Handful Of Flowers

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  Beulah’s mother hobbled up and shoved the toddler she was carrying into John’s hands. “You see to this one for a while.” She shut the door in his face. “Doc, you turn away. It’s not fittin’ for you to stand there whilst we peel off her gown.”

  Eric couldn’t care less about those issues at the moment. He needed to set out his equipment and scrub. A towel covered a small table by the bed. He swept it off, only to reveal an array of hemostats, scissors, and gauze—all things he’d have chosen for the case.

  “They’ve all been sterilized in boilin’ water,” Lovejoy said from over at the washbasin. “C’mon o’er here and scrub up.”

  Beulah’s mother smoothed a sheet over her as Polly hung the dress up on a peg. From the sound of logs thumping loudly into place and hammering, the men weren’t in the least bit concerned about the goings-on. Eric had to admit to himself that so far, their confidence appeared to be well placed. These women seemed to have everything under control.

  Then Polly went to a door and opened it.

  Narrow shelves lined the wall of the dank room she’d revealed. Bottles, jars, and jugs filled them, and bunches of leaves hung from the ceiling. Until now, he hadn’t realized the full extent of the “medical practice” these “healers” exercised. It was a marvel they hadn’t killed off all of Reliable with their quackery.

  Grim determination swept over him. He had to protect this mother and baby. “Shut that door!”

  ❧

  Polly looked at the cabin door, thinking John might have burst in to check on his wife, but it was closed. She gave the doctor a startled look.

  “I said, shut that door.” Using swipes as harsh as his voice, he dried his hands and headed toward Beulah.

  “I need to get the rust—”

  “I have ergot in my bag.”

  Mama shrugged. “I’m shore it’ll work jest fine. Beulah, we need to—”

  “Mrs. Dorsey,” Doc said as he shoved a hand beneath the sheet. “I’m going to examine you.”

  Polly dug through the doctor’s bag and found a vial of ergot. “How much do you want me to measure out?”

  “Zero point two milligrams. It will be exactly one level scoop of the smallest spoon in the adjoining pocket.”

  “Okay.” Polly efficiently measured out the drug and said nothing about how abrupt Doc had become. Maybe it was his way of handling the awkwardness of such an intimate situation. Maybe he felt a tad nervous. She tossed out the used water, refilled the pitcher with freshly boiled water, and began to scrub.

  “Breech,” Doc announced.

  “Last two were, too.” Mama patted Beulah’s arm. “You done fine with them. Wanna do the same as we did t’other times?”

  Beulah nodded.

  Doc straightened up. “We’re not doing anything. The precept with breech deliveries is to allow the child to descend on its own.”

  “Hands off a breech,” Polly recited Mama’s ironclad rule.

  “Exactly.”

  Beulah didn’t care about their conversation. She’d started bearing down again. When the contraction ended, her mother bathed her face with a cool rag and murmured encouragement.

  Polly stepped up beside the doctor. “Ready?”

  Mama nodded, and Beulah weakly said, “Yes.” They turned her onto her side, then helped her up on her knees. As she gripped the headboard, she moaned. “Jesus better give me a boy. John’s wanting his firstborn to be a son.”

  “Son or daughter, he’ll love ’em,” Mama reassured.

  Doc glowered at Polly and yanked her aside. “What are you doing?”

  “Kneeling widens her hips. Beulah has big babies.”

  “We’ll discuss this later.” He headed back toward the bed.

  Things happened fast after that. Just another two pushes, and the baby spilled out onto the bed. Mama dried it off, and Doc made sure it could breathe. They each grabbed a hemostat to clamp the cord, but Doc cut it. While Doc handed the baby to Beulah’s mother, Polly helped Mama lie Beulah back down.

  Doc’s jaw dropped in astonishment when he pivoted toward the bed. He didn’t say a word. Polly supposed since he wasn’t accustomed to a woman kneeling, he hadn’t taken the next logical step of realizing the simplest thing to do would be to lay the woman down so her feet were at the headboard.

