Woodland Christmas

by Murray, Tamela Hancock

  He chuckled and shook his head, knowing full well that had nothing to do with her efforts. Still apprehensive, he turned and chopped at the tree as though he could kill the cowardice he fought. Chop. Fear of asking about her limp. Chop. Fear of revealing his feelings. Chop. Fear of going against his parents.

  He hated the last one most of all. What kind of man was he? Chop. And the cedar fell. Puffing, he set the axe head on the ground and leaned on the handle.

  “All right, you have to load the tree.” At her exasperated face, he grinned. “You can at least help.”

  “Done.” She stood and brushed the soil from her skirt then peered up at him with her head tilted. “You’ve never asked about my limp, but it doesn’t seem to bother you.”

  “The only thing that bothers me about your limp is if it hurts you. But if you ever want to talk about it …”

  Her answering smile looked pleased, but she didn’t say a word as she grabbed hold of the top of the tree. That conversation would have to wait.

  Shadows were lengthening quickly as they maneuvered the tree into the back of the wagon. Emma plucked at the branches. He held out his hand for hers. When she took it, he gasped at her icy fingers.

  “Where are your mittens?”

  Spotting them on the ground, he retrieved them, working up the nerve to tell her what was in his heart. Before he could utter a word, hurried footsteps and breaking branches caught his attention. He moved between the noise and Emma, not sure what came at them. One of his loggers appeared in the clearing.

  “Come quick, boss. Your dad’s bad sick.”

  Chapter 9

  Emma held tightly to the seat as Caleb raced through the woods. Even the man who brought the news of Caleb’s father had trouble staying in the back of the wagon.

  Caleb glanced over his shoulder. “What happened?” The man slipped and then knelt. “He collapsed. No warning. Just crumpled.”

  “Someone go for the doctor?” “Benjamin.”

  The man grabbed his mouth and pulled away a bloody hand. Emma guessed he’d bitten his tongue during the last jolt.

  “I’m walking,” he hollered and launched over the side of the wagon.

  Emma understood. She’d do the same given the chance. They stopped in front of the house, and Caleb helped her down. He ran toward the door then slowed.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  His mother wouldn’t appreciate her arriving with Caleb. She was sure of that.

  “I thought maybe you should check on him alone.”

  “You might be right. I’ll find you later.”

  He disappeared inside. She walked around to the back of the house and entered the kitchen. The ladies moved quietly, working hard at doing nothing. The tension inside her matched that in the room. By the looks on their faces, she dared not break the silence.

  Emma peeled off her coat and hung it by the door then moved to the washbasin, giving her something to do besides facing the stares of the other women. A door slammed followed by rushing footsteps, then more silence.

  Oh, Lord, let Mr. Kelley be all right.

  “Emma!”

  Caleb’s shout stopped her heart and made the hair on her scalp stand up. Mabel shoved a towel into her hands, took her by the shoulders, and pushed her from the kitchen.

  “You best get a move on.”

  “Emma!”

  The urgency in Caleb’s voice made her run up the stairs. Caleb waved her into a room she’d never before entered. The Kelleys’ master bedroom. She wanted to stop inside the door, but Caleb pushed at her back.

  “We can’t find the doctor. You’ve got to help my father.”

  Mr. Kelley lay against the white pillow looking almost as pale, covers pulled up to his chin. Beads of sweat dotted his face. As she reached to touch his forehead, Mrs. Kelley rushed into the room.

  Lips tight, she stopped across the bed from Emma. “What is she doing here? Get her out.”

  “Mother.”

  “I mean it. I want her out.”

  Emma moved to leave. Caleb put his hand out to stop her. “We need her. Dad needs her. Until we can find the doctor, Emma’s all we’ve got.”

  “But—”

  “Enough. Don’t let your pride keep Dad from getting help.”

  Emma wasn’t meant to hear the last part, but it still hurt. Forcing herself to look at Mrs. Kelley, she waited. She wouldn’t do a thing until permitted. Finally, Mrs. Kelley nodded.

  Mr. Kelley’s forehead radiated heat like a low-burning cookstove. Emma flipped back the covers.

