by Amanda Cabot
Miriam’s reaction was instantaneous. As her eyes widened, she clasped her abdomen. “Will I die? Will my baby?” It was a valid fear, for diphtheria killed close to half those who contracted it.
“Not if I can help it.” Elizabeth reached into her medical bag, pulled out two bottles, and uncorked the first. “I’m going to swab your throat with tincture of iodine, and I want you to gargle with this at least three times a day,” she said, holding out the second bottle. “It’s hydrogen peroxide,” she told Delia, whom she’d summoned from her post by the door.
Elizabeth removed the swab from Miriam’s throat and tossed it into the sack she had brought for that purpose as she heard Richard’s voice. “Right this way, Doc.”
Elizabeth’s nemesis had arrived.
Miriam cringed and tugged the bedcovers over her head. “Don’t let him use leeches,” she pleaded.
“I’ll do what I can.” It was all she could promise. Straightening her shoulders and fixing a neutral expression on her face, Elizabeth took a step away from the bed as the two men entered the room.
“What are you doing here?” Though Richard’s words could have been confrontational, he sounded confused rather than angry.
“I sent for her.” Miriam lowered the covers and looked at her husband. “She’s my doctor.” Though her voice was weak, she sounded determined.
“Harrumph!” Dr. Worland made no effort to hide his displeasure at Elizabeth’s presence. “A midwife at best.”
Laying his hand on her forehead and stroking it gently, Richard addressed his wife. “Now, darling, I know you meant well. It’s fine for Dr. Harding to attend you when the baby is born, but you need a real doctor now.”
Though Elizabeth’s blood boiled at the implication that she was not a true physician, she said nothing. There was naught to be gained by antagonizing either Richard or Dr. Worland, and so she merely stood at the foot of Miriam’s bed, ready to help if she were allowed.
Richard nodded at her. “I think it’s best if you leave Dr. Worland with his patient.”
“No!” Miriam clenched Richard’s hand, her face flushing, her voice tremulous. “I want Dr. Harding. She’ll save our baby.”
Though Richard’s eyes were tender, he shook his head. “Doc Worland will treat you.” His voice brooked no argument, and Miriam slumped back on her pillows.
Elizabeth squeezed Miriam’s hand, then gestured to Delia to follow her out of the room. “I’ll be back later,” she said softly. “Get her to gargle if you can,” she said as she handed Delia the bottle of peroxide. “It will help.” Though Elizabeth doubted Delia would be able to swab Miriam’s throat without causing a gag reflex, she gave her the bottle of iodine and a handful of swabs.
“Thank you, Doctor,” the young maid said. “I’ll do my best.”
Elizabeth was descending the stairs when she heard Dr. Worland emerge from Miriam’s room after what must have been only a cursory examination. “It’s what I thought,” he said, addressing Richard. “She has scarlet fever. The only way to cure that is to bleed her.” He paused for a second before adding, “I have leeches with me.”
Scarlet fever! Leeches! Elizabeth shuddered at yet another example of the older doctor’s incompetence. Spinning around, she raced back up the staircase. “You’re mistaken, Dr. Worland,” Elizabeth said when she reached him. “Mrs. Eberhardt does not have scarlet fever. There is no reddening of the tongue, but if you examined the back of her throat”—and Elizabeth doubted he had, given the short time he’d spent with his patient—“you would have seen that the diphtheric membrane is enlarged.”
The older physician took a step toward Elizabeth, his posture menacing. “Are you presuming to question my diagnosis?”
Under other circumstances, Elizabeth would have chosen a more private venue for this discussion. Medical etiquette decreed that one doctor did not challenge another in the presence of patients or family. But she doubted Richard would leave her alone with Dr. Worland.
“Yes, Doctor, I am questioning you. Mrs. Eberhardt has diphtheria. The symptoms are conclusive. This is diphtheria, not scarlet fever. Bleeding the patient would be the worst possible thing you could do for her and her baby.” Elizabeth turned to Richard. Though she hoped he would support her, she knew it was unlikely. It was clear that Richard shared Dr. Worland’s opinion of her abilities.
