Miss Thorne Blossoms

by Jordan Bollinger

  So, Victoria hoped for the best and began to familiarize herself with the layout of the surgery. For the most part, it was well arranged and equipped. But she couldn't stop remembering how neat and tidy Meg's quarters were.

  She was used to her grandfather's surgery, which had consisted of one side of the first floor of their Philadelphia townhouse. There had been a consultation office, a treatment room, a room furnished with a bed, and a scullery for the cleaning of instruments and linens.

  Victoria didn't have need for anything as grand as a consulting office. However, she would like a small office to house her medical books and a desk for her to work at. She also thought it would be nice to have both a treatment room and a separate alcove with a bed.

  Victoria wanted a comfortable, but not elaborate, home like the one Meg and Eva shared. She also didn't like the idea of Kit living in her tiny room anymore. Not with that saloon directly across from the surgery.

  Some might have said she was just being silly. She even admitted to herself, she probably was. But, as a newcomer, Victoria felt she recognized a potential danger that had grown up under Kit's, and the rest of the townspeople's, eyes.

  She'd overheard several snippets of conversation in the hotel dining room about the saloon and its new owner. Since he'd taken over, there seemed to be more noise and more fights spilling into the street. There was something else being discussed, but Victoria couldn't ever hear about it. Voices dropped to whispers, so the subject remained a mystery to her.

  *****

  The following day, Kit was waiting in the hotel lobby when Victoria came downstairs for breakfast.

  "Dr. Thorne," she began, with extreme precision, in an overly loud voice, "Miss Meg sent word, Davy, the boy that brings the milk and things from the Gunderson place of a morning, had an accident. She'd like you to come over and check on him.

  "But, it's not an emergency. He ain't bleeding or nothing."

  Victoria gripped her medical bag tighter and headed for the door. "My breakfast can wait. Come along. That way, should I need anything from the surgery, you can run and get it."

  Together they headed out the door.

  Victoria and Kit found both Eva and Meg, sitting on the back steps, keeping cold compresses on a young man's foot while he squirmed and argued, "I'm fine, Miss Meg. Eva, tell her."

  "Well, here's the doctor," Margaret answered, as she smiled over at Victoria. "Dr. Thorne, this is Davy—the devoted young man who brings our milk and keeps our wood box filled and all kinds of helpful things."

  "Hello, Davy," Victoria said. She looked at his bare foot, already turning an ugly purple hue and swollen. "Now, can you tell me what happened?"

  "Well, ma'am, Bob, he's a good horse, only he's getting old. He started to stumble, but caught himself. The thing is, he came down right on my foot."

  Meg broke in, "I took his shoe and sock off, and cleaned it a bit—but only to make sure there were no actual cuts, and then just kept a cool cloth on it until you got here. I hope I didn't do anything wrong."

  "You did just fine," Victoria assured her. Then, turning to Davy, she gently touched his foot—from the ankle down to his toes—before she asked, "Can you move your toes for me?"

  Reluctant, Davy obliged.

  In a soothing tone, the doctor said, "Yes, I know that hurts. But the good news is you haven't broken any of the bones in your foot." She smiled at him and said, "Which is very good, because there are a lot of small bones in the foot."

  She turned to Kit, and asked, "Could you hand me a roll of gauze, please?" Then she looked at Davy and said, "You might have broken your big toe. However, there's not a lot we doctors can do about that. I'm going to bind it to the second toe, just to keep it straight and as stationary as possible."

  "Can I drive myself home?" the boy asked.

  "No, not today. You're going to need to keep off of your foot for a few days. Although, we aren't going to keep you out here on the porch.

  "Now, do you think you need to come to the surgery and rest for a while, or can you ride—in the back of the wagon—back home?"

  "I'd like to go home, miss...ah...doctor."

  "Eva," Victoria began, "can you drive Davy's wagon home? I'm sure Kit can follow, to bring you back to town."

  "Yes, ma'am," Kit acknowledged, "of course."

  Meg jumped up, and said, "I would like to go as well. Just let me get the girls started and grab my things." She stopped, turned to Victoria, and said, "Thank you so much, Dr. Thorne."

