by Lyn Cote
The two of them approached the well. It was a primitive affair with the pump sitting on a rough wooden platform.
“I don’t know what we’ll find that’s not right,” Tom grumbled. “From what I heard, the McCalls always had sweet water. That’s why they always brought the juice.”
Lon stared down at the wooden platform. Part of it was warping and lifting up. “Let’s find a crow-bar or hammer.” They went to the barn and found both. Soon they were prying up the boards over the McCalls’ well.
Both of them cursed when they saw what was floating in the water.
They cleaned out the well and then pumped water for a good half hour. Then they capped the well cover down as tight as they could. Tom and Lon walked silently back to the saloon. Lon hit the swinging door first and with great force, his anger at the senseless loss of life fueling a furious fire within. The two swinging panels cracked against the wall. Every head turned.
Lon crossed to the Quaker doctor. “We found dead rats floating in the McCalls’ well.”
The Quaker rose to face him, looking suddenly hopeful. “That would do it. Had the well cover become compromised?”
“It was warped and loose.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “We need to find out if everyone who is ill has been brought here. Anyone who drank the juice or who came in contact with a person falling ill from it should be checked. Then we need to make sure that every house where the illness has presented is scrubbed completely with hot water with a high concentration of lye soap.”
“That will end this?” Lon studied her earnest face, hoping against hope that she would say yes.
“If we kill off all the bacteria that carry the disease, the disease will stop infecting people. The bacteria most likely move from surface to surface. I believe that in order to become ill, a person must ingest the contaminated water or come into contact with something an infected person has touched. Does thee need anything more from me to proceed?”
“No, you’ve made yourself quite clear.”
She smiled at him. “Thee is an unusual man, Lon Mackey.”
He couldn’t help but smile back, thinking that she was unusual herself. He hoped she was right about the cause of the cholera. Only time would tell.
The last victim of the cholera epidemic died seven days after Mercy and Indigo came to town. When people had begun recovering and going home, the few remaining sick had been moved to one of the small churches in town after it had been scrubbed mercilessly clean. And the vacated saloon was dealt with in the same way. The townspeople doing the cleaning complained about the work, but they did it.
Eight days after getting off the wagon train, Mercy stood in the church doorway. She gazed out at the sunny day, her body aching with fatigue. She had slept only a few hours each day for the past week, and her mind and body didn’t appreciate that treatment. Only three patients lingered, lying on pallets around the church pulpit.
The new mayor came striding up the path to the church. “The saloon is clean and back in business.”
She gazed at him. Even though she was glad there was no longer a need for a large hospital area, did he expect her to say that the saloon being back in business was a good thing?
“I took up a collection from the people you helped.” He drew out an envelope and handed it to her. “When do you think you’ll be leaving town?”
Mercy made him wait for her answer. She opened the envelope and counted out four dollars and thirty-five cents. Four dollars and thirty-five cents for saving half the lives in this town of over a thousand. She wasn’t surprised at this paltry amount. After all, she was a female doctor, not a “real” doctor.
Mercy stared into the man’s eyes. “I have no plans to leave.” She had thought of going on to Boise, but then had decided to stay where she had shown that she knew something about doctoring. Many would discount her efforts to end the epidemic, but others wouldn’t—she hoped. “And, friend, if this town doesn’t want a recurrence of cholera, thee should have all the people inspect their wells and streams.”
The mayor made a harrumphing sound. “We’re grateful for the nursing you’ve done, but we still believe what real doctors believe. The cholera came from a bad wind a few weeks ago.”
Mercy didn’t bother to take offense. There are none so blind as those who will not see. “I am not the only doctor who believes that cholera comes from contaminated water. And thee saw thyself that the McCalls’ well was polluted. Would thee drink water with a dead rat in it?”
The mayor made the same harrumphing sound and ignored her question. “Again, ma’am, you have our gratitude.” He held out his hand.
Mercy shook it and watched him walk away.
“The thankless wretch.”
She turned toward the familiar voice. Lon Mackey lounged against the corner of the small white clapboard church. He looked different than the first time they’d met. His clothing was laundered and freshly pressed, and his colorful vest was buttoned correctly. He was a handsome man. She chuckled at his comment.
“It is so predictable.” She drew in a long breath. “I’ve heard it all before. ‘You’re just a woman. What could you possibly know?’ Over and over.”
“Why do you put up with it?”
She chuckled again.
The sound irritated Lon. “I don’t know what’s funny about this. You should be taken seriously. How much did the town pay you?”
Mercy sighed, handing him the envelope. “Human nature is what’s funny. Even when confronted by the truth about the cause of the epidemic, the average male and most females refuse to believe a woman would know more than a man would.”
They’d paid her less than five dollars. He voiced his disgust by saying, “But your idea about the cause of cholera is based on what male doctors have discovered, isn’t it?”
She nodded, tucking the envelope into the small leather purse in her skirt pocket. “But I could have gotten it wrong. I am, after all, just a poor, inferior, weak female who must always defer to men who always know better than women do.”
