Her Healing Ways

by Lyn Cote

  Closing her eyes, she prayed, Father, let my light shine before men and let them praise Thee. And to herself, she said, I can stay here and wait for a special miracle, or I can proceed with one of my plans for this town right now, today. Release me from this holding back. She resolutely closed her Bible, set it on the table and donned her shawl and bonnet.

  If the people of Idaho Bend were not going to come to her, she would go to them. She stepped out into the dreary morning, trying to draw in the cool air. Her anxiety made it difficult to take more than shallow breaths.

  With a decisive snap, Mercy shut the door of the cabin behind her. She approached the modest white-frame Dunfield house and tapped on the door. Young, pretty Ellen Dunfield, with her rich brown hair and matching eyes, answered the door. She was holding her one-year-old son with his halo of curly brown hair. Blonde, four-year-old Missy huddled close to her mother’s side. “Dr. Gabriel, what can I do for you today?”

  Courage. Mercy suppressed her uncertainty. “I just wanted to ask thee a question. Would thee be interested in learning more about the new ways of keeping thy family in good health?”

  The young woman blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Great strides are being made in understanding how the body works and how to keep it healthy.” Mercy infused her words with as much confidence as she could muster. Low, gray clouds hung overhead. Her breathing remained shallow. “Would thee, as the mother in thy home, be interested in learning some of these discoveries?”

  “I’m terrible busy, ma’am.”

  Smiling, Mercy held up a hand. “I should have been more specific. What I would like to do is set up an afternoon meeting for townswomen, perhaps in one of the churches. I would have Indigo and a few other young girls babysit the children. Do thee think that thee would attend a meeting like this? Perhaps with tea served?”

  Mrs. Dunfield pursed her lips, considering this. “There are new ways to keep children well?”

  Gratefully, Mercy felt her lungs loosen. She was able to draw a deep breath. “Yes, there are. In Europe and America, doctors are learning more about the causes of disease and how to prevent it.”

  The boy interrupted by holding his arms out to Mercy. She reached out and took the child, who patted her cheek with a pudgy hand.

  Missy looked up at Mercy. “You like babies, don’t you, Dr. Mercy?”

  Mercy chuckled. “Yes, I do.”

  “Why don’t you got any?” Missy asked.

  Mrs. Dunfield scolded Missy, “Hush! Where are your manners?”

  “I don’t have a husband,” Mercy replied. “To have babies, there must be a father and a mother.” She tapped Missy’s nose, teasing.

  “You are a good woman,” Mrs. Dunfield announced, as if someone were there, disparaging Mercy. “I hate what that sneaky coward wrote on Mr. Tarver’s window.” The young woman glared at the unknown scoundrel. “So if you know ways for me to keep my family healthy, then I should learn them. What church will you be holding the meetings at?”

  Mercy pushed on, her usual sturdy confidence nearly restored. “I was wondering if thee would ask thy pastor if I might use thy church building some afternoon next week, perhaps Friday at 2:00 p.m. I need time to let everyone know about the meeting.”

  “I will ask him,” Mrs. Dunfield said. “I’m going to a prayer meeting tonight. I’ll do it then.”

  “Excellent. And if he says I may, I will put an ad in the paper.” The little boy babbled and Mercy handed him back. “Now I’m going to talk to a few of the other good mothers here in Idaho Bend and see if they would come.”

  “Can I go, too?” Missy asked.

  Mrs. Dunfield hushed the child again.

  “If thy mother doesn’t need thee, I would be happy to have thee with me for company.” Mercy looked to the mother.

  “If she wouldn’t be any trouble to you,” Mrs. Dunfield said.

  “Missy is no trouble at all,” Mercy said. “Go get thy shawl, child. And we will set out to make our round of visits. I will have her home by lunchtime,” Mercy assured the mother.

  Soon she and Missy were walking down the rutted streets of the town, knocking on doors. Predictably, most of the women were hesitant or guarded, a few were hostile and a sparse few were enthusiastic. As they walked down Main Street, Ma Bailey flagged them down. “Why do you have the Dunfield girl with you?”

