by Zina Abbott
He turned to her with a labored smile. “Mrs. Price, I know it is customary for many to leave their doors unlocked. However, since this is a mining community with many single men, and some of them not as trustworthy as most, we did install locks on all the doors. I suggest you keep your doors locked at all times. I believe I made myself clear to Herbert Price, but I never know with him. I meant what I said—I don’t want him here to visit you or Nathan until your husband is sufficiently recovered and Nathan is able to bodily remove his stepbrother, should the need arise.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bainbridge. I couldn’t help but overhear most of the conversation. I also prefer not to have Herbert visit until Nathan is better.”
“Good. Then you know what I told him. However, I suspect he has celebrated to the degree he might conveniently not recall my instructions. I will make a point to catch him in the morning and repeat them. For your part, please keep your doors locked.”
“I will. I’m grateful you were here tonight.”
“I’ll tell the men who live around here to keep an eye out for him and run him off if he shows up. I employ guards for the mine, so I’ll have them watch, too. If he comes back before I give him permission to, I will fire him.”
Dahlia looked away. As much as she did not wish to deal with Herbert, she hated the thought that difficulties with her could cost the man his job.
As if sensing her thoughts, Royce tipped his head until his gaze connected with hers. “Mrs. Price, your husband is a good man. On more than one occasion, he has looked out for his brother and risked censure himself in order to pull Herbert’s bacon out of the fire. Herbert is not that good of a worker. Nathan’s the only reason I’ve kept the man on. However, if he defies me and comes here again, not even Nathan can save him.” Royce looked off to the side, as if his mind had traveled elsewhere. “If what I suspect turns out to be true, he’ll be gone, regardless.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
Royce turned back to her wearing a guilty smile. “I apologize. I spoke out of turn. Enjoy your supper, Mrs. Price. I promise, once your husband is well enough, I’ll treat you two to a dinner so you can properly celebrate your marriage.”
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Chapter 17
~o0o~
December 19, 1881
I f Dahlia thought her first full day alone with her husband would be quiet and uneventful, she soon realized quite the opposite was true. Although she kept the front of the house closed off, visitors found their way to her back door.
The first ones appeared just as dawn began to lighten the sky. After she opened her back door, Harold entered and ushered a cute blonde into Dahlia’s kitchen.
“Hello. I’m Catherine, but my friends call me Cat. I’ll wait here while Harold helps you with your husband.”
After the pair turned Nathan from his back toward his right side and Harold held him while Dahlia used a rolled blanket to support his injured shoulder, he returned to the kitchen long enough to give Cat a quick kiss, wave goodbye to Dahlia, and rush out of the door.
After he left, Dahlia turned to Cat. “Would you like some tea? I have water heating.”
Her wide smile spreading even more, Cat nodded. “Thank you. Here, I brought you a little something, since I figured you didn’t have much time to shop for basics yesterday.” She unfolded her arms to reveal two eggs in one hand and a small slice of ham loosely wrapped in paper in the other. “I wasn’t sure if you’ve already eaten or not, so I didn’t cook a breakfast for you. However, I did bring most of the fixings.”
As she accepted the food gift, Dahlia fought back tears. “Thank you. I already ate, but I’ll cook this later.”
Dahlia handled the two eggs like they were gold. When she had stopped at the mercantile the day before, Mrs. Brinks lamented about being sold out of eggs. She would eventually need to find the butcher shop and buy some meat to make broth for Nathan, but with the chicken broth coming this evening, she could postpone that for several days. She would eat one egg for her supper, save one in case Nathan regained consciousness and could keep down a soft egg, and the ham she would use to flavor a small pot of beans she planned to fix tomorrow to eat over several days.
She raised her gaze from the food to Cat’s face. “Please, let me put these in the icebox.”
By the time Dahlia turned back to her guest, Cat had her coat off and had found two speckled enamel cups.
“Do you have a teapot?”
