by Lyn Cote
He wanted to ask, Can I still die? But he didn’t. Of course he could still die. They both knew that from the war. His fever was due to infection, and infection could kill him. He fought the rush of moisture to his eyes.
“After thee has drunk this broth, I will begin fomenting thy wound. It will help keep thy fever down—”
“How’s Mackey doing?” the bartender interrupted as he entered from the rear of the saloon. He held out his hand. “I’m Tom, remember?”
Mercy began to reply, but Lon cut her off. He could speak for himself. “I’ll be up in no time.” His bravado cost him.
The hearty red-faced bartender had the nerve to chuckle. “Yeah, well, I hope so. I like having an honest gambler in the place. It’s good for business.”
“Did the man who stabbed me get arrested?” Lon asked, feeling his thin vitality leak out with each word.
“He took off and we couldn’t find him,” Tom said. “We telegraphed his description to the territorial sheriff in Boise. That’s about all we can do.”
Lon made a sound of disgust and then sipped another spoonful of broth, hating that he needed to be fed.
“Friend,” Mercy said, looking at the bartender, “I am concerned about Lon Mackey staying here at night. He needs his sleep, and the noise from the saloon will keep him awake.”
“I slept all night, didn’t I?” Lon demanded, regretting it instantly. Every time he spoke, it sapped energy from him.
Tom folded his arms and leaned against the unpainted, raw wood wall. “I see what you mean, Doc. But there’s not many places available.”
Lon forced himself to stay silent and just swallow the broth. He couldn’t afford to waste more effort on words. He stopped listening to the conversation. Feeling her soft palm on his forehead, he turned into it and let himself enjoy the sensation. The fever had wrapped him in its heat.
He had been wounded before and knew that the pain would pass—if his luck held. He’d made it through nearly four years of war. Thousands of others hadn’t. He tried to block out the images of battle and the charge of fear that they brought. The war’s over. It’s done. Maybe I’m done. He didn’t like that last idea. She doesn’t think I’m done.
He managed to open his eyes enough to glance up into Mercy’s face. Did she know how pretty she was? He noticed that she had a widow’s peak that made her face heart-shaped. Her blue eyes looked down at him with deep concern. And compassion. How could she care so much about strangers? How had the two of them ended up in this place? Hadn’t she seen enough of pain, misery and death in the war?
His leaden eyelids drifted down. Maybe the answer lay in the fact that while she had nursed the wounded and dying, she hadn’t ordered them into the line of fire and watched them die. Consciousness began to slip from him and he welcomed oblivion, even as he fought to stay awake, stay alive. There was something about this woman that made him want to live. Why hadn’t her father kept her at home and married her off to some neighboring farmer, out of harm’s way?
Out of my way?
After the bartender went to unshutter the front door for another day’s business, Mercy looked at Lon as he slid into sleep. He’d almost finished the broth, and that was heartening. Even his crankiness was a good sign. She stood and stretched her back and neck.
“Hello!” a woman’s voice came from outside the front door. “Is the lady doctor here?”
Mercy sent one last glance at Lon and then walked through the saloon. Outside, she saw a large, blowsy woman, one of those who had refused to let her board. Mercy approached her with caution.
“Good day, may I help thee?”
Something beyond the woman caught Mercy’s eye: Indigo, across the street, down a few storefronts. She was talking to a man.
“Remember me? I’m Ma Bailey. You still looking for a place to board?” the big woman asked.
Mercy was incredulous. She wouldn’t take us in a week ago. Now she wants us. Why? “We have been staying in the back of the mining—”
“Know that. But you can’t stay there forever. It’s not a house. I got room for you in my place. Two dollars a week. That includes food. You got to go to the Chinese for laundry. What do you say?”
“I will consider your offer.” Your belated offer. The woman looked disgruntled, glancing up and down as if she had more to say.