  Mercy stared into the woman’s pudgy face. Nosy, nosy, nosy. “Missy is accompanying me. Missy, why doesn’t thee tell Mrs. Bailey why we are walking through town?”

  “Dr. Mercy is going to teach lessons on how mamas can keep their children from getting sick. Will you come?”

  “All children get sick,” snapped Ma Bailey, ever the cheery ray of sunshine. “Have you found out who wrote those nasty words about you?” The woman didn’t look upset, just eager for information.

  Mercy tried to divine whether Ma Bailey knew the answer to her own question. “When does thee expect thy daughter and her husband to arrive?” she asked.

  Worry etched itself into the deep lines of Ma Bailey’s face. “I don’t know, exactly. I’m so hopin’ that they’ll get here before she delivers. I heard you’re good at deliverin’ babies. I hear you even delivered a Chinese one.” Ma Bailey frowned and shook her head, resuming her normal attitude of general disapproval.

  “I’d never had the privilege of delivering a Chinese baby before. And the baby’s mother and father were as thrilled with the birth of their son as thy daughter and son-in-law will be with their newborn.” Mercy turned to leave this grumpy woman.

  “What do you think of that half breed courtin’ your girl?” Ma Bailey’s voice was sly.

  Unable to speak, Mercy made no reply but merely waved her hand and walked away with Missy. She had not gotten a clear look at Indigo’s beau, but had thought he looked dark enough to have Indian blood. She hated the demeaning phrase half breed.

  When they had crossed the street, Missy said, “I don’t like that woman. She has mean eyes.”

  Mercy made no direct reply, but said, “I think we will stop at Jacob Tarver’s store and buy a certain little girl a peppermint drop. What does thee think of that idea?”

  Missy smiled. “I like peppermint.”

  “I do, too. And I think thy mother might enjoy a peppermint drop also.” But Mercy’s mind was preoccupied with Ma Bailey’s gnarly question. If Indigo’s interest in the young man, who evidently was of mixed birth, was common gossip, then it was time that she and Indigo discussed her future. There was no getting around it any longer.

  Lon walked out the saloon door and nearly collided with the Quaker and that little girl who’d survived cholera. He cursed himself for not looking before stepping outside the barroom’s swinging door.

  “Good day, Lon Mackey,” the woman doctor greeted him.

  “Hello, mister,” the little girl said, waving up at him.

  “Good day to you both.” Though he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. He fell into step with them, cursing his own weakness.

  “We’re going to the store for candy,” the little girl said, skipping. “For peppermint candy.”

  “Aren’t you a lucky little girl?” He felt like an idiot, saying those words.

  “Where are you going?” the child asked.

  “Missy, it is not polite to question grown-ups,” Mercy said gently.

  “I’m going to see if the supply wagons brought any recent newspapers,” Lon replied.

  The three of them arrived at the store. Mercy let Missy go inside to have time to enjoy gazing at the array of penny candy in the glass case. She looked up at Lon. “Have I offended thee, Lon Mackey?”

  Her frank question bowled him over. He looked into her blue eyes and wished he hadn’t. Her eyes were the windows to her soul, her pure, generous, selfless soul. “I am at fault,” he admitted against his will. “I was abrupt to the point of rudeness. And after all your…kindness when I was wounded.”

  “I pressed thee too much, intrud
ed on thy private sorrow about the war. I apologize to thee. Meddling is a sin, too.”

  He chuckled suddenly. “You? Meddle? Never.”

  She laughed, too. “Oh, a direct hit.”

  “You’re not letting that incident…about Tarver’s window get to you?” His self-protection alarm was clanging. He needed to get away from this woman who somehow always stripped him of his mask.

  “It hurt,” she said simply.

  Missy came out. “Dr. Mercy, I know which peppermint candy I want.”

  Welcoming this chance to retreat from the field, Lon tipped his hat and hurried away.

  The cloudy day did nothing to still his restlessness. He walked faster. Part of him wanted to grab his valise and set out west for Boise and maybe farther. But he found himself bound to Idaho Bend.

  At night, he’d been gambling and winning, but he’d begun to hate the saloon—the drunken behavior, the raucous laughter, everything he used to enjoy. Then another upsetting thought hit him.