“Yes, but it’s still packed. For today, I’ll put the infuser in my mixing bowl and pour into the cups.” She gestured to the chair that remained in the kitchen. “Please have a seat. I’ll get the other chair from the bedroom and fix our tea.”
Dahlia brought the second chair in the room and proceeded to brew their beverage. “Next time you come, I hope to have my teapot and two china cups ready to use.” Determined to not be caught off-guard again, she decided she must find time that day to unpack her treasured dishware. Her supply of tea would dwindle quickly, sharing it with her neighbors, but it would be well worth it to be able to offer a cup to the wives who stopped by with their husbands in the morning if they had a few minutes to visit after the men left for work.
As Dahlia turned toward the table with two full cups, Cat rose to her feet, her hands outstretched. “Here, let me help you. It’s so nice to be able to meet you and visit before I need to return home and start on my laundry.”
Dahlia noticed the bulge of Cat’s tummy that had been hidden by her coat. She guessed the woman to be about five to six months pregnant. Eventually, their conversation turned to families and babies
“I believe our baby is due sometime in March or April.” Cat leaned forward and laughed as she shared her admission. “Harold and I were one of the couples married on Independence Day this year. You know how part of Mrs. Millard’s contract says the wives have the option of waiting a month before participating in intimate activities? Well, I knew before I even arrived here and met Harold in person that he was the man for me. We didn’t wait. I think this is a wedding night baby.”
Dahlia shared in Cat’s mirth over her pregnancy. At the same time, her fingernails dug into the tabletop as a personal sorrow skittered through her consciousness. Would Nathan get well enough for the two of them to share intimate activities by the time they had been married a month? Would they ever?
After the two women finished their tea, Cat left, and Dahlia started heating more water for her own laundry. She knew the consequence of washing wool in hot water. Still, she wished it to be at least around room temperature so, along with using soap, she could, hopefully, have clean blankets for her husband by nightfall.
Dahlia knew, if she hung the washed blankets outside, they would freeze on the line—a line she would need to put up first. Instead, grateful that Mrs. Brinks had tossed a box of small nails and a bundle of thin rope in her supplies, she used the bottom of her cast iron frying pan to hammer nails to her kitchen wall. She strung a V-shaped clothesline across the back of her kitchen—one just long enough with a support nail in the center tacked to the back wall to hold the two blankets.
To escape the stink of wet wool drying, she donned her cape and spent several hours in the front room of the house, emptying her chest containing her household goods. With no other place to put her china, she set them on top of her icebox. She brought out some of her dishtowels she had embroidered, wishing she had pegs on which to hang them instead of more of the small nails pounded into the wall.
Between setting up her household, Dahlia stopped periodically to check on Nathan. She rubbed his feet and the hand on his uninjured side, spooned water or warm tea into his mouth, and spoke with him about her family as she rubbed his forearms and calves.
“Remember how I wrote to you the story of how my siblings and I got our names? Our mother, once she married Papa, decided she wished to give all her children names that would go with the last name of Greenleaf. She named her
girls after flowers—Rose, Violet, Dahlia, and Lily—and all her boys after trees—Elm, Spruce, and Cypress. Papa must have loved her very much, for he honored her wish. Cypress didn’t like being teased about his name, so he insisted everyone call him Cy, instead.
“I asked Mama once what a dahlia looks like. She said she first learned about them only a couple of months before I was born. They’re something like a zinnia or a mum, but she liked the sound of dahlia best. I probably would have been happy with the name of Zinnia, but I’ve always been grateful Mama didn’t name me Mum.
“I’ll read to you from my Holy Bible a little later, Nathan. Right now, I need to get a few more things done.”
As she stared at the unresponsive man before her, Tears filled Dahlia’s eyes. “Oh, Nathan. Come back from wherever you’ve gone. I’m here now. I need you to return to me.”