Gazing at Indigo over the woman’s shoulder, Mercy waited for her to come to the point. Indigo was behaving in a most unusual fashion while speaking to the man. It suddenly struck Mercy that Indigo was flirting. Mercy wished the young man would turn around so she could see his face. Indigo and she had never discussed it, but as a woman of color, Indigo faced special risks with white men. But she couldn’t see the color of his skin. There were men called half breeds in town. She had yet to see a black man hereabouts.
“Ya see, it’s this way,” Ma interrupted. “My daughter and her man are coming here before winter. Just got a letter when the supply wagons came in today. And she’s expecting.” Ma Bailey looked up at her, suddenly beaming. “I was thinking that when her time comes, she could use a good midwife. The first baby’s always the hardest. I mean, you don’t know if she’ll have an easy time or not.”
Ah, now this makes sense. Self-interest is always a good bet when guessing a person’s motivation. “Whether I board in thy home or not, I will be happy to attend to thy daughter’s first delivery.”
“Yeah, but it’s like this.” Ma hemmed and hawed with the best of them. “I was thinkin’ you might give us a deal on the cost, since you’d be livin’ with me.”
Mercy gave the woman a thin smile. Stinginess, another reliable incentive for some. Did she want to live with a grasping, unkind, prejudiced woman? No, she did not. “My fees are not exorbitant. I’m sure thy son-in-law will be able to meet them. I thank thee for thy invitation.”
The man Indigo was flirting with turned a bit, but his hat cast a shadow over his face. Be careful, Indigo.
In spite of Mercy’s obvious wish to conclude the conversation, the woman lingered. “You really patched up that gambler?”
“I did indeed,” Mercy said.
“Never heard the like. You must really know what you’re doing.”
“I studied for three years at the Female Medical College of Pennsylvania and passed all the tests.”
The woman shook her head. “That beats all. Women doctors. What will they think of next?” She walked away, calling over her shoulder, “Let me know when you make up your mind.”
But Mercy was studying the young man’s tall, lean profile. And then Indigo glanced toward her and quickly looked away. Mercy hoped the gentleman would turn out to be a fine young man with courting on his mind. She should have been expecting something like this—Indigo would be sixteen on Christmas Day, just the right age to start thinking of romance.
Yet Indigo was at risk. Mercy hadn’t yet seen any men of color in the Idaho Territory, and some white men would be more than willing to take advantage of Indigo’s innocence. Even if they were serious about her, mixed marriages were unheard-of and could unleash the nastiest kind of race hate. Mercy had realized that her life’s mission didn’t include a husband. A doctor was at the beck and call of everyone. How could a woman care for a house, children and a husband with such a demanding schedule? So Mercy hadn’t given Indigo’s future much thought. However, she didn’t want to force her spinsterhood onto her daughter. Her observations today gave her a new concern to consider and to address.
Her thoughts turned to Lon, and she headed back to check on him. She walked into the back room and found Sunny sitting in her chair. Some strong emotion rocked Mercy. She paused for a moment, letting the unusual feeling lap over her like sea waves. She realized that she didn’t like finding Sunny alone with Lon.
And then she noticed that Sunny was evidently trying to hide the fact that she was expecting. She looked to be near her last trimester. When the girl was standing, it wasn’t so evident. But sitting, yes, it was unmistakable.
Sunny glanced up and then popped out of Mercy’s chair. “I was just watching him while you were gone, Doc.”
Mercy nodded. She forced herself from the clutches of her unusual reaction, and then pity came swiftly. This young woman, who was just a few years older than Indigo, was going to need help soon. The world was not kind to babies born out of wedlock. More than once, Mercy’s parents had welcomed young girls in this situation into their home. Mercy thought of her sister, Felicity, who was running an orphanage.
Mercy smiled kindly at Sunny. “I thank thee. My nurse will come soon to relieve me.”
Mercy watched the young woman leave, wondering how to speak with her about her condition, a condition that she hoped Indigo would never find herself in without a good husband to look after her.
