by Kelly, Carla
“I don’t see why not.”
“They’ll prefer my care.” His insistence rang false. How many male patients had he already lost to her?
“I understand.”
Did she? He doubted he understood.
“I’m leaving now. In conditions like these, I face hours of travel, many on foot.” He paused for emphasis. “No chaperone. No ability to return until tomorrow.”
He expected her to hesitate or to change her mind.
He’d banked on it.
“I’m a professional, Dr. Merritt.”
Precisely why he disliked her.
The diminishing stream of passersby trickled to almost nothing. Clouds, swept on brisk Wyoming wind, scuttled across the sun. The day was wasting.
From the looks of her entourage, particularly Doc Joe, Henry hadn’t an icicle’s chance in August against this woman.
He’d show her the truth of dentistry away from the comforts of an office. She’d not ask again. “Very well.”
Her grin erupted with the force of a mine explosion.
She took two long strides back in the direction she’d come. “Pull up in front of my office. I’ll bring out my gear.”
Melting snow choked the engorged river, swelling over its banks and puddling deep in the low spots. Isabella tugged her warm gloves on more snugly, grateful for sturdy boots and a winter bonnet designed to keep her head and ears warm. Compared to southern California, Wyoming Territory was a frozen wonderland.
Beside her, Henry Merritt dressed like a common man. A rancher, or maybe a miner. In Evanston, he wore one of two modest suits of clothes. Always clean, well-brushed, and orderly. Plain, simple, utilitarian.
Since her outburst at the committee meeting, she’d sought an opportunity to apologize. No time like the present. “Dr. Merritt, I owe you an apology.”
Beside her on the wagon seat, he held the reins in a loose grip, his elbows resting on his knees. From his inclined position, he couldn’t see her. That suited her fine.
The man didn’t like her. He’d made that woefully clear.
“Apology accepted.”
Didn’t he want her to acknowledge her weaknesses? Detail all she’d done wrong? “Do you know what trespass I apologize for?”
He tossed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the wagon bed. Her forceful request to come along.
How could she explain the overwhelming urge to contribute to his dental dispensary?
He hadn’t confessed to providing dental services free of charge, but she knew.
“If you believe I owe you an apology for requesting you bring me along to Almy, then yes, sir, I do apologize for my forceful request.”
“Forceful.” He muttered.
“I was direct, wasn’t I?”
His arm brushed hers, though she sat as far to the opposite edge as possible. The man’s presence surrounded her, pressed ever closer.
No answer. She drew a breath for courage. “I recall the vehemence with which you suggested the calico ball’s proceeds benefit the residents of Almy, the many widows and fatherless children. Your plea touched me that day.” She’d thought of little else since. “I want to help.”
He seemed to ponder. The horses plodded on, their hooves squishing in the waterlogged earth and sloshing through puddles.
“If not for inviting yourself, why apologize?”
The roughness of the trail rocked her from side to side and into Dr. Merritt’s solid form. “I apologize for my rude behavior last Wednesday night. I spoke without tempering my words, and for that, I’m genuinely sorry.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Insisting I attend the follow-up meeting. Tonight.”
He’d planned this journey to provide help to those in need.
“Yes. I assumed the worst of you. I’ve never behaved so poorly.” Not even when a child.
True, he’d provoked her with that horrid newspaper article. But she’d determined long ago, before dental school, that she’d not allow naysayers to steal her dignity or her happiness.
Why did this man elicit her worst?
No, that wasn’t quite right.
Why did she allow this man to elicit her worst?
“Perhaps it is I who owe you an apology, Miss—” He flinched. “Dr. Pattison. I granted an interview to Thomas Fisher.” He turned to her again, briefly. “Our conference that night lasted a mere fifteen minutes and barely touched upon you or your practice in Evanston.”
“Mr. Fisher took liberties?”
“Precisely. I never said most of what he published.”
“It’s easy to believe Mr. Fisher elaborated, thus printing his own beliefs and agendas.”
“You heard about Mrs. Hughes’s experience.”
“Yes.” Sophia had shared details of the persecution she’d suffered as well as Fisher’s unexpected apology. Both before and after Fisher’s interview of Dr. Merritt ran in the paper.
Why would a man apologize, then return to the same behaviors?
Dr. Merritt steered the team around a pool of standing water. “I called on Thomas Fisher after I read his pompous article.”
She’d have liked to witness that.
“He twisted my words and presented me as a man I’m not.”
A moment passed in silence. “That must’ve hurt.”
“He agreed to print a retraction.”
A retraction! “You’re most persuasive.”
“Perhaps not so persuasive as you.”
Was that a smile on his smoothly shaved face? A smile? For her?
Dr. Henry Merritt had surprised her once more. First, the heretofore hidden trips to Almy. Then, persuading the newspaperman to acknowledge wrongdoing.
The sequence of events made more sense. “Forgive me. I see now that I mistook your seat beside Mr. Fisher, and your apparent comfort, as signs that the article reflected your opinions.”
