Sawbones (21 page)

“Leave her alone, Adella,” Mary said. “Can't ya see she's shy of it?” The women continued to chuckle and exchange knowing looks but, thankfully, dropped the subject.

“So, what was you doin' in town?” Mary insisted.

“Procuring lodgings,” I said.

“Don't trust yourself being alone with the captain, do you?” Mary said.

“No,” I replied.

“I wouldn'a trust ya, either,” Adella said. “You was clutchin' on to him somethin' fierce.”

“No. I did not mean…What I meant was…” I stuttered along, grasping for coherence.

“Maybe ya should lay off the mash, Doctor,” Mary said, taking the cup from my hand, spilling a bit on my dress in the exchange. “Sorry.” She tossed the rest of the mash on the fire, which flared up in response. “Strong, see?”

Determined to clear up the confusion, I continued on. “What I meant was, no, I am leaving because the captain has recovered sufficiently so he no longer requires someone to watch over him at night. It is only right that I, as a civilian, would find other accommodations.”

“You could stay with us!” Ruth offered.

“Don't be stupid, girl,” Mary said. “The lady doctor can't stay with a bunch of laundresses. You gonna stay at the hotel?”

“Yes. It will suit my needs sufficiently until I leave.”

“Leave?” Ruth said. “Where are you going?”

I smiled. Her disappointment made me strangely happy. “Staying in Jacksboro was never part of my plan.”

“But, the Injuns!” Ruth said. “They're all stirred up and killin' white people all around. It ain't safe!”

“Not to mention the gangs of white men ridin' around, raidin', killin', stealin', and makin' it look like Injuns,” Adella said.

“They's worse than the redskins, if you ask me,” Mary said. “What kinda man would do that to his own?”

“They say Cotter Black's the resurrected corpse of a rebel officer come back to revenge himself on his murderer,” Ruth said.

“Don't be stupid,” Mary said. “Can't no man rise from the dead.”

“Lazarus did,” Adella said.

“Well, I don't know about you but I ain't seen Jesus around Jacksboro performing miracles lately,” Mary replied.

“You've mentioned this Cotter Black before. What does he look like?” I asked Mary.

“I don't know of no man that's ever met him, let alone seen him.”

“That's cuz no one who runs across them lives to tell the tale,” Adella said.

“So, he is a phantom? A bogeyman made up to scare people?

“There's usually always a bit of truth in rumors,” Mary said. “Mind you, I don't think he's a ghost, but I suspect he's realer than not.”

“When I leave, I'll be traveling with the Army,” I said, “which is as safe as it is possible to be, I suppose.”

“You hope so. Heard some officer returned today with an arrow in his leg,” Adella said.

“Not an arrow. A bullet went clean through his calf.”

“What officer?” Ruth said.

“When do you expect to leave?” Mary asked.

I shrugged. “It depends on when the new surgeon arrives and when another patrol is destined for Fort Sill.”

“I hope it ain't for a while. I like you, Doctor. You're an interestin' lady,” Mary said.

“Thank you, Mary.” I looked at the women sitting around the fire with me. “I like you, too,” I said to the group. “Even though you tease me mercilessly.”

“Everybody needs a good teasin' now and then. Hell, if we can't laugh at ourselves, who can we laugh at?” Adella said. “We ain't paid you for examinin' us. You can't leave until we pay ya.”

“I told you not to worry about it.”

“What officer was hurt, Doctor?”

I couldn't ignore Ruth's question any longer. “Wallace Strong.”

I could tell by the expression on Ruth's face my suspicions had been correct: Alice's husband was the father of her child.

I walked back to my quarters across a dark, quiet fort, passing a few soldiers along the way. They tipped their hats and I saluted them, giggling to myself after they passed before returning my focus to walking a straight line across the parade ground.

Kindle was sitting on my porch—
his
porch—when I arrived.

There was no moon out tonight, but the sky was full of stars. The shadows on the porch were dark, hiding Kindle's face. Only the glowing end of a cigar held in his hand was visible. “Where have you been?”

