“Doc is coming tomorrow for supper, sweetie,” Abby said. “Right now he has to go back to work.”
“Are there other schoolhouses that fell down?” Franny asked, seriously.
“No,” Kincaid said, “but there are other sick people who need help. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Good!” Satisfied that he’d be coming back, she ran to her room.
Abby walked Kincaid out. Her buggy was still in front of the house.
“Thank you for what you did today, Gabe,” she said.
“I only wish I could’ve done more,” he said.
“You did your best.”
They were both thinking about Donny Wilson as he climbed into the buggy and drove away.
* * *
* * *
When he returned to Doc Edwin’s office there were people waiting outside. Inside, he found the old sawbones tending to patients.
“You’re supposed to be off today,” Kincaid told him.
“I heard about the schoolhouse,” Edwin said, “thought I better come and man the fort until you got back. How did it go?”
“There were twelve children in the schoolhouse,” Kincaid said. “Cuts, bruises, one broken arm, one cracked rib . . . and one fatality.”
“Aw, Jesus,” Edwin said. “Who?”
“An eight-year-old boy named Donny Wilson.”
“Oh Christ,” Edwin said. “I delivered him and his brother. How’s Mrs. Wilson? And Tommy?”
“I think they’ve had a lot of adversity in their lives already,” Kincaid said. “This is just another setback. Tommy didn’t shed a tear.”
“The tears will come later,” Edwin said, “when he least expects them.”
“That’s what I figured,” Kincaid said. He looked closely at Doc Edwin. The old sawbones seemed tuckered out. “Why don’t you go home? I’ll take over.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I feel better than I look.”
“Well,” Edwin said, “clean yourself up, and then I’ll go home.”
Kincaid looked down at himself, covered with grime, and said, “Oh, right.”
* * *
* * *
Once Kincaid was cleaned up, he went outside and helped Doc Edwin into his buggy. The old sawbones had driven it to the back door, so that no one would see him struggling in and out.
Kincaid went back inside and finished up the day dealing with minor cuts, bruises, and complaints. When he finally locked the front door he sat down and stared at the wall for a few moments. He thought about carrying poor Donny Wilson’s crushed little body away from the rubble of the schoolhouse and was suddenly angry. He was going to have to address the Craddock town council, to urge them to build Abby Cottrell a new schoolhouse, where the children would be safe while learning. Providing the children’s parents wanted to send them back to school, and the children themselves would not be too traumatized to go.
Realizing he was hungry he left the office and walked to the Sunflower Café. At some point he was going to have to try some of the other restaurants in town, but at the moment the Sunflower was convenient.
When he was seated Kate came and regarded him sorrowfully.
“We heard about the school,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “But it’s not about me, it’s about those poor kids.”
“I know,” she said. “What can I get you, Gabriel?”
“I’ll just have a bowl of beef stew, Kate.”
“Comfort food,” she said. “You need it. I’ll throw in a basket of biscuits.”
“Thanks. And I’ll just have coffee.”
“No beer?”
“I’ll do my drinking when I get upstairs,” he told her.
She put her hand on his shoulder, then turned and went to the kitchen.
If the other diners in the café had heard about the schoolhouse, they were not reacting to Kincaid’s presence. Maybe the word hadn’t spread as widely as it could’ve. It would certainly be in the next issue of the Gazette.
When his supper came he tried to concentrate on it, but Donny Wilson’s crushed body kept intruding. In the end he ate about half of it, paid his bill, and did just what he had told Kate he would do. He went home and drank.
* * *
* * *
Kincaid had a bottle of whiskey in his cupboard strictly for medicinal purposes—and this qualified. He sat on the sofa with the bottle and a glass and just kept filling and emptying it.
This had certainly been the most trying day since his arrival in Hays City, and possibly of his medical life. He had dealt with death before, but not the crushed body of an eight-year-old in his arms. That was new for him, and he didn’t like it. But he couldn’t succumb to the tragedy, as it was bound to be just the first of many, so he stopped drinking when the bottle was still half full and put it away. All that was left was a hopefully dreamless sleep . . .
* * *
* * *
When he woke the next morning he made some coffee and decided to forgo breakfast at the Sunflower. The plan had been to buy some things that would make his surroundings more masculine, so he decided to stick to it. Along the way, he’d find a new restaurant to try and maybe, just maybe, the body of Donny Wilson would not keep intruding.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
By the time Kincaid was finished he had most of the feminine things in his rooms stowed in a box in a corner. He didn’t replace the frilly curtains on the windows, he just left them bare. He hung up some drawings of horses on the walls, where once there were flowers. And he moved the sofa and armchairs around into a setup he preferred.
He finished early enough to take a ride to Craddock, but for that he needed a horse. He went to the nearest livery, found that the hostler was a man whose arm he had set his first week in town.