“You should know one more thing.” He kept his focus on the terrain ahead. “Fisher offered me a tidy sum for the interview. I’m not proud of it, but I accepted his money.” His tone soured, as if the confession tasted foul. “I regret that.”
Her softening heart melted further. Dr. Henry Merritt had proved himself far more than handsome, cocky, and arrogant. Beneath the critical and brash exterior, it seemed a fine man resided.
A comfortable silence accompanied them for a quarter mile.
He turned to her, a hint of a grin on his too-handsome face. “Will you accept my apology?”
She hadn’t answered, had she? “Yes, though I recognize you’re not at fault. Thank you for impressing the matter upon our friend at The Chieftain. And you accept my apology?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Beneath the misunderstandings and bluster, the man was reasonably nice. And generous-hearted. Who else would volunteer one day in seven and give away his services?
He’d comprehended her reaction to the awful newspaper article. He’d shaken off her rudeness, then corrected matters with the source.
If only she weren’t tempted to like him.
“You’re doing well, Mrs. Johnson.” Dr. Pattison’s soothing voice, coupled with her competent dentistry, put Henry in his place.
Well, perhaps not in his place, but definitely at ease.
She’d already won over the grieving widows and half the children—who hated having teeth pulled or drilled more than they hated almost anything. The kids had been through the jaws of hell. They didn’t need more from dental caries nor from incompetent dentistry.
Henry returned his attention to his own patient and worked the treadle-powered drill at the correct pace.
Lamplight brightened the kitchen of the Crompton home, the customary space used for the long line of those awaiting their turn. Squeezing in a second chair and set of equipment brought Dr. Pattison into close quarters.
Her patient reclined immediately beside his. If only he could ignore the myriad distractions Dr. Pattison presented.
He heard the tell-tale
crack as a diseased tooth separated from the mandible.
Mrs. Johnson gave a wordless sound of relief as Isabella set her forceps upon a towel-covered tray in exchange for a folded square of flannel.
“Bite down. There you are.” Her little hands moved with grace and practiced skill, her talent showing in an economy of movement.
In the forty-five minutes she’d worked on Mrs. Johnson’s badly decayed teeth, she’d succeeded in pulling four molars. Outstanding, in that the woman hadn’t expressed pain. Doubly so, given the woman had been unwilling, previously, to allow Henry to examine her. She’d suffered in agony through all of last year.
He didn’t know whether to bask in relief that Mrs. Johnson had, at last, taken a healing step toward dentures, or to resent Isabella’s success.
He’d learned his lesson about female dentists.
But Isabella Pattison didn’t fit the mold he’d fashioned.
She possessed an uncanny knack for nurturing. She’d explained, reassured, asked and answered questions, held women’s hands, and hugged nearly every woman as she’d left her chair.
The gentle care she showed the children, despite their dirt-streaked, coal-stained faces and poverty apparent in unwashed bodies and old clothes that fit poorly.
She soothed scared children, defiant adolescents, and newly widowed women with the deference she’d show royalty. Almost as if she—wealthy, well-dressed, and stylish—were no different than they.
What could she know of poverty?
He had no answers as the night drew to a close.
Word had spread through the community. A lady dentist had accompanied Henry, and folks came for treatment they’d never accepted from him.
That hurt.
But overall, the night had been a success. Between the two of them, they’d treated twenty-one people.
“Will you both return next week?” The hope in William Crompton’s voice pleased Henry.
Isabella’s sleeves were rolled to her elbows, and her apron far less pristine than when they’d begun. Her dark hair no longer curled, but frizzed about her face. The woman had worked herself into a state of exhaustion.
The female constitution, according to some, simply wasn’t up to the rigors of dentistry. Beyond the gore, odor, and anatomy coursework, what of the physical exertion required to pull teeth?
Isabella smiled as she untied and removed her apron. A warm, world-encompassing smile that spoke of satisfaction and happiness.
Precisely the emotion buzzing in him. The nonmonetary reward kept him returning week after week as long as the weather allowed.
Because here, he made a difference.
Several women remained in the Cromptons’ kitchen: Mrs. Crompton and a couple of neighbors with two nearly grown daughters.
Two ladies spoke at once. “Oh, won’t you?” and “Please?” The very women who’d been lost in grief, barely able to greet him or Dr. Pattison upon arrival.
Isabella embraced her new friends. Friendships forged in the dental chair, based on trust.
Did she know she possessed a rare gift? The people of Almy had met her mere hours ago, and already, they welcomed her return. Watching her work answered every question as to why his patients preferred her.
She turned her tired yet dancing hazel eyes to him. “May I accompany you, Dr. Merritt?”
He couldn’t speak. The tightness in his throat couldn’t be emotion. Must be weariness and exhaustion after a long week.
One small reservation raised its head, like a weed in a flower garden. “I leave before sunrise. I can’t wait for you to attend church services first.”
“Not a problem. I’ll be ready.”
He granted permission with a nod.
