by Janette Oke
“Can we come in?” she asked. “My husband … is a doctor.”
TWELVE
Juan
Juan de la Rosa walked purposefully into the sickroom and set his case on the bed. With a quick glance, he took in Clark’s pallor and the flushed cheeks. His nose caught the stench of rotting flesh, and he turned to the leg.
He knew even before he looked just what he would find. The crushed limb was badly infected, and the gangrene was not only eating away the flesh of the leg but was also poisoning the man’s body.
The leg would have to be removed.
Juan’s thoughts went back to another time, one very much like this one. Another man lay before him with a leg in similar condition, and at that time, as well, Juan the doctor had needed to make a life-saving decision. He had decided then, as he was deciding now, that the leg must be sacrificed in order to save the life. All of his training and experience told him so. He had done what he needed to do. And the man had lived.
And then … Juan shuddered involuntarily as other memories crowded into his mind. The angry screams, the raging accusations, the shouts of betrayal, and finally the sound of a pistol shot. For a moment, Juan felt he must flee Clark’s room—and all those memories. Then the groans of the sick man and the weeping of the women in the hall strengthened him. He straightened himself and looked at the two men in the room.
“I’m going to need lots of boiling water and a strong man to assist me,” he said evenly, removing his jacket.
“I wish I could volunteer,” said Willie. “I’d like to, but I’m afeared I’d cave in halfway through. I can see to the water, an’ I’ll find ya a man.”
Willie told Marty and Missie about the need for boiling water. Maria, watching nearby, nodded quickly and led the other two women into the kitchen.
At the bunkhouse, Willie found Lane sitting in the doorway watching Nathan and Josiah playing with Max. He went into the bunkhouse, motioned Lane to follow him inside, and shut the door. He looked around at the cowboys in various stages of repose.
“We found us a doc,” Willie said. At the surprise on everyone’s faces, he explained, “Well, the Lord found us a doc. It’s Juan. Juan has all the trainin’ an’ has even been in practice fer a few years. I know ya all have questions. So do I, but now ain’t the time fer answers. We’ll git ’em all in good time. Right now I need a man. I got a job thet won’t be easy to do. The doc needs help. He’s gonna take off thet there leg. Yer wonderin’ why I don’t offer, him bein’ my father-in-law an’ all. Well, I’ll tell ya straight out. I’m not sure I could take it. I might fold up on the doc jest when he needs me most. Anyone here think he can do it?”
Willie’s eyes scanned the bunkhouse. Some of the cowboys were out on the range taking their shift, but those who were in the room probably wished they were far away, as well, mending fence or herding cattle. Willie had asked a hard thing.
Jake, stretched out on his bunk, had been catching up on some sleep. He’d had the late shift the night before. Smith, the bitter, critical member of the crew, sat in the corner smoking a cigarette and staring at the cards in his hand. Browny was his partner in the game. Clyde, who sat on a stool near the window, shifted the lariat he was working on into the other hand and shot tobacco juice at the bean can on the floor. Lane went white and stared at his hands as though trying to determine whether they would be capable of such a job. The room was heavy with silence. At last, Lane cleared his throat and spoke softly. “I’ll do it.”
“Ya sure?”
Lane nodded agreement.
“It won’t be easy.”
Lane recognized that.
“Wish I could help ya … I can’t promise. Yer sure ya can do it?”
Lane swallowed. “I know I can’t,” he said solemnly. “But I’m … I’m trustin’ thet He can.” He motioned upward with his hand.
The religion-hating Smith looked at the silent, shy Lane, a look of grudging respect on his face.
Willie and Lane went to the house, where the doctor was waiting. Willie led the group in prayer; then the men went to Clark’s room and the women to the kitchen.
The hands on the clock seemed to drag their way around. The three women had boiled all the water they could find containers for and now sat at a small worktable, untouched coffee cups before them. They had prayed together off and on throughout the whole ordeal, weeping and praising and quoting Bible passages for comfort and encouragement.
