Romancing the Schoolteacher (17 page)

Lindley lifted his daughter tentatively and gingerly laid her on the plank.

Even though unconscious, Dora moaned.

“I'm so, so, so sorry,” Cilla said again and again.

Bridget shushed her while making sure to keep the injured leg as still as possible. Any movement could cause further damage to the little girl. Irreparable damage.

Two men picked up the board, one at each end.

Lindley stayed beside his daughter's head, staring at her face as though he couldn't bear to view her injury.

Bridget continued to support the bent calf.

The procession took its time moving across the uneven ground to keep Dora stable. Part of the crowd followed, whispering in hushed tones.

Dr. Unger opened his office door. The crowd fell away except for Cilla. Lindley and Bridget had to let go of Dora so the board would fit through the doorway.

The doctor directed the men through another doorway. “Set the whole lot on the exam table. I don't want to move her unnecessarily yet. That could cause more damage.”

The men lowered the board to the table and left.

Dr. Unger pointed. “The three of you should wait in the other room.”

“I'm staying with my daughter.” Lindley's tone left no room for argument. He turned to Bridget and his sister. “You two can stay, as well.”

Dr. Unger heaved a sigh to show his displeasure. “As long as neither of you gets in my way or faints. I don't need two more patients.” He rolled up his sleeves.

Lindley turned to Bridget and his sister again. “Will you two be all right?”

“Yes.” Bridget didn't want Lindley to be alone. She wanted to support him. He must be so torn up inside.

Cilla's face was the color of the sheet covering the exam table.

Bridget put a hand on her arm. “Can you go see to Gabe? Troy Morrison went after him.”

The girl nodded, seemingly relieved to have something to do away from the doctor's office. She rushed out.

After the doctor washed his hands and toweled them dry, he directed Bridget to carefully remove Dora's shoe and stocking.

Why hadn't he asked Lindley to do it? But when Bridget looked at the anguish on his face, she understood. She took a deep breath to steady herself as she performed the task. She looked away from the bruised leg, which was already swelling.

“It's fortunate the bone didn't break the skin. I won't sugarcoat it. The break is bad. She could lose the lower part of her leg.”

“No!” Lindley shook his head. “No, no, no…”

Bridget stared at Dora's thin leg. It couldn't be that bad. “Surely you can save it.”

The doctor shrugged as he dabbed chloroform on a cloth.

Bridget recognized the smell. “What are you going to do?”

“For now, I'll straighten her leg and splint it.” He put the cloth to Dora's mouth. “Can you make sure she doesn't wake?” He handed the bottle to her. “Just a drop on the cloth every so often. Watch her breathing. She's small, so she doesn't need much.”

Bridget stood by Dora's head and kept the cloth in place. She glanced up at Lindley.

He held his daughter's small hand in both of his. His ashen complexion held the depth of his concern. He kept his eyes fixed on Dora's face as though that would make everything all right.

Poor man.

Bridget shifted her focus to the child's breathing. Steady. Then to Dr. Unger.

With a delicate touch, he probed the break. He looked up at her and shook his head.

The leg can't be saved?

She shook her head, as well. He'd better not dare suggest amputation.

“The bone is shattered into too many pieces. It will never mend.”

Lindley didn't move or seem to register what the doctor implied.

Bridget covered Lindley's hand with hers and spoke in a soft, calm voice. “He wants to take her leg.” Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the doctor nod.

Lindley looked up at her, dazed. “What? Take it where?” He seemed to begin to focus.

“He wants to cut it—”

Lindley jerked his gaze to Dr. Unger. “No! No, you won't!”

Bridget was pleased with Lindley's decision. It hadn't been her place to say one way or the other. Though she would have fought for Dora's leg if Lindley could not.

“It's too broken to repair itself. It will just turn gangrenous.”

Lindley shook his head and swung his gaze to her, pleading in his eyes. He wanted her to make everything all right even though he had no idea it was actually within her power to do so.