Her words grated against his nerves like sandpaper on sensitive skin. Why? Was he guilty of thinking this, too? He found himself moving toward this woman. He shut his mouth. He didn’t want to know more about Dr. Mercy Gabriel. He didn’t want to walk toward her, but she drew him. He offered her his hand to cover how disgruntled and confused he felt by his reaction to her.
She smiled and shook it. “I thank thee, Lon Mackey. Thee didn’t balk very much at following a woman’s directions.”
He didn’t know what to say to this. Was she teasing him or scolding him? Or being genuine? He merely smiled and turned away. The saloon was open again and he had to win some money to pay for his keep.
He would be staying in the saloon almost round the clock for the next few days—he’d seen the men of the town coming back full force. How had he come this far from the life he’d been born to? The answer was the war, of course.
He walked toward the saloon, hearing voices there louder and rowdier than usual. No doubt watching the wagons carrying people to the cemetery made men want to forget the harsh realities of life with lively conversation and laughter. Nearly seventy people had succumbed to cholera. How many would they have lost if Dr. Mercy Gabriel hadn’t shown up? Was he the only one who wondered this?
And why wouldn’t the Quaker woman leave his mind?
Images of Mercy over the past few hectic days popped into his mind over and over again. Mercy kneeling beside a patient and then rising to go to the next, often with a loud, burdened sigh. Mercy speaking softly to a weeping relative. Mercy staggering to a chair and closing her eyes for a short nap and then rising again. He passed a hand over his forehead as if he could wipe away the past week, banish Mercy Gabriel from his mind. But she wasn’t the kind of woman a man could forget easily. But I must.
Chapter Three
The morning after the final patient had recovered, Mercy decided it was time to find both a place to live and a pla
ce to start her medical practice. She wondered if she should ask Lon Mackey for help.
As she stood looking down the main street of the town, Indigo said, “Aunt Mercy?”
Mercy looked into Indigo’s large brown eyes. Indigo had always called her Aunt Mercy—the title of “mother” had never seemed right to either of them. “Yes?”
“Are we going to stand here all day?” Indigo grinned.
Mercy leaned her head to the side. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.” She didn’t reveal that the thoughts had been about Lon Mackey. He had vanished several days ago, returning to the largest saloon on the town’s one muddy street. His abrupt departure from their daily life left her hollow, blank, somehow weakened.
Indigo nodded as if she had understood both Mercy’s thoughts and gaze.
Mercy drew in a deep breath and hoped it would revive her. This was the place she had been called to. Only time would reveal if it would become home. “Let’s pull the trunk along. There must be some rooming houses in a town this size.” The two of them moved to the drier edge of the muddy track through town.
Mercy’s heart stuttered as she contemplated once again facing a town unsympathetic to a female doctor and a black nurse. Lon Mackey’s withdrawal from her sphere also blunted her mood. As she strode up the unpaved street, she tried to center herself, calm herself. God is a very present help in time of trouble. Lon Mackey helped me and accepted me for what I am—there will surely be others, won’t there?
A large greenwood building with big hand-painted letters announcing “General Store” loomed before her. Mercy left the trunk on the street with Indigo and entered. Her heart was now skipping beats.
“Good day!” she greeted a man wearing a white apron standing behind the rough wood-slab counter. “I’m new in town and looking for lodging. Can thee recommend a boardinghouse here?”
The man squinted at her. “You’re that female doctor, aren’t you?”
Mercy offered her hand. “Yes, I am Dr. Mercy Gabriel. And I’m ready to set up practice here.”
He didn’t take her hand.
She cleared her throat, which was tightening under his intense scrutiny.
“I’m Jacob Tarver, proprietor. I never met a female doctor before. But I hear you helped out nursing the cholera patients.”
“I doctored the patients as a qualified physician,” Mercy replied, masking her irritation. Then she had to suffer through the usual catechism of how she’d become a doctor, along with the usual response that no one would go to a female doctor except maybe for midwifing. She could have spoken both parts and he could have remained silent. People were so predictable in their prejudices.
Finally, she was able to go back to her question about lodging. “Where does thee suggest we find lodging, Jacob Tarver?”
He gave her an unhappy look. “That girl out there with you?”
Mercy had also been ready for this. Again, she kept her bubbling irritation hidden. If one chose to walk a path much different than the average, then one must put up with this sort of aggravation—even when one’s spirit rebelled against it. “Yes, Indigo is my adopted daughter and my trained nursing assistant.”
The proprietor looked at her as if she’d lost her mind but replied, “I don’t know if she’ll take you in, but go on down the street to Ma Bailey’s. She might have space for you in her place.”
Mercy nodded and thanked him. Outside, she motioned to Indigo and off they went to Ma Bailey’s. Mercy’s feet felt like blocks of wood. A peculiar kind of gloom was beginning to take hold of her. She saw the boardinghouse sign not too far down the street, but the walk seemed long. Once again, Mercy knocked on the door, leaving Indigo waiting with the red trunk.
A buxom woman in a faded brown dress and a soiled apron opened the door. “I’m Ma Bailey. What can I do for you?”
Feeling vulnerable, Mercy prayed God would soften this woman’s heart. “We’re looking for a place to board.”
