Sawbones (15 page)

The offer surprised me. “How kind of you.”

“If you need anything before, the sutler's store might have it,” she said. A moment of silence ensued. “Well, I must be going. Can I walk you to the hospital?”

“Yes, thank you. I am not even sure what time my rounds are.”

“Eleven fifteen,” Harriet and Kindle said in unison. They laughed. “Fort life is the same everywhere,” Harriet said.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Ten o'clock,” Kindle answered.

“Do you not have a watch?” Harriet asked.

I thought of my father's watch. “No. Most of my possessions…” I cleared my throat as the vision of the devastated wagon train came to mind. “I do not suppose there is any chance of recovery?” I asked Kindle.

He looked down at his injured arm. “No, it's most likely been looted by now.”

“Then a watch will be at the top of my list for our shopping spree,” I said with false enthusiasm. I grasped my medical bag, gave Kindle instructions to rest, and promised to check on him at dinnertime.

While struggling to sleep the night before, my behavior toward Harriet had weighed on my mind. Though always pushing against the role society wanted me to play, I always understood how to play the role within the bounds of propriety. With Harriet, I had failed spectacularly and risked alienating her unless I was contrite. I also didn't know what kind of influence she exerted over Lieutenant Colonel Foster. The thought of the letter of recommendation waiting for me spurred me on.

“Miss Mackenzie, I'd like to apologize if my behavior yesterday was offensive.” Harriet raised her eyebrows. “There is no if,” I amended. “It was offensive. I do not apologize for the sentiments, but I do apologize for the way in which I delivered them.”

“I was not in the least offended by your delivery. I have ample experience in dealing with personalities affected by…events. Short tempers do not discombobulate me. Your attitude about your living arrangements does concern me and will continue to do so. Our differences do not have to preclude a civil acquaintance, do they?”

“They do not.”

I stopped at the foot of the hospital porch steps. Harriet walked a few feet away and turned. “I thought you would agree. You strike me as a pragmatic woman.”

“I like to think so.”

“May I ask, what made you want to become a doctor?”

“My father was a surgeon.”

“He supported your endeavor?”

“He wanted me to marry and have children. When he died, I had no one left to object.”

“Your mother?”

“Died when I was five years old.”

“Where exactly did you study, again?”

“In London.”

“What college?”

“I studied with a surgeon. An apprentice, I suppose you could say.”

She nodded, as if I'd confirmed her suspicion I wasn't a real doctor.

“I suppose Sherman didn't care. That you don't have a degree.”

“I suppose my performance saving Captain Kindle's life was enough qualification.”

“Not for my brother, however. Before he left, he asked me to investigate your background.”

I swallowed my panic, and for the first time, thanked God for the remoteness of Fort Richardson. “I will happily give you my mentor's name. If you will wait an hour, I will walk to the telegraph office with you. To ensure it is directed to the correct person.”

Harriet pursed her lips. “The telegraph does not reach Jacksboro. Only Fort Worth and Fort Sill.”

I tried to hide my relief behind calm disinterest and confidence. “Wait here and I will write the name and address down for you.”

I went into the hospital office, wrote down a name and address, and returned. I handed it to Harriet, secure in the knowledge that by the time a message got to England and back, I would be well free of Fort Richardson.

Harriet folded the paper and put it in her reticule without reading it. She wore a black dress for the second day in a row. While the color was flattering with her olive complexion and dark hair, I suspected she chose her attire for a different reason. “Did you lose someone in the war?”

Her lips tightened very slightly before she answered. “My fiancé. He died at Gettysburg.”

“My condolences. The cost of war never ends.”

Harriet dropped her eyes to her hands. “No.” She sniffed and glanced up at the hospital. “Good luck today. I know how much is riding on your success.” She nodded to me and turned toward town, but not before I saw grief shadow her face.