Lon Mackey stirred, and Mercy waited to see if he were about to wake. She felt a rush of tenderness toward the man who had stood by her when she’d first come to town. Despite his unusual choice of profession, the man had the potential to make a woman a very good husband, since he seemed to take a woman at her word and didn’t mind if she knew more than he.
Lon’s eyes opened and he caught her gazing at him. She didn’t have time to look away, so she smiled instead. After a moment, he smiled back at her. Warmth flooded her face as he slowly slid back into sleep.
Chapter Five
Late that night, Mercy woke once again to the sound of pounding on her door. Would that sound ever stop making her heart race? She lit the bedside candle and padded on bare feet to open the door. “Yes?” she asked, shivering in the cool draft that made the candle flicker.
“Please, you come. Please. Wife bad. Baby not come.”
This speech was delivered by a young Chinese man. Still waking up, Mercy stared at the man. Was this a dream?
“Please, you come. I pay. Wife bad. Baby not come. People say you doctor, good doctor.”
Mercy snapped awake. “One moment.” Leaving the door open, she pulled her sadly wrinkled dress on over her nightgown, then slid into her shoes and grabbed her bag. She wished Indigo were here, but she was watching over Lon Mackey, who was still feverish and sometimes delirious in the rear of the saloon.
Mercy stepped outside. Shivering again in the moonlight, she locked the door behind her. “Please lead the way. I’ll do what I can for thy wife and baby.”
The man bowed twice and then took off running down the dark alley. Mercy hurried to keep up with him. After a week of idleness, even a late-night call was welcome. If she weren’t so tired, she would have rejoiced.
Then the stress of this call punched her with its ugly fist. Childbirth loomed over all physicians as the leading cause of death among young females. She began praying as she hurried through the chill darkness, Father, be with me tonight. Give me wisdom and skill.
She was aware that there were Chinese immigrants in town. Ma Bailey had mentioned earlier that Mercy would have to take her laundry to the Chinese. How had these people found their way to the Idaho Territory? And why?
Before long, the two of them arrived at the far end of town, where a group of small wooden houses had been built very close together. The Chinese quarter was, of course, set apart from the rest of the town.
The man opened the door of one of these houses; a lamp was burning low inside. Two Chinese women were in the room, one sitting beside another who was lying in bed, obviously pregnant and in distress. Mercy’s nerves tightened another notch. Had she been called in too late? Would she be able to save both mother and child?
There was a flurry of rapid Chinese. Mercy pulled off her wool shawl and tossed it onto a peg on the wall. Then she turned to the man. “Water. I need hot water. Now.”
He hesitated only a moment to repeat her request. When she nodded her approval, he hurried outside. She turned to her patient whose face was pale and drawn, and whose hair was damp with perspiration, all signs of a prolonged labor. “I am Dr. Mercy Gabriel.” Then she gestured to each of the women and asked, “And thee are?”
The man returned with a bucket of water and hung it over the fire in the hearth as he answered for the women. “I am Chen Park. She Chen An, wife. The other, friend, Lin Li.” He bowed again.
Mercy repeated the names and nodded. She began to lay out her birthing instruments on the table with a trembling hand.
The young wife shouted again as an evidently strong labor pain gripped her.
“How long has she been in labor?” Mercy asked.
“Before dawn. I worry.”
Nearly twenty-four hours of labor. Her hope for a healthy birth dimmed, but there was still hope for a live birth. Praying, Mercy nodded and washed her hands in the basin he’d just filled with fresh water. Please, Father, let the child and mother live.
She motioned for the lamp to be held near and examined her patient. Chen An moaned and whimpered. Mercy didn’t blame her. She used her stethoscope to listen for the baby’s heartbeat. She thought she heard it, but the mother’s crescendo of moaning made it difficult.
“The baby is lodged in the birth canal.” Buzzing inside with worry, Mercy went to her instruments and selected a long, narrow forceps.
They looked at her questioningly.
“The baby is stuck, can’t get out. I will help baby come out.” Mercy demonstrated how she would use the forceps. She didn’t like using pidgin English and sign language, but she didn’t have time for a long explanation.