  *****

  "I don't believe for a minute that Stevens is ill. I know for a fact, he didn't get back here until well after midnight—because I was in the calving barn, helping deliver a calf

  "He either gets himself out of bed, dressed, up on a horse, and out doing his job, or he gets himself off this spread. Whichever he chooses, he's not staying in bed—again!" Gus called out to one of his hands, just as Eva pulled the little wagon in front of the barn.

  This, alone, surprised him. However, when he looked closer and found Meg in the wagon bed with Davy, he became worried. "What's happened?" he asked, as he rounded the wagon.

  "Davy's hurt his foot. But, he'll be fine," Meg assured him. "Dr. Thorne's examined him, and says none of his foot bones have been broken. But," she added, as she smiled at the boy, "he does need to stay off of it for several days. It's already colorful and swollen. His shoe and sock are here," she said pointing at a little bundle lying beside him.

  "Excuse me a second," Gus said, as he went into the building. He returned, followed by two hands. "Take the boy to the house and have Ma put him in the little room off the kitchen. We'll be inside in a moment."

  Meg slipped off the back of the wagon while a hand jumped up and joined Eva on the seat and drove the wagon to the house.

  "I've never seen you have trouble with one of your workers," Meg said, in a surprised voice.

  "I can't say that I've ever had much," Gus answered. "Until recently."

  "Why?" she asked, as he guided her towards the house.

  "I don't think you ever met Jackson. He owned the saloon, as well as a number of other buildings there on Main Street. He died a couple of months ago, and his son, who'd moved back east, sold the properties.

  "Trouble is, this Brumbell person—who appears to have bought them all—has personally taken charge of the saloon. And, he...he has...a more lax style of running it.

  "I've had several men come home drunk—during the work week. And another one or two who've..." he could feel himself flush, as he searched for a genteel way of saying what he'd begun, "...become indisposed." From the confused look on Meg's face, he was sure he'd failed.

  "Enough about me," he said, changing the subject, "now that the boy is out of earshot, how is he? Really?"

  "He's fine, Gus. Victoria...I mean, Dr. Thorne, wrapped his big toe to the next one—just in case it's broken. But, aside from that, he just needs to stay off of his foot until he can comfortably wear his shoe again.

  "Although, it might be time to retire Bob. He stumbled and stepped on the boy's foot."

  "Yes, Bob's pretty near blind. He's a good old boy, but it probably is time to put him—"

  "Don't put him down, Gus! Please!" Meg cried out. "Davy loves that horse. He'll always blame himself. Please don't."

  "You didn't let me finish, Margaret," he protested. "I wouldn't kill an animal that wasn't grown for food, unless they were diseased or in pain. There's a barn and several paddocks for retired horses."

  Meg's face colored, as she dropped her gaze, and said, "Of course you wouldn't. I apologize."

  "Don't apologize," he told her. "I admire your empathy with Davy and the animals. It's one of the many qualities I find so endearing about you."

  When Meg looked up into his eyes, though, he merely took her arm and led her towards the front door of the house.

  Chapter Three

  By the time they got inside, Eva and Ma had made up the little bed in a store room off the kitchen, for just such emer
gencies. Two hands had gotten the boy stripped to his drawers and into bed.

  Eva was applying cold compresses to the boy's foot while Ma Swenson fussed over him, plumping his pillows and tucking a sheet around him.

  "How are you feeling, my boy?" Gus asked.

  "I'm fine. I don't need to be coddled like this," Davy insisted.

  "Well, Miss Margaret says the doctor told you that you must say off of your foot for a while."

  "But, she can't be a real doctor. I mean, she were a female. Females can't be doctors, can they?"

  "I know it's unusual, but apparently they can," Gus answered, with a shrug and frown.

  Ma's head snapped up, and she said, "Let's leave the boy alone. Maybe he'll be able to fall asleep. Come into the kitchen and I'll make us some coffee."

  Gus wasn't sure why, but he definitely felt he'd done something wrong. Even Eva had given him a disapproving look, as she said, "I'll stay here, Ma. I have a book to read, but I'll keep changing the compresses. At least for a while." Then she turned away from Gus.

