Handful Of Flowers

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “Mama always said two heads are better than one.” Polly wrinkled her nose. “But there are days when one’s more than enough for me.”

  “I imagine so.” The stage pulled up, and several folks spilled from it. Discretion demanded he change the topic. He spotted a youngster carrying a huge feed sack on each shoulder. Just the top of his deep brown hair showed. “Is that your cousin coming toward us?”

  She stood on tiptoe and craned her neck to see past other folks. “Yes, and he bought the right feed sacks!”

  Concerned that if they didn’t snag Calvin on his way down the street now, he’d refuse to come into the clinic, Eric said, “Have him set down the bags here at the door. No one will bother them.”

  “Oh, he’ll just dump them into the buckboard.” Polly smiled at him. “Something you’ll learn about the Chances—once they set their mind or hands to something, they don’t stop.”

  I was afraid of that. Eric didn’t voice his opinion. Instead, he reached out as Calvin drew near. “Here. I’ll get this one.”

  “I’m managing just fine, Doc.”

  Polly raised both hands in a what-did-I-say gesture. “I warned you that we’re a stubborn lot.”

  Realizing he might have given offense by making it seem as if Calvin couldn’t handle the heavy load, Eric chuckled. “At least your cousin has a strong back to match his strong mind.”

  Calvin shot him a cocky grin, then turned to Polly. “Did you get everything at the mercantile?”

  “Not exactly,” she confessed. “After you drop off the chicken feed, come here; then I’ll finish up.”

  Her cousin jolted. “Is something wrong? You ailing? Want me to fetch your ma?”

  “No, no. Doc has some new plastering bandages.”

  “From the looks of things when we put up those walls, he’s got half the world in there.”

  “These just arrived,” Eric declared. “They’re the latest in fine medicine.”

  Calvin glowered at Polly. “If you lollygag, we’ll miss out on April’s berry strudel.”

  “I promise you won’t go hungry. I’ll make you something—”

  “Oh, no!” Calvin backed up.

  Color flooded Polly’s face. “Hey, my cooking isn’t that bad.”

  “No, it’s worse.” Cal turned to Eric. “Doc, take my word for it—when the church does box socials or there’s a gathering, be sure to avoid Polly’s stuff. Otherwise, you’ll gnaw your way through half of that pharmacy of yours before you’re not breathing fire.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with spicy food. I enjoy it.”

  Calvin shook his head. “You’ve got my warning. The woman’s a risk to public health.”

  Eric chuckled. “Why don’t you go unload those sacks and come back? After we’re done here, you’ll be my guests for lunch at the diner.”

  “Nope.” Calvin shook his head.

  Eric’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to show Polly the new bandaging plaster. “Why not?”

  “Because you keep glancing down. My boots aren’t all that interesting, so I’m assuming something”—he glowered at Polly—“got said about my mishap.”

  “I did overhear something, but Polly didn’t breathe a word.” His sense of fairness had him vouching for her—the whole situation was taking more twists than a tornado.

  “Well, Polly—what do you think?”

  “I think even with your strong back, the chicken feed has to be getting heavy. Go dump it and come back. You’ll be doing me a favor since I want to see this new plaster.”

  “Oh, all right.” His brow puckered. “But if Doc treats my leg, then we’ll treat him to lunch.”

  Polly nodded. “It’s only right.” As soon as her cousin clomped off the boardwalk and across the street, Polly gave Eric a rueful smile. “Honesty demands I confess Calvin wasn’t wrong. I’m an abysmal cook.”

  “Then how do you make your curatives?”

  A purely feminine shrug lifted her shoulders. “I can follow formulas but not a recipe. It’s rather embarrassing, but with seven other women on the ranch, it hasn’t been a problem. So I take it you’re capable in the kitchen?”

  “Not in the least.” He couldn’t help chuckling. He’d thought that a fault in her—but she’d just held up a mirror and shown his hypocrisy.

