Paige's apprehension grew as Tahnancoa began a strange, rhythmic chant, a hypnotic sound punctuated by the shaking of a rattle she took from her bag. Using an eagle feather, she began a repetitive sweeping motion over the passive baby, always accompanied by the chanting.
As the ritual went on and on, Paige was unable to look across at Clara. She felt mortified by the whole ceremony. She could feel the hot color her embarrassment brought to her cheeks. She was certain that at any moment, Clara would snatch Ellie from the blanket and insist they leave, but when Paige dared a glance, Clara seemed intent on what was happening and not as skeptical as Paige.
Now Tahnancoa discarded the feather, but the chanting became even louder, demanding, invasive. She was crouching over Ellie and she seemed to be drawing something out of the baby's head, something invisible but strong.
Paige stared, unable to make sense out of what was happening.
Tahnancoa was perspiring with effort, pulling at what seemed an invisible rope that came from the center of Ellie's skull. Ellie was absolutely still. Her eyes had the glazed expression she'd worn the day before, after the convulsion. Suddenly, her body jerked spasmodically, her arms and legs thrashing.
"She's having a convulsion." Alarmed, Paige made a move, about to get to her feet, but Clara reached across and touched her arm, shaking her head, her finger at her lips signaling silence.
Soon Paige realized, just as Clara must have, that Ellie wasn't convulsing this time—this was something different. The baby's fragile body moved four or five more times, violently, and then she was still, her wide eyes clear now and fastened on Tahnancoa.
The moment the baby was still, Tahnancoa's eerie chanting stopped abruptly, and as the sound died away, Ellie began to gag.
Tahnancoa lifted her into her arms and held her over a small basin as the baby vomited up a strange, dark liquid.
Clara, clearly frightened now, quavered, "She's sick, what's made her so sick?"
Tahnancoa, however, smiled at Clara reassuringly. "She will vomit several more times, and her bowels, too, will loosen. She is getting rid of evil spirits that have made her sick. She will be better after today."
For the next two hours, Ellie alternated between violent diarrhea and severe vomiting. Paige was concerned about dehydration, but Tahnancoa seemed to view the purging as a positive sign and insisted Ellie was to have nothing to drink.
Clara was kept busy changing diapers, washing them out, and pegging them on the line to dry.
Tahnancoa seemed to sense exactly when the violent purging was done. When two hours had passed and Ellie, her tiny face more pinched and pale than ever, lay exhausted in Paige's arms, Tahnancoa put a small pinch of some herb in a cupful of tepid water and again coaxed the baby to sip it from a spoon.
"The worst is over," Tahnancoa declared when the baby swallowed several spoonfuls. "She will sleep now. We will prepare some lunch; the men will be coming soon." Tahnancoa laid the baby on a pallet of furs and covered her warmly. "For the next two days, she must be quiet and have nothing but your milk, Clara," she instructed.
Then, as if the entire morning's proceedings had been as ordinary as a ladies' sewing circle, Tahnancoa whisked away the buckskin bag, washed her hands at the basin in the corner, and set about rolling out biscuits and stirring a stew bubbling on the back of the range.
The Fletchers, anxious to get back to their homestead, dropped Paige off at her house late that afternoon and set off immediately for home. Ellie had slept most of the day, waking only to suck eagerly at Clara's breast several times. The milk stayed down, and the baby seemed no worse than she'd been before the morning's ordeal.
"But the big question is, will she be any better?"
Paige and Myles, unwilling to stay inside on the warm summer's night, were strolling along the riverbank the following evening. Paige had told Myles in graphic detail what had taken place with Ellie. He'd listened without saying much.
"God, Myles, I was embarrassed by all that mumbo jumbo Tahny went through," Paige confessed, her hand tight in his.
"I guess I thought she'd just give Ellie some medicine or other, and that would be that. Instead, there was all that stuff with rattles and chanting and evil spirits. I've never seen that side of Tahnancoa before, and it shocked me."