“My wife is afraid of leeches,” he admitted. “Isn’t there any other way to save her?”
“None. None at all.” Dr. Worland glared at Richard. “If you’re going to take this chit’s word over mine, I’ll wash my hands of you.”
The threat met its mark. “Let’s not be hasty.” Richard gave Elizabeth a short nod. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. Roscoe will drive you back to your office. Dr. Worland is in charge here.”
Feeling beaten and defeated, Elizabeth descended the stairs.
Jason pulled the watch from his pocket and opened it. Two seventeen. The middle of the afternoon. That was what he thought, and it concerned him. He hadn’t heard any sounds from Elizabeth’s office since this morning when she’d left in Richard and Miriam’s carriage. Jason had recognized the driver and had seen Elizabeth speaking with a young woman whose clothing announced that she was a servant. That had been hours ago. It was possible that nothing was wrong, that that had been nothing more than an ordinary house call, but Jason doubted it. Something was amiss. His intuition told him that.
Covering the distance from his office to his front door in a few long strides, Jason went outside and looked at Elizabeth’s window. The sign still indicated that she was gone, so perhaps he was mistaken in believing she needed his help. And yet . . . Obeying an instinct he couldn’t ignore, Jason turned the doorknob. To his surprise, it opened. That was odd, for Elizabeth was conscientious about locking the door whenever she left the office. “I have too many medicines here,” she had explained when he’d commented on the fact that she secured it even if she was only coming next door to see him. “I can’t risk someone helping themselves to the wrong one.” But now, though the sign proclaimed that the doctor was gone, the door was unlocked.
Jason stepped inside. “Elizabeth!” There was no answer, and yet the office did not have that peculiar feeling a building did when it was empty. “Elizabeth!”
It took only seconds to cross her waiting room, but when he opened the door to her office, Jason stopped in his tracks. He’d been right. Something was wrong, for Elizabeth was slumped over her desk. She wasn’t asleep. He knew that from the ragged breathing and the shudders that wracked her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Slowly she raised her head from her folded arms, revealing a face that was swollen and blotchy, eyes and nose that were red from weeping. Gone was the confident woman he knew. In her place was one who appeared devastated by whatever life had sent her way.
“I failed,” Elizabeth said, her voice distorted by tears. “No one would listen to me, and now Miriam may die.” A broken sob escaped. “You were right when you told me people were not ready for a woman doctor. I should never have tried.”
As his heart ached at the pain she was enduring, Jason searched for a way to help Elizabeth. There had to be something he could do. Words were fine, but she needed more. Though he’d never before done anything like it, Jason crossed the room, moving behind Elizabeth’s desk. Before she could protest, he reached down and pulled her from her chair, wrapping his arms around her when she was upright. Her body stiffened for an instant, and he feared she would push him away, but then she relaxed and let herself lean against him.
He pulled her closer, hoping that his nearness would comfort her while he searched for words to ease her pain. Despite her final statement, questioning the wisdom of choosing this profession, Jason realized that Elizabeth’s worries were not for herself. She was suffering because of her patient. “Tell me about Miriam,” he said softly.
Elizabeth nestled closer to him, burying her face in his chest, her motion sending the sweet scent of lavender upward
. Jason took a deep breath, knowing that from this day forward, lavender would always be linked to thoughts of Elizabeth and memories of his attempt to comfort her.
When she spoke, her words were so muffled that he had to strain to hear them. “I can’t tell you anything more than that she’s very ill and that I’m worried about her. I tried to tell Dr. Worland and Richard that, but they wouldn’t listen to me. Richard just insisted I leave and let Dr. Worland take care of Miriam.”
Jason thought quickly, hoping the idea that popped into his mind wouldn’t offend Elizabeth. She might view it as undermining her authority, but it appeared that the situation was so dire that there were few alternatives. “Perhaps I could convince Richard to let you treat Miriam. He’s a friend as well as a client. If I go there as a friend, he might listen to me.”
