Tattler's Branch

by Jan Watson

  “That’s quite all right, Mr. Jones, but I have a patient who can’t be disturbed.” Lilly pulled a watch fob from the pocket of her skirt and checked the time. “Would it be inconvenient for you to come back this afternoon? Say around two?”

  “No, ma’am, no inconvenience at all. I’ve one to install at the clinic and one at the mine office. I’ll just switch the times around.”

  “Thank you,” Lilly said, moving to close the door, but the man stayed on the stoop turning his cap around and around in his hands. “Is there something else, Mr. Jones?”

  “Well, seeing as you’re a doctor and all . . . would you mind to take a look at this?” He turned his right hand over, palm up.

  Lilly saw a raw, reddened wound in the flesh at the base of his thumb. “Splinter?”

  “Yeah, from a pole. I tried to get it out with a needle, but no luck.”

  “Did you sterilize the needle?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I dipped it in a bottle of 80 proof.”

  Lilly took a magnifying glass from a box of supplies she kept in a drawer of a kitchen cabinet. “It’s fairly deep, Mr. Jones. Let’s try an old-fashioned remedy.”

  “I’m game,” he said.

  Lilly doused the area with iodine, laid a square of fatback over the wound, bound it with brown paper, then secured it all with a looping figure-eight bandage.

  “You’ll need to wear gloves,” she said.

  “Got them in my pocket,” he said while examining the dressing. “This reminds me of something my grandma would do.”

  “Sometimes old ways are the best ways. You might have to reapply this tonight. It might not stay put while you’re working.”

  “Good thing I’m left-handed,” he said as he slid a glove on. “I appreciate it, Doc.”

  “Come by the office tomorrow,” Lilly said. “I’ll want to check for infection.”

  Mazy closed the door behind the man, then leaned on the drain board as Lilly washed her hands at the kitchen sink. “I’m so excited I can’t stand it. I’m going to call up everyone I know.”

  “Who do you know with a telephone?” Lilly asked while drying her hands. “Someone has to be on the other end of the line.”

  Mazy’s face fell. “I never thought of that. So then why are we getting one if I don’t get to use it?”

  Lilly put the box of supplies back inside the cabinet drawer. “It’s for business, Mazy. It’s so I can have contact from home to the clinic and so Tern can stay in touch when he’s away.”

  “What else is in here?” Mazy said, opening the wide upper cabinet door and pulling the flour bin down. It was clean as a whistle. “You know, Lilly, most women keep flour and spices and stuff in their Hoosier cabinet, not iodine and gauze.”

  Lilly laughed. “Not much of a housewife, am I?”

  Mazy gave her an appraising look. “No, but I like the way you are, Sister. Anybody can put flour in a bin, but not just anyone can do what you do.”

  “I can do what I do more easily because Armina cooks and cleans for us and because Mrs. Tippen does our laundry. One job is not more or less important than the other.”

  “You sound just like Mama,” Mazy said, turning away. “Always a sermon.”

  Lilly let the comment go. Maybe she did sound like Mama. “I have a job for you this morning. I need you to tidy up Armina’s house, air out the rooms, and put fresh linens on the bed. Will you do that?”

  “Sure, I don’t mind. Does that mean she’s well, then, if she’s going home and all?”

  “No, not yet, I’m afraid, but Hannah will stay there with her. I think she’ll do better in her own surroundings, and it’s much too hectic here.”

  “Poor Hannah. I wouldn’t like her job, all that bathing and bedpanning.”

  “I appreciate that you helped her with Armina’s care this morning so I could get a bit of sleep.”

  Mazy wrapped a length of hair around her finger. “Yeah, I helped, but then I got to leave. Hannah’s like a prisoner or something.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t feel that way. She’s very good at bedside care, and that’s how she supports herself.”

  “How did she learn all that stuff?”

  “She went to the Women’s Institute for her training, as did the other nurses. The hospital board members provided scholarships.”

  Mazy cocked her head and pursed her lips. “So Ned couldn’t go there because he’s a guy? That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Ned’s training is more exact than that offered at the institute. Besides, I don’t know that a man has ever sought schooling there.”