  Twenty minutes later, Polly stood at the footboard next to Doc and grinned at Beulah. They’d gotten her all cleaned up and turned around, and Doc had given her his special ergot powder. Since Doc was present, they’d covered Beulah with a shawl when the babe started suckling.

  “I heard a cry—what’s going on in there?” John Dorsey shouted.

  A chorus of giggles from the quilters filled the air. “Thirty minutes,” several of them called out.

  “Thirty minutes?” Doc gave Polly a wary look.

  “It’s the rule. A new daddy tends to get underfoot, so Mama makes them all wait half an hour to come in.”

  Mama nodded. “ ’Tis reasonable. Lets a babe eat well and a mama have a chance to remember ’twas love, not pain, that brung the child.”

  Doc shoved the vial into his medical bag and latched it shut. Ten minutes later, satisfied Beulah and the babe looked fine, he opened the door. “Congratulations, John. You have a healthy son.”

  John plowed into the cabin. Doc grabbed Polly by the wrist and yanked her out the door. The man made a charging bull seem tame.

  Kate, April, and Laurel all popped up from the quilting frame and dashed toward Polly in a flurry of calico and petticoats. The last thing she needed was them to get an earful of the doctor’s opinion. She felt certain whatever he had to say, it wasn’t going to be mild or kind. Emphatically waving them off, Polly stumbled alongside the fuming man.

  He towed her around the cabin, away from everyone. Finally, he stopped and faced her. “This can’t go on.”

  Ten

  “What are you talking about?” Polly gave him an exasperated look.

  “That!” The doctor waved his arm toward Mama and Daddy’s cabin. “It was unbelievable.”

  “I thought it was beautiful.”

  Air gusted from his lungs in a loud huff. “You had no business being there. You’re untrained and unmarried.”

  Quite literally, Polly dug her heels into the earth. She planted her hands on her hips and leaned forward as she hissed, “I’ve assisted with over four dozen deliveries and performed eleven on my own.” Straightening, she tacked on, “As for unmarried—you are unmarried, too!”

  He scowled at her. “We are not discussing my status. I’m a licensed physician. You, on the other hand, think a handful of flowers and a headful of wild notions are all it takes to effect a cure.”

  Never once had anyone faulted her for following her calling. Patients were thankful, and her family did all they could to help her. Thoroughly shocked by his accusation, Polly stared at him. Behind her, her friends chattered at the quilt and her cousins constructed their building. They were all building things up; all Doc wanted to do was tear down.

  He shook his head. “I’m sure you mean well, but medicine is a science.”

  “Healing is an art. It’s a gift from God.”

  His jaw hardened. “I agree it is a gift, but God expects us to develop our talents so we use them wisely and well.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Polly stared at him. “You’ve decided you’re the only person qualified to help the sick and injured of Reliable.”

  He gave her a curt nod. “You’re able to treat minor injuries, but—”

  “And you’re turning up your nose at flowers and such because you send away to a pharmacy back East for fancy prescriptions.”

  “Patients deserve the best we can give them.”

  “Oh, I see. According to that logic, the herbs God made aren’t as good as something a pharmacist sticks in a bottle.”

  “Now wait a minute—”

  “No, you wait. We were happy when you answered the ad to come to Reliable. Mama ran herself half-ragged until
I grew old enough to assist her. Between the two of us, we’ve stayed more than busy, caring for our neighbors and kin. Some things, we couldn’t treat—and we knew it full well. We’ve sent folks to San Francisco for surgery.”

  “That won’t be necessary anymore.”

  “I know. That was one of the reasons I was glad you responded. Mama’s not saying much, but I can see how her back’s bothering her. I’ve tried to take over more, but I can’t handle everything on my own, either.”

  “That won’t be necessary anymore.”

  “You’re welcome to think whatever you want, but believing something doesn’t make it true. You yourself said earlier that God expects His children to use their talents wisely. I’m not boasting when I say I’m called to heal. It’s not me—it’s God working through me. His herbs, flowers, and roots bring relief to folks. Just because you suddenly come here and decide you’re the only king of the hill doesn’t mean everyone else has to get off the mountain!”

