault you for that.”

But Deborah knew she would. Mrs. Foster’s superstitions would cause her to believe that her son’s recovery had been jinxed by Dr. Clayton’s interference. She went to the cupboard for more bandages. She would need to stay with Dr. Clayton and explain the good he’d done to Mrs. Foster. The older woman would never listen to the doctor, but she might well be willing to hear Deborah and Mr. Perkins.

Mr. Perkins lingered a moment longer, as if he had something else to say. He shook his head instead and headed for the door. “I’ll be back.”

“Oh, how I wish this weren’t her son.” The doctor began to wrap the stump, shaking his head the entire time.

“Dr. Clayton,” Deborah began. He didn’t seem to hear her, so she broke with protocol. “Christopher.” He looked at her. “You’ve done good work here. He would have died by now if you hadn’t interceded. Mrs. Foster will have to realize that sooner or later. She might resent the fact that she wasn’t allowed to care for Butch immediately, but in time she’ll understand that this was for the best.”

“If he lives,” he replied. “The man is barely alive. The shock alone may kill him.”

“I know.” Evidence of the blood and trauma surrounded them.

From Dr. Clayton’s earlier instructions, Deborah knew that she’d find warm water in the stove receptacle in his kitchen. “I’m going to clean him up a little.”

Dr. Clayton met her gaze and nodded after a moment. “Thank you. That’s a good idea. There are towels in the cupboard over there,” he said and pointed. “I’ll wrap up the dismembered arm before Mrs. Foster arrives.”

Deborah nodded and hurried to see to her tasks. Once Mr. Perkins found Mrs. Foster, it wouldn’t take any time at all for her to make her way to the office. Deborah returned with the water and retrieved two towels before going to work to remove the blood that had matted on the man’s chest and neck. She had just managed to clean Butch’s face and neck when Mrs. Foster came screaming into the house.

With something akin to a wounded animal’s cry, she crossed the room and all but threw herself upon her son’s bloodied chest.

“Git away from him. Git, I say!”

Backing away, Deborah put the towel aside. “Mrs. Foster, Dr. Clayton has managed to stop the bleeding.”

“Bah! Git away from him. You have no right. No right at all.” She straightened and noted the missing arm. “You done cut off his arm.” It was more accusation than declaration. Her face screwed up and she began to wail. “Oh, you done took away his manhood.”

“Mrs. Foster, the accident at the mill did that,” Deborah interjected before Dr. Clayton could speak. “Didn’t Mr. Perkins tell you what happened?”

Margaret Foster rocked back and forth, hugging Butch’s good arm to her breast. “Oh, my boy. My boy.”

Dr. Clayton exchanged a glance with Deborah. She could see his growing frustration. Just then Mrs. Foster let go of Butch’s arm and pointed a gnarled finger at Dr. Clayton. “You’ve done your worst, but I’ll save him yet. He ain’t stayin’ here. I’ll be back to take him home.”

“You can’t move him, Mrs. Foster. He’s lost too much blood already. If you move him, he’ll start bleeding again,” Dr. Clayton argued.

She fixed him with an angry stare. “I know what I’m doin’. You just want him here so you can finish him off. The devil is using you to try to hurt me, but I won’t let him. I’ll fix you with a spell that you’ll never throw off.” She stormed out the door, leaving Deborah and Dr. Clayton in stunned silence.

The silence didn’t last, however. Dr. Clayton had clearly reached his limit of patience with the old woman’s nonsense. “Of all the ridiculous, absolutely stupid . . . argh.” He turned away, muttering.

“I’ve spent half my life learning medicine, studying and working to be the best doctor possible, and now this backwoods witch comes to undo everything. She’ll be the death of this man.”

“You’ve performed to the best of your abilities,” Deborah reminded him. “Whatever she chooses to do and whatever happens to Butch – it won’t be your fault.”

“That hardly matters!” His voice grew louder in his anger. “A reasonable person would understand the danger of the situation. If this were your brother, I could make your mother understand the need to leave him here.”

“You certainly could, but she would be just as upset as Mrs. Foster. You cannot change a mother’s desperation to save her child. Mrs. Foster might calm down by the time she returns.”

Dr. Clayton looked at her in disbelief. “Neither one of us believes that. She won’t listen to reason. It’s impossible to imagine that woman calming for any reason, but especially in a situation like this. She hates me. She’s made my life a nightmare. She’s maligned me and spoken against me.” He began to pace, flailing his arms as he walked. “She thinks her ways are the only way. She doesn’t believe in book-learned medicine.”

“It’s hard for – ”

“And no matter how I work to prove myself, I have no chance with these people.”

His tirade continued, the volume of his voice growing. Without thinking, she went to where the pitcher of clean water stood beside the washbasin. She drew a deep breath.

“She has no desire to understand what I can do for this community. I can’t even talk to someone on the street without them fearing it will get back to Mrs. Foster and she’ll put a curse on them. A cur – !”