I watched Harriet walk away with pity, which I suspect she would have loathed. She was a woman with no place, save by her brother's side. Unmarried and without a profession, she most likely relied on the charity of her brother or surviving parents. Reliance meant subordination. She could not be her own person and would naturally resent a woman like me who could.

I spent the hour before rounds reading the hospital logs, discovering drunkenness, venereal disease, and dysentery were the most common ailments. Most of the few fighting wounds that were treated resulted in gangrene and amputation, solidifying my theory the hospital was a breeding ground for the infection. I was pondering ways to combat this when the bugle sounded, signaling hospital rounds. I added brief comments about Kindle's surgery and the previous day's examinations, noted my theory about the infection and steps to alleviate it, and rose to attend my patients.

The south ward was empty, save the five patients from the day before.

“My, my. Quite a different scene from yesterday.”

Waterman did not reply but stood at the foot of Private Howerton's bed with clipboard in hand for instructions.

“Private Howerton, how do you like your view?”

“It's nice, ma'am. Thank you.”

“How do you feel?”

His smile was lazy, his eyes hooded. “Much better since you've been here.”

Ignoring the soreness in my own shoulder, I removed Howerton's bandages. “Why are bedridden men such determined flirts, Waterman?”

“I have never had a bedridden man flirt with me, Doctor.”

I raised my eyebrows at Howerton. “I can't understand why, Waterman.”

“Neither can I, ma'am.”

Jonah Howerton smiled. He stared out the window opposite as I examined his leg. “When I got here the creek was covered with trees.”

“Was it?” The smell of the infection spreading up his thigh was overpowering.

“I helped cut 'em all down. To build the enlisted quarters. We had to move farther upstream to find wood.”

“Is it dangerous being so far away from the fort?”

“Nah,” Howerton said. “Never saw an Indian. More like to hurt yourself with an ax than from an arrow.”

“Is that what happened to your leg?”

He nodded. “My Pa's gonna be mad it was a damn tree took my leg and not an Indian arrow.”

“I am sure he'll be glad to have you home no matter how your injury occurred.”

Howerton shook his head. “You don't know my Pa. It's bad, ain't it?”

I nodded.

Howerton swallowed and stared at the ceiling. Tears pooled in his eyes and his mouth twitched in his effort to keep from crying. “Lumberjackin's my family trade. That's why I was on the detail. Angered my pa somethin' fierce when I joined the army. I didn' wanna be a lumberjack, see? I can't go home a half a man from a lumberjackin' injury.”

I hesitated. Private Howerton would never leave the hospital. Amputating his stump at the hip was pointless. The infection had spread and I suspected it was in his blood. His time on earth could be counted in hours, not days.

“I can't face my father. I'd rather die.”

A soft voice spoke up from behind me. “What's this I hear, Private Howerton?”

A young woman not more than twenty years old stood next to Corporal Waterman, holding a small Bible in her hands. Unlike the romantic heroines populating literature whose nondescript features added up to a beautiful countenance, the young woman's face was a cacophony of striking features resulting in a homely, unattractive appearance. Her long thick eyelashes almost touched the perfectly arched eyebrows that framed wide-set hazel eyes. Her Roman nose beaked toward her small, bow-shaped mouth. A pale, round face was supported by a defined jaw and small chin, all of which rested precariously on a long, swanlike neck.

“Hello, Mrs. Strong,” Howerton said, his face showing more animation than I had seen. “Wondered if you'd given up on me.”

“Nonsense.” It was plain to me from the girl's pallid complexion and bright eyes she was ill. “I apologize for being late.” She turned to me. “I am Alice Strong. My husband is Private Howerton's commanding officer. Since he is on patrol and unable to check on Jonah, I have undertaken the privilege of sitting with the private each day. Do you object?”

“Not at all. I am Laura Elliston.”

“Yes, I know.” The girl took my proffered hand and squeezed it with more strength than her demeanor suggested.

I pulled her a little away from the private's bed and said in a low voice, “Private Howerton does not have long to live.”