  “I’d like to pretend it’s a trade-off, but Mama’s a wonderful cook.” Polly smiled at him. “Enough of our shortcomings. I want to thank you for being mindful of Calvin’s pride. He’s taken quite a ribbing the last few days.”

  “Family, I’ve noticed, is allowed to tease. Outsiders aren’t.”

  “That’s honest as a robin on a springtime windowsill.” She saw his puzzled reaction. “Mama Lovejoy married Daddy when I was five. She’s been wonderful to me. I’ve learned healing, cooking, sewing, and even some colorful ‘hill’ phrases from her.”

  “The MacPhersons are from. . .”

  She nodded. “Hill country. Temperance MacPherson—Tempy, for short, is Lovejoy’s youngest sister. Eunice and Lois are sisters, though I’m sure you noticed the resemblance already. Lovejoy brought the three of them out as mail-order brides.”

  “I see.”

  “In all, when both families get together, we make a swarm of locusts look downright pitiful.”

  “Locusts?” Cal approached. “I’m hungry as a swarm of ’em. How long is it gonna take to make a fuss over nothing?”

  “Not long.” Eric clapped his hand around Calvin’s shoulder and led him inside. “I’ve never seen a porcupine. Did you save any of the quills? I’d like to examine one under my microscope.”

  “You’ve got a microscope?” Polly’s voice held nothing short of awe.

  “The microscope assists me in making definitive diagnoses in several cases.” The doctor headed into his examination room.

  Polly stayed at the doorway.

  Doc turned and gave her a quizzical look. “Is there a problem?”

  “I’ll wait out here until Cal’s on the table with a blanket over him.” Why did heat rush to her face? Oh, she’d done that the first few times she helped Mama treat patients, but that embarrassment was long past. With a few simple measures, modesty could be preserved in nearly every case—and in the few where men needed more frank assistance, Mama cured them. Polly tried to cover for her discomfiture by walking toward the other side of the partitioning wall. “Shout when you’re ready.”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Cal called out a minute later.

  Polly entered the room and went straight for the washbowl. The smell of lye soap filled the air and lent a much-needed sense of familiarity to these impressive surroundings. She looked about. Jars with fancy Latin names lined a whole bank of shelves. On another wall, he’d added glass-fronted doors to the shelves her family had erected. Medical instruments, bandaging supplies, towels, and blankets filled it. “My, you’ve set up a wondrous surgery here!”

  “Thank you.” Doc scanned the room. “Your father, uncles, brothers, and cousins couldn’t have done a more remarkable job of putting up shelves—and in functional places.”

  “They were all cousins. I don’t have any brothers.”

  “If the both of you are done gawking at this place and discussing the family tree,” her cousin said in a wry tone, “maybe you can see to my leg so I can finally fill my belly.”

  Polly started unwinding the bandage she’d applied to her cousin’s leg early that morning.

  “So tell me what treatment you’ve given,” the doctor commanded.

  “Porcupine quills have odd little backward barbs that make them hard to get out,” Polly began.

  “You’re telling me,” Cal muttered.

  “I mixed a cup of vinegar and two teaspoons of baking soda together, then soaked the needles.”

  “The vinegar burned like anything,” Cal tacked on.

  “After applying a few doses, it softens the quills,” Polly said as if her cousin hadn’t complained. “Using hemostats, y
ou grab as close to the skin as you can and pull them out.”

  “You have hemostats,” the doctor said in an even tone.

  Polly nodded. “They grab better than tweezers. Quills are anywhere from half an inch to four inches, so you have to be careful not to miss some of the shorter ones.” She unwound the last bit of the bandage, baring Cal’s leg.

  “She got twenty-nine outta me. Stupid critter made me a pincushion.”

  “After I got them out, I used stinging nettle juice and lemon balm on him to stop the swelling and itch. On the spots that are looking red now, I’m using arnica.”

  “Arnica,” the doctor repeated. He stepped closer and examined the puncture marks. “Why are they all just on this one leg?”

  “I stepped over a log. Dumb thing was on the other side.”