  The rest went into the kitchen, and Ma made coffee while Meg gathered up cups and saucers, spoons, sugar, and cream.

  However, Ma shook her head, and replaced one of the cups and saucers in the cupboard. Then, she announced, "I have some things to take care of upstairs." And left.

  Gus plopped into his regular chair, and waited as Meg poured their coffee and sat down. Once she sat down, she scowled over at him and said, "Really, Gus...we're depending on you to support Victoria's position as the town doctor."

  "I did," he protested.

  "No, you didn't. You said 'apparently they can.' It isn't the same. Not at all."

  "I know you, and Miranda Hendriksen, and Ma think that it's perfectly all right for this woman to be a doctor, but I'm finding it hard to accept it. So, I was actually very supportive—considering my own apprehensions."

  "Why?"

  "Why what?" he asked, as he fixed his coffee.

  "Why are you uncomfortable about a woman being a physician?"

  "Because..." he began. The trouble was, he really couldn't think of a valid reason, so he sipped on his coffee and stalled for time.

  "Well," Meg pressed.

  "It's just not proper—a woman doctoring a man." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Just as he knew she was going to explain to him just how wrong he was.

  "Really... Why?"

  "Because...it's not right. It's not...natural, or proper."

  "Gustav Gunderson," Meg began, "have I been wrong in believing for the last year that you held me under water while I was stripped down to my chemise and drawers?"

  "Well...yes...But..."

  "And, although we've never discussed it, that Ma and Kit needed you to help them get me from that tub to the bedroom, strip off my wet under garments, dry me off, and get me into a nightgown?"

  "Well...ah...I suppose I did...but..."

  "And then you put me to bed?"

  "You were very ill, Margaret. Ma and Kit couldn't manage your unconscious body without help."

  "I'm not arguing the point," she told him.

  "Then why are you so angry with me?"

  "I'm not angry with you—I'm disappointed in you. Because you—who I've always thought to be so educated and fair-minded—are acting like...like...my father or Carl Hendriksen!"

  "Margaret Strong!" was all he managed to get out. After that, all he managed were sputters.

  "Yes, what?" she looked over at him and scowled before she added, "Gus, if you were out somewhere, and came across a woman injured or perhaps giving birth, would you turn your back on her—because you're a man and she's a strange woman?"

  However, before he could say anything, she continued, "You wouldn't leave an animal in distress—let alone another human being."

  "Of course, I wouldn't," he answered in his own defense.

  "Do you think that Ma, or Miranda, or I would leave you bleeding—perhaps dying—because to help you would mean we'd have to expose your nether regions, and it wouldn't be proper?"

  "Well, no..."

  "If your wife, or someone you cared about, or anyone, really, was dying from trying to deliver her baby, would you think it improper for Mark Cooper to examine her...to help her?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Then explain the difference to me."

  "Well, men...ah...women...ah...it's...it's just different...it's..." Then, he went silent for a moment, and admitted, "I don't know, but there's just something not quite right—"

  "Do not even finish that statement."

  "Why are you so angry with me?"

  "I told you, I'm not angry with you. I’m disappointed. I've always felt you were different—a free thinker. Someone who wouldn't bend to convention."

  "Meg...Margaret...I..."

  "I'm sorry, Gus. You have been nothing but nice to me. I arrived here ill and alone, and you took care of me. You gave me a chance to make a new life for myself.

  "Victoria came here to do the same. And, whether you realize it or not, you have a lot of influence over the people in this town. Even the most stubborn of folk will eventually come around—if you support her."

  "But how," Gus inquired, "do I know she's a qualified physician?"

  "Because she graduated from an accredited medical school.

  "But if you are asking how do we know she's a good doctor, how do any of us know a doctor is a good doctor? You trust them until they show you they aren't."

  "All right, Margaret. All right," Gus acquiesced.

  After a moment, Meg asked, "What were you saying about this man?"

  "What man?"

  "This Brumbell person."

  "Oh, him? I hesitate to say anything to you about it, because of what you just said. But, it's just that he doesn't seem like a good addition to our community."

  "But, why?"

