Willow Springs

by Jan Watson

  Copper felt a wave of sympathy as he continued with his complaints. “He never told me about brushing my teeth with charcoal like Dr. Corbett just did. Why, it’s got so bad people don’t want to stand in my line at the bank.”

  Copper handed him an envelope of number ten and one of powdered charcoal.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Corbett. Put me down for same time next week.”

  As soon as Mr. Underwood closed the door to the pantry-size room, Copper threw open the small window, took deep gulps of fresh air, and fanned the room with the skirt of her apron. Then she put the jar of charcoal back in its rightful place.

  Simon’s pharmacy had two sets of floor-to-ceiling cabinets made of dark wood. The uppers had glass-paned doors with glass knobs. She recognized Simon’s fine hand in the black-ink script of the labels that marked the place of each product on the meticulous shelves. He had given her a key to the locked door that held expensive drugs and powerful narcotics. She opened a door in the lower cabinets and saw carefully arranged jars, pots, pans, mortars, pestles, boxes of dried herbs, and all manner of stuff that she couldn’t name.

  In a narrow space between the two sets of cabinets hung a full skeleton, its yellow skull grimacing a toothy smile. She felt the bones in her own face. It’s hard to imagine we all look like that underneath.

  As Simon’s office assistant, one of Copper’s jobs would be to keep this room in order. She was already learning to follow the scripts Simon wrote to prepare medicines for dispensing. She liked counting pills and weighing powders before pouring them into little paper packets and securing them with string.

  Through the open door she could hear a commotion in the waiting room. Copper rushed out. What could be causing such a ruckus?

  A near-grown boy had banged through the front door, screaming for Dr. Corbett.

  Simon rushed from the exam room. “What’s wrong, Hiram?”

  “It’s Father, Dr. Corbett. We were felling trees, and one caught him square across the back. I brought a horse to carry you there.”

  Grabbing his hat from the hall tree, Simon snatched up his medical bag and followed Hiram out the door.

  The doctor wasn’t likely to be back soon, so the few remaining patients went home. That left Mrs. Archesson, fretting in Simon’s office, and Mrs. Johnson in the treatment room with baby Matilda. Mrs. Johnson had come to see the doctor because the baby refused to nurse. The infant’s hungry cries rose into piercing wails of frustration.

  Copper stood in the middle of the empty room. “Now what?” she asked, though there was no one left to hear. “What am I to do with the bird and the baby?” She pondered the situation. Why would a baby stop eating so suddenly? It must be like Molly’s calf when Molly got into the wild-cherry leaves and ruined her milk. There must be something about her mother’s milk that offends little Matilda.

  She took a teapot-shaped invalid’s cup into the treatment room and asked Mrs. Johnson to express some milk. Then, hefting Matilda onto her hip, she carried the baby into Simon’s office so she could check on her other patient, the one she’d nicknamed Birdie.

  Birdie’s beady black eyes fastened on the squalling infant. “Come, come now, baby,” Mrs. Archesson cooed, holding out her sticklike arms to Matilda.

  The roly-poly baby went to her readily and laid her little head on Birdie’s shoulder.

  “I’ll be right back,” Copper said, leaving the door open between the two rooms.

  Mrs. Johnson held the white granite cup out to Copper. “Here’s the most I could get. My chest’s as hard as a rock.”

  “Tell me what it tastes like,” Copper said.

  Matilda’s mother stuck her index finger in the cup, then popped it into her mouth. “Oh my, just like the green onions I had for supper last night. I fixed some with wilted lettuce and bacon grease. Poor little Matilda.”

  “I think you will need to dump your milk until the onion taste is all gone. Twenty-four hours does it for cows. I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

  “That’s all right, sugar.” Mrs. Johnson patted Copper’s arm and laughed. “Matilda’s my fourth. I been making milk as long as most cows, I reckon, but this never happened before.” She rose to take her daughter from Mrs. Archesson, who hovered in the doorway. “I can’t take a chance on Matilda weaning herself this soon. I ain’t wanting another one yet.”

  “Put warm compresses on your chest to make your milk flow,” Copper instructed. “In the meantime, feed the baby boiled cow’s milk from this cup. She can nurse from the little spout.”