  Mrs. Kelley grabbed them and tried to put them back.

  “What are you doing?”

  Emma yanked the blankets from her grip and tossed them from the bed. She looked at Caleb. “Open the window.”

  Mrs. Kelley grabbed his arm. “That’s absurd. She’ll kill him. Caleb, get her out of here.”

  Caleb looked at her, panic in his eyes. “Emma?”

  “You keep him covered with a fever like this, and you’ll cook him to death.” That was overstating, but she had to make them understand. “We’ve got to get his temperature down fast.”

  Mrs. Kelley gave a vehement shake of her head. “Everyone knows you sweat out a fever.”

  “Not all fevers. I promise I won’t keep the window open long. Just enough to cool the room.”

  Caleb rushed to the window and shoved it open. “What else?”

  Mind racing, Emma told herself to calm down. “A basin of cold water and some cloths. That’ll help cool his skin.”

  “I’ll get them.” Mrs. Kelley’s face softened. She caressed her husband’s cheek before hurrying from the room.

  Caleb took his mother’s place across the bed from her, his eyes questioning, though he never said a word.

  Her smile, though shaky, was meant to be reassuring. “I promise this is best. Your father’s too hot. That’s dangerous.”

  “I trust you. What can I do?”

  “I need the doctor’s bag. After that, you can rub your dad’s skin with cool water.” “Done.”

  He ran from the room, leaving her alone with Mr. Kelley. She felt his forehead again as she examined his face. She’d never seen him like this before. He always appeared angry or worried, tall and strong. Now he looked so pale and weak. Old even. She lifted his lids to see his eyes rolled back. Fear that he would die in her care shook her.

  Lord, please let the doctor be found. Keep this man alive.

  Caleb returned carrying the water basin and set it on the stand next to the bed. His mother followed with several cloths in her hands.

  “Marie’s run to get your bag.”

  She reached for the buttons on his shirt. “All right, in the meantime, let’s cool his skin with the water.”

  “Stop!” Mrs. Kelley pushed her hands away. “I’ll do this. You don’t need to see his …” She licked her lips. “I can do this.”

  Emma looked to Caleb. He stared at his mother a moment then nodded.

  “Let us do this, Emma. Stay close. If we need you, I’ll come for you.”

  “All right. I’ll be right outside.”

  Feeling better about the temperature in the room, Emma stepped out and closed the door. Marie arrived with the medical bag, handed it over, and left. Emma paced, gazed over the hall banister, then paced again. Was Mr. Kelley’s fever coming down? Was he conscious yet? Why did Mrs. Kelley hate her? And where was the doctor?

  The front door opened, and the doctor’s long strides carried him across the foyer and up the stairs two at a time. He paused when he saw her.

  “Miss …?”

  “Pickett.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  She nodded, twisting her hands together. “He has a high fever. I had them open the window and cool his skin with cold water.”

  He appraised her much like he did the first time, then gave one quick dip of the head and entered the bedroom. Emma heard Mrs. Kelley’s words tumble over themselves as the doctor closed the door.

 
; The waiting made her want to scream. Her nerves were already doing that very thing. Did she do right? Would the doctor scold her for her involvement? Half an hour crawled by, every torturous second ticked off by the large clock in the hall below. The door swung open. Caleb waved her inside. Her tension rose with each step. What would she find? Caleb moved aside and the first thing she saw was the doctor setting out his surgical instruments.

  Chapter 10

  Though the room was cool, Emma broke out in a sweat. The doctor motioned to a bottle next to the washbasin. “Clean your hands, then help me with these instruments. Caleb, take your mother from the room and bring some fresh water and cloth.”

  Mrs. Kelley refused to budge when Caleb took her arm. “I want to stay.”

  “Mother.”

  “Mrs. Kelley, I’ll do no more to help your husband until you leave.”

  The doctor’s bushy brows nearly touched as he waited for her decision. She allowed Caleb to lead her out.

  “Now then”—the doctor finished his task—”near as I can tell, Mr. Kelley still has an old bullet inside him.” He opened the man’s shirt and pointed to a scar. “No exit wound. Mrs. Kelley told me he’s been having stomach pains. I intend to go in and look around. I need your help. Are you willing?”

