“Pa, we’ve brought the doc,” his son announced, as Nolan went toward the bed, but if the old man heard, he gave no indication.
“Hello, Mr. Parker,” Nolan said as he leaned over the bed. “I’m Dr. Walker.”
The old man opened clouded eyes and tried to focus on Nolan, then closed them wearily again. “Where’s… Doc…H-Harkey?” he managed to say, but the effort sent him into a spasm of coughing when he finished.
“Hal, he’s dead,” his elderly wife told him loudly. “He died when those Comanches attacked last fall, remember?”
Nolan studied Parker. He was red-faced and clammy, his pulse thready and rapid. His eyes seemed sunken. His mouth gaped wide like a fish’s with his attempts to draw in enough air.
Nolan opened up his bag, took out his stethoscope and listened for thirty seconds. Just as he had feared, the moist rattling within the man’s chest filled his ears. It was definitely pneumonia.
Mr. Parker’s daughter-in-law had already given him willow bark tea for the fever, and to this Nolan added a dose of morphine, trickling the draft in cautiously lest the delirious man choke. He directed the daughter-in-law to sponge him with a cold wet towel.
Nothing they did worked, however, and the old man breathed his last just as the sun was rising over the distant blue hills.
“He’s gone,” he told the white-faced son, and closed the old man’s eyes. The man nodded grimly, unsurprised, and put one arm around his weeping mother, the other around his wife. The children clustered around them, some crying, some solemn-eyed in the presence of death.
“Thank ya. Ya done all ya could,” the old woman murmured, tears sliding down the weathered grooves of her cheeks. “Hal’s with the Lord now, and someday soon I’ll join ’im.”
Nolan inclined his head respectfully. However accustomed he was to death, he could never understand this calm, patient acceptance. He was angry when he lost a patient, angry at himself and against an implacable foe that fought without scruples. When Jeff had died despite all his efforts, he’d raged for days, finally seeking oblivion at the bottom of a whiskey bottle but finding no relief.
Death was the end. There was nothing more. When his wife and son had died, Nolan had received no echoing sense that they were alive on any other plane of existence. Nothing he had seen in the war had taught him any different.
“I’ll inform the undertaker when I get back to town,” Nolan told them, gathering up his black bag.
“And Reverend Chadwick, too, if you’d be so kind, Doc.”
Hal Parker’s death was Nolan’s first since becoming Simpson Creek’s doctor, he mused as he drove back to town. The few deaths on the day of the Comanche attack didn’t count—he’d only taken over, as any doctor would, when the town’s physician had been felled by an arrow.
He tried to be philosophical as he drove back to town. Pneumonia was always a danger to the elderly, especially in winter. A doctor couldn’t expect to be in practice and not see death.
The funeral was held two days later in the churchyard, where all the Simpson Creek inhabitants had been buried ever since the town had been founded back in the 1850s. Fortunately it was a mild day—cold enough to require a coat, but without any wind or rain. The whole town attended, for Hal Parker had been one of the first settlers of Simpson Creek. Nolan went too, in part out of respect to the family, but also because he knew he’d see Sarah there. With the loss of his first patient in town weighing on him, the pleasure of some time in Sarah’s company would be a comfort, indeed.
She stood near the coffin, her golden hair a lovely contrast to the somber black dress and coat she wore. She caught his eye and nodded slightly as Maude Harkey joined her, then the two began an a cappella duet of “I Know that My Redeemer Liveth.” Maude’s voice was a reedy soprano; Sarah’s clear notes soared above it in perfect pitch, though she sang no louder.
He decided that he’d speak to her after the service—casually of course. But while Reverend Chadwick read a passage from the Bible in which Jesus said He was the resurrection and the life, Nolan became distracted when he noticed that the deceased’s widow was absent from the gathering, as was the daughter-in-law. Half of the Parker brood were coughing, and one of them, a little girl of perhaps six, looked especially sallow and wan and leaned against her older brother for support. Had they caught their grandpa’s illness?