The interrogation began and ended as usual with Ma Bailey saying, “I don’t take in people who ain’t white, and I don’t think doctorin’ is a job for womenfolk.”
Mercy’s patience slipped, a spark igniting. “Then why is it the mother who always tends to sick children and not the father?”
“Well, that’s different,” Ma Bailey retorted. “A woman’s supposed to take care of her own.”
“Well, I’m different. I want to take care of more than my daughter. If God gave me the gift of healing, who are thee to tell me that I don’t have it?”
“Your daughter?” The woman frowned.
Mercy glanced over her shoulder. “I adopted Indigo when she was—”
“Don’t hold with that, neither.”
“I’m sorry I imposed on thy time,” Mercy said and walked away. She tried to draw up her reserves, to harden herself against the expected unwelcome here. No doubt many would sit in judgment upon her today. But she had to find someone who would take them in. Lon Mackey came into her thoughts again. Could she ask the man for more help? Who else could put in a good word for them?
Heavenly Father, plead my case. For the very first time, she wondered if heaven wasn’t listening to her here.
Midafternoon Lon took a break from the poker table. He stepped outside and inhaled the cool, damp air of autumn. He found himself scanning the street and realized he was looking for her. He literally shook himself. The Quaker was no longer his business.
Then he glimpsed Indigo across the mud track, sitting on the red trunk. As he watched, the female doctor came out of a rough building and spoke to Indigo. Then the two of them went to the next establishment. Dr. Gabriel knocked and went inside. Within minutes, she came back outside and she and the girl headed farther down the street to the next building. What was she doing? Introducing herself? Or trying to get a place to stay? That sobered Lon. No one was going to rent a room to a woman of color. Lon tried to stop worrying and caring about what happened to this unusual pair. This can’t be the first time the good doctor has faced this. And it’s not my job to smooth the way for them. In fact, it would be best if they moved on to a larger city.
He turned back inside, irritated with himself for having this inner debate. The saloon was now empty, sleepy. Since his nighttime schedule didn’t fit with regular boardinghouses, he’d rented a pallet in the back of the saloon. He went there now to check on his battered leather valise. He’d locked it and then chained it to the railing that went upstairs, where the saloon girls lived. He didn’t have much in the valise but his clothing and a few mementoes. Still, it was his. He didn’t want to lose it.
Mentally, he went through the few items from his past that he’d packed: miniature portraits of his late parents, his last letter from them as he fought in Virginia and the engagement ring Janette had returned to him. This last article wasn’t a treasured token but a reminder of how rare true love was in this world. He wondered if Mercy Gabriel had ever taken a chance on falling in love.
That thought ended his musing. Back to reality. He’d have to play some very good poker tonight and build up his funds again. He lay down on his pallet for a brief nap. The night was probably going to be a long, loud one.
Mercy faced cold defeat. She had been turned away at every boardinghouse door and had been told at the hotels that they had no vacancies. She sensed the reason was because of Indigo’s skin color, a painful, razor-sharp thought. A cold rain now drizzled, chilling her bone-deep. She and Indigo moved under the scant cover of a knot of oak and elm trees.
“Well, Aunt Mercy, this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve slept under the stars,” Indigo commented, putting the unpleasant truth into words.
Mercy drew in a long breath. She didn’t want to reply that those days had been when they were both younger and the war was raging. Mercy had found little Indigo shivering beside the road, begging. Mercy had turned thirty-one this January. The prospect of sleeping out at twenty-one had felt much different than sleeping without cover nearly a decade later. Both she and In
digo sat down on the top of their trunk. Father, we need help. Soon. Now. Then defeat swallowed her whole.
The acrid smoke from cigars floated above the poker table. Lon held his cards close to his chest just in case someone was peeking over his shoulder for an accomplice, cheating at the table. So far he hadn’t been able to play for more than chicken stakes. Piano music and bursts of laughter added to the noisy atmosphere. He was holding a flush—not the best hand, but not the worst, either. Could he bluff the others into folding?
“You got to know that strange female?” the man across from him asked as he tossed two more coins into the ante pile. The man was dressed a bit better than the other miners and lumberjacks in the saloon. He had bright red hair and the freckled complexion to match. Lon thought he’d said his name was Hobson.
Lon made an unencouraging sound, hoping to change the topic of conversation. He met the man’s bid and raised it. The coin clinked as it hit the others.
“You know anything about her?” Hobson asked.
Lon nodded, watching the next player, a tall, lean man called Slattery, with a shock of gray at one temple. He put down two cards and was dealt two more.
“You know anything about her? I mean, can she really doctor?” redheaded Hobson asked again.
“She’s a doc all right,” Lon conceded. “I saw her certificate myself. She showed it to me the second night she was in town. It’s in her black bag.”
“We need a doc here,” Hobson said as the last of the four players made his final bet of the game.
“Don’t need no woman doctor,” Slattery replied. “She’s unnatural. A woman like that.”
Lon started a slow burn. Images of Mercy Gabriel caring for the cholera victims spun through his mind. “She’s a Quaker. They think different, talk different.”
The other player, a small man with a mustache, grunted. “Forget the woman doctor. Play cards.”