“I didn't know you smoked,” I said. “No one agrees with me but I don't think it can be good for you to inhale smoke into your lungs.”

He raised the cigar to his mouth and took a deep drag. The glowing end lit his face and revealed anger and concern in his eyes. He blew a stream of smoke from his mouth and replied. “I'll keep it in mind. Where have you been, Laura?”

“To town.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, and why not?”

Kindle was in front of me in two steps. “You should not have walked back in the dark.” He sniffed. “Have you been drinking?” he asked, incredulous.

“Maybe a little,” I replied.

“In town?”

“No. I visited my patients and they offered me a glass of corn mash as payment.”

“Patients?”

“The laundresses near the creek. One of them is pregnant. Stupid girl.”

“You drank corn mash?”

“Unfortunately, their customer didn't pay them in bourbon. Though a little corn mash goes a long way, I can tell you.”

“You're drunk,” Kindle said.

“No,” I replied. I tilted my head to the side and looked up at him. “Maybe a little.” I lifted my hand and demonstrated. With the same hand, I touched his scar. “I did a good job.”

“You did.”

“You should probably thank Aunt Emily. She forced me to do needlepoint.”

“When I meet her I will.”

“I'm glad you didn't die.”

“Which time?”

“Either. Both.” I dropped my hand. “You want to kiss me again, don't you?” He didn't reply but his eyes traveled to my lips. I was drunk enough that a part of me wanted him to take me by the hand and lead me into his quarters, but sober enough to know he wouldn't. “You cannot, though I wouldn't mind.”

“That's the corn mash talking.”

“Yes, it is.” I sighed and glanced over my shoulder. “I have no doubt Harriet is peeking out the window behind us. I don't see her but her beady little judgmental eyes are watching, mark my words.”

“You and Harriet are more alike than you would care to admit.”

“I don't want to talk about Harriet, or Foster, or Cotter Black. My friends say I should be snuggled up with you. That was their word,
snuggled
. It is a funny word, isn't it?”

“Your friends?”

I nodded. “The laundresses. They're the only people who have welcomed me. Besides you, of course. Adella saw us. Today on the road. ‘Clutching at each other something fierce' was her description. Too accurate, I'm afraid.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” I smiled sadly, and chanced to look in his eyes. “There were two people on the road, don't forget.” I tried, but could not hold his gaze. “You understand why we cannot…Why I cannot…Why this is for the best.”

“You'll never convince me it's for the best.”

“Maybe you're right,” I said. “Under these circumstances…”

“If the circumstances were different?”

“What do you want of me? Mistress or wife? Neither would suit my personality.”

“Does being alone suit you?”

“Until now it has suited me very well. Would you tell me to give up my profession?”

My heart broke when he didn't answer. I turned my face and stared out onto the empty, dark parade ground. “I would ask you to give yours up, as well. I wouldn't be a good soldier's wife.”

He remained silent.

“You see, I'm correct. Neither of us could give the other what they want.” After a pause I said, “Now I have lost the warm and tingly sensations from the corn mash, but don't worry. I'm not angry. It's my own fault for asking you the question I didn't want to know the answer to.”

Kindle stepped away, leaned against the post, and smoked his cigar. “What were you doing in town?”

“I am moving to the hotel tomorrow. You are well enough. It's inappropriate for me to stay in your quarters.”

“You are
not
moving to town.”

“I've already talked to Foster about it.”

“I won't allow it.”

“You won't
allow
?”

“Stay in my quarters. I leave on patrol tomorrow.”

“What? You can't.”

Kindle inspected the glowing end of his cigar. “Are you speaking as my doctor, or as my…”—he looked up at me—“…friend?”

“You aren't recovered enough. What if you reopen one of your wounds?”

He crushed his cigar out and flicked it over the side of the porch. He crossed his arms and legs and gazed out at the parade ground. “I've survived on the frontier for years before I met you, Laura.”

I thought I was going to be sick. I wasn't ready for him to leave but knew I could do nothing to stop him. “I daresay you will survive many more.” I held out my hand. “I suppose this is good-bye.”

He took my hand. “It doesn't have to be.”

“It does.”