“Juan always wanted to be a doctor,” Maria began slowly during a pause in the conversation. The other two lifted redrimmed eyes to her face as they listened to her story. “From the time he was a small boy, he dreamed and planned. At first his father said no. If he wanted to serve, he could be a priest and serve the church. But Juan argued and pleaded. Finally his father said, ‘Yes, go ahead, but you will need to pay your own way. My money will not go for foolish dreams.’ His father is very wealthy. In his own way, he loves his sons. He wanted both of his boys to stay and ranch with him. Juan went away to the city to school. It was hard. He had to work and he had to study. His father thought he would give up and come home again. But Juan did not. At last he was finished. He was a doctor and was given a good job in a city hospital. His father thought he should come home now. He could be a doctor to the gringos and make good money treating their families, but Juan said no, he must first know more, and then he would come home.”
Maria stopped. It obviously was very difficult for her to continue.
“And then one day he was urgently called home. He must come right away. A man had been hurt. Juan went home and found the injured man. He, too, had crushed his leg. A horse had fallen on him. The leg was too badly broken to fix. It might have been different if he had quickly had a doctor and been taken to a hospital soon. But by the time Juan got there, the leg was like this one. It was infected and stealing away the man’s life.”
Maria stopped again and took a deep breath.
“He had to take the man’s leg. He had to. There was no other choice. Juan did the only thing he could do. The man lived and he again came awake. And then … then a dreadful thing happened. He discovered that his leg was gone. He was angry. He screamed at Juan. He wanted to kill him. He said Juan had always been jealous of him and had used his knife to make him less of a man. He screamed and screamed until the father came. He, too, was angry. He sent Juan from the room. And then … then there was a pistol shot. Juan ran back to the room. The man had shot himself. Juan’s father had not stopped him. The father lay weeping across the body of the dead man. It was his son—Juan’s brother.”
Missie gasped her horror, and Marty shut her eyes against the tragedy of it.
“Juan left his father’s home,” Maria continued after a moment, “and said he would never, never be a doctor again. He hated what he had done to his family. He came to me. I loved him very much. We were planning to be married. Juan said he could not marry me, that he was going far away. That he would never again be a doctor. He threw his bag across the yard and wept as he told me. I said that I loved him. That I still wanted to marry him. That I would go away with him. At last he said I could come. I packed a few things and we went to the village priest, who married us. Juan did not know it, but I packed his medicine bag, as well. It has been hidden these many years.
“We came here and began to ranch. Juan knew ranching. He had been raised on one of the biggest ranches in Mexico. He had ridden and cared for cattle from the time he was a small niño. But still Juan was not happy. He could not forget the past. Nor could he hide the desire to be a doctor.”
Maria toyed with the handle of the cup that held the now cold coffee.
“I said that Juan was troubled about coming to church, Missie. About what to teach our little ones. That is right. I did not lie. But Juan is also troubled about other things. He looks at the boy with the twisted arm and it turns a knife within him. He knows he could have set the arm properly and the boy would not have been crippled. He knows of the boy with the broken ankle
in town. He knows that you all suffer here in this house with the good man, Clark. It makes my Juan suffer, too. He has not slept or eaten the last several days. He did not know what to do. He did not know that I had his bag and there was medicine in it.”
Maria sighed.
“He will always ask himself, could he have saved the leg if he had come sooner?”
“No,” Marty interjected. “He mustn’t think that. The leg was crushed. It was a very bad break. I don’t think anyone could have saved it. I pretended—but I didn’t really believe it. Juan mustn’t blame himself. He mustn’t. He mustn’t blame himself ’bout his brother, either. Juan did what had to be done. He couldn’t have done anythin’ else.”
Maria smiled weakly. “I know that and you know that— and deep down I believe Juan knows that, too. But it still torments him. Only now … now I pray he can forget that deep hurt and go on to do what he was meant to do. He was always meant to be a healer, my Juan.”
Willie walked into the kitchen, his face pale and his hands looking shaky.
“It’s all over,” he said, his voice low. “Doc says it went well. Now we jest have to wait an’ see.”
Marty rose and hurried in to Clark’s bedside while Missie and Maria prayed together again.