  Mrs. Archesson was quiet as they watched Mrs. Johnson gather her things and leave the office. “I had a baby, had a baby once,” she said, her voice wistful. “Long, long ago. When Bob was alive, and I had someone who loved me. Bob loved me.” She pushed her face up close to Copper’s, plucking at her sleeve with fingers like talons. “Aunt Annie drank my tonic. Drank it all. I didn’t drink it. I didn’t drink it all.”

  Copper pried Birdie’s fingers off her arm. “Mrs. Archesson, you’ll have to come back when the doctor is in.”

  “Eeeeee!” she screeched. “Can’t leave. Can’t leave without my nostrum.”

  The eyes that stared at Copper were challenging, like a territorial dog’s. “Let me take you home,” Copper offered. “The walk will calm you down.”

  As quick as a hawk on a mouse, Birdie had the ties of Copper’s stiffly starched apron twisted into a noose. She jerked it tight, and Copper saw stars as her knees buckled.

  “Get my tonic,” Mrs. Archesson hissed. “Get my tonic now!”

  “All right,” Copper gasped. “Just let me go.” The words sounded muffled, as if she had her head down a rain barrel. The knob on the door to the pharmacy slipped from her sweaty hand. “Wait here,” she wheezed, “and I’ll get your medicine.”

  Copper closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Her blood pulsed as loud as thunder in her ears. What should she do? Sticking her head out the little window, she looked into the narrow alley that ran behind the office and saw that there was no one to help her.

  She’d have to make the tonic. Reaching with a trembling hand toward a row of brown medicine bottles, she set a dozen or so of them clinking together. One fell over and skittered across the counter. She grabbed it just before it fell, poured some distilled water in, added a hefty measure of whiskey from the jug under the sink, swirled some of the garlic powder in, and topped it off with Epsom salts. Copper printed Mrs. Archesson’s Nostrum on a gummed label and stuck it on the bottle. She plugged the bottle with a small cork and took it out to Birdie.

  “That’s better,” Mrs. Archesson said. “That’s better.” She secreted the bottle deep within her ratty bag, then straightened her hat. A bunch of cherries, hanging by the slimmest of threads, spilled over one piercing black eye.

  Birdie cocked her head and stretched out her long neck. Copper thought she looked like a chicken with the gapes. “I’ll be on my way. On my way,” her thin lips pecked. “Thank the doctor for me, for me.” Finally, thankfully, she fluttered out the door.

  Copper watched Mrs. Archesson dart down the brick path that dissected the front yard and led to a gate in the wrought iron fence. Someone had left the gate open, and Birdie paused on the sidewalk to fish in her bag and take a swig from her bottle before she closed it behind her.

  Copper retied her apron strings and smoothed the bib against the front of her blue serge office dress. Her hands still shook. If I weren’t a teetotaler, I’d have a swig of that whiskey myself. She was just turning the key in the lock of the front door when Andy pounded up the porch steps.

  “Doc sent me with a list of things he needs out at the Cloughs’. I’m supposed to take the buggy back with me too.” He stopped and looked at Copper. “You look like you seen your own ghost, Miz Corbett.”

  “I just had a run-in with Mrs. Archesson; that’s all, Andy.”

  “Oh, her?” Andy said. “Ever’body knows she’s tetched.”

  “I’m beginning
to understand a little of what Dr. Corbett deals with every day,” Copper replied. “But how is Mr. Clough?”

  “It’s right bad. It took five men to lift that old black walnut off him. I thought sure he was dead. There was blood oozing out his ears. Doc had the men carry him on up to his house. He said jostling him about in a wagon might paralyze him. What’s that mean anyways?”

  “If a person is paralyzed, they can’t move. Dr. Corbett’s probably afraid Mr. Clough’s back is broken. Poor man, we must pray for him.”

  “Miz Corbett, do you want to pray right now? I’m in a hurry.”

  “You don’t have to be on your knees to pray, Andy. We can pray while we work.” She took the list from his hand. “Do you know where this back brace would be?”

  “Doc keeps it beside the buggy with the crutches and that rolling chair. I’m going to the house to get Reuben and Pard.”

  “Ask Searcy to make up a dinner pail to take with you. You’ll all need something to eat.”

  “No need for that. There’s ladies coming from every direction with food in their hands. Mr. Clough’s surely got good neighbors.”

