Hope In Cripple Creek

by Sara R. Turnquist

  As he approached the schoolhouse, the weight of the patients’ welfare fell upon him. Just beyond this door lay many who were in all stages of the illness he had yet to conquer. Many he hoped to save, but he knew there were some he could not. So he took a deep breath as he laid his hand upon the door latch and released it.

  With only one foot inside, he was rushed by Katherine in a state of near panic. All around them, he heard the sounds of the patients in states of delirium.

  “What is it?” His hands were on her arms. Was she hurt? What had happened? The amount of concern that filled him surprised him.

  “It’s Charlotte.” Katherine could not contain her emotion, so it welled up in her eyes. “She’s been in such a state all day, ranting and raving. I haven’t been able to get anything into her!”

  Wyatt brushed past Katherine and over to Charlotte’s cot. Just as Katherine said, she was speaking nonsense, and as they neared her, she began flailing her arms about and kicking at them.

  “My children . . . don’t hurt them . . . ” These were the only snippets of her mumbling Wyatt could discern. It did not look good.

  “Charlotte,” Katherine spoke with a gentle tone as if to reassure her. “Your children are fine. No one is trying to hurt them.”

  Wyatt’s eyes flicked between Charlotte and Katherine. He should have discouraged Katherine’s friendship. How could he not see this coming?

  “No!” The woman struggled as if against some unknown assailant.

  Katherine moved in closer. Perhaps to soothe her by touching her in some way.

  “No, Katie, don’t . . . ” Wyatt started, reaching out to stop her, but he wasn’t quick enough.

  Katherine had stepped too close and Charlotte’s arm struck out, shoving her. She fell, arms pinwheeling, smacking into the edge of an adjacent cot and landing hard on the floor.

  Wyatt flew to her side and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?” Helping her sit up, his hands moved over her, checking for injuries. Nothing appeared broken.

  She waved him off. “I’m fine. I think.”

  Confident she was indeed unharmed, Wyatt pulled her to her feet before returning to Charlotte’s bedside. He made what observations he could through the woman’s delirium. What he saw was not hopeful. Lowering his eyes, he took a moment to prepare himself for what he had to do. Why had he not done something sooner? It had been obvious for some time that Katherine had become too attached to this patient. And now he would have to tell her the hard truth.

  Turning back to Katherine, who maintained some distance from Charlotte, he took the couple of steps to close the gap between them and lowered his voice.

  “It doesn’t look good. This is a critical point for her. She will either improve or . . . ” He struggled to find the words. One look at Katherine’s face and he wished he was one of those doctors, or maybe even a politician gifted with a golden tongue, with the ability to sugarcoat even the worst news. But he was not.

  Would she break down? Perhaps begin crying? He did not do well with crying women.

  Katherine’s features soon became set. “Is there anything I can do?”

  He let out a breath, relieved she was not going to fall apart on him. “If there is a break in the delirium, try to get some of the medicine and water into her. But that’s all we can do for her now.”

  Katherine nodded, biting her lip and glancing over at her friend who was still in a state of complete and utter confusion. He wanted to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, comfort her somehow, but he thought that would not be well received. She maintained her calm composure despite his distance. For that, he was thankful. Yes, she had been well suited to this task after all.

  * * *

  Timothy strode outside the small church and onto the steps in front of the door. He breathed in the fresh mountain air, cold as it was. The sun hung at its mid-point in the sky. Where had the day gone? His morning had been rather busy, and the hours passed seemingly without him noticing.

  This day was only too much like so many of the days he had endured these last few weeks. He’d visited patients near death to counsel them and pray with them in their final hours. Never a pleasant experience. But it was part of his calling. And if he could be the bearer of some peace and comfort in their last moments on this earth, he was all too willing.

  His day had also been interrupted by a number of miners seeking counsel and prayer. This was rather curious to him. He was accustomed to having someone stop by for such intervention once or twice a week, but so many in one day?

  Timothy had, for some time now, thought it was time to take on another preacher in the town to help share the load. Today he felt it all the more keenly. There seemed to be no time for the things that should fill his day, this plague notwithstanding. Things such as sermon preparation, visiting the shut-ins, and walking among the townsfolk, his flock, to get a sense of how their lives were going.

  And visiting Katherine.

  He lingered on that thought longer than he perhaps should. Reflection on time spent with Katherine always brought a smile to his face. But instead of investing time in her, like so many days of late, he had been stuck in the church counseling or in one of the two makeshift hospitals praying over those nearing their end.

  It was now well past one o’clock, and his stomach grumbled. So he went about closing up the church. But as Timothy turned to walk down the couple of stairs that would take him into the churchyard, he saw a figure walking toward him. Narrowing his eyes to focus his vision, he raised a hand to block the sun. The figure came into focus—Katherine’s brother, David Matthews.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” Timothy called, as he continued to walk, meeting David in the churchyard. “I was just headed out for lunch. Care to join me?” Smiling, he tried to hide his surprise at seeing yet another miner away from his work.

  “I can’t stay long. I snuck away on my lunch break,” David explained, taking his hat off, twisting it in his hands.