  “I see.” The doctor continued to examine the punctures. “That could happen to anyone. I presume your boots protected you to some degree.”

  “Too bad that stupid critter got away. I would have skinned it and made me new boots from its hide.”

  “They aren’t thick enough or big enough,” Polly said.

  “Yeah, but Obie and Hezzy said he would have made a fair stew.”

  “They’re welcome to it,” the doctor said under his breath. He glanced at Polly and winked. When he straightened, he became businesslike. “Let me apply that plaster now.”

  From what Polly could see, Doc wasn’t afraid of pitching in and getting his hands dirty. He’d jumped in and pulled his weight on construction day. Judging from the fact that he’d been willing to carry feed sacks, she figured he didn’t shy away from carrying heavy loads, either. Then again, she ought to have gathered that just from the fact that his muscular frame proved he was in excellent physical condition. His hands bore no calluses, but the tan line at his wrist told her he conscientiously wore work gloves. It was prudent—a healer had to guard the sensitivity of his or her fingertips.

  His hands were wonderful—long fingered, large, and strong, yet he possessed remarkable deftness. Polly watched as he demonstrated step-by-step with exacting moves and words. He would have made a good teacher, and his competence was undeniable. Afterward, he looked at her. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Yeah,” Cal said. “Can you stop talking so I can pull on my britches and let us go eat? No use in the two of you trying to heal me at the same time you let me starve to death.”

  The doctor led Polly into the other room. He sat at his desk, and she sat on one of the new benches. “Once you remove that plaster in two days, I recommend using the arnica,” the doctor said.

  Polly nodded. “That Johnson company is very clever to have invented those.”

  “Yes. Medicine has come a long way. There are many inventions and discoveries.” Eric ran his knuckles across the smooth surface of his desk in a long, slow arc. “Old ways are phasing out as we learn improved methods of treatment and care.”

  “I’m ready.” The green curtains parted, and her cousin came in. “Bet we’re not home five minutes before you have Aunt Lovejoy gawking at this newfangled bandaging.”

  “There are always new things to learn.” Polly cast a smile at the doctor. She had the feeling she’d learn a lot from him.

  ❧

  Later that week, furious pounding and a holler, “Doc!” made Eric race for the door. He needn’t have bothered. John Dorsey threw open the door, nearly tearing it off the hinges. “My wife’s in labor!”

  Delighted to be called out for a maternity case, Eric quickly grabbed his bag. “Congratulations. How far apart are the contractions?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Since so many folks didn’t own timepieces, that answer didn’t surprise Eric. He simply closed the door, mounted his gelding, and asked, “Are they far apart or close together?”

  “Couldn’t rightly say.”

  “Then did her water break?”

  “How would I know?” John rode out of town at a demented pace.

  After riding up abreast of the man, Eric said, “Last I saw Beulah, she looked full term.”

  “I hope to shout. The carryin’s been hard on her.”

  Now that he’d managed to get John to calm down a bit, Eric went back to gathering information. “So how long was her last labor?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Eric couldn’t recall ever having a less informative father-to-be.

  “How many children has she had?”

  “This’ll be her fourth in six years.” John sat a bit straighter in the saddle. “My first.”

  That explained a lot. “Congratulations. Tell me, when did her pains start?”

  “Honest, Doc—I don’t know!” John shot him an irritated look. “Can’t talk sense into her. She and her mother took the little ones off to a quilting bee over at Chance Ranch. Tanner rode over to tell me I’m due to be a papa.”

  “So where is Beulah now?”

  “At the bee.”

  Nine

  Visions of rust, rye whiskey, and an ax loomed in Eric’s mind. He nudged his mount to go faster. When they reached Chance Ranch, thirty or so children were racing around, climbing trees, and playing on rope swings. If that wasn’t enough activity, most of the Chance men were fitting logs together in order to expand one of the stables. At the edge of that utter pandemonium, a dozen and a half women sat around a pair of quilting frames.

  “Beulah!” John roared. “What’re you doin’ sittin’ there?”