  “I think I’ll just marry rich,” Mazy said.

  “Would that be before or after you become a chef and write a bestselling novel?” Lilly teased.

  “Depends on when he comes along,” Mazy said, flashing a devilish smile before skipping to the door. “Let’s go, Kip. We’ve work to do.”

  “Mazy,” Lilly called after her sister.

  “Yes?” Mazy said through the screen door.

  “You’ll find a basket and some folded linens on Armina’s bed; just set them on the kitchen table.”

  Mazy saluted sharply. “Aye, aye, cap’n.”

  Kip ran circles around Mazy. Lilly smiled and watched them go. Mazy could entertain, but could she pull her weight? That remained to be seen.

  The wheeled invalid chair bumped across the graveled road. Armina was weak and mentally logy but compliant. Mazy met them at the door and helped Lilly and the nurse lift the chair over the stoop and into the kitchen.

  “Thank ye for bringing me home,” Armina said, trying to lift herself from the chair, her arms about as useful as wet noodles. “La, I don’t know what’s come over me. I’ve got so much that needs doing.”

  Lilly knelt down, face-to-face with her friend. “Armina, you’ve been ill. That sore throat you thought you got over has weakened your system. You need lots of rest. Hannah will stay with you for a few days.” She patted Armina’s hand. “Understand?”

  “I ain’t a child who needs telling what to do,” Armina said with a flare of temper that seemed to clear her mind. “I’ll just set here a spell and then I’ll be good as a coon in a holler log.” She shooed them with one hand. “You all can go on now.”

  What Armina didn’t know, and was not ready to hear, was that the possible upshot of her illness was heart damage and even total mental collapse. “Armina,” Lilly said, putting words to what she thought was necessary, “would it be better if Ned were here? I can call for him to come home.”

  Armina’s face clouded. “No, you’ll not disturb his studies. He’s nearly done.” She grabbed Lilly’s hand fiercely. “Promise me.”

  Fine tremors passed from Armina’s hand to Lilly’s own. Another storm was coming. Lilly motioned for the nurse, and between them, they managed to transfer Armina to her bed.

  “Will you let Hannah and me take care of you, then, Armina? So I won’t have to call Ned?”

  Armina could barely nod before the convulsions commenced, her arms shooting out like lightning strikes. The nurse dodged but not quickly enough to prevent a fist to her jaw. She captured her patient’s flailing limbs. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got her.”

  The storm blew over fast, leaving Armina spent and helpless on the bed.

  Lilly took a canvas supply tote from the handle of the wheeled chair. She padded Armina’s limbs with cotton wool, leaving long strips for Hannah to tie to the bedframe the next time Armina was violent.

  “Watch for the little tremors and then act quickly,” Lilly said. “You’re protecting her as well as yourself.”

  “I understand,” Hannah said. “I’ve had to do this before with other patients.”

  “I don’t want to dope her, but I’ll give her some laudanum tonight. You’ll both need to sleep.”

  Chapter 6

  It was nearly dark before Lilly finished her charts, capped her fountain pen, and set the bottle of navy-blue ink in the inkwell of her desk at the clinic. Movin
g Armina and all that entailed had given a late start to her workday. Careful as they were, the stress of the move had caused Armina to have more of the jerky irregular movements and mild mania that marked Saint Vitus’ dance. Who would have suspected that Armina knew the words to so many silly songs? “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain” still rang in Lilly’s head.

  When Lilly once again mentioned notifying Ned, Armina had leaped out of bed, threatening to run into the woods if Lilly did any such thing. She wouldn’t hear of it.

  Now Lilly was between the proverbial rock and hard place. She stood up from her desk and stretched. Her back popped and her neck released its knot. Ned was not going to be happy if this was kept from him. What was Lilly to do? Armina was her patient and Armina had rights. . . .

  She’d let it play out for a couple of days—if Armina didn’t worsen.