Myles smiled at her. "The first time you witness it, it's pretty strange. All the same, it seems to work, not all the time, but often enough. The Indian people believe disease is caused by possession by evil spirits. I've watched many shamans at work, and it seems to me that the mental effect of the ceremony on the patient is just as important as the herbal concoctions they use."
"Psychology, and the placebo effect," Paige agreed. She explained what she meant. "But the weirdest thing was when Tahnancoa seemed to actually pull something from Elbe's head," she added. "I can see her using the ritual to impress Clara with the fact that the baby was being cured, but why did it seem so real to me when she was heaving on—on whatever it was?"
"Maybe she was actually taking something bad out of Elbe's head, who really knows? A great many things exist in spite of the fact that we can't see them," Myles said in a reasonable tone, and when Paige began to laugh, he looked at her and frowned. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing. Everything. See, I'm the one that should be telling you about all the stuff that we can't see, you crazy, wonderful man. I'm the one that knows about atoms, and electron microscopes, and viruses, and still I need you to remind me not to be narrow-minded. Oh, Myles, you're far ahead of your time, you know that?"
He reached out and drew her into his arms. "I don't want to be ahead of my time," he declared, his slow drawl giving emphasis to the words. "All I want is you, here in my arms right now, my darling Paige."
"Me too." She lifted her head for his kiss, amazed that it was true. That other time, the future time from which she'd come, had begun to seem hazy and far away.
At what point had she stopped dreaming of finding a way to go back?
Now and Then: Chapter Fifteen
"May I have a word with you, sir? In private? It's a personal matter." Rob Cameron stood formally at attention, and Myles shot him a questioning look. Cameron didn't meet his eye.
"All right, Sergeant." Myles glanced at the other men waiting in line on early morning sick parade and gestured to his office door.
"In here." He ushered Rob in and shut the door, hoping this wouldn't take too long. "Now, what's the problem, Rob?"
The young constable's face grew as deep a red as his scarlet tunic, and Myles sighed, certain that he knew what Rob was about to tell him.
Myles had treated four other men in the past week for a particularly nasty strain of venereal infection no doubt contracted from one of the local prostitutes, and here, he felt certain, was a fifth.
He'd already paid a call on Jeannie, the madam who ran the local house, and insisted her girls come in for treatment before all the young men at the fort came down with the clap. But Jeannie had insisted her girls were clean, and when Myles examined them, he'd been forced to agree. Where, then, were these young men contracting the infection? He'd asked each of them, but none would admit who they'd been with.
"Yes, Rob?" It was difficult for these young constables to describe their symptoms. Myles was sympathetic, but he was also aware of all the men outside still waiting for a consultation. He was about to order Rob to drop his pants when the sergeant swallowed hard and burst out, "It's Miss Randolph, sir."
Paige? Myles frowned. What the hell could Paige have to do with Rob's problem?
"There's talk among the men. They're saying she's your mistress." Rob spat the words out, and Myles was taken aback.
He'd realized there'd be gossip among the men when it became clear he was spending a great many of his nights away from his quarters, but there was little he could do except ignore it.
"I've waited to hear of your betrothal to her, but its obvious your intentions are no honorable," Rob went on in a scathing voice. "It's a crime to ruin
her reputation in this way." Rob's voice was quavering with the intensity of his feelings. "The lass has neither father nor brother to protect her honor, so I'm calling you out, Surgeon Baldwin."
Myles was speechless and stunned. At last, he recovered enough to say, "Do I understand this correctly? You're challenging me to a duel?"
"Aye. Yes, sir, I am that." Rob, his back ramrod straight, glared up at Myles with both pain and determination in his eyes.
Dumbfounded, Myles rested one hip on the examining table and gestured at the room's only wooden chair. "Sit down, Rob. We need to talk about this."
Rob refused with a shake of his head. "I've said all I'm going to." His mustache bristled and his chin jutted with stubborn resolve.
"You're in love with her too, aren't you, Sergeant?" The question was unnecessary—the answer was written plainly on Rob's face.