  “Then let’s head over to the café. Perhaps you can eat something while we talk,” Timothy said, hoping David would concede. It would not be right to put him off. But could he truly give one more counseling session his full attention on an empty stomach?

  David hesitated, but nodded.

  “We can talk while we walk,” Timothy offered, wanting to ease his urgency.

  David took up step with the reverend, but did not speak. Was he unsure how to start? Timothy encountered this with some frequency. Not everyone was bursting at the seams to share their problems with him. Whereas he might wait and give David time to get more comfortable, he wanted to respect the brevity of their time together.

  “David, I don’t mind telling you I’ve seen a number of miners today. Is something happening I’m not aware of?”

  David stopped walking and stared at Timothy. “What I say stays between us, right?”

  Timothy paused and met David’s eyes. “Of course. Always.”

  David quirked an eyebrow and let his gaze linger for a moment. Was he deciding how much he could trust Timothy? After a few moments, he shrugged and picked up his step again.

  “It’s no secret the mine owners announced a few days ago they would be extending our work day to ten hours, but paying us the same rate. Three dollars per day.”

  Timothy had not heard. And he did not like the sound of that, but he allowed David to continue.

  “Several of us belong to a sort of union. We got together last night and decided to challenge that. I just think many of us are afraid for our jobs.”

  David fell quiet, but Timothy waited still. He had learned long ago that it was often best to listen first.

  “I am not sure we’re doing the right thing. I have this nervous sort of feeling. I’m just not at peace about it.”

  “And you seek peace,” Timothy said slowly. It wasn’t a question.

  David nodded.

  They arrived at the café. Timothy waved at the cafe’s owner, Abigail. He slid his coat and scarf off. D
avid did not. After greeting them, Abigail seated them in what she told David was the best table for her “best customer,” the reverend. Timothy beamed at her. She was always particularly kind to him. He ordered meatloaf for himself, and David ordered a sandwich.

  Their time was short, so Timothy decided to get right down to it. He pushed all pretenses and small talk to the side. There wasn’t time to talk David into a realization. The man needed a straight answer.

  “David, the only peace I can offer you is the peace that comes from being in God’s will. And you can only know God’s will through prayer.”

  David nodded. “Then I need you to pray for me. And pray for my job.”

  He didn’t understand. “I can and I will, David. But you can only find peace as you seek the Lord yourself through prayer.”

  David examined his napkin, avoiding Timothy’s eyes. “I ain’t been much of a praying man in a long time, Preacher.”

  An old story. “That doesn’t matter. All you have to do is speak your mind to God, and He will hear you. Ask what it is you want. Ask Him what it is He wants.”

  David looked up from his napkin, making a sound that was something like a laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Because it is that easy,” Timothy insisted. Why did everyone try to complicate life with God?

  Their food came, and David glanced at the clock. “I’d better eat this on my way. It’s time for me to get back to work. Thank you for your time, Reverend.” David stood, gathering his sandwich in his hands.

  “Any time,” Timothy said, watching David.

  But as David turned to move off, he halted him.

  “David.”

  David looked back toward Timothy.

  “Please think about what I said.”

  David paused. “I will.” And then he was off.

  After David disappeared through the café doorway, Timothy paused and prayed over his friend’s spiritual well being and over his job. He prayed that he would find true peace. Then he could delay no longer. He picked up his silverware and dug into his meatloaf, making a plan to visit Katherine and the patients at the schoolhouse on his way back to the church.

  * * *

  Katherine paced the schoolhouse floor. She hadn’t dared look at her timepiece, but she had measured the day by the sunlight and shadows shifting on the floorboards under her feet. Things did not look good. Having worried after her friend Charlotte for a couple of days, she had neither eaten much nor slept more than snatches here and there.

  As much as Katherine prayed and kept vigil over her friend, there had been no sign of a change for the better. Wyatt insisted that if there indeed were hope, there would be some semblance of improvement soon. Yet Katherine had seen nothing encouraging in these last two days. And she feared the worst.

  Today Charlotte had finally been lucid, and Katherine got some of the medicine into her. But she knew better than to think this meant good things. Charlotte was quite lethargic. She just lay on her cot. Still. It was eerie. Katherine had seen this before. And it wasn’t a good sign.

  It seemed as if days had passed in the last hour before she heard footsteps on the stairs outside. Where had Wyatt been? He was late. The door had just opened when she was upon him.

  “Please, come see Charlotte first,” she insisted, tugging at his arm. “Something’s not right.” She was fooling herself to hide from what she knew to be true, to hope where there was none.

  Wyatt put a hand on her arm and gave her a long look. His eyes seemed to peer deeper into hers than she liked. Why was he looking at her so intently? She dismissed it, turning away from his gaze and pulling him over to Charlotte’s bedside.

  As they approached the motionless form of her friend, Wyatt reached in his medical bag. He took Charlotte’s vitals and hung his head.

  She stirred under his ministrations.

  “Wyatt!” Katherine motioned toward Charlotte, her eyes filling with moisture. Were they tears of defeat? Of hope? She did not know.

  His eyes followed Katherine’s.