Relief flowed through Jason as Elizabeth’s expression changed from despairing to mildly hopeful. “Would you do that? I hate the idea that Richard doesn’t trust me.” Her voice broke again as she said, “He told Miriam I wasn’t a real doctor.”
And that hurt. Stroking her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, Jason murmured, “That’s not true. You know that. Those were the words of a man who loves his wife and who feels powerless to help her. I’m not saying it’s right, but I can understand that Richard might be afraid to trust anyone other than the doctor who’s been in Cheyenne for decades.”
Elizabeth nodded, and Jason hoped it wasn’t simply his imagination that her eyes looked brighter. “It hurt my pride,” she admitted, “but that’s not important now. All that matters is Miriam’s life.”
Jason agreed. “I’ll do whatever I can,” he promised. For Miriam, but mostly for Elizabeth. The strong, independent woman who’d been so quick to defend herself and her gender had been battered, revealing an unexpected vulnerability. To Jason’s amazement, he found that vulnerability endearing. Perhaps it was nothing more than masculine pride or bravado, but his heart swelled at the thought that he might be the one person in Cheyenne who could help her. And suddenly nothing was more important than making Elizabeth smile again.
11
It was a week later, and Elizabeth was still worried about Miriam. Though she tried to concentrate on the article in Mr. Taggert’s Telegraph while she waited for patients to arrive, her thoughts tumbled faster than the leaves that had torn from the trees during the last thunderstorm. If Miriam’s case of diphtheria followed the normal pattern, she should have reached the crisis by now. The next few days would determine whether or not she lived. Elizabeth had gone to Maple Terrace two days after she had made her diagnosis, hoping to check on Miriam’s condition, but Richard had announced that his wife was too ill to have visitors. The way he’d emphasized the word visitor had told Elizabeth that Jason’s conversation with him had not changed Richard’s mind. He still did not consider her a real doctor, and he was not about to let her treat his wife. Though that realization was painful, the memory of Jason’s concern helped to mitigate it.
Elizabeth felt her lips begin to curve into a smile, and she laid the newspaper aside. Her eyes were reading words, but her brain was not registering their meaning. Instead, her thoughts focused on Jason and how he’d tried to help her. His concern had told her that he cared, and that had warmed her heart. But it wasn’t simply Jason’s concern that assuaged some of the pain of being rejected by both Richard and Dr. Worland. It was the way he’d demonstrated that concern.
He’d held her in his arms. It was the first time a man had done that, and it had felt so very good. Jason had given her comfort, but he’d given her so much more. Even now, when she closed her eyes, Elizabeth was filled with the memory of how wonderful it had felt to have his arms around her. Jason’s strength had buoyed her. The steady beat of his heart had helped calm her ragged breathing. And when his heartbeat had accelerated, Elizabeth had felt an unexpected warmth flowing through her veins. She had no words to describe it. All she knew was that Jason was a special man. Somehow, just by drawing her into his arms, he had turned a truly horrible day into one that lingered in her memory and made her smile.
Elizabeth was still smiling when the doorbell tinkled. Rising quickly, she walked into the waiting room, where a woman and a small boy stood.
“Dr. Harding?”
As she had been trained, Elizabeth assessed the woman’s health as she nodded. The potential patient was about Elizabeth’s height, with brown hair and eyes, and she guessed she was a few years older. Elizabeth gave her a warm smile of greeting.
“I am Dr. Harding,” she confirmed. “What can I do for you? Are you here for yourself or your son?”
The woman laid a comforting hand on the boy’s head. His hair was lighter brown than his mother’s, but there was an unmistakable resemblance. All except for body stature. The child, who appeared to be around four years old, was heavily built, while his mother was very thin.
“Both,” the woman said, her eyes softening as she looked down at her son. “I hope that’s all right. Louis is a little scared of Doc Worland. I thought you might be gentler with him.”
“I will certainly try.” Elizabeth’s opinion of Dr. Worland sank to a new low. Though the man must surely have some good characteristics, she had not seen them. While she led her patients into her office, Elizabeth learned that the woman was Laura Seaman and that her son was indeed four years old. “What seems to be Louis’s problem?” she asked as she lifted the child onto the examining table.