“I would also ask your prayers, good people, for Hal’s widow, who took ill yesterday,” Reverend Chadwick announced as he closed his Bible at the pulpit. “Sally Parker is home taking care of her. Under the circumstances, rather than having the usual dinner in the social hall following the burial, we’re going to send the food y’all have so generously provided home with the Parkers, so they can get back to the ranch sooner.”
It was a very good idea, Nolan thought, though the dinner would have given him a longer time to be in Sarah’s company. It seemed like illnesses spread like wildfire among large gatherings in the winter, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt if a cold spell kept Simpson Creek folks in their homes for a while. When he’d taken his medical training back east, he’d seen that whenever there’d been a milder winter and people were able to gather together often, there were more cases of chest colds, catarrh and influenza.
When the funeral service was over, some headed for their wagons or their homes down the road, while others lingered in the churchyard to talk. Nolan discreetly made his way toward Sarah, who along with Prissy had just helped the Parker family arrange the covered dishes of food into the buckboard among the children.
“Mr. Parker, if there’s anything more I can do, please let me know,” he said, before turning to Sarah. He’d be called out to see the little girl soon, unless he missed his guess.
“Thanks for what ya done, Doc,” the drawn-faced young rancher said as he climbed into the driver’s perch. “No one could have tried harder to save Pa. It was jest his time, I reckon.”
Nolan touched the brim of his hat to the man as he clucked to his horses and drove out.
“Sarah, your song was lovely,” he said. Though not as lovely as you. He supposed Sarah Matthews would be beautiful in any circumstances.
Pink bloomed in her cheeks. She looked down, then back at him. “Th-thank you,” she said. “It…it’s always been a favorite of mine…I hope it blessed the Parkers….”
Nolan was conscious of all the people passing by them, of Prissy standing by Sarah, trying to appear as if she was not listening. They had probably come together. If only he had some excuse to take Sarah where they could talk.
“I…I hope you’ve been well…” he said, and thought immediately how ridiculously trite it sounded.
“Yes, of course…I’m usually healthy as a horse,” she said, then chuckled. “Oh, my, that didn’t sound very ladylike, did it?” she said, glancing at Prissy to include her in the conversation. “Ladies are supposed to be delicate flowers, aren’t they?”
He appreciated a woman who could laugh at herself. “There’s nothing wrong with having a sound constitution,” he told her, and then silence reigned again as he tried to let his eyes speak for him.
Prissy took it upon herself to rescue them. “Dr. Walker, you are coming to the taffy pull the Spinsters’ Club is holding on Friday night, aren’t you? Seven o’clock, in the church social hall.”
“I…I didn’t know about it,” he said. “I—”
“I hope it doesn’t sound like a childish pastime, but it’s hard to find things to do in the winter,” Prissy said.
He didn’t miss the surreptitious nudge Prissy gave Sarah. Obviously she thought Sarah should chime in on the invitation. But Sarah’s gaze had strayed toward the road.
“Not at all,” he said, wondering about the way she seemed to be sidling away from them—as if she wants to be away from this place…or me. Does she not want me invited?
“I confess I have a bit of a sweet tooth, so thanks for the invitation,” he said. He wanted to ask Sarah if she would be there, too, but first he had to s
ee what reaction she had to his acceptance of the invitation.
But her gaze remained fixed on the road before her. At last his gaze followed hers, knowing and dreading what he would see.
Ada Spencer was standing at the entrance to the churchyard, glaring at them, her eyes like drawn daggers. Her mother stood next to her, her expression worried, one arm anxiously draped around her daughter’s shoulders as if to make sure Ada did not move any farther into the churchyard. She was obviously trying to urge her away, but Ada seemed glued to the spot.
Nolan fought the urge to give in to frustration and struggled to keep his face serene. What right did this disturbed woman have to destroy their peace, to ruin an innocent relationship?
“I’ll leave first, and try to draw her away,” he whispered to Sarah and Prissy. “I’ll talk to you later, Sarah.” He strode toward the road, lifting an arm in greeting, “Hello, Mrs. Spencer, Miss Spencer,” he called, trying to sound as if he was genuinely glad to see them. “How have you been? Are you feeling well, Miss Spencer?” he said, as he reached them.