  No!

  She swallowed hard. “Of course.” How’d he get shot? Better yet, why?

  The questions would have to wait. Time to mentally prepare for what lay ahead. She’d helped her mentor with surgery several times and never enjoyed it, but she’d also learned a doctor needed help to get the job done quickly. The faster an incision was closed, the better.

  “Good. I’ll have Caleb close the window when he returns. In the meantime, let’s get started.”

  Caleb returned with the water, closed the window, then hovered while they cleaned the instruments and Mr. Kelley’s incision area. The doctor tied a mask to his face and motioned Emma to use a large kerchief Caleb retrieved for them. Finally declaring them ready, the doctor ordered Caleb to light several lamps before making him leave. Pleading darkened his eyes as he looked into hers before closing the door.

  Once a small amount of ether was applied to ensure Mr. Kelley wouldn’t awaken, the doctor made his incision, and Emma dropped a veil over her mind. Donning a mental shroud helped her get through the process. Doc taught her that trick. If she spent much time thinking about what was happening, she’d run from the room.

  Each move became instinctive. Swab. Retrieve and hand off instruments. Few words were spoken. Only those needed for direction. Time disappeared. Her shoulders ached. So did her lower back. Weariness set in.

  Focus.

  “There.” The doctor moved some tissue. “See it?” She handed him the abdominal forceps and took the probe to hold back the tissue. In seconds, he had the slug resting on a cloth on the side table. The doctor probed around a bit more. He grunted.

  “Not sure that helped, but it certainly didn’t hurt to get that out. Let’s close.”

  After doing their best to clean the wound, they applied the last of the stitches. Emma swabbed the incision with iodine before layering bandages over the site. They both removed their masks, and the doctor dropped onto the chair behind him.

  Emma eyed him. He looked exhausted. “Excellent work, Doctor. I wish you and my mentor could have met.”

  He raised his head. “He taught you well. I’ve not had such efficient help in many years.”

  She nodded her thanks and began cleaning the instruments. When finished, the doctor allowed Mrs. Kelley and Caleb to enter. Emma headed for the door.

  “Miss Pickett?”

  She turned at the doctor’s call, wishing she could have escaped unnoticed.

  “I’ll need you to sit with Mr. Kelley tonight. The risk of infection …”

  He didn’t need to say more. Many died from that very thing after surgery. The Kelleys didn’t need to know that. She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  When she’d returned, the doctor was gone, and Mrs. Kelley sat perched on the edge of the chair, staring at her husband. The lamplight flickered, making Mrs. Kelley appear to be shaking. Caleb entered with another chair and placed it opposite his mother. Then he took Emma’s hands in his.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  “I didn’t—”

  Caleb was already shaking his head. “I know better.”

  The intensity and fear in his eyes kept her from arguing. “You’re welcome.”

  He motioned to the chair. “If you need anything else tonight, let me know. I’m in the room at the end of the hall.” He turned to his mother. “I’ll walk you to the guest room.”

  “I want to stay a little longer. I promise I’ll go to bed soon.” Her eyes implored him to understand.

  He moved to her side and bent to kiss her cheek. “Very soon. You look tired.”

  He said his good nights, leaving the women alone. Nervous and not knowing what else to do, Emma checked Mr. Kelley’s pulse and temperature. He still felt warm but better than earlier. She positioned the chair so she could see his face, then sat, hoping Mrs. Kelley would retire soon. And to think mere months ago, she’d hoped they’d become friends.

  “Emma.”

  Emma’s heart nearly leaped from her chest at Mrs. Kelley’s voice, so soft and tender … and tired. She looked up, wary.

  “Yes?”

  Mrs. Kelley’s lips trembled. Her mouth opened and closed several times. Whatever she wanted to say, the words wouldn’t come. She finally stood and headed for the door. Halfway there, she stopped.

  “Thank you.” Then she walked out.

