by Zina Abbott
Although two wool blankets covered most of his body, she could see Nathan wore a nightshirt that appeared to be a size too large. Dahlia canted her head as she studied the one sleeve that had been cut free at an angle, front and back, from under his armpit up to the neckline. Although the sleeve still covered his arm, it remained detached from the rest of the garment except at the top. Cords laced through holes in the collarless neckband in two locations about four inches apart held it in place. A bandage held the loosely covered arm and shoulder tightly against his body.
“You like my handiwork, do you? I’m Dr. Angus Sprague, Mrs. Price.”
Dahlia turned toward the casually-dressed man with reddish hair who wore spectacles. He appeared to be about ten years older than her. “Pleased to meet you, doctor.”
Other than a nod, Dr. Sprague continued as if she had not spoken. “Mr. Royce Bainbridge donated an old nightshirt. As you can see, I modified it to accommodate the bandage securing his broken clavicle…er, one of the bones that make up the shoulder. Once I knew you would be caring for him, I felt you would be dealing with enough without offending your sensibilities by my bringing a bare-chested man to you. Hopefully, once he’s well, you can stitch the pieces back together.
“As for his other clothes, I had one of the men retrieve his street clothes from the warm shack. I’ll see all his belongings are brought to you. Unfortunately, the work shirt he wore in the mine is covered with blood because I was forced to cut it off of him to tend to his wounds.” His forehead wrinkled with consternation. “I hope the sight of blood doesn’t bother you, Mrs. Price. I brought the shirt in case you can find a use for what remains of it after it’s washed and boiled, but it is rather gruesome in appearance.”
“Thank you. I’ll look everything over and see what I can do with it.”
Dahlia had seen gruesome when she changed her father’s bandages during his bouts of infection on his stump—especially the one that turned into gangrene and caused him to lose even more of his leg. She could handle gruesome. As she followed the men carrying Nathan into the bedroom, she fought to focus on the doctor’s words.
The room grew quiet as she watched the four set the litter on the edge of the bed she had made up with a sheet topped by the rubber sheet which she then covered with a double-folded section of flannel. The men each grabbed a limb, with Dr. Sprague supporting the shoulder with the broken clavicle with one hand and the back of Nathan’s head with the other. The doctor told them to lift on the count of three, and then softly counted until the four hoisted Nathan and set him on the bed.
Dahlia fought her impulse to rush forward to tuck the blankets around Nathan. Instead, she turned to the doctor. “I have a quilt and a blanket I brought from my former home, plus I bought a top sheet and two blankets. I can use them to cover him if you need to take your blankets back with you.” She waited while the doctor thought it over.
“Why don’t I take one of the blankets in case something happens to one of the miners in the next week? If you don’t need the other, especially after someone brings Mr. Price’s bedding to you. I’ll pick it up another time when I come here to check on Nathan.” As if pleased, he paused and smiled. “The men told me you’ve asked them to take turns stopping by to help reposition Nathan. It’s a relief to know you understand the importance of that.”
“Yes, my father was an invalid the last few years of his life. It ended up being my responsibility to take care of him after my mother passed, but I always had my brother to call on to help turn him. I will appreciate their help.”
She turned as the man she had yet to meet spoke.
“We’re happy to do that, Mrs. Price. I’m Declan McNeill, your next-door neighbor on the other side from the Brinks. I’ll contact all the men in the mine housing and set up a schedule for helping you. Like my Rilla, I’m sure their wives will enjoy coming with them to visit for a few minutes.”
“Thank you, Mr. McNeill.”
“If there’s anything else we can help you with, let us know.”
Dahlia hesitated but decided this time was as good as any. “There might be one thing. With my husband unable to work for a while, I’m sure our finances will be tight. I don’t want to take away work from anyone else in town, but the one way I can think of to earn money that I might be able to do while caring for Nathan is mending—you know, sewing buttons back on, turning collars, and the like. Would the single men who work for the mine have a need for that?”
The men looked among themselves before Declan answered. “They would, Mrs. Price. We have a seamstress in town, but she prefers to design and sew fashions from scratch and does not encourage trade with the miners. The problem is, the Bainbridges do not want the single miners roaming around this neighborhood. We would need to set up a special arrangement so they can bring you their clothes to be repaired.”
Dr. Sprague spoke up. “For the time being, you can have them leave their things at the dispensary on Saturday afternoons. They can come back the following Saturday to pick them up and pay me what is owed Mrs. Price. I can transport everything back and forth when I come to check on Nathan.”
Dahlia hoped she did not sound too picky with her next condition. “I do need the clothes to be clean for me to work on them. I don’t wish to take in laundry, at this point. It’s too much work, and I don’t have enough fuel for heating that much water. However, if the clothes do not come to me clean, I will wash and dry them first and charge extra. Also, I don’t know how much to charge for services like that around here.”
Declan thought about it and nodded. “I see no problem with that. I’ll put together some fair prices to charge and get the word out. We’ll probably have a pile for you to work on by Saturday.”
A smidgen of silence passed before Harold spoke up.