  Taking a ring of keys from the desk drawer, Lilly selected the one needed to lock up. The clinic was empty tonight. Her patients had been discharged. She tapped the key against her chin. What was she forgetting?

  Oh, forevermore, her hat! She laid the keys back on the desk, retrieved her hat from the hat rack, and stepped into the private lavatory off her office, another thoughtful gift from Tern. She was probably the only coal camp doctor anywhere to have her own bathroom.

  She hung her stethoscope on the towel rack and then, despite herself, removed her hairpins and combs. Her dark hair cascaded in waves nearly to her waist. She looked closely into the mirror over the washstand, making sure there was still only the one streak of platinum in her locks—the one she’d been born with, the one that started at her widow’s peak and ran like a vein of mercury to the very tips of her hair. Tern loved that oddity, and admittedly so did she.

  “Well, Dr. Still,” she chided her reflection, “it seems you have an unsightly streak of vanity to go along with the streak in your hair.”

  Lilly had been particular with herself and her things since she was a girl, the need for perfection as tenacious as a weed growing in a garden of daisies. She longed to be more like her mother, whose natural beauty had not faded with time because it came from within, or like Armina, who didn’t even own a mirror.

  Turning away from her reflection, she secured her hair in a familiar chignon but looked back as she stuck a long jet-beaded pin through her hat. She just couldn’t bring herself to go out into the world with a cockeyed hat on her head.

  A verse from Philippians memorized in her Sunday school days came to mind. “Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.” Or as Mama would say, “Pretty is as pretty does.”

  Lilly knew she wasn’t guilty of thinking she was better than anyone else, but vanity—caring too much about appearances—was definitely a weakness she needed to work on.

  Still, she couldn’t leave the bathroom without first straightening the wire soap dish on the counter and adjusting the cotton towel on the rack so that all its corners were even. Lastly, she draped her stethoscope around her neck. There, everything was in order. Her mind was filing a list of things still needing to be done as she stepped back into the office.

  She was startled to find a man standing at the window, staring out into the darkening night. He wore a blue shirt tucked in on one side and rumpled suit pants.

  “Excuse me?” she said. “This office is closed.”

  The man turned slowly toward her. “The door was unlocked.” He tipped his brown felt fedora but did not take it off. “Is the doctor in?”

  Lilly suppressed a sigh. She should take to wearing a sign around her neck. Obviously her stethoscope was not marker enough. “She is.”

  Sweat beaded just below the band of his hat. His set lips were a slash of pain, the skin around them white. “I figured to see a man,” he said.

  “On the one hand, you’ve got me,” Lilly said. “On the other, I’m all there is.”

  He swayed on his feet and steadied himself against the desktop. “If you don’t mind.”

  “One moment,” Lilly said, going past him to open the door wide. Just yards away, the street was busy with folks coming and going. The commissary was within yelling distance. She didn’t feel unsafe, just cautious.

  “What seems to be the problem?” she asked.

  Standing where he was, the man began to inch his stained chambray shirt upward, not bothering with the buttons. He grimaced as he ripped the bloodstained fabric from his side, revealing two distinct wounds in his right upper quadrant.

  “Take a seat.” Lilly patted the end of an exam table.

  “I can stand.”

  “A seat,” Lilly directed, as much to take command of the situation as to make the exam easier for herself. She was glad she had just washed her hands. She would rather not turn her back on this patient.

  “Doc Still?” she heard from the doorway. “I saw your door standing open and came to check on you.” Timmy Blair looked in from the small back porch.

  “How’s your arm, Timmy?”

  The boy lifted the sling that cupped his fractured limb. “I was a-wondering, Doc: will I ever play ball again?”

  “You’ll be back at bat and good as ever in a few weeks.”

  “Maybe could I go in the front room and play with the forewarning bird? Mommy’s shopping in the commissary. It’ll take forever.”

  Lilly kept the canary she’d once rescued from the mines in the clinic’s waiting room. It served to entertain her patients while they waited.

  “You may, Timmy, but don’t forget to put the cloth back over the cage when you finish. Tweety was already covered for the night.”