“It’s his ear.” Laura Seaman gestured toward the boy’s right ear. “He keeps tugging on it. When I ask him why, he says it hurts. He won’t let me touch it.”
Elizabeth nodded, then turned her attention to Louis. “I bet you don’t feel much like playing when your ear hurts, do you?”
He shook his head.
“Then let’s see what we can do to fix it. Will you let me look inside your ear? I’ll try very hard not to hurt you.”
Louis stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I’m a big boy. I won’t cry.”
Elizabeth suppressed a smile, remembering how often she had told Charlotte and Abigail that she was a big girl, only to be informed that she was their little sister. “You are indeed a big boy. Now, let me see what I can find.” It took only a few seconds to identify the cause of Louis’s earache. “It’s no wonder your ear hurts,” she told the child. “You have a large pustule in it.”
Though Laura Seaman gasped, as Elizabeth had hoped, Louis seemed impressed by the unfamiliar term and the fact that whatever it meant, he had a large one. Little boys, it seemed, were not that different from little girls, and at this age, bigger was better. “What’s a pus . . . pust . . . whatever it was you said?”
Grabbing a piece of paper from her desk, Elizabeth made a quick sketch. Though she would win no awards for artistic ability, she suspected that Louis would be intrigued. “This is what your ear looks like.” He nodded solemnly. Her pen moved again. “This is what a pustule looks like.” When Louis nodded, Elizabeth tapped her pen against the drawing of his ear. “You have a pustule right here.”
“Is it serious?” Laura had been silent while Elizabeth had examined her son, but now she could not conceal the worry in her voice.
“No,” Elizabeth was quick to reassure the young mother. “It will probably drain on its own at some point, but Louis will be more comfortable if I lance it today. Is that all right with you?”
When Laura agreed, Elizabeth turned back to her patient. “I’d like to make this pustule go away. It may hurt a little. Do you think you can be brave?” His eyes widening with either anticipation or apprehension or perhaps a combination, Louis nodded. “All right. Let’s get ready.” Elizabeth drew a small scalpel and a piece of cotton batting from one of her drawers.
“I’d like you to hold your mother’s hands.” That would keep Louis steady. “When I tell you, take a deep breath and hold it until I tell you to release it.” There was no medical reason for the child to do that, but it would give him something to think a
bout other than the pain Elizabeth was about to inflict.
“Ready? Breathe in.” Within seconds, she had lanced the boil. “You can breathe again,” she told Louis, pleased that he had barely winced. When she’d cleaned his ear and applied salve to the small incision, she smiled at her patient. “You were the bravest patient I’ve ever had. Would you like a licorice stick as a reward?”
As the boy grinned and popped the end of the candy into his mouth, Elizabeth turned to his mother. “His ear should heal quickly. I’d like you wash it every morning and night. Just put a little warm water on a soft cloth and dribble it inside. That’s all he needs.”
Laura stroked her son’s head. “Thank you, Doctor. Louis seems happier already.”
Elizabeth gave her a crooked smile. “Licorice will do that.”
“You’re too modest. Doc would never have taken so much time with a little boy.”
Though Elizabeth didn’t want to talk about Dr. Worland, she couldn’t ignore Laura’s comment. “I believe all my patients deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. Age doesn’t matter.” She lifted the boy from the table, placing him on the floor. “You said you also wanted to consult me.”
Laura looked at her son. “Louis, I want you to play in the other room so Mama can talk to the doctor. I’ll be right in here, and you’ll be able to see me.”
“I’m a big boy,” he announced as he took long strides toward the waiting room.
When he was seated on one of the benches, apparently content to munch his licorice, Laura turned to Elizabeth. “I didn’t want him to overhear our conversation. I’m never sure how much he understands.” She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath once she settled into a chair in front of Elizabeth’s desk. “Dr. Harding, Louis is four years old. Lloyd and I want another child. We have ever since he was born, but it hasn’t happened. I hoped you’d be able to help us.”