Conflicted about what to do, knowing either decision would have its own set of consequences, she made her decision and spoke. “Dr. Unger might not have the expertise for this kind of complicated procedure, but I know a doctor who does.”

“You do?” Hope sprang to Lindley's brown eyes like a lone flickering candle in the darkness. “Will he do it?”

Bridget was sure she could convince him. She nodded.

“How far is it? Can Dora make the trip?”

Dr. Unger shook his head. “I don't recommend moving her in her present state. She's already in shock. It could cause more damage to her leg.”

Lindley glared at the man. “You will not stop me from helping my daughter.”

“Dr. Unger is right. I can telegram the doctor, asking him to come.”

“Will he come all the way here?”

“Yes.”
She
could get him to come.

Dr. Unger shook his head. “And what do you propose doing with the child in the meantime?”

Lindley looked from the doctor to Bridget, panic etched in his features.

Bridget could tell that he wasn't able to think clearly in his distress. “The
child's
name is Dora. Splint the leg as you were going to and give her something for the pain.”

The doctor frowned and looked as though he might refuse. “I suppose.” He stepped away from Dora to get supplies.

Lindley gave Bridget a look of gratitude.

She touched Lindley's arm. “I'm going to send the telegram. Don't let Dr. Unger do anything more than put on a splint.”

Lindley nodded. “I won't let her lose her leg. I won't!”

She prayed he held to that conviction, and the doctor didn't try to persuade him otherwise in her absence. In Lindley's distress, he might be easily swayed if the doctor insisted Dora's life might be in danger. Or that Lindley wouldn't realize what the doctor was doing until it was too late.

She stepped into the other room. Cilla, Gabe and Troy sat on a bench like a trio waiting for the gallows. She was glad Troy had found Gabe and brought him back so quickly.

Cilla stood. “How is she?”

Bridget looked from Lindley's sister to Gabe and drew the girl across the room. “Her leg is badly broken. She needs a doctor who is experienced with this kind of injury. Can you go in with your brother while I send a telegram?”

Concern etched the girl's face, her complexion pallid. “I—I…I don't know.”

Lindley needed someone with him for support. He was too distraught and vulnerable to be on his own to cope with his erratic emotions and Dr. Unger.

“This doctor wants to cut off Dora's leg and be done with it.”

“What?” Cilla squared her shoulders. “He better not try. I'll make sure he doesn't.” She marched into the room where Lindley and Dora were.

Good girl.

A lot of people didn't think they could do things until faced with them, especially when a loved one's life was at stake.

Bridget turned to Gabe and Troy.

Gabe looked wounded himself. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean for Dora to get hurt.”

“It's not your fault.”

“We didn't mean to scare the horse. Is Dora going to be all right? Is she going to die?”

“No. She will be fine.” If the doctor would come. She turned to Troy. “Thank you for finding him. Can you stay here with him for a little while?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. I'll be back as soon as I can.” She rushed out. The sooner she got the telegram sent, the sooner the doctor would arrive, the better for Dora.

She hurried to the telegraph office. “I need to send a telegram.”

The operator slid her a tablet of paper. “Write your message and who it is to and where you want it sent. Keep it short and as concise as possible.”

She wrote her message. “Mark it urgent. I'll pay extra to have it delivered immediately. And I'll wait here for a reply.”

He took the pad. “As you wish.” He sat at his desk and tapped out her message on his machine.

Click. Click. Clickety-click.

That would put an end to Lindley's almost proposal. Her answer set before she'd ever met him.

* * *

Lindley wanted to crumple to the floor. His little sister's presence bolstered him.
Lord, heal Dora. Make her better.

Cilla stood sentry over Dora's injured leg, peppering the doctor with questions about his every move.

He'd never realized his baby sister possessed such strength. She had always been a bit pampered, with everyone else doing for her. He still thought of her as the tantrum-throwing eight-year-old she was when he left home. But she had grown into a strong and beautiful young lady.