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Chapter 18
~o0o~
F ollowing a lunch of a thick slice of still-soft bread, Dahlia had barely put her beans on to soak in her mixing bowl when she heard the knock. After Herbert walked in unannounced the previous day, she checked the outside through the window first before opening her back door. Dr. Sprague stood on her porch. She motioned for him to enter and held aside a partially-dried blanket for him to pass into the main part of the kitchen.
Angus Sprague headed directly to the stove and stood with his backside mere inches from hot metal. He smiled as he shucked his neck scarf, hat, and jacket, and transferred them to Dahlia’s waiting hands. “How’s our patient today?”
Dahlia draped his outerwear over her kitchen chair. “I have some exciting news, doctor. At least, I think it’s noteworthy. I don’t know if Nathan has responded to touch for you yet. However, when I washed his feet just before lunch, I pulled a small cloth between his toes to clean out some dirt and shedding skin.”
Dr. Sprague cleared his throat and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes, well, I probably should have given him a thorough bathing before I had him brought over. I’m afraid I focused on the areas around his injuries and didn’t pay too much attention to the rest of him. Sorry about that.”
“That’s fine. What I want to share is, each time I pulled the cloth between the toes of his left foot, his toes twitched. After that, I made a point to firmly rub the rest of his foot. He moved it, plus wiggled his toes in response.”
“The left foot, you say?” As he considered what Dahlia told him, Dr. Sprague rubbed his chin. “It’s the same side as where he received the blow to his head. Did you do the same thing on his right foot?”
“Yes. He didn’t respond as well when I worked his right foot. I’m not sure what that means.”
Angus heaved a sigh. “As you can imagine, Mrs. Price, I have gone through all my medical books, reading everything I can find on head injuries. I’ve even talked to Dr. Adams in town about it. I’ve only viewed one human dissection, myself…”
Dahlia sucked in her breath. “You mean, where they cut into a dead person?”
“Yes. I know many people find such activities shocking and do not approve. But, unfortunately, that is the only way the medical field has been able to learn as much as it has about the human body so we can better treat it. For example, it has puzzled physicians why, when a person is injured on one side of the head, it seems to affect the opposite side of their body, making it weaker, and possibly causing paralysis to one degree or another. Through dissection, it was discovered that the nerves cross in the neck area. So, if your husband responded to touch on his left foot, it means the right side of his brain is working. As for his left hand and arm, with it bound up to hold his broken clavicle in place, we won’t know how well it responds until his shoulder has healed enough for us to loosen the bandages. We’ll try that in another day or two.”
“I see. What about the right foot and hand, which barely moved when I rubbed them?”
“It means the left side of his head is not yet healed.”
She felt her heart contract at his next words.
“Whether or not it will fully heal, allowing him to regain full use of his right side, remains to be seen. Please, show me what you did, and let’s see if he repeats these responses while I’m here.”
Forcing herself to not allow discouragement over the prospect that Nathan might never recover the full use of his body overwhelm her, Dahlia uncovered Nathan’s lower limbs, one at a time. She repeated her earlier motions to his feet and hands.
Angus Sprague turned to her wearing a wide smile. He whooped and punched the air with his fist. “That is definitely progress, Mrs. Price. I provided similar stimuli to his feet and hands earlier yesterday, and I didn’t get much of a response at all. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
Dahlia felt a wave of relief. “I will, doctor. I also talk to him and plan to read to him a little later. The doctor who treated my father told me, even when a person is too ill to speak or seems to be in a coma, they sometimes can still hear. Just being able to hear me and knowing someone close by cares might help him improve.”
“Hmm. Tell me more about your father’s condition and what you did.”
Dahlia explained that her father was an amputee due to his Civil War service. Then she told of her involvement.
“I followed my mother around as she helped him. When she died several years later, my sisters took care of the house. With me being the youngest girl, I ended up taking care of my father when he came in from working outside and often collapsed in his chair, suffering from pain and fatigue. It started with fetching his food and coffee and rubbing his stump after he took off the wooden peg. Combing his hair relaxed him.