His shoulders seemed to slump, and he looked away from Myles. At last, he nodded, one abrupt dip of his head. "I love her, aye, I do that. But I'd never take advantage of her the way you're doing," he accused hotly. "I already asked her would she marry me—"
Aware of what he'd just said, he stopped and gulped. Myles felt a harsh stab of raw jealousy and possessiveness, and then his heart went out to the younger man.
"I take it she refused your proposal," he said as gently as he could.
Miserable, Rob bobbed his head again. "Aye. She told me she—she was in love with you. That was last November, and it seemed she expected ... she thought... well, I've waited for the banns to be posted, but it's never happened, has it? And I've seen you riding off to her house, and coming back all hours of the night."
"Is it true the other men are talking about her?"
Rob hesitated, and then shook his head. "I'd brain any man who whispered a word about her. There's some talk about you, that's all." He tapped his chest with a forefinger. "It's me that's concerned about her. I didn't want to say it was Paige told me about the two of you."
It was a tremendous relief to Myles to know that her name wasn't being bandied slyly about the fort. But what was he going to do about this situation with Rob? Perhaps the truth would help, he decided. "I'm in love with her, Rob. Deeply in love," he admitted, feeling his own face flush. His feelings weren't something he was accustomed to talking about with another man. "I can only tell you that I won't hurt her in any way, ever. Nor will I allow anyone else to do so." His voice hardened. "But the arrangements we make between the two of us are private and personal, you must see that."
"But you are going to marry her, Surgeon Baldwin? Do I have your word on it?"
Damn, did this stubborn young Scot never give up?
"Yes, God damn it, I'm going to marry her." Myles speared Cameron with a scathing look that had sent lesser men scuttling, but the Scot held his ground, and Myles felt grudging respect.
"You have my word, Sergeant. And I've no intention of fighting any duel with you over the matter. Now get the hell out of here, will you? I have sick men to see to."
"Sir." Rob snapped off a salute and slammed the door behind him.
Myles wiped cold sweat from his forehead, aware that underneath his exasperation was a nagging suspicion that Cameron was right. He should marry Paige, it was unforgivable of him to risk her reputation this way.
The truth was, he'd started to think more and more often lately of being married to her, but each time he considered it, the fear was there, on many levels, the terrible fear of losing her, of trusting fate again and losing what remained of himself when it was over.
He'd almost convinced himself that when the time came, it would be easier to say goodbye if they weren't married, if there were no legal bond between them.
Because he had no doubts that sooner or later he'd lose her. Although she hadn't mentioned it recently, the matter of her going back to where she'd come from was always a possibility, if the means presented itself. If there was a way, Myles was certain she'd attempt it.
If that happened, he'd be alone again, more alone than ever before. What he shared with Paige was unlike anything he'd had in his life, even with Beth. This was physical, emotional, and mental, this connection with Paige that consumed him. Even labeling what he felt for her simply as love seemed woefully inadequate.
And losing her, he realized, would be agonizing, whether she was his wife or his mistress.
Well, he concluded, running a hand through his hair and straightening his tunic before he called the man next in line, the matter was now out of his hands.
He'd given Cameron his word, and his word was his bond. He'd propose to Paige at the first opportunity.
That Wednesday morning, Paige's first patient was Helen Gillespie. Helen's health had been excellent ever since the D and C. To her delight, her periods had entirely stopped, and the anemia improved as a result—she looked almost pretty today. She'd come in for a new supply of the herbal preparations Paige had recommended for hot flashes, and as she was leaving, Paige opened the waiting room door to greet the next patient.
"Would you step in—Lulu?" Paige could hardly believe her own eyes. Lulu Leiberman, waiting to see her?
Paige knew she sounded as astonished as she felt at finding her former landlady sitting stiffly in an armchair in her parlor.
"Come in, Lulu." Paige led the way into the office and shut the door behind her, wondering what on earth would bring Lulu here.