During the next few days Clark was in and out of consciousness, mostly because of the medication. Dr. de la Rosa, as he was now known, stayed with him, Maria having returned home to their children. Marty found the time following Clark’s surgery even more physically and emotionally taxing than her previous vigil, but Juan gave her encouraging reports daily. Clark’s pulse was more normal and his color was improving. Juan was hopeful that the infection had been caught in time. Marty dreaded the moment when Clark would be aware of the fact his leg was missing. She worried about how he might respond to the shocking truth.
It happened on the third day following surgery. Clark awoke and seemed to be quite rational. He asked for Marty, who was having her lunch at the time. She went to him, and Dr. de la Rosa left the room.
“I’ll be right here in the hall if you need me,” Juan whispered softly as he left.
Marty crossed to Clark’s bed.
“Hello there,” she said softly. “It’s nice to see ya awake. You’ve been sleepin’ a powerful lot lately.”
Clark managed a crooked grin. “I reckon,” he admitted.
“Ya feelin’ some better?”
“I think I’m feelin’ lots better than even I know,” said Clark.
“Meanin’?”
“Meanin’ I’ve sorta lost track of time an’ what’s been goin’ on. I need a few explanations, Marty. Seems I’ve been in an’ out of a nightmare. Care to fill me in?”
Marty sighed heavily. “It’s been a nightmare fer all of us— but I guess fer you, most of all.”
Clark waited for her a moment and then prompted, “I think I need to know, Marty.”
“Where do ya want to start?”
“How ’bout the beginnin’?”
“Ya remember the mine accident?”
“I remember.”
“Ya know thet ya was hit on the head an’ were out fer a few days?”
“I do.”
“Do ya remember comin’ round at all?”
“Yeah. It’s sorta hazy. I was in an awful lot of pain. My leg was—”
Clark stopped for a moment, then went on, “My leg’s not as bad now.”
“We found a doctor. He’s been carin’ fer ya.”
“A doctor! Since I woke up, Juan’s been—” “Juan is a doctor.”
“Juan?”
“Right.”
“Well, don’t thet beat all?” Clark grinned. “How’d thet come ’bout?”
“It’s a long story,” said Marty. “Juan’s been runnin’ away from his past. One day I’ll tell it all to ya.”
“Well, don’t thet beat all,” Clark said again, shaking his head. “Juan a doctor. Folks hereabouts must be crazy-happy to learn—”
“They’s excited ’bout it, all right. Soon’s yer well enough to leave without his care, Juan is headin’ fer a city to git what he needs to start up a proper-like practice. He’s already set the ankle of thet boy in town who was in the mine. He thinks he might even be able to rebreak an’ set the arm of the young Newton child. The parents are willin’ fer ’im to try.”
“Well, I’ll be,” said Clark and then, after a moment of silent thoughtfulness, he said, “Ya know, this here accident might be worth it if it got a doctor fer this town. Iffen it helped clear up Juan’s problems so he could do his proper work again, it jest might be worth the price.”
Marty cringed. Clark did not as yet know just how high the price had been.
“So Juan cared for me, huh?” Clark went on.
“He did,” answered Marty, “right when we had ’bout given up.”
“I was thet bad?”
“Thet bad.”
“He had the proper medicine?”
“Enough fer it to do the job. Heard him fussin’ thet he didn’t have a certain somethin’ else, but I guess what he did have worked.”
“An’ he fixed my leg.”
“He saved yer life,” said Marty.
“He fixed my leg an’ saved my life.”
Marty did not answer. She bit her lip and then realized Clark was waiting for her to go on.
“Clark,” she said slowly, “yer leg was bad broke. It wasn’t just a break, Clark. It was crushed. Then it got even worse. It got all infected with gangrene. The gangrene’s poison nearly killed ya. It would have, too, if it hadn’t been fer Dr. de la Rosa.”
Clark’s face had gone white as Marty said the words gangrene and poison.
“An’ yer sayin’—?” His voice was husky with emotion.
“I’m sayin’ thet Dr. de la Rosa fixed yer leg as best he could … in the only way he could… . He took it off, Clark. He took it off ’fore it killed ya.”
Clark turned away his face. Marty saw a deep shiver vibrate all through him. She threw her arms around him and held him close. She waited for a moment until the reality of it had time to penetrate.