Dora's leg was splinted between narrow boards and wrapped with strips of cloth to keep it all in place. The doctor had given her morphine, telling Lindley it would make her sleep.

Lindley wished Bridget was back. She gave him strength.

L
indley sat at Dora's side all night. His daughter rarely woke, and when she did, she was in pain, so she was given another dose of morphine. Bridget stayed with them, curled up on the bench in the other room. Cilla had taken Gabe home.

The following morning, Bridget left early and returned an hour later with a distinguished man who appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties. His sandy-brown hair was peppered with gray. His erect stance gave him command of any room, including this one.

Bridget made the introductions. “Dr. Grayson, this is Dr. Unger. And this is Lindley Thompson and his daughter, Dora.”

Lindley stretched out his hand. “Dr. Gra—”

The doctor waved him off and zeroed in on Dora's leg, stepping over to the exam table. “How long ago was the accident?” He looked but didn't touch.

“Less than twenty-four hours,” Bridget said.

Without glancing up, he held out his hand toward the other doctor. “Scissors.”

Dr. Unger looked taken aback at being treated like a mere nurse, but he slapped a pair of surgical scissors into Dr. Grayson's hand.

The doctor snipped through the bandages holding the splint in place one layer at a time, careful not to touch the leg with the scissors. With gentle fingertips, he pulled back the cloth strips and removed the splints. Then he washed his hands.

Lindley turned away as Dr. Grayson examined Dora's leg. He couldn't bear to see her injury.

“It's good you sent for me when you did. Time is of the essence. It's critical that surgery begin immediately.” He turned to Dr. Unger. “Where is your operating room?”

Dr. Unger held out his hands. “Just my office here.”

Lindley spoke in a hoarse whisper. “You're not going to cut off her leg, are you?”

“Certainly not.” Dr. Grayson swung a glare to Dr. Unger. “That would be barbaric. A doctor must first do everything in his power to save a limb. Her leg is good, and she is young. I'm sure she'll heal fast.”

“Um—I—uh.” Dr. Unger couldn't seem to speak. “I'm only a simple country doctor.”

“So that gives you an excuse to be ignorant and the right to maim a small child unnecessarily?” Dr. Grayson shook his head and spoke in a condescending tone. “Do you have carbolic acid?”

“Of course.”

“Bring it and iodine.”

“I'm almost out of iodine.”

“What kind of practice are you running here?”

“I have some on order.”

Dr. Grayson took a controlled breath. “Get me some whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” Lindley would not let a drunken doctor touch his daughter. He didn't care how good he was.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Dr. Grayson snapped. “It's to clean my hands and the incision.”

“But you washed your hands.”

“I will not have my every action questioned. If so, your daughter will die before I have a chance to treat her. Now leave.”

Lindley straightened his shoulders. “I'm staying with my daughter.”

Dr. Grayson narrowed his eyes. “I cannot operate with you here. So either you leave, or I will.” He shifted his gaze to Bridget.

She took Lindley by the arm and led him toward the door.

Lindley turned back. “You won't cut off her leg?”

The doctor's lips thinned. “I have no intention of performing an unnecessary amputation. Go!”

With a heavy heart, Lindley stepped out into the waiting room.

As Bridget was closing the door behind them, the doctor said, “Dr. Unger, you will assist me.”

Lindley turned to Bridget. “He won't take her leg?”

“No. He is one of the best surgeons in the West. He has the skills to repair it. Why don't you sit and rest?”

He nodded and sat on the bench. His poor little girl.

“I'll go get you some food.”

He shook his head. “I'm not hungry.”

“You need to eat something. You must keep your strength up for Dora.”

He stood. “Is she going to be all right?”

“Yes. I'll bring something, and you can eat what you feel like.”

He nodded and crossed to the door to the other room. He wanted to be with his daughter.

Bridget touched his arm. “You can't go in there. The doctor needs to work undisturbed.”

“I know.” He pressed his palm to the door. “If I could just hear her breathing, I'd know she was all right.”