  Emma stared at the vacant doorway. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Too tired to contemplate the lack of warmth, she settled into the chair, glad for the armrests. They’d keep her from tumbling to the floor in case she fell asleep. This would be a long night.

  The minutes ticked into hours, then into days as Mrs. Kelley, Caleb, and Emma took turns tending Mr. Kelley. The fever remained. After five days of trying to cool his skin with little change, Emma fought thoughts of Mr. Kelley dying with little success. She even read it in the doctor’s eyes that morning before he left.

  Emma always watched him at night along with a few hours in the afternoons, and it was wearing on her. Caleb arrived each evening to tend his father. She looked forward to relieving him each night as it gave them some time together, something they’d had little of since they cut down the Christmas tree. Her smile returned as she recalled his words before retiring.

  “I know you’re just as tired as the rest of us, Em, but you look as fresh as spring flowers.”

  The fact that he shortened her name established familiarity, a relationship, and she clung to that as the night wore on. Mopping Mr. Kelley’s face and neck, trying to cool his fever, helped the time pass. She wouldn’t be comfortable until the fever was gone … if ever. Once again, she mouthed a silent prayer for his recovery.

  Elbow on the armrest and chin propped on her hand, Emma allowed herself to doze. This position would keep her from sleeping too long.

  “Don’t leave me alone, Daddy. “

  “I won’t be long. Just sit tight, Em. I’ll be right back. “

  Mama left and never came back. What if Daddy did the same? She wiggled on the wagon seat until she could stand it no longer. As she scrambled to the ground, her skirt tore. Daddy would be mad. That didn’t stop her from looking for him.

  Rounding the corner of the building, she saw a man pointing a gun. Daddy pulled his. “No!”

  Emma jerked upright. Dawn’s fingers were just taking hold of the day. How long had she slept?

  Mr. Kelley moaned. His hands rubbed at the covers as his head rocked back and forth. Emma felt his forehead. The fever had grown worse. She wrung out the cloth in the water and rubbed it over his face and neck. He moaned. She opened his shirt and placed the cloth on his chest before checking the incision. She dabbed on more iodine and placed fresh bandages over the wound.

 
“No!” Mr. Kelley’s hand shot out, only to fall back on the bed. “No, Joe!”

  “Shh.” Emma dunked the cloth again and placed it on his forehead. “I’ll get you through this.” She went to open the window again.

  “The money.”

  She turned.

  “I didn’t steal.” His fingers scratched at the covers. “Split.” He tossed his head. “Don’t shoot.”

  Emma returned to the bed. This sounded all too familiar.

  “No, Pick.”

  Emma’s scalp tingled as her heart pumped double-time. Her father’s name was Joe. Mama’s diary said friends called him Pick. She sank onto the chair. Breathing grew difficult. This couldn’t be. The man she sought was Charles Little. Mama wrote his name next to that of Leo Norris. Said she was afraid of meeting these men. She wrote of her fear they’d get greedy and kill Daddy for the money.

  More mumbling drew Emma closer. Sweat poured down Mr. Kelley’s face. His moaning grew more urgent, increasing in pitch and volume.

  “Norris!” Mr. Kelley followed the name with a yell before going rigid, then limp.

  Emma grabbed her chest as she stood, toppling the chair. Mama never mentioned Mr. Kelley’s name. What was his first name? She’d never heard it said. Frantic, she caught his fevered face between her hands to make him stop flailing.

  “What’s your name?” A sob escaped. “What’s your name?” She shook him, rage filling her. “Tell me your name.”

  Someone grasped Emma’s arms and pulled her away from the bed. She fought to return. Hands held her back.

  Caleb turned her to face him. “Emma?” His expression conveyed his confusion.

  She shoved him away but Caleb refused to let go. Mind spinning, she grabbed his shirtfront. “What’s your father’s name?”

  Caleb frowned. “Why?”

  “What’s his first name?”

  Mrs. Kelley rushed into the room. “Caleb.”

  He ignored her. “Charles. Why?”

  Her ears roared. Her chest tightened. “You changed your name?”

  “What are you talking about, Emma?”

  She shook her head, wishing she could think clearly. “You’ve been hiding behind a different name all this while.”