“Unfortunately, possibly because he continued to work the soil and care for the animals, dirt and manure often ended up in the bucket of his peg leg. Even with the rubber and flannel padding, he kept getting raw spots on the end of his stump that sometimes got infected. Several years ago, no matter what we tried, the sores got worse and his leg discolored something awful. The local doctor said it was gangrene. He amputated above the knee to save Papa’s life.”
Angus’s commiserating grunt barely registered with Dahlia as she blinked to fight back tears. “After the second amputation, my father seemed to lose his will. He stopped trying to do as much as he could, in spite of his missing leg.
“As his overall health declined, it was up to me to care for my father. He constantly fought catarrh in his lungs. What started as a summer cold turned into pneumonia during a terrible heat spell this past summer. His last few days, he lingered between life and death. The doctor said his body was shutting down. He sometimes smiled when I spoke to him. Eventually, he stopped breathing completely.”
Dahlia returned her gaze to meet that of Dr. Sprague. “I know I have had no formal medical training, only the experience of taking care of my father. That is all I have to offer Nathan, but I will do my best.”
His expression serious, Angus Sprague nodded. “Mr. Price is extremely fortunate to have someone with your understanding and skills serve as his nurse. If he comes out of this fully recovered with all his faculties, he will have you to thank. If his situation falls short, I’m confident it will not be due to any failing on your part.”
Inwardly, Dahlia cringed at his use of the word “if.” She hoped, for Nathan’s sake, as well as their future together, she could see him through this crisis. She forced herself to turn to the doctor with a smile and dip her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Dr. Sprague. I’m truly doing my best to care for him properly.”
After the doctor helped her turn Nathan onto his stomach and support his upper chest and head at an angle with pillows, he left. Dahlia spent the balance of the afternoon reading and talking to Nathan between providing him basic care. Tipping his head as far as it would turn, she had been regularly spooning water into his mouth, each spoonful followed by her rubbing the side of his throat to encourage him to swallow. She felt gratified when, later in the aftern
oon, there had been a need to change the folded flannel beneath him. That was another skill she had learned while caring for her father—taking care of his basic cleanliness needs while maintaining his privacy and dignity. In anticipation of such tasks, she had reached under the sheet and hiked the hem of Nathan’s nightshirt up to his waist shortly after she was alone with him his first day home. Even as she replaced the pad, she kept him covered with the sheet from his calves to his shoulders. Although not a pleasant duty, she knew it meant this part of his body still functioned well.
Dahlia greeted Aaron and Andrea Brinks that evening, as grateful for the two mason jars full of chicken broth as she was to see them. Part of one jar she put in her pan to heat; the rest she slid into her icebox.
Much to her surprise and delight, Aaron handed her a book.
“Tom Sawyer. I don’t know if you or Nathan have read it. I thought it might help to pass the time.”
“Thank you. I’ve been reading my Bible aloud to Nathan so he can hear the sound of my voice. I’ll be able to switch between the two books.”
Just as Cat had promised that morning, Andrea turned out to be quiet but pleasant. Dahlia soon realized her tummy was also rounded with the promise of a coming child. As much as Dahlia appreciated all the help she received, she felt gratified that, in a few months, as the new mothers in the neighborhood brought their babies into the world, she would be able to return the favor.
With Andrea standing at the foot of the bed holding the blankets in place, she and Aaron managed to turn Nathan from his stomach to his back. Then Dahlia propped his injured side up with the rolled blanket.
When Andrea offered to run errands in town for her, Dahlia handed her some coins. “If you or your husband go to the mercantile this week, please pick up some straight pins and buttons of the type most of the miners use on their clothing. I have needle and thread, but this will allow me to do most repairs on any clothes brought to me for mending. Let me know if I owe more. If there is money left, ask that it be put against our bill.”