  “There’s a right way and a wrong way to do things—”

  “Those are the first words you’ve said I can agree with,” she interrupted hotly. “And you messed up horribly back there. What gave you the right to announce Beulah’s news to everyone?”

  Doc Walcott gave her an icy stare.

  “Everyone knows it’s the new mother’s joy to tell her husband what God gave them. You went and spoiled her fun after all her pain.” Polly shook her head. “Back East, they might do things differently, but that doesn’t make it any better or any more right. You’re here now.”

  “And I aim to stay and do my best for everyone.”

  “Well, I aim to stay and do my best, too.”

  ❧

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Eric muttered to himself as he rode back to town. He already knew that adage. Well, today proved it—and he’d seen firsthand that weeds-, leaves-, and berries-lined road. Those Chance women merrily dished out whatever concoctions suited their fancies as treatments for the supposed diagnoses they made.

  And how did they make reasonable, rational diagnoses? They had no microscope. They had no medical training. Granted, he’d seen Polly employ some of the more standard treatments such as camphor, but that didn’t endorse her skill. It merely proved the law of averages that occasionally she accidentally stumbled across a correct remedy. All he had to do was remember Lovejoy rubbing Perry’s open wound with a plant she called “toothache” to remind himself that, left to their own devices, Polly and her mother could very well kill or maim patients with the simplest of maladies.

  Truly, he wondered how so many women had survived their birthing techniques. Rust and rye whiskey. Kneeling on a bed and lying upside down on it. Putting an ax under the bed to cut the pain! Mothers announcing the gender of the baby—it was utter nonsense in the least. At worst, it was life-threatening.

  Not only had he seen Lovejoy rub a flower over an open wound, but Polly had volunteered how she’d applied vinegar and baking soda to porcupine needles. The former was unsanitary; the latter made no sense whatsoever. Vinegar was acidic; baking soda was alkaline. By mixing the two, she’d canceled out the effectiveness of either. On a scientific level, the women defied every rule. Only by the compassion and mercy of God had this community survived.

  He’d held his opinion for long enough. Instead of barreling into town and declaring himself the only one able to help the ill, he’d given Polly a chance to prove herself. In his practice back East, he’d met a few women who quietly, efficiently worked alongside physicians and gave excellent, practical bedside care. Never once before coming here had he imagined he would have to wade through rivers of nonsense—however well-intentioned the women might be.

  Eric didn’t regret for one minute the fact that he’d finally taken a stance. He didn’t even regret the fact that he had pulled Polly aside and put her on notice. After all, the Good Book taught that when a Christian had a problem with another, he should take that person aside and try to reason with him or her in private.

  But she’d looked so. . .shocked, then angry. He’d have never guessed beneath her calm facade, Polly could turn into such a virago. Then again, I could have chosen my words more carefully. I didn’t use much tact.

  Fretting over what he’d set in motion wouldn’t accomplish anything. Eric tried to formulate a plan of attack. First, he’d continue to practice superlative medicine so his patients and their families would understand the level of his knowledge and ability. Second, he’d behave civilly toward Polly—but he’d not mentor her as he’d originally planned. Third, he’d need to think of another woman who might be a good surgical assistant and nurse for him on the occasions when he required an associate. Finally—and most importantly—he’d go to the pastor.

  Yes. He liked Pastor Abe. The man exerted a calming influence on his flock. Seeking wise counsel and having the minister mediate with the Chances would be biblical. It would also remain confidential. That way, Polly and her mother wouldn’t be open to public censure.

  Satisfied with his plan, Eric reached town. He hitched his gelding to the rail and went into his office. Once there, he opened his patient register and smiled as he wrote, “Delivered Beulah Dorsey of her fourth living child. Breech. Male, seven and one-half pounds. Mother and child fine.”

  He locked away the book, then noted a small piece of paper on the far bench. Eric strode across the floor and picked up the scrap. It had been folded several times. As he opened it, several black needles rolled into his hand. Loopy letters in pencil formed uneven lines across the paper: You said you wanted to see porkypine needles. Plaster itched. Took it off. Cal

  Eric sat on the bench and let his head thump against the wall. The Chance clan was a good bunch. Salt of the earth. They’d welcomed him and fixed up his place, and he’d even discovered they and the MacPhersons donated the land, lumber, and labor for the church. How could they have reared Polly to be such a good-hearted, wrongheaded, strong-willed woman?