“Hector, isn’t it?” Kincaid said, as he entered the barn.
“Hey, Dr. Kincaid,” the middle-aged man said. “What can I do for you?”
“Hector, I need to buy a horse,” Kincaid said.
“Well, I got a few out back. You can pick the one you want. Come on.”
As Kincaid walked with Hector he asked, “How’s the arm.”
“Almost back to normal.”
“That’s good,” Kincaid said. “That’s real good.”
They went out the back door to a corral with several horses in it.
“You pick the one you want, Doc,” Hector said. “I’m gonna charge you half what I’d charge normally.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Hey,” Hector said, “my arm was broke pretty bad, Doc. You saved me. I can work now, and that’s worth more to me than a horse. In fact, Doc, you go ahead and pick and it’s yours.”
“Hector—”
“I got a saddle inside, too,” Hector went on. “It ain’t much, but it’s yours.”
“Hector, I’m going to take the horse and saddle,” Kincaid said, “because I have to ride out, but when I get back we’ll settle up. You figure a price, and I’ll pay it.”
“All right, Doc,” Hector said. “Whatever you say. There’s a bridle over on that post. Just walk him inside and I’ll saddle ’im for ya.”
“Thanks, Hector.”
Hector started away, then turned back.
“You know how to put a bridle on, don’t ya?”
“I got it, Hector,” Kincaid said.
“Right, right. I’ll see you inside.”
Kincaid grabbed the bridle, chose a gentle-looking mare and put it on her, then walked the horse into the stable.
* * *
* * *
It wasn’t a long ride to Craddock, but it took a little longer since he was driving Abby’s buggy with his new horse tethered behind. When he entere
d Craddock, Kansas, he was surprised to find it such a small town. He saw one saloon, one hotel, a small bank, some shops, and a small sheriff’s office. He didn’t see a newspaper office, or a city hall building. His only option was the sheriff.
He reined in the buggy in front of the office, dismounted, and went to the door. He was unsure as to whether or not he should knock, so he did, and then entered. The office was cramped, warm, and dusty. The man seated behind the desk wore a stained shirt and suspenders, with a badge pinned to his chest. He was in his fifties with thinning black-and-gray hair. He stared at Kincaid with complete disinterest. His concentration was on the apple he was peeling with a knife.
“Are you the sheriff?” Kincaid asked.
“That’s what it says on the badge,” the man answered.
“Sheriff, my name’s Dr. Gabriel Kincaid. I was at the scene of the collapsed schoolhouse yesterday—”
“Wait a minute.” The lawman stopped working on his apple and pointed his knife at Kincaid. “You’re the one they call ‘Dr. Death,’ ain’tcha?”
“My name is Dr. Kincaid.”
“Well, I’m Sheriff Walt Berryman,” the man said. “What can I do for you, Doc?”
“I understand your town council has been promising a new schoolhouse since Mrs. Cottrell got here,” Kincaid said. “I think it’s time they built one, don’t you? One dead child is enough, don’t you agree?”
“I do,” Sheriff Berryman said. “Completely.”
“Then can you tell me who to talk to in town?” Kincaid asked. “So I can give my support to the project? Somebody on the town council?”
“Well, Doc,” Berryman said. “You see, Craddock’s just a small town. We ain’t got a newspaper, and we ain’t got a town council.”
“But I understood a new schoolhouse was to be the town council’s decision.”
“You got that right,” Berryman said, “but not the town council here.”
“Then where?”
“Why, it’s in Hays, Doc,” the sheriff said with a laugh. “Right there in Hays City. And ain’t that where you just came from?”
* * *
* * *
Kincaid drove the buggy to Abby’s house and knocked on the door.
“Doc Gabe!” Franny shouted from inside.
The little girl swung the door open and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Hi, Doc Gabe.”
“Hello, Franny,” he said, hugging her.
“All right, Franny,” Abby said, “let the doctor go before you squeeze the breath out of him. I hope you’re hungry, supper’s almost ready.”
“I’ll unhitch your horse and stow your buggy,” he said. “Then I’ll wash up.”
“That’ll be perfect.”
“I’ll go with you!” Franny shouted.
“Franny, no—” Abby started, but Kincaid interrupted her.
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I could use the company.”
“Well, all right.”
Franny chattered away the whole time, mostly about the schoolhouse that fell down, and how the kids were glad there was no school. She didn’t mention the injured children, and Kincaid felt that was all right. It would be better if the child didn’t dwell on that.
Supper was a delicious roast chicken and vegetables, with a fresh chocolate cake for dessert. Franny would have talked all through dinner, but Abby made her eat her supper, which quieted her down, some.
Kincaid would have stayed longer afterward, but he needed to ride back to Hays, and he wasn’t sure how much more of Franny he could take. She was a lovely young girl, but he found that the constant sound of her voice was starting to grate on him. He would like to have sat and quietly chattered with Abby, but that apparently wasn’t to be.