  Who had scrawled those awful words on the store window?

  Lon wanted to put his fist into someone’s face. Now his stride lagged—he found he couldn’t go on. He was still weak from his stab wound and the subsequent fever. He closed his eyes a moment, then turned back to the saloon where he needed to rest until evening. Forced to walk slower, Lon glowered at the sleepy Main Street and lonely sky. Maybe it was time to move on. Yet he couldn’t force Mercy Gabriel’s face from his mind. He knew she was the anchor that tethered him here. And that must end. Soon.

  Evening had come. Mercy watched Indigo setting a new red-and-white-checked oilcloth on the table. It was pretty and gave the humble cabin a festive appearance. This, along with a morning spent in Missy’s lively company and the setting in motion of Mercy’s plans for better public heath, should have revived her spirits. But it was her meeting with Lon that had truly lifted her up. She had been surprised by his honest apology and heartfelt thanks, and she’d spent the rest of the day fighting the urge to smile constantly. She was trying very hard not to think about what it all meant.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Indigo said with her back to Mercy, “that I’ve invited someone to eat with us this evening.”

  Mercy inhaled. Was Indigo finally ready to share with her the man she’d become interested in? Would he be suitable or dangerous to Indigo’s reputation? Mercy plunged ahead. “Is he the young man I’ve seen thee talking to?”

  Indigo turned and grinned. “You miss nothing, Aunt Mercy.”

  Neither does Ma Bailey. Any kind of gossip could make Indigo the target of… Mercy didn’t want to put it into words. But a certain kind of man would take advantage of any woman deemed less than respectable. And it could tinge the standing of Mercy’s fledgling medical practice. Mercy closed her eyes, resisting the temptation to worry.

  Indigo began singing to herself, “There’ll be peace in the valley for me someday, I pray no more sorrow and sadness or trouble will be, there’ll be peace in the valley for me, there the flowers will be blooming, the grass will be green…”

  Listening to Indigo’s low, sweet voice, Mercy turned her thoughts back to the present. No use borrowing trouble. “I certainly haven’t missed seeing how this young man has succeeded in bringing out thy smiles and laughter,” Mercy said, feeling guilty over her reservations. Lord, let me be wrong.

  “He does make me laugh,” Indigo replied as she began to set the table for three.

  “Then he must be a good man.”

  “At first I tried to avoid him,” Indigo said. “I mean, I am a woman of color and he’s part white. But he says his mother won’t care.”

  “He has a mother living?” Mercy asked.

  “Yes, farther north, near Canada. He came down to see if he could make some money mining or logging.”

  “And what is this young man’s name?” Mercy watched Indigo trying to hide how much joy merely speaking of her beau gave her.

  “He is Pierre Gauthier.”

  The names sounded good together. “I will, of course, make him welcome. What are thee preparing this evening?” Mercy glanced at the covered castiron pot hanging over the fire, gently humming with steam.

  “Pierre went hunting and brought the meat over earlier. So I put it to roast with some wild onions and a few potatoes. I’m baking a pie, too.” Indigo pointed to the covered Dutch oven on a trivet sitting in the back of the fire. “I picked some late berries this afternoon. One of the miners eating at the café told me where to look for them. Wasn’t that nice?”

  Mercy nodded her agreement. “Sounds like a lovely meal.” I hope Pierre Gauthier is worthy of it.

  A jaunty knock sounded on the door.

  “That’s him.” Indigo’s face lit up like a lightning bug. She hurried to the door and opened it.

  “Bonjour, ma jeune fille.”

  The man spoke French?

  He walked inside, carrying a basket of fall leaves and pinecones. “I thought you might dress up your cabin with these.”

  Mercy couldn’t help herself—she was impressed. “What a lovely gift.”

  He strode to her and executed a bow. “I am Pierre Gauthier, Dr. Gabriel.”

  She gave him her hand. “Welcome to our home, Pierre Gauthier.”

  “Merci, Docteur.”

  Another knock on the door sounded. Mercy glanced at Indigo who shrugged and went to the door.

  “Hello, Indigo. I’ve come to speak to Dr. Gabriel.”

  Lon? Mercy was caught completely off guard.