  The grating sound of boots on the boardwalk made Eric shoot to his feet. It wasn’t seemly for him to be loafing about. He had no more than tucked the porcupine needles back into the paper when an older woman rapped on the screen. “Dr. Walcott?”

  “Come on in.”

  “I just wanted to get a recommendation for a cough elixir.”

  “Please come in, Mrs. . .” His brows rose in invitation.

  “Greene. Violet Greene.” She gave him a weak smile.

  “Please, have a seat. Tell me how long you’ve had the cough.”

  “Oh, no.” She let out a trill of laughter. “I’m in the pink. It’s my grandchildren. Davy’s children. They’re fine all day long, but come nightfall, they’ll be croupy again. Mrs. White at the mercantile said you might have a suggestion.”

  Mrs. White. God bless her soul, she’s been a voice of reason since the day I arrived. “There are a few elixirs I recommend or blend, but it depends on the patient. I’d have to examine the children when they’re in distress.”

  “Sounds sensible to me.” Mrs. Greene pleated the material beneath her fingers in an unconscious show of nerves.

  “Do the children worsen at night, then improve during the day?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly it! My Davy never did that, but all three of their children do. It’s positively nerve-racking.”

  “Would you like me to come by after dark to see it firsthand?”

  “Yes. Oh, please. That would be wonderful. Thank you for offering. We live in that cottage back behind the smithy.”

  Eric gave her a reassuring smile. “Fine. Come nightfall, I’ll drop in. We’ll see if we can’t get everyone squared away.”

  Mrs. Greene scurried away, and Eric stayed busy for the afternoon. He enjoyed a plate of pot roast for supper at the diner, dallied over a fine slice of apple pie, then returned to his office. He read up on children’s respiratory ailments before packing additional medicaments specific to croup in his bag and walking down the street. By the time he drew abreast
of the smithy, seal-like barking filled the air.

  Eric knocked on the cottage door, and the moment David Greene opened it, the smell of eucalyptus and berries assailed him. A woman in a huge cape stood by the stove with a baby on her hip. She spooned something into his mouth. Eric didn’t need her to turn around. He knew just from the unique tone of her murmur that Polly Chance was interfering with his patients.

  Eleven

  “Doctor?”

  Polly tensed at the sound of Davy Greene’s one-word greeting. What is the doctor doing here?

  “Oh, it’s the doctor.” Violet Greene let out a nervous laugh. “I asked him to come see the children.”

  “Well, I asked Polly to come while I was at the quilting bee,” Davy’s wife said in a sharp tone.

  Polly intentionally kept her silence. Everyone in Reliable knew Davy’s mother and his wife didn’t get along. Violet hadn’t exactly approved of Marie as a prospective daughter-in-law, and when Marie suddenly inherited a niece and nephew, Violet announced the engagement was off. Davy and Marie went behind her back and visited the pastor. Since then, strife had filled the household.

  Davy shuffled into the room, took stock of the situation, and did his best to make peace. “With four youngsters, it doesn’t seem unreasonable for us to have Polly and Doc both here.”

  Polly set down the spoon and used her right hand to unfasten the ties of her cape. That action would let the doctor know she had no intention of leaving. Hanging it on a hook on the brass hall tree, she stated, “I’ve already dosed this one with my elixir.”

  “Then you go ahead and see to him; I’ll treat the other three.” Doc set his bag on the table and reached for the closest child.

  Teddy scooted between the chairs, ducked under the table, and raced over to cling to Polly’s skirt. Just that exertion set him wheezing.

  Polly stooped down and wrapped her arm around him. “Remember my rule? When you sound like your daddy’s accordion, no running.”

  “Here, Doc.” Violet shoved the little four-year-old toward Dr. Walcott. “This is Madeline. Maddy, Doc’ll fix you up.”