He thanked Abby for the lovely meal, endured another long hug from Franny, and got on his horse.
* * *
* * *
Kincaid rode back to Hays City, took the horse to the livery, settled up for the purchase of the mare, and then made arrangements to board it permanently. That done, Kincaid decided to ask Hector his question before going anywhere else.
“Hector, who’s on the town council?”
“They got the mayor and four other people, all owners of businesses in town.”
“What about you? You own a business.”
“Me? They wouldn’t let me on the council.”
“Why not?”
“Because they know I wouldn’t go along,” Hector said. “I got a mind of my own. I know they’re sorry they let that lady on the council, though.”
“What lady is that?”
“The one with that new shop, the . . . apothe-kee?”
“Apothecary?”
“That’s the one. Looks like she has a mind of her own, too.”
“Maybe I should talk to her, then.”
“About what?”
“A new schoolhouse,” Kincaid said, “now that the old one collapsed and killed a child.”
“Oh yeah, I heard about that, and read it in today’s Gazette. Were you there?”
“I was, yeah.”
“Funny, the newspaper didn’t mention that.”
“That’s fine with me,” Kincaid said. “I’ve been mentioned in the newspaper enough already.”
“Oh, that Dr. Death stuff?”
“Right.”
“That wasn’t fair,” Hector said. “You only just got here.”
“All right, Hector, thanks,” Kincaid said. “I’ll go and talk to the apothecary lady, Nora.”
“Nora, yeah, that’s it. Nice lady.”
“Yes, she is,” Kincaid said, and left.
* * *
* * *
Nora had a bell above the apothecary door to announce customers. When it rang she looked up from her counter and smiled at Kincaid.
“Gabriel,” she said. “It’s been a while.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I read about the schoolhouse,” she said. “It was in the Gazette.”
“I heard they didn’t mention me.”
“I assumed a doctor would have to be there,” she said. “Was it bad?”
“It could’ve been worse.”
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked. “You look like you’ve been busy.”
“I took a ride to Craddock and back,” he said. “And yes, I’d like a cup of coffee.”
“Wait here.”
She went into her back room, returning with two mugs of coffee, both black.
“What can I do for you today?” she asked. “What remedies do you need?”
“I’m actually here about something else entirely,” Kincaid said. “I understand you’re on the town council.”
“I am,” she said, “although my fellow council members aren’t very happy about it.”
“Then you’re the one I want to talk to,” he said. “It’s about a new school.”
“Oh yes,” she said, “the other members have been stonewalling that decision for quite some time. I keep getting outvoted.”
“It must be different now, though,” Kincaid said. “The existing schoolhouse crumbled, one boy was killed, other children were injured. I thought a Craddock town council had to vote for it, but then I found out it was here, in Hays City.”
“Ah, that’s why you rode to and from Craddock today,” she said.
He nodded, sipped the coffee. It was very good.
“So you want me to try and push through a decision for a new school?” she asked.
“Not just you,” he said. “I want to address the council myself.”
“Why do that?”
“Because I was there,” he said. “I held that little boy’s crushed body in my arms. I told his mother and brother he was dead.”
> She reached out and put her hand on his arm.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, but I feel I have to speak out about this. I know I haven’t been here that long, and I’m still not accepted totally, but—”
“But you’re a doctor,” she said. “Your word should carry some weight here in town.”
“I hope that’s the case.”
“Well,” she said, “I can call for a meeting, and then take you in there with me.”
“That’s all I ask,” he said. “When can you do that?”
“I’ll try and talk to everyone tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe I can get it set up for the next day. But that’ll depend on the mayor.”
“Is he present at all the council meetings?” Kincaid asked her.
“Yes, he is,” Nora said. “As a matter of fact, there is no council meeting without him. That’s what I meant by it will depend on him.”
“Well,” Kincaid said, “I appreciate anything you can do for me.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I set up a meeting, Gabriel,” she said. “And I’ll back your demand for a new school.”
“I appreciate that.” He put the mug down. “And thanks for the coffee.”
“Where are you off to now?” she asked, walking him to the door.
“I’m going to try to recruit someone else to back my demand,” Kincaid said.
“Who?”
“Well, like you said,” he replied, “a doctor’s word should carry some weight, so maybe two doctors’ words will carry even more.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Two days later Kincaid walked into Doc Edwin’s office.
“Well, what brings you in?” Edwin asked. “Feelin’ sick?”
“Only when I think about that schoolhouse.”
“Yeah, that was terrible,” Edwin said. “I wish you’d come to get me so I coulda helped.”
“I didn’t really have time,” Kincaid pointed out. “But you can help me now.”
“With what?”
“I want to address the town council about building a new schoolhouse.”
Ralph Compton Frontier Medicine Page 11