“Clark,” she said, her tears falling freely, “I know thet isn’t what ya wanted to hear. I know ya didn’t want to lose a leg. I didn’t want it, either, Clark. With my whole bein’, I fought it. But it was yer leg or you. For a while, it looked as if it would be both. Oh, Clark, I’m jest so thankful to God thet He sent a doctor along in time to spare ya. I … I … I don’t know how I’d ever make it without you, Clark. God spared ya, an’ I’m so glad. So glad. We’ll git by without the leg … I promise.”
Clark smoothed her hair and held her close. His trembling eventually stopped. He could even speak. “Yer right. It’ll be all right. Guess it jest takes some gettin’ used to.”
And then Marty just let herself go and cried out all of her pent-up worries and frustrations. “Oh, Clark,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. So sorry it had to happen to you like this. If I coulda jest taken yer place… . I know how important it is to a man to be whole—to be able to feed an’ care fer his family. I could have done my carin’ from a chair. It wouldn’t have mattered near as much to me. Oh, Clark! I’m so sorry.”
“Hush now, hush,” said Clark. “Yer actin’ like one a’ those hysterical woman. This don’t change things. I can still care fer my family. One leg ain’t gonna make a lot of difference. Hush, now. Iffen the Lord hadn’ta figured I could do without my leg, He wouldn’t’ve ’llowed this, now would He?”
At length, Clark got Marty comforted and in control. He pushed her gently away from him. “An’ now,” he said, “if ya don’t mind, I’m feelin’ in need of some rest. I’ll talk to ya in the mornin’. Now you send thet there doc back in here, will ya?”
Marty left the room and sent in Juan. Juan entered the room, his pulse racing as he remembered the other incident when his brother had discovered his missing limb. He didn’t blame any man for taking the news hard. He stood silently, looking at the big man lying still on th
e bed. Clark was the first to speak.
“I hear I owe ya my life.”
Juan said nothing. Perhaps Clark did not yet know about his leg.
But Clark went on. “It must be a powerful hard decision fer a man to make—even a man trained in medicine—to take a man’s limb an’ spare the man’s life, or let him die with both legs on. I’m glad I’ve never had to do the choosin’. I want to tell ya ‘thank you’ for bein’ brave enough to make the choice fer me when I wasn’t able to make it fer myself. I would have chosen to live, Juan—even without the leg—I would have chosen to live. Life is good—an’ life is in the hands of almighty God. Now, I’m not sayin’ I fancy learnin’ to live without a leg. I’m not pretendin’ to be some hero thet it won’t bother none. But I am sayin’ ‘thank you’ fer givin’ me thet chance. With God’s help, I’ll make it. If He ’llowed it, then He must have a plan to git me through it, too. Fer He plans only fer my good.”
Juan stood watching Clark—no angry cries, no cursing, no incriminations coming from the man. Clark knew of his handicap— he knew of his great loss—but he had accepted it and even thanked the doctor for giving him a chance to live. There was a difference here. A distinct difference between the way this man accepted his handicap and the way his own brother had. What made the difference? Juan determined to do some thinking on it when he could get off by himself and take the time. One thing he already knew—where his brother had cursed God, this man thanked God. Perhaps … perhaps it had something to do with that.
Clark interrupted his thoughts. “An’ now, Doctor, I don’t be pretendin’ thet this here situation hasn’t shook me up a bit. It’s gonna take some gittin’ used to the idea. I don’t much feel up to thinkin’ ’bout it at the moment. Ya happen to have somethin’ to help a man git a little sleep instead? It might all be easier to handle come mornin’.”
Dr. de la Rosa moved to prepare some medication.
Clark did not go to sleep immediately. He spent time thinking, even though he wished he could shove the whole problem off to the side and pretend it did not exist. He also did some praying—deep soul-searching conversation with the Almighty, asking for God’s help in the hours, days, and weeks ahead of adjustment and growing. He even did some weeping—heartrending sobs that shook his large frame. When it was all over, he wiped the tears from his gaunt cheeks, set his chin, and reached for the unseen hand of God. It was a very long time before he discussed his feelings concerning his handicap again.