It wasn't easy to hide the emotions that seeing the woman again generated in her, the harsh memories of her first, difficult weeks in Battleford all came rushing back, along with the urge to confront this malicious woman with some of her lies. Instead, Paige summoned her most professional, detached manner. "What seems to be the problem, Lulu? I assume you're here for a medical reason?"
Lulu's fair skin flushed a mottled red, and she avoided Paige's eyes. "I think I might have caught the pox from using the same privy as the boarders," she said, her shrill voice trembling. "I just want you to give me a potion to cure it."
Paige insisted on an examination, and after an intense argument, Lulu finally agreed.
Paige was appalled by what she found. Without testing, it was impossible to determine the exact strain, but it was plain that Lulu had some virulent form of venereal disease. It wasn't impossible, but Paige would have bet her prized stethoscope that pious Lulu hadn't contracted this mess from any toilet seat. It was quite obviously the result of sexual activity.
However tempting it was to challenge Lulu with the facts, confronting her on this score would undoubtedly result in outraged denial followed by her storming out without any treatment.
Paige's professional sense of responsibility prevailed. Knowing the woman as she did, the smartest thing to do was to go along with the flimsy pretense that Lulu was an unknowing victim. Paige did so, barely able to contain a knowing grin when the plump woman sanctimoniously castigated the "filthy beasts who'd give a thing like this to an innocent woman."
Treatment was a problem. Not for the first time, Paige wished for antibiotics. Fortunately, she'd had a long discussion one day with Myles about venereal disease among the troops—it was a common enough situation, according to Myles.
The currently accepted medical treatment, he'd told her, was ineffectual as well as dangerous in his opinion—hers too, when he reminded her what it was. She'd forgotten that nineteenth century doctors injected syphilitic patients with a macabre dosage of arsenic and gold.
Myles had explained that he used instead a decoction of prickly ash and a drink made from boiled thistle roots, an effective two-barreled treatment he'd learned from an elderly doctor he'd worked with in the Civil War. He'd assured Paige the combination seemed to cure almost all the cases he treated.
Paige didn't have a stock of the remedies in her cabinet. This was the first case of venereal disease she'd encountered.
She arranged to send an errand boy to the boardinghouse with the medications later that afternoon, and she sold Lulu some salve Tahnancoa had made that would ease the chronic pain sh
e was in from the open sores and burning of her pubic area.
"Absolutely no sexual contact until this is cleared up," Paige warned. "You'll infect your partner." Her reward was a filthy look.
Unable to forget how Lulu had deliberately spread malicious rumors and all but kicked her out on the street, Paige didn't blink an eye about charging double her ordinary fee, and Lulu paid without comment.
When the woman left, Paige sat for a moment, remembering something her partner, Sam Harris, had been fond of saying. "What goes around, comes around." Lulu's nastiness had rebounded back to her, Paige reflected—in spades.
Myles surprised her on Sunday by packing a lunch and taking her on a picnic to a secluded spot miles up the river where a quiet backwater ringed by willow trees formed a natural swimming pool.
He'd thought of everything. He brought a blanket, a stone bottle filled with cold lemonade, and a canvas sack with enough lunch to feed a battalion.
On the ride out, they talked about Lulu. Myles had been as astounded as Paige when he learned who it was that needed his pox remedy—which, he'd explained, was already being used in abundance at the fort by the four young constables.
And all the while, he'd been blaming Jeannie's girls for the infection.
"I'll call each of the gentlemen in separately and have a talk with them," he'd declared the evening of Lulu's visit. The results were fascinating, and Myles related them as they rode.
"It seems that our Madam Leiberman is a talented actress," he explained. "Each of the young men believed they were blessed and unique, the only ones enjoying her favors, and each believed her to be wildly in love with only him. When the infection began, she turned on floods of hysterical tears and told each the story about the unscrupulous boarder and the outhouse, and the gullible young fools were ready to defend her honor rather than reveal to me where they'd become infected. It seems she's been enjoying all four of them for quite some time, and of course there must be a fifth who gave her the pox in the first place. She must be quite voracious, our Lulu."
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