  Timmy sauntered through the office, his sharp brown eyes taking everything in. “You need to take your hat off,” he said to the man.

  “Timothy,” Lilly warned.

  “But my teacher says a gentleman don’t wear a hat indoors. He’s being disrespectful.”

  Pain flashed across the man’s face when he raised his arm and removed the brown felt fedora. His hair uncoiled like a snake, spilling a long blond braid halfway down his back.

  “Wow,” Timmy said. “I never seen a man with braids before. Are you an Indian? But no, then you wouldn’t have yellow hair, would you?”

  Lilly could almost see the gears turning in Timmy’s brain. Maybe the boy would elicit some history from the stranger.

  “I know! I know!” He waved his arm as if he were the only student in school who had the correct answer. “You’re like that girl that was kidnapped by the Indians—Daniel Boone’s daughter.” A satisfied look played across Timmy’s freckled face. “Do you live in a tepee?”

  “Timmy,” Lilly said, “Daniel Boone was a long time ago. Now either go play with Tweety or go find your mother.”

  “Sorry,” the boy said. “I was curious is all. Can I give Tweety a bedtime snack?”

  With a flip of her wrist, Lilly waved Timmy away.

  The boy hopped on one foot down the hallway that led to the waiting room. “I’m a champion at hopscotch.”

  “Lie back,” Lilly said as she prepared to examine the stranger’s gaping wounds. “I want to see how deep these are.”

  “I think I stuck my gut,” the man said.

  “More likely your liver. How did this happen?”

  The man’s hands tightened on the edges of the table as Lilly probed the first puncture. “Cleaning a fish—” he grunted in pain—“and knife slipped.”

  “Twice?”

  “I’m clumsy. Sue me.”

  Lilly ignored his condescending manner. Pain brought out the worst in people. “Your wounds are clean—no sign of infection. Your ribs probably deflected the blows. Have you had any trouble breathing?”

  “No—just weak as a sore-eyed cat.” He let out a small groan. “Can you sew me up?”

  “These need to heal from the inside out,” Lilly said while packing sterile gauze soaked in hydrate of chloral into the sites. “We’ll need to change this twice a day for a week or so. Com
e by during office hours and one of the nurses will take care of it.”

  “I ain’t likely to get the gangrene, then?”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so.”

  The hard lines of the man’s face clinched as he sat up and slid off the end of the table. “What do I owe you?”

  “You can pay when your plan of care is complete.”

  He straightened his shirt and flung a gold piece onto the desktop. “I thank you kindly, ma’am.” With that he was out the door.

  Lilly watched his fading back. She wondered about his story and about what brought him to this particular place. Was he a stranger just passing through or a transient looking for a few days’ work in the coal mines around Skip Rock? In any case, she would bet he wouldn’t return for wound care.

  She put a vial of laudanum in her bag, switched off the light, stepped out the door, and turned the key in the lock. It was getting late. She’d have to wait until morning to check on the baby. Armina needed her attention now.

  As she walked toward home, her mind whirled with thoughts of the day, especially the stranger. Lilly did not for one minute believe his story. Most likely he’d been in a bar brawl—fighting over a card game gone wrong or over a woman done wrong. Why wait so long for treatment, though? The wounds were not fresh. And why the stealth? Unless he’d killed someone—and she thought she would have heard if that were so. Gossip and rumors swirled around the coal camp like dead leaves in a dust devil.

  Besides that, Chanis Clay, the sheriff, kept her abreast of shootings, stabbings, and family feuds. He knew she might see the results of mayhem before he did. The folks who lived up the hollers of the high mountains were secretive and clannish—not given to call in the government and not given to calling on doctors unless there was no other option. Like the stranger whose fear of gangrene flushed him out.

  He’d probably be all right, though. His rib cage had deflected the one stab that might have killed him, and she’d treated him the best she could with chloral hydrate to prevent tetanus. It was not a sure cure—nothing was against lockjaw. But he’d bled freely, and that was the best preventative. It amazed her how God had provided the body with healing properties. A person almost had to go out of his way to circumvent them.