He nodded but didn't release my hand. “Promise me one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Don't leave the fort. Stay in my quarters for the remainder of your time here.”

“Why?”

“It's safer.”

I grinned. “Are you worried about Cotter Black?”

His eyes bored into my own. “Yes.”

My smile slipped. “Why?”

“Cotter Black was the name of a slave we owned. The one I helped escape.”

“And, you think he's the one—”

“No. That Cotter Black is dead.”

“I don't understand.”

“There's only one person who would use that name and he's buried next to my father. It is most like a coincidence.” He ran his thumb across my own, bringing back memories of the other moments we'd touched and what had passed between us. “Nevertheless, promise me you'll stay at the fort.”

I lifted one shoulder. “If you wish.”

He smiled and lifted my hand. His lips lingered for a few moments. “Good-bye, Laura.” He released me and turned. I grasped at his hand, wanting to prolong our time together, the feel of his skin on mine, but caught the cuff of his coat instead. “Wait.” My voice cracked.

He stopped.

“Your bandages.” I cleared my throat to steady it. “I should check them before you leave. Show you how to change them if they get soiled.”

He shifted, moved nearer. I forced myself to pull my gaze from the top button of his coat to his face. I smiled and tried to act nonchalant, to pretend it wasn't a ploy to prolong our parting. “Unless you've seen me do it enough you know how.” He didn't answer, but moved toward the door of his quarters. “No, the hospital. I am out of carbolic,” I lied. Though I didn't want to part yet, I also didn't want to be alone in a house with him. The hospital would give a gloss of professionalism to my unprofessional ruse, though if past was prologue, Kindle saw right through me. Like the gentleman he was, he motioned for me to precede him down the steps and kept any teasing comments he might have said to himself. We walked across the parade ground without speaking.

The hospital was silent save the occasional cough from one of my two patients in the south ward. Waterman met us in the front hall in his shirtsleeves, putting his glasses on. “Dr. Elliston?”

“Sorry to wake you, Waterman. Captain Kindle leaves on patrol tomorrow. I am giving him a lesson on changing his bandages.”

Waterman nodded once. “Can I help?”

“No, thank you. We shouldn't be long. Go back to sleep.”

Waterman nodded and left us alone in the dark hall. Kindle watched me, silent and grave. “You remember where the surgery is,” I said. “I will be there presently.”

Kindle's boots echoed on the wooden floor, scraped, and were silent. I inhaled a shaky breath, regretting the corn mash and the impetuous suggestion to change Kindle's bandages. The best I could do would be to brazen it out, remain professional, and shake his hand good-bye. I gathered my supplies and followed him to the surgery. My step faltered at the door; Kindle sat on the table, shirtless, his left shoulder bandaged expertly. I placed my equipment on the table next to him and lit the nearby lamp. I lengthened the wick and held the light up to his shoulder. I shifted the lamp to my left hand and used my right to lift Kindle's arm. When it was perpendicular to the ground he inhaled sharply. “Hurt?”

He nodded.

I put the lamp down and unwound the bandage from his shoulder, rolling it up as I did. I peeled the square of carbolic acid–laced cloth from the wound and was happy to see very little seepage on the cloth. I lifted the lamp and studied the sutured incision. “Very little redness. I can remove the stitches when you return. How long will you be gone?” I put the lamp down.

“Ten days. Maybe more.”

My stomach flipped. “So long?” I hoped he hadn't heard the disappointment in my voice.

“It's a short patrol. They can last up to a month.”

I swallowed the thickening in my throat and told myself I was nauseated from the corn mash. I held up the brown bottle I brought with me. “This is a carbolic-acid-and-water solution.” I dripped a bit of the solution onto a fresh piece of cloth. “When your bandage becomes soiled, dampen a piece of cloth with this solution and place it on the wound.” I did so. “Hold it for me, please?” Kindle held it while I wrapped the long strip of cloth around his shoulder and under his arm. I kept up a litany of instructions, trying to distract myself from his steady, penetrating gaze, but unintentionally distracted myself from his hands, which I realized were on my hips when I stopped talking.