  “I’m stitching,” she answered back. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I fetched Doc. You’re supposed to be havin’ our baby.”

  “I am.” She poked her needle into the quilt, curled her hands in a white-knuckled grip around the frame, and moaned.

  Polly sat on one side of her. She set to rubbing the small of Beulah’s back. Lovejoy wafted a silk fan toward Beulah.

  Eric dismounted and headed toward them. “How far apart are the contractions?”

  “Middlin’ close,” Eunice MacPherson volunteered.

  Eric couldn’t imagine what business she had, sitting out here with her new babe. She ought to still be lying in her childbed. He chalked that up as yet another example of poor judgment on the part of these self-proclaimed midwives.

  Looking over his shoulder, Eric addressed John: “How long will it take for us to transport her back to your place?”

  “The only place I’m going,” Beulah said, “is inside. You don’t mind, do you, Lovejoy?”

  “Not a lick.” Lovejoy stood, as did Polly. Polly dragged Beulah’s chair back.

  “I was hoping to finish this quilt afore I birthed this babe,” Beulah said in a mournful tone. “With four little ones, I’m not going to have time to do much quilting for a while.”

  “We’ll finish it for you,” several of the women said.

  John tried to pick up his wife to carry her inside.

  Polly stopped him. “Your wife needs to walk. It’s good for her.”

  “How long was your last labor, and how long have you been contracting?” Eric nudged his way between Lovejoy and Beulah.

  The laboring woman took two more steps, then stopped. “Three hours.” She started to moan again.

  John braced her arm; Polly stepped in front of the woman and started swaying her as if they were going to waltz. He didn’t criticize her. These little things—odd as they were—could be ignored. He’d save his objections for things that really mattered. No doubt existed in his mind that several important issues would come up during this delivery. Then, too, he’d have more success in having Polly see the errors of her ways if he spoke with her privately instead of in front of half the women in Reliable.

  Polly’s eyes met his. “In case you’re not sure which question Beulah answered, it was both. The last labor lasted three hours, and she’s been at this for just about three hours.”

  When the pain eased, Beulah let go of her death grip on Polly and started to shuffle ahead. “I don’t have a gown or blanket here for my baby.�
��

  “You know how our Laurel loves to sew,” Lovejoy said. “I got me a whole stack of baby clothes jest in case, and Alisa crochets more baby shawls than I can keep count of.”

  Eric made a mental note of that fact. He had all of the medical supplies, but he assumed mothers kept the essentials on hand. In a situation like this, he supposed he’d have wrapped a baby in that soft white bandaging cotton, but women cared about minor details like that. He’d ask Mrs. White to order a few infant blankets and gowns for him to use in emergency situations.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” Beulah whimpered.

  “You’re doing beautifully,” Polly praised as she continued to assist the laboring woman toward the cabin. “We’ll help you.”

  John walked backward in front of his wife. “I got Doc for you. He’ll know what to do.”

  I certainly do, and I’ll be sure to deliver this child with the best of medical technique.

  Beulah stopped again. Eric thought it was for a pain, but Beulah straightened up. “I want Lovejoy and Polly.”

  “But—”

  Lovejoy let out a crack of a laugh. “Ain’t nobody pushing t’other away. Doc and us—we’ll all work together.”

  “I want my mama, too.”

  Eric knew better than to argue with a laboring woman—especially one asking for her mother. “Of course your mother is welcome.”

  “And—” Beulah’s eyes opened wide, then narrowed into a squint as she began to let out a guttural moan of a woman bearing down.

  Polly jerked Beulah’s face toward hers. “Blow. Blow. Come on. Blow.”

  Deciding this had gone on far too long, Eric swept Beulah up and strode into the cabin. Someone had already folded back the blankets and covered the bed with oilcloth. Left to their own timetable, these women would have Beulah standing in a barnyard, dropping the newborn on his head in the dirt as chickens pecked the ground around him.

  As he laid Beulah down, Polly quickly robbed the woman of her shoes and stockings. John called from the doorway, “You take good care of my wife!”