  Indigo looked back at her. “Please come in, Mr. Mackey.”

  Lon entered, doffing his hat. Then he paused, obviously surprised to see Pierre. His face changed in a moment from the honest one he had worn when they had spoken together earlier to the gambler’s cool veneer.

  Lon nodded toward Pierre. “I’m so sorry to intrude. I didn’t know you had company.”

  “Lon—” Mercy began, but couldn’t finish her sentence. How did she say, Don’t act like this?

  “You must come in, sir,” Indigo said, managing to take his hat from his hand. “We were just about to sit down to supper and we have more than enough for four.”

  Lon looked ready to decline. And Mercy felt her former good spirits vanishing.

  “Mon ami, stay,” Pierre said expansively. “You will even up the numbers.” He grinned. “Two ladies and two gentlemen.”

  Mercy lifted her tight lips into a smile. Having another man at the table might give her a better perspective of this young man. If only Lon wouldn’t carry on his “I am just a carefree gambler” role. “Yes, Lon Mackey, please stay.”

  “As you wish, Doctor,” he said archly.

  Soon the men sat on the bench on one side of the table. “Mademoiselle Indigo, something smells delicious,” Pierre said.

  Indigo beamed and turned toward the fire.

  “Thee are French, Pierre Gauthier?” Mercy asked, trying to relieve the tense atmosphere in the small cabin.

  “Please, call me Pierre. And I am Métis.”

  Mercy didn’t want to seem rude, but the words popped out. “What is that?”

  “It’s the name given to Indians who intermarried with the French fur traders much earlier, before the U.S. was even a nation,” Lon said smoothly.

  “Oui, I am French and Ojibwa and Dakota Sioux also. Most Métis live in Canada, but my family settled on this side of the border.”

  “Ah.” That explained the mix of French in his English and the blend of races in his face and build.

  Lon looked pained with the polite conversation. Or was it something else?

  “Indigo says thee has a mother,” she said, forging on.

  Pierre nodded. “Mackey, do you not gamble tonight?”

  Lon cleared his throat. “I will be in the saloon tonight if you should wish to try your luck with the cards.” His mouth quirked into a faint smirk.

  In spite of Lon’s provocation, Mercy kept her face impassive. Lon, I won’t let thee lure me into any discussio
n of thy gambling. She hated that their new accord was slipping through her fingers.

  “I was stopping to let Dr. Gabriel,” Lon said, watching her, “know that I intend to leave town in the next few days. Since our paths rarely cross except in passing, I didn’t want her to find out secondhand.”

  Mercy’s insides turned over. “Thee plan on leaving?”

  Indigo stopped on her way to the table. “Leaving? Why?”

  Lon shrugged. “Gamblers never stay in one place for long. Miss Indigo, that certainly does smell delicious.”

  Indigo set the meal on the table and began serving. Lon lifted an eyebrow, his expression almost a challenge to Mercy.

  Mercy tried to keep up the conversation while trying to decide why Lon had come and if he was sincere in planning to leave.

  An hour after the meal, Pierre excused himself. “I must go home and sleep. I begin work at dawn.” He bid Mercy a formal goodnight and then lifted Indigo’s hand, kissed it, and left, murmuring, “Bon nuit, ma chère,” before he left.

  Lon had not followed the young Métis out. He rose. “I thank you, ladies, for an excellent meal. But I must go earn my living at the saloon. I will need sufficient funds to leave town.”

  “Is thee really leaving town?” Mercy asked, unable to stop herself.

  “Indeed. I hope to leave by week’s end.” He bowed, donned his hat and departed.

  Indigo closed the door and then leaned back against it. She straightened, looking directly into Mercy’s eyes. “What do you think of Pierre, Aunt Mercy?”

  Mercy tried to sort through all her impressions, but Lon’s unexpected announcement had distracted her. “I like him,” she said at last. “I don’t know how anyone could not like him.”

  “But you don’t think that’s good enough.” Indigo’s face looked downcast.

  “I didn’t say that.” Mercy had no room to talk. She knew by now that Lon commanded her attention more than he should. She also tried to think of a way to ask the question that had not been asked.

  “You’re wondering if he’s friends with the Lord?”