  "Just from things I've heard."

  "Oh, Gus! You mean you haven't even met him, and you are talking against him?"

  "Yes, I am. But, only to you and Ma. All right, perhaps, Frank, as well." When she eyed him, he added, "I swear, Meg, I haven't spoken to anyone else. But, I have been listening to quite a lot whenever I've been in town.

  "And I am not at all happy about what I'm hearing."

  Chapter Four

  Several days later, Meg and Victoria were having dinner in the hotel dining room when Margaret stood up, and softly called out, "Frank. Sheriff Dunkirk. Please come join us for some coffee.

  "I've been hoping for an opportunity to introduce you to our town's new doctor." As the sheriff walked over, she saw Victoria straighten her shoulders and suck in a great breath. Meg held out her hand to the sheriff and said, "Sheriff Dunkirk, allow me to present Dr. Victoria Thorne."

  "Miss..." Frank flushed and corrected himself, "I mean...Dr. Thorne, I hope you will find our community pleasant."

  "I already do, Sheriff. Everyone I've met has been most cordial and welcoming. Even if they are, for the most part, exceedingly healthy."

  Kit materialized beside their table. She was pale and agitated, as she blurted out, "Doctor, there's someone in the surgery."

  When Victoria didn't immediately jump up to go, Kit tugged at her hand and hissed, "Please, miss, hurry."

  She looked at Meg and the sheriff, "Please excuse me, Margaret, Sheriff Dunkirk," and allowed Kit to pull her away.

  *****

  "Kit," Victoria began, as the young girl continued to tug her across the street and down towards the surgery, "what is wrong?"

  "Please, miss. Just hurry," Kit whispered, as they climbed the steps and hurried through the door.

  As soon as they were both inside, Kit looked up and down the deserted street, before she bolted the door and drew back the curtain separating the front from the small room.

  Victoria saw a young girl, beaten and bleeding, lying on the narrow bed.

  "Kit, who is she? What happened?"

  "I'm not sure, miss..."

&
nbsp; "All right, then. Go back to the restaurant and bring the sheriff here. Run!"

  Kit unfastened the door and rushed out without another word.

  Victoria sat down carefully on the edge of the cot. She stroked the girl's soft brown hair back from her forehead and examined her startling blue eyes. Her pupils were like pin-points, and her pulse was extremely weak. Kit had already loosened her clothes—which meant unfastening her bodice, for she had neither corset nor petticoats, she didn't even have a chemise or drawers beneath her faded and threadbare calico dress—and put a cool cloth on the girl's head. Victoria gently wiped the girl's face and whispered, "What's your name, dear? Can you tell what happened?"

  However, the girl merely mumbled something unintelligible, before she slipped out of consciousness.

  When Victoria felt for the girl's pulse again, she found none.

  The girl was dead.

  Although it seemed like hours, Kit returned within minutes, the sheriff in tow. As they came crowding through into the curtained off section, Victoria grabbed hold of Kit's arm and told her, "She gone, Kit. I'm sorry."

  "But..."

  "I'm sorry. Someone had beaten her up very badly, and it wasn't her first beating. Now, what can you tell us about her?"

  "Not much, miss," Kit insisted. "I came across her in the livery stable one night last week. You know, I try and take something to Molly every day. I found her," she said gesturing to the dead girl, "hiding in an empty stall. She were so skinny, I gave her the carrots and apple I'd taken for ole Mol. And she gobbled them down quick."

  "Did she tell you her name?" Frank Dunkirk asked.

  "She said something...Laura, or maybe...Laurie, something like that. But she talked funny, real soft and low-like, I couldn't rightly understand."

  "Was that the only time you saw her?" the sheriff asked.

  "No, sir. I saw her again in the stable a few nights ago." She turned to the doctor and added, "She were so thin, miss. I brought her back here and gave her some milk and a sandwich. I know I should have asked you. I'm sorry if I did wrong. I didn't mean to steal food from the surgery. I—"

  "It's all right, Kit," Victoria tried to reassure her. "I'm glad you helped someone who needed it. Now, why don't you go make us some coffee? And, once it's on, you can take Molly some apples. All right?"