Ada smiled a strange smile, then let her coat fall open. She was wearing another oversized dress whose waist tie outlined the curve of her supposed pregnancy. “Oh, I’ve been feeling very well, dear Nolan,” she said, in a weirdly cheerful voice that was loud enough to be heard by those still in the churchyard.
“You should call him Dr. Walker, Ada,” her mother admonished. “He’s a physician, and he deserves respect—”
“Oh, but we’ve been using each other’s given names in private for a long time now, haven’t we, Nolan? I suppose it is time for me to come see you in the office again,” she said, patting her abdomen as she had at the New Year’s Day party. “We do want to take proper care of our child, don’t we?”
Nolan glanced at her mother, who only grimaced in pained ruefulness.
Why couldn’t the woman control her daughter? Biting back the reply he wanted to make, he focused on Ada again. “That would be fine,” he said carefully. “As the town doctor, I’m always happy to care for its inhabitants. Be sure to bring your mother with you, all right? I’m sure you’d be more comfortable that way. Good day to you both,” he added, touching the brim of his hat and hurrying past them.
Reaching his yard, he opened the gate, then pretended he had dropped something until he could be sure Ada didn’t linger to accost Sarah.
Chapter Eleven
Sarah couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder every few yards as she and Prissy walked home, still not sure she wouldn’t see Ada following them with some weapon raised high to attack her.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind, she remembered from the New Testament, she thought, and felt the fear lift away from her as if someone had removed a thirty-pound sack of flour from her back.
Lord, please heal Ada and restore her sound mind.
They reached the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the mayor’s house and grounds. “Thank God that crazy Ada didn’t try to follow us, although I’m sure Dr. Walker wouldn’t have let it happen,” Prissy said, lifting the heavy iron latch that opened the gate. “Oh, I wish something could be done with her so she wouldn’t keep popping up like that, when you least expect her! It’s positively spooky,” she grumbled on. “Why can’t her parents see she needs to be in an institution? There ought to be a law.”
“I’m sure that poor old couple can’t bear the thought,” Sarah said. “From everything I’ve ever heard about such places, it’s like putting someone in a cage. You don’t hear of anyone ever emerging again in his right mind.”
Prissy rolled her eyes. “That may well be true, but I think you’re being entirely too generous about this,” she said. “Next, you’ll say we need to keep praying about it.”
Sarah grinned, for she had indeed been about to say that very thing. “Of course I wish Ada weren’t acting like this—for Dr. Walker’s sake, if not for mine. He looked so tired today at the graveside, so sad. I’m sure losing a patient must be very hard on him.”
Prissy sighed. “See, you do care about him! Sarah, what Nolan Walker needs is a good wife to encourage him, to see that he eats properly, make sure he gets his rest.”
The picture Prissy had painted of Sarah as devoted wife, caring for Nolan, was a very appealing one. But she couldn’t dwell on it, because Prissy wasn’t done.
“When are you going to get off your lofty perch and let yourself love him?” she went on. “That excuse that he’s a Yankee’s wearing a little thin by now, don’t you think?”
Sarah stared at her as they had reached their little cottage and went in. She hung up her coat with a sigh, then took Prissy’s coat and hung it up, too. “Dr. Walker and I have become friends. But how can he and I be anything more if he’s not a believer? The Bible warns about being unequally yoked, you know.”
Prissy groaned exasperatedly. “Sarah Matthews, if you gave that man the slightest bit of encouragement, he’d be sitting in the front pew every Sunday morning, and you know it.”
“Having him come to church with the wrong motive is not the answer,” Sarah said. She knew she sounded prim and she didn’t want to, but if Nolan came to church, she wanted it to be for the right reasons.
“Maybe he’d start off coming to see you, but while he was there, he’d have to hear the preaching,” Prissy pointed out. “That’s the way I’d do it, anyway.”
Sarah sighed again. Could Prissy be right?