“You ever figure out who or what caused the cave-in in level one, Declan?”
Harold rocked heel to toe with his arms folded as he stared at Declan. Surprised at the change in topic but realizing the answer to his question was of interest to her, too, Dahlia turned to face Declan.
“We’re still working on it. The blast that caused the problem seems to have happened in the section of drift that double-backed from the main stope—the drift we abandoned in order to work the vein in the other direction. We planned to go back once they got the stope in level one cut far enough over so that, if the vein turns out as promising as it appears, we can continue blasting, possibly opening both levels up into one big stope. We stopped because the last few blasts we set off before we abandoned that drift broke loose too much rock and dust below, and Clive Bainbridge decided it wasn’t safe to continue. Last week’s mishap proves the decision was correct. Of course, that leads to the question—what, or who, caused that blast to go off?”
“You figure it was a fluke explosion of some dynamite left behind, or do you think someone deliberately did it? It happened before we cleared the mine and set off the other charges on our way out.”
Declan straightened as his gaze met the intense stare coming from Harold. He placed his fists on his hips and spread his feet before he answered. “I don’t have enough information yet, but I have my suspicions. I’m not in a position to talk about it until after I take everything I find to Clive Bainbridge. We’re still digging through the ore and slag from that blast to see what we can find. In the meantime, the boss wants that big boulder that fell in level one broken up and removed and those square-sets rebuilt right away so the men assigned to the lower level can get back to work. It’s going slow for me, since I’ve been short-handed. I temporarily had half of my men reassigned to the crew chief downstairs after he lost Nathan, Spencer, and Gus to the collapse.”
Declan paused and glared at the three other men in the room. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t share what I’ve told you or speculate about the matter with others. It will be easier for me and Mr. Bainbridge to figure out what really happened if there are no more rumors flying around than what’s already out there.”
&nbs
p; Dr. Sprague broke in as he stepped toward Declan with his hand outstretched. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll let you take your talk of the mine outside, and then you can go home to your wives. I’m sure Mrs. Price would like to see to her new husband. She and I will discuss his treatment, and then I’ll take care of getting the mule and wagon back.”
After the men shook Dr. Sprague’s hand and bid farewell to her, Dahlia turned to study Nathan. Her gaze never left his face as the doctor started speaking.
“No doubt about it, Mrs. Price, he’s pretty battered up. As you can see, he suffered quite an extensive head injury. It might be hard to believe, but he’s doing better than he was. It surprised me when they first brought him to me. He did open his eyes and respond to my voice, although he could not answer my questions regarding his pain level. Not too long after that, he became totally unconscious.”
“That was when he went into a coma? Not as soon as he was injured in the mine?”
“That’s right. Don’t get me wrong—he was knocked unconscious when the wood beam first hit him, but he came to while they were bringing him to the dispensary. After he slipped into a coma after that, I suspected a brain clot inside the cranium…er, the skull…and called for Dr. Adams, here in town, to join me for a consultation. He agreed. Fortunately, he has a trephination saw. So, while I stayed and set bones on one of the other miners they brought in, he went back to his office to collect his saw and his medical book on the procedure for us to review before we started cutting into his cranium.”
Dahlia pressed a forearm to her stomach to prevent the bile she felt forming there from rising in her throat. “You cut into his head?”
“Yes. It was the only way to drain a blood clot that had formed inside his skull. It’s kind of like how apoplexy works. If too much blood presses against the brain and nerves, it can cause considerable damage, even death.”
As she absorbed this new information, Dahlia stared off to the side. “Oh. I had no idea.”
“You need to be aware, Mrs. Price, that we removed a small disk of bone from the skull. After we drained what we could, we washed it in a mild carbolic solution to prevent infection and put the bone we removed back in place before we closed the skin and sewed up the incision. Dr. Adams and I debated about leaving it partially open so the bleeding in the brain and beneath his skin could drain. We decided, due to the dust that exists around the mine and its structures, to close it up. Instead, since neither he nor I keep leeches, we contacted the railroad construction crew doctor. He sent a couple down. I used them the next day to keep the blood build-up down and prevent too much pressure on that piece of bone we reset in his head.”
“I-I didn’t know they still use leeches.”
Dr. Sprague shrugged. “Not as much as they used to, since most physicians no longer believe routine bleeding is beneficial. The railroad doc keeps some on hand because the men he treats frequently get into brawls, for one reason or another. Leeches are useful for removing excessive blood from black eyes and other large bruises. Head injuries are known to bleed a lot. So, I was grateful when he sent them down for me to apply to the swelling on the back of your husband’s head. We just need to watch that area. He may end up with a slight indent in his head if the piece of bone we removed gets pushed in too far as it heals. Or it may bulge out a bit. The main thing is to keep the brain healthy and his head free from too much swelling, both from blood accumulation and infection.”
Dahlia huffed out a breath and looked off to the side, already feeling drained and incompetent to handle the challenge of providing proper care for her new husband. Nathan’s injuries were far more extensive than Royce Bainbridge had led her to believe. However, if she had not agreed to take on his care, who would have? Grateful that Dr. Sprague had paused a few seconds to allow her to absorb his explanation, she returned her attention to him.