  “Dr. Sullivan,” Charlotte said slowly, her speech slurred. “I’m . . . I’m not going to make it, am I?”

  “I don’t know that. And I’m not going to give up on you, yet.” There was fight in his voice, but defeat in his eyes. This plague had taken more out of him than anyone.

  Katherine put her head in her hands to hide her tears. But she could not look away from the exchange before her. So she forced her head to raise, her eyes to watch.

  “Please, Doc. Please promise me . . . ” Charlotte struggled to reach out to him.

  He took her hand in his, stilling her effort as he sat on the edge of the cot. “Anything.”

  “Please take care of my children.” Her words came out in gasps of air. And Katherine knew these were her final moments.

  Wyatt nodded. “I will, Charlotte. I will.”

  Charlotte’s lips formed a slow smile, a weak smile. She seemed satisfied. With some effort, she shifted her head so she was looking at Katherine. And Charlotte’s other hand moved in Katherine’s direction, a slight motion. Katherine came forward and took it.

  “Charlotte,” she said through her tears. Was Charlotte going to ask her the same thing?

  Swallowing weakly, Charlotte closed her eyes, her breathing shallow. Her grip on Katherine’s hand loosened.

  Katherine’s hands flew up to her mouth, sure that her friend had just slipped into death.

  Wyatt checked for a pulse and looked up at Katherine, shaking his head.

  Tears poured out of her eyes then. How much more of this could she take?

  Wyatt stood, coming around the bed to stand next to her. And then his hands were on her arms, drawing her away from Charlotte.

  “It’s okay, Katie, she . . . ”

  She turned into his arms to face him. “No, it’s not okay. All of this death! It’s not right. I can’t do this!” Katherine looked up into his eyes. “How can you stand it?”

  “I . . . ” he started, licking his lips as if searching for his words.

  But the sound of the door opening drew their attention away from each other. Timothy’s smiling face appeared. But it soon fell when his eyes met Katherine’s.

  “Timothy,” Katherine said, fresh tears pouring from her as she brushed past Wyatt and moved into Timothy’s arms.

  He enveloped her in his embrace. “Katie, what happened?” His voice was soft.

  She allowed her tears to flow. So many until she couldn’t speak.

  “Shhh,” he soothed. “It will be all right.”

  Katherine didn’t know if she could believe him. How could God allow all this pain and death? How could He allow the survivors to suffer such loss?

  * * *

  Wyatt stood and watched them for a few moments, unsure of what he should do. His hands balled into fists. He had lost another patient. Then there was the moment he and Katherine had, well, almost shared. But it passed him by, leaving him feeling cheated somehow.

  Timothy’s eyes were on him, shaking him from his trance. His eyebrows were furrowed, a question in his eyes. With hesitant hands, Wyatt pulled the sheet over Charlotte’s face, and Timothy nodded.

  “She’s in God’s hands now,” Timothy offered, kissing the top of Katherine’s head. “No more pain, remember?”

  Katherine nodded into Timothy’s shoulder, but his words seemed to do nothing to assuage her tears.

  Wyatt needed some quiet. Moving past Timothy and Katherine in their moment he had no business overseeing, he stepped outside. His legs carried him farther away from the schoolhouse, from the sting of the recent loss, from the confusion of his interaction with Katherine.

  He didn’t stop until he reached the wooden bridge, which traversed the small stream that flowed between the schoolhouse and the town. Looking out over the town he was charged with protecting, he slammed his fists on the wood of the bridge railing.

  Yes, he was angry. Angry with this typhoid plague. Angry with himself for being unable to save
so many of his patients. Angry with his inability to say the right thing to Katherine. Angry even, that it should bother him.

  His anger dissolved into what was truly behind it all, grief. He felt his shoulders sag and his weight fell onto his arms, which now rested on the railing. What was he going to do?

  Chapter 5

  A ripple of news coursed through the mine. What was it? There was no way to know for sure. It was all murmurs and secrecy. And David was not in the know. When he asked his buddy, Jonas, all he had heard was that they were meeting again after work by the creek. The last thing David wanted was to be even later getting home because of one of these meetings. But it was important to his livelihood, so he would do what he must whether he liked it or not.

  David had taken Timothy’s suggestion and spent some time in prayer as he hacked at the stone. It seemed a bit silly, but he did it all the same. He spoke to this unseen God about his desire for peace, about his job, about his family’s well being. Remembering Timothy’s words, he did ask God what He wanted. And though God did not answer him, David had to admit it gave him some sense of peace to think his concerns were now in the hands of the Almighty God. Engaging his mind thusly had also helped his work go by faster.

  As it was, the day came to a close. David wanted nothing more than to pack up and head home, but instead he packed up and headed for the creek. He sent up another awkward prayer as he neared the site where the miners were gathering. The voices became clearer as he drew near.

  “What do you suppose we are doing here?” one man said louder than was necessary.

  “Is this a good sign or bad sign?” another shouted to no one in particular.

  “I think the talks did nothing,” a disgusted miner grumbled.

  “Since we didn’t hear anything from the mine owners, they must have accomplished something,” someone challenged him.