Praying still, she sprayed carbolic acid around the birthing site, made a quick, small incision, and proceeded to use the forceps. The woman writhed and moaned, obviously calling for help. When Mercy sensed the next contraction, she gently applied pressure and righted the baby’s head in the birth canal.
Chen An called out louder, frantic. Mercy held the child in place. “One more, Chen An,” she coaxed. “One more push and this will be over.”
The next contraction hit. Mercy held the forceps in place, keeping the baby from turning the wrong way. The baby slid onto the bed. A boy!
She dropped the forceps and cut the cord. Within seconds, she had the baby wrapped in a white linen towel, suctioning out its mouth and nose. In the lamplight, the little face was so pale. Mercy slapped the bottom of the baby’s feet. “Come on. Thee must breathe, little one.” She slapped the small soles again. Please. Please.
Then in the silent, tense room, the baby gasped, choked and wailed. Chen Park whooped and laughed.
Mercy felt gratitude wash over her in great swells of relief. Alive. She couldn’t help herself. She whirled on the spot like a girl, silently praising God for this new life.
She nestled the baby into the mother’s arms. “Thee has a fine son, Mr. Chen Park,” she said. “What will thee name him?”
“He will be called Chen Lee,” the father pronounced, grinning.
Mercy nodded. “Hello, little Chen Lee. Welcome to this world, precious child.”
Lon opened his eyes. Mercy was sitting in the chair beside his cot, smiling. The early morning light made her pale hair gleam with subtle gold. He admired the wide blue eyes that were looking at him with tenderness. The sight took his breath for a moment.
He’d spent the war and the past three years in saloons, far from respectable ladies like Mercy Gabriel. Nonetheless, his whole self experienced the pull toward her, toward the glimmering light, toward home and hearth…and peace.
He closed his eyes. Get hold of yourself, man.
“Good morning, friend.” Her voice was low and velvety, kind to his ear. “Here’s some tea for thee.”
Her hands slid under his shoulders and added two more pillows. He turned his face to let her palm cup his cheek. So stupid of me. He broke the contact.
“Does thee think thee can hold thy cup today?”
He opened his eyes. “Yes.” He accepted the cup, trying to keep it from shaking. The fever still burned inside him and the cup trembled in his hand.
She closed her soft hand over his, steadying it.
He braced himself to resist the feeling of h
er touch, of connectedness with this good woman. But the fever worked against him. If he tried to hold the cup himself, it would fall and break. Better to just let her hold it. “You can do it,” he said ungraciously. He let his arm fall back to his side, free from her touch.
She held the cup to his lips. He sipped and then said, feeling disgruntled, “You look happy.”
“I am. I had the privilege of helping a beautiful little baby boy safely into this world. He is little Chen Lee.”
From what he had seen of the way the Chinese were treated here in the West, where they had immigrated to build the railroads, he thought that someday this little boy would rue the day he was born in the Idaho Territory. If he survived.
“I’m always happy when I deliver a baby alive and well. It’s such a marvel.” Mercy’s face glowed.
He wanted to say something to bring her back to reality. He quoted harshly, “‘For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.’”
“Yes,” she replied, “Peter wrote that. But Isaiah declared, ‘The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand forever.’”
He cursed himself for bringing up a Bible verse. The idea of God was hard to let go of completely. But after four devastating, bloody years of war, if God was still there, Lon didn’t like him very much.
“Where’s Indigo?” he grumbled. Let the subject of man and God drop, Mercy.
Mercy nodded her head as if acceding to his unspoken request. “She has gone to take a nap. I will watch over thee this morning.”
“Don’t need someone watching over me.”
The Quaker had the nerve to chuckle at him. “Thee will be better sooner if I am here to give thee tea, broth and maybe even oatmeal.”
“Sounds delicious,” he snapped and then took another sip of hot, sweet tea. It was appetizing and strengthening. He ground his teeth in seething frustration as hot as the fever he couldn’t shake.