“You don’t mind me inviting him to the taffy pull, do you?” Prissy asked. “I mean, I wasn’t inviting him for my sake, but you were distracted by seeing Ada staring at you, which I didn’t realize at the time, and I—”
“No, I’m glad you did,” Sarah assured her. She couldn’t deny she’d be glad to see Nolan there. Unless someone brought some unattached male guests, she and the other Spinsters would be watching the ones who were courting bill and coo with their beaux, something that was becoming harder and harder to do without feeling a very human envy. “With no family here in town, he probably doesn’t take very much time to enjoy himself,” Sarah murmured. “And perhaps he and one of the other Spinsters will discover a liking for one another…” She busied herself with lighting the stove and putting the teapot on top of it, activities that didn’t require her to look Prissy in the eye.
Prissy gave a low whistle. “Sarah Matthews, you can just stop saying such silly things that you don’t even believe. I’m not fooled for a minute.”
Sarah couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad you always tell me the truth, Prissy,” she said, and gave her friend an impulsive hug. “We’ll see what happens. Now, why don’t we get back to your cooking lessons? If your mama and papa are coming to supper tomorrow night, we’d better see if you can make some edible dumplings, and then we need to do a bit of housekeeping.”
“Ever the taskmaster,” Prissy groused good-naturedly.
Nolan didn’t show up at the taffy pull. Sarah told herself it didn’t matter, that she hadn’t been expecting him to, and tried to keep herself from watching the door every time it opened to reveal a new guest’s arrival. She even had a good time, laughing and singing with the others as they stretched and pulled the sugary, sticky confection into pieces of candy. A wiry ranchhand from Cherokee glued himself to her side during the early part of the evening, and he was pleasant enough company, but when he left later without asking if he could call on her, she was only relieved.
Had Nolan been called out to see a patient, or had he decided a taffy pull was just too childish for a professional man such as himself to bother with? Perhaps he wasn’t interested in her after all.
In actuality, Nolan had been summoned back to the Parker ranch that morning, for both the little Parker girl and her grandmother, Hal Parker’s widow, were abed with the same high fever and coughing that had felled the old rancher. Hank Parker’s wife was staying out of bed by sheer will to take care of them, for she was feverish and coughing, too.
By
nightfall he’d forgotten all about the taffy pull, immersed as he was in the struggle to save the old woman and the child. He stayed out at the ranch for twenty-four hours, alternately medicating the grandmother and the granddaughter and helping the younger Mrs. Parker sponge both of them down. He finally sent the exhausted young wife off to bed and instructed her worried husband to heat up some of the broth left on the stove for her. By morning, the little girl seemed as if she would survive with some careful nursing, but the old woman had followed her husband into death.
He drove home the next day, aching in every joint, as weary and discouraged as he’d ever been in the war after hours in the casualty tents.
But when he arrived back at his office, there was already a man sitting on a horse in front of it, waiting for him. There would be no rest for him yet.
He visited two ranches and three houses in town that day, and all of the patients he saw were suffering from the same chills, fever, coughing and body aches. He dosed them for their fevers and coughs, instructed their families on nursing them and giving them lots of water and nourishing broths and reassured them the best he could. He advised the still-healthy inhabitants of each house to stay home so as not to spread the contagion.
Of the patients he saw that day, only two were advanced in years, so with any luck the others would recover. But it was clear that Simpson Creek was in the throes of an epidemic. And all of them had been at the funeral of Hal Parker.
Each time he returned to his office, someone else was waiting to bring him to another sick person, or had left a note in his door that he was needed at such-and-such a house. He wished he could split himself into several doctors, so he could be in more places at one time, or at least had a trained assistant who, in his absence, could dispense medications, or take care of someone until he could get there. A nurse—yes, that’s what he needed. A nurse. Or several nurses.
He finally fell into bed without eating supper, for he was too tired to make himself anything and it was too late to walk down to the hotel restaurant. He slept dreamlessly until the sound of church bells woke him the next morning.
The Doctor Takes a Wife Page 8