  Copper made her way across the backyard to the carriage house, fiddling with the ring of keys secured to a chatelaine at her waist. Simon had given the ornamental clasp to her two weeks ago on the first day she had come to help him with his practice. On it she kept the keys, a small pair of scissors, a vial of reviving ammonia, a locket with Simon’s picture, and a clean lace hankie. Awkward in her haste, she dropped the keys twice before she managed to turn the proper one in the large brass lock and free the carriage house door.

  She searched through a stack of crutches and splints before she spied a back brace behind the log roller, an aptly named device for moving very heavy people from one bed to another. The leather brace looked like a torture device with all its straps. Copper put it and the roller in the back of the carriage. Simon was smart to keep his doctor’s buggy housed where he could load it with supplies. The buggy they used was kept in the stable at home.

  In no time Reuben and Andy were back and had Pard hitched up to the buggy. Tearing off, they left Copper watching, wishing she could go along. She wasn’t alone long, however, for before the dust settled a contorted young man made his halting way to her side.

  “You must be Dr. Corbett’s bride,” the man rasped as he stuck out a trembling hand. “I’m Tommy Turner.”

  Copper captured his hand between her own. It jumped and bumped in her clasp like a mouse in a trap. “Pleased to meet you, Tommy Turner. I’m Copper.”

  Tommy tried to tip his hat but smacked his forehead instead. “I’m here to clean the office. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get my supplies.”

  Copper tried not to stare as he jangled a set of keys toward the lock on the carriage house door. She wanted to rush across the small yard and help him, but obviously he’d done this before. Instead she went into the office kitchen and started some tea. Standing beside the window, she peeped out as Tommy fitted a leather glove that appeared to be attached to a broom handle onto his right hand and started sweeping the back walk.

  Copper assembled a tray, took it outside, and sat on the edge of the porch, resting her feet in the thin grass of the lawn. “Tommy, would you take tea with me?”

  He paused and studied her in his jerking way. “I’ve got a lot to do, Mrs. Corbett.”

  Funny, she thought, his hand didn’t jerk as long as he swept with his glove broom.

  “Copper,” she insisted. “Please? I don’t want to eat alone.”

  He laid his broom aside and stuck his hand in his pants pocket, then gazed at her seriously through gray-blue eyes. “I might offend you.”

  “Tommy, I have twin eight-year-old brothers. It would be hard to offend me.” She poured tea into two cups like the one she’d given Mrs. Johnson and sipped hers from the little spout.

  He leaned against the porch beside her; his legs locked rigidly. Clasping both hands around his cup, he lifted it and poured a stream of tea into his mouth. “This is clever.”

  “Take that one home,” Copper offered, “and I’ll mark another for you to use when you’re here.”

  He took a sugar cookie from the tray, managing one bite before the rest of it fell to the ground. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice ashamed. “I can’t seem to hold on to these treats.”

  “It’s nice out here, what with the breeze and all,” Copper said as she broke a piece of cookie and put it to his mouth, then broke a piece for herself. “The walk looks good. It surely needed sweeping.”

  Tommy had a drink of tea with only a little choking. “Thank you. Dr. Corbett fixed the broom so I could hold on to it.” Finishing another bite of cookie, he turned those serious eyes on Copper again. “He means all the world to me. He rescued me, you know.”

  Copper chanced putting a comforting hand on his arm. “Now I’m afraid of offending you, Tommy, by being nosy, but please tell me what you mean.”

  “It seems odd to talk about myself. I know people think my brain is as twisted as my body.” He sighed and set the cup down, then anchored his hands under his hips as he leaned against the porch. “Dr. Corbett holds a clinic at the state hospital once a month—”

  “What is that?” Copper interrupted.

  “It’s the lunatic asylum. I lived there from the time I was a baby until just a year or so ago. My mother abandoned me.” The eyes that gazed at Copper revealed deep pools of pain. “Threw me away as if I were a half-wit, without even bothering to give me a name. An old man who worked at the asylum dubbed me Tommy Turner, and I have been Tommy Turner ever since.”