“I suspected as much.”

“You are ill.”

She shook her head. “I am fine.” I had said the same lie too many times in the past few days to believe her. I admired the girl. She came to sit by the bed of a dying man despite her own infirmary. “Letters to loved ones might be a good idea,” I said, glancing at Howerton.

She nodded. “I'm glad I came to sit with him.”

When she moved away I put my hand on her arm. “Please come see me later.”

She did not reply, but sat down next to Howerton's bed. “What would you like for me to read today?”

“You know, ma'am.”

“Jonah it is.”

Waterman stood next to me. “Give him as much laudanum as we can spare,” I said. “It won't be long, I'm sure.”

The examinations of the other men were achieved in short order and we moved onto the north ward to check on the black soldier, Jethro.

A different Negro woman sat next to the dying man's bed, sewing scraps of material together. Jethro's face was drawn and ashy, his eyes vacant.

I checked his pulse, which was faint and thready. “You must drink something, soldier,” I said. I looked at the woman sitting by the bed. She stood and poured some water into a tin cup.

He shook his head. “No, ma'am. It goes right through me.”

“Yes, I know, but if you do not…”

“I'm know I'm gonna die, ma'am.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, ma'am. I'm ready.”

I put his hand down and patted it. I nodded at the nurse. “I will check in on you later today.” I heard her entreat Jethro to drink as I left.

I walked past the office and into the dispensary. I noted the gaping holes in the rows of the various powders and medicines lined on the shelves of a wooden cabinet. A large, scrupulously clean worktable sat in the middle of the room and took up most of the space. A scale and weights sat atop it, waiting to be used. “You do an excellent job of organization, Corporal Waterman.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“Where are the rest of the medicines?”

“This is all we have.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“We're chronically short on supplies out here, not only with medicine, but with everything. You saw we're using blankets to cover the windows.”

“Yes.”

“We had nothing to use in the winter.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Ma'am?”

“Why do you think you are short supplied? Chronically?”

“Dr. Elliston, I have no idea,” Waterman replied, a bit of exasperation showing through. “I follow the orders I'm given. I requisition what we need and organize what the Army gives us, whether it's sufficient to our needs or not. I do the best with what I'm given.”

“Just like a good soldier does.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Hmm.” I stared at the shelves. “Do you happen to have a cane or a crutch? I need one for Captain Kindle.”

“Yes, ma'am. In the storeroom upstairs. I'll get it for you.”

“No, I can get it. Thank you.” I turned at the door. “Give Jethro thirty drops of laudanum.”

“So much?”

“I thought you followed orders. Or does that only apply when men are giving the orders and they relate to a white man?”

Waterman's face reddened. “No, ma'am. I was thinking, respectfully, that much might not be prudent given his dehydrated state.”

“You are right. But he will die in a day, maybe two. I want to make him as comfortable as possible.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I sighed. “It seems to be my primary function here, helping people die comfortably.”

The second floor of the administration block was a mirror of the four rooms downstairs. Three were used for storage and one was the death room, though not for much longer. The stairs leading up were narrow; I could imagine how inconvenient it was to maneuver a body upstairs on the canvas stretcher and downstairs in a coffin.

Three storage rooms were being used but one would have been sufficient for all items, with room left over. Waterman had obviously organized the three rooms in anticipation of them one day being fully stocked. I found a cane easily, though it was too short even for me; it would be useless for Kindle.

With only five patients and Waterman's levelheaded organization and leadership taking care of the menial tasks of ordering supplies and managing the soldier orderlies and laundresses, there was little for me to do. I decided to take the long way back to Kindle's quarters and give myself a tour of the fort.