“The beam that fell and struck him in the back of his head and on his shoulder shoved him into the ground with a great deal of force. His nose was broken. I did a rather good job of resetting it, if I do say so myself, but he’ll have those bruises under his eyes for weeks. That right cheek took a beating, too. You can see where I closed it with a couple of stitches I’ll take out in a day or two. Once the swelling and discoloration goes away, he'll only have a small scar as a reminder. There are a few other scrapes under his beard, but they cleaned up quite well, and I don’t see any signs of infection. Fortunately, his face hit a concave section of wall, or he might no longer be with us. From the way the men who brought him in described the scene to me, it’s a wonder his neck wasn’t broken.”
The thought that ran through Dahlia’s mind was that, while it was fortunate his neck was not broken and he still lived, it remained to be seen whether or not he suffered permanent brain damage. She forced her thoughts away from the dreary “what ifs” by focusing on the mundane and familiar tasks she could do. Although his beard appeared scruffy where the doctor had not shaved him to treat wounds, she guessed he normally shaved, at least once a week. “I’ll probably shave him tomorrow, although, first…” Dahlia looked away and frowned as she realized she did not have a razor or shaving kit for Nathan.
Dr. Sprague spoke as if reading her mind. “Maybe there’ll be a razor in his belongings someone is bringing from the single miners’ boarding house. I also suggest regular bathing, at least of the extremities, as long as the room and wash water are warm enough. It goes along with your understanding of the importance of repositioning an immobilized person to prevent bed sores. Not a great deal of soap is needed, but the act of washing with warm water and rubbing him dry helps keep the blood moving.”
“I’ll do that. The doctor who helped us with my father’s care also advised me to rub his skin and massage his head. He said some in the medical field believe many nerves end in the fingers, feet and head. I used to rub my father’s hands and—well, foot, since he lost his left foot in 1864 during the war. I also spent hours at a time combing his hair. Of course, with Mr. Price…” Dahlia paused and once again studied her new husband. She could tell he was a handsome man when he was not heavily bruised and swollen like he was. “I’ll have to be careful of his injuries if I comb his hair.”
“I’m sure you will. Mrs. Price, he’ll be all right on his back for a while. After I get the wagon out front situated, I’ll return with some bandages, and we’ll check and clean his head wounds again. I’ll help you reposition him on his side, and then later you can roll him on his back for the night. I would suggest you not place him on his stomach or his left side until we’re sure his neck and injured shoulder can handle it. In the meantime, you can use a rolled blanket to brace his body at an angle.”
After the doctor left, Dahlia lifted the bottom edges of the bedding to feel Nathan’s feet. They were not particularly cold, but neither were they as warm as she would like. She hoped, when his clothes were brought to the house, they included a pair of clean socks. She also needed to ask someone where she might buy a couple of bricks—or maybe the mercantile carried soapstones, since they held the heat longer. She could warm them on the stove to put next to his legs. For the time being, she cut another large piece off her bolt of flannel, folded it, and placed it on the edge of the stove. She turned it several times until it warmed before she wrapped it around Nathan’s feet and calves.
Next, Dahlia brought in a chair from the kitchen and sat on the right side of the bed to study the man who was now her husband. His dark, almost black, hair did not surprise her. In his letters, he had told her that much. As for his blue eyes he mentioned, she would wait to see them. She did not wish to pry his eyelids open only to find his irises rolled back in his head. As he claimed, he appeared to be of average height with an average build. As she recalled the humor that had come through his words in one of his letters, she smiled. He wrote how fortunate he was not to be a larger man. Sometimes, the tall men bumped their heads on the tops of the mine. The heftily-built ones found it difficult to squeeze through some of the narrower passageways
.
She reached under the blanket until she found Nathan’s hand. Although she could do little with his left hand, trussed up like it was in the binding that held his shoulder together, she began to massage the fingers, wrist, and forearm on his right.
Grateful for the dim winter light that shone through the windows and illuminated her comatose husband, she carefully placed her palm against his least-injured cheek. Her heart yearned for him. She had known she was halfway in love with him before she ever left home in Kansas. The more she watched him now, instead of his appearance deterring her, she felt herself drawing closer.
Please, Lord. Help me do my best for him. For his sake, not mine, allow him to fully recover.
.
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Chapter 15
~o0o~
W ithin an hour after Dr. Sprague left, Dahlia heard a knock on the back door. She opened it to find a grizzled, middle-aged man holding a trunk. Behind him, and off to the side, stood a beanpole of a man with gaunt features and faded blond hair poking out from under a brown derby hat. The strap of an overstuffed tow sack hung from his shoulder. On the opposite side, he held a bedroll made of wool blankets wrapped around a pillow.
The man closest to her quickly set the trunk down at his feet and snatched his hat off his head, revealing unkempt brown hair shot with gray. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Charlie Brewster. This here’s Buzzard. We’re friends of Nathan’s.”