  He loosed his hands and retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket. With great effort, he wiped a bit of spittle from the corner of his mouth. “One day my feet got tangled up, and I fell against my metal cot, cutting a gash over my eye.” He turned his face so Copper could see the zigzag scar that bisected his left eyebrow. “They took me to the third floor, up to surgery. I sat on a table under the skylight while Dr. Corbett stitched my wound. He talked to me like I was any other person, and when he finished he said, ‘Tommy Turner, you don’t belong here.’

  “Dr. Corbett signed me out that very day and secured a room for me at a boardinghouse. Then he made sure I was gainfully employed.” Tommy straightened his shoulders proudly. “I clean offices and Mr. Upchurch’s bank and make more than enough tomeet my needs. I have my room, my books, and most of all my freedom, and I owe it all to the good Lord for sending Dr. Corbett my way.”

  Copper patted Tommy’s shoulder. “I learn more of my husband’s goodness every day.”

  Dark clouds tumbled across the sun, and a quick, hot wind whipped up her skirts as she collected the tea service. “I’d better get home before the rain,” she told Tommy. “Come for supper soon?”

  “Dr. Corbett and I usually play chess on Tuesdays. I’ll come a little early one evening.”

  Copper tossed and turned most of the night. She worried about Mr. Clough and wished Simon would come home. Near dawn, a pounding on the front door startled her awake.

  “Hey,” Andy Tolliver yelled, “anybody awake in there?”

  “Land’s sake, child,” Copper heard Searcy say. “Stop caterwauling and come on in here. Eat some breakfast while Searcy wakes Miz Corbett.”

  “I’m up, Searcy,” Copper called, pulling the sash of her robe tight and hurrying down the stairs. “Andy, how is Mr. Clough?”

  “Can I eat while we talk? My belly’s so empty it’s sticking to my backbone.”

  Copper sat with Andy at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in her hand. He dug into his sausage and eggs. She didn’t stop him talking with his mouth full.

  “Mr. Clough’s hurting right smart. I got to take some kind of medicine back.” He patted his shirt pocket. “I got it wrote down. Doc said the next twenty-four hours will tell the tale.”

  Searcy poured cold milk in a tall glass and dished two biscuits onto his plate.

  Andy sopped up gravy and stuffed hal
f a biscuit into his mouth. “Reuben come home so’s he can milk the cows and all, but I’m going back soon’s I see about my ma and the girls. Doc’s letting me ride Pard. Don’t that beat all?” He stood up and handed Copper a script in Simon’s fine hand. “Miz Corbett, you’ll need to go to the office to get this here medicine.”

  Dressed and ready for the day, Copper hurried to the office and carefully followed Simon’s written directions. She measured drams and grains and drops, dissolved morphine with alcohol, rubbed camphor gum and chloral hydrate together, added oil of cloves and cinnamon, then poured the solution into a four-ounce bottle.

  She had to stop more than once, taking deep breaths to calm her shaking fingers, fearful of making a mistake. Simon said you could kill a patient with the wrong dose of medication. The first week she worked with him he’d had her practice over and over the names of all of the medicines and preparations in the pharmacy cabinet as well as different measurements. Grains and drams, millimeters and centimeters—she was glad for the Latin Mam had insisted she learn. But more than that, she was glad she could do something to help Mr. Clough.

  Finished with her task, she wrapped the bottle of medicine in newspaper and secured it in a poke for Andy to take back to the farm. She wished she could accompany him, but somebody needed to open the office.

  About ten o’clock, patients of Simon’s began to come by the office. Mrs. Schulz had a sty on her eyelid, which Copper treated with hot compresses.

  Tony Brock was inebriated once again and only wanted attention. Copper showed him to the hammock on the back porch and encouraged him to sleep it off.

  The only serious problem was Mrs. Ashcraft’s two-year-old son, Zack, a handsome boy with dark hair, big brown eyes, and chipmunk cheeks, who presented with a mild fever, a runny nose, and loud breathing. His mother reported that he’d woken after midnight with a loud, barking cough.

  Copper’s intuition told her Zack had the croup. Should she tell the young mother how she tended to her own brothers when Willy or Daniel would wake in the night with the same symptoms? But what if little Zack had whooping cough? Then a teapot of hot, steamy water and half a teaspoon of turpentine would be of no help. Instead she instructed the weary mother to take him down the street to Dr. Thornsberry.