I exited through the rear of the hospital, walked past the under-construction death house to Lost Creek, the fort's natural western boundary. All that remained on the banks of the creek were outcroppings of rocks and saplings, which gave a clear view of the prairie beyond and the town a half mile distant. Behind the hospital, the creek widened into a still pool, fed from the north by a rushing, graduated waterfall surrounded by a natural wall of rocks. I passed a soldier hauling two buckets of water as I walked down the creek bank to the edge of the pool. I felt a pure solitude, and despite everything I had been through, a surprising measure of contentment. I closed my eyes and inhaled, letting the sound of the water and birdsong fill my senses.

The soft nickering of a horse broke my reverie. Across the creek, partially hidden by the rock outcropping, a tall man stood next to a gray horse. His hat was pulled low, obscuring the part of his face not covered by a full, unkempt beard. Though I couldn't see his eyes, I knew his hard gaze was directed at me. My previously comforting solitude turned oppressive, threatening. The man before me became the specter of the savage on the plains, rooting me to the ground as if I'd been planted there millennia before. We stared at each other across the expanse of the creek, each unmoving, until he tipped his hat and it dawned on me he knew me and wanted to frighten me.

A chorus of laughter floated down from the creek bank behind me. Three women, with woven baskets overflowing with uniforms, descended the bank. Their laughter died when they saw me.

“Sorry, ma'am,” one said. “Were you taking a dip?”

“A what?”

“Bathing, ma'am.”

“No, I…” I motioned to the man across the creek. When my gaze followed my hand it rested on nothing. “Where did he go?”

“Who?”

“There was a man, standing there with a horse.”

“I didn't see no man,” the woman said.

“A gray horse. He had a full beard,” I added, as if giving details would make him appear again.

“Maybe it's Cotter Black,” a redheaded woman said in mocking tones, and playfully shoved the youngest of the three women. The young girl's eyes widened.

“Shut it, Adella. Don't go putting notions in her shallow brain,” the oldest woman said.

“Who's Cotter Black?”

“Only the worst killer in Texas,” the young woman said.

“Don't listen to Ruth,” the oldest-looking woman said. “She believes every story these men tell her. The more outrageous the better.”

“Everyone says he rides a big gray horse. Was the horse big?” Ruth asked.

“It was gray.”

“He paralyzed you with his eyes, didn't he? They say he can do that.”

“Good God. See what you've done, Adella?”

The redheaded woman grinned. “Sorry, Mary. It's just too easy.”

Mary shook her head and changed the subject. “Are you the new doctor, then?”

“I am.”

“A woman doctor. I've seen it all.”

“'T'aint no different from a midwife, I suspect,” said Ruth.

“No, it is rather different,” I said.

“She's arrogant like a doctor,” said Adella, “I'll give her that.”

“I heard you saved Captain Kindle's life,” Mary said.

I shrugged. “He has not died yet, at least.”

“So you think he's gonna?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Have you seen him naked?” Adella asked. “I've always wanted to see him as the Lord made him. He's a fine-looking man, and that's a fact.”

“You ain't ever gonna see him, neither,” Mary said. “You ain't his type and even if you was, he wouldn't be interested in your dirty snatch.”

I coughed, not hiding my shock at their language very well. “You are laundresses, I presume.”

“Aye, we're laundresses,” Mary said.

“With lots of boyfriends,” Ruth added.

“If one of our
boyfriends
happens to drop a coin or two on the floor.” Adella shrugged.

“There ain't been much lost coin lately,” Mary said. “Payroll hain't come in a long while.”

“Do you get examined? For diseases?” I asked.

“By who? Welch? He'd be as like to molest us and call it ‘examinin'' and be on his way, but not afore tellin' us he'll have to come back next week to make sure, then demandin' payment.”

“I'll examine you,” I said.

Adella narrowed her eyes and said, “What do you want in return?”

“Nothing. At least, there's nothing I need at the moment.”

“But we'll owe you.”

“Not necessarily. If you aren't comfortable with me examining you gratis, think of an affordable way to pay me. It doesn't have to be money. You do not have to pay me. It is entirely up to you.”