Dr. Pattison’s happiness blossomed. “It seems my answer is yes, ladies.”
Female chatter and words of appreciation enveloped her.
Henry disassembled and packed the equipment. As usual, he’d load the wagon of everything they brought to give Mrs. Crompton back her kitchen.
“Won’t you stay in my humble home tonight?” one woman addressed Pattison. Her name eluded Henry, but he recalled she resided two doors down from Mrs. Johnson. Everyone in that row of dugouts had been widowed by the terrible explosion last November.
“That is . . .” The woman lowered her eyes to her hands, or perhaps to her tattered boots. Her skirt hung several inches too short, heavily stained to a dirty brown. “If you haven’t elsewhere to go. I have only me and me girls. You’d be safe with us.”
The moment of truth had arrived.
Henry itched with unease. She might not intend to, but she’d show a glimmer of distaste, behave a little more like Lenora . . .
The goodwill would explode to bits.
Pattison took the woman’s hands in her own, squeezing them as ladies do in the most intimate of circles. “Thank you, Mrs. Nye. I’m most honored.”
Take care, Pattison.
“Yes. Thank you for your generous offer.”
Mrs. Nye chuckled with delight and relief. Never mind the terrible state of her teeth—broken, darkened, and worn.
He couldn’t help but take heed. He made his living from dentistry.
If Isabella noticed, she didn’t so much as glance at Mrs. Nye’s mouth. Nor wince at the foul odor.
“Me name’s Gladys, Dr. Pattison. Just Gladys.”
“Thank you, Gladys.”
Henry nearly choked on his tongue as Isabella Pattison, a woman he’d sorely misjudged, threw her arms around Gladys Nye.
“You must call me Isabella.”
He looked to Crompton and the others, finding them as enchanted as he.
Entranced.
Grateful.
Wanting more. More time with her, more friendship.
Just . . . more.
No. No.
She’d earned his professional respect. But there could be nothing personal between them.
Lenora had taught him that painful lesson.
“Precisely my point.” Isabella turned on the wagon seat, apparently to face Henry better. Excitement animated her features, and most of the twinkle in her eyes had little to do with sunlight sparkling upon the snowbanks.
“W. D. Miller wrote of this challenge last year—have you read his findings?” She nearly bounced on the seat, and her words spilled like the rushing Bear River.
He hadn’t yet read the publication, but he’d make the time. How could he not prepare for an invigorating conversation with her?
Today, he’d rather listen to Dr. Isabella Pattison’s viewpoint on dental caries and their causes than contribute to the conversation.
Observing her work in the Cromptons’ kitchen over the past three weekends and her uncommon and immediate connection with the women and children, he found himself more than enamored with her skills.
And brain.
And fascination with science.
The hours spent driving there and back had become filled with stimulating conversation on virtually every dental subject. He’d found renewed interest and energy for formerly dull concepts.
“Dr. Willoughby D. Miller, DDS, is an American. You know of whom I refer?”
He nodded.
Her focus, which had flitted from the scattered and wind-curved trees to the river, to the motion of the horses before them, landed on him for a moment.
“This American published an article in German, last year, challenging dentistry in myriad ways, enlightening the cause for which we labor.”
“You read German?” Had this woman’s education no limit?
“No, but I had the good fortune of attending dental college with two brothers, German by birth. We remained in contact, and upon discussing the matter, the two translated Dr. Miller’s research.”
One woman among a class of men . . .
Once more, this lady dentist reminded him of another. The joy in stimulating conversation dissolved with the rapidity of sugar whisked into hot tea.
“I could not wait.” Every ounce
of desperation carried into her words. “Various dental periodicals have mentioned the English format would be published this year. I needed to know everything immediately. How could I wait?”
She paused for a long moment, as if she wanted an answer.
He chuckled, caught up in her enthusiasm.
“His discoveries are fascinating. Contrary to the common belief that sucrose, so prevalent in the modern diet, is the primary villain, Dr. Miller’s findings prove that carbohydrates are.” Her knee bumped his, then rode against him. She hadn’t noticed. “The sugars are readily diluted by saliva, while carbohydrates—frankly, the staples in the diet of our patients—adhere to teeth and spaces between, causing subsequent caries.”
“The people of Almy haven’t the resources for more protein.” Who would hunt? With their earnings decimated, how could they buy?
She turned solemn and introspective. Fascinating, how her animation dimmed and surged, so like gusts of wind on the high Wyoming plains. “I do believe, Dr. Merritt, the challenge lies not in adjusting the diet of the Almy residents, but in helping them to understand the necessity of oral hygiene.”
“How do you propose to convince them that improved oral hygiene will result in fewer lost teeth?” He couldn’t pass on this point of contention. How did she address it with her patients? He’d tried, failed, and tried again.
He attempted to keep his eyes on the road, stunned to realize the team had brought them nearly to Bear River Bridge.
“It’s a matter of education,” she insisted. Vivaciousness in her tone struck a new high note. “Without instruction, how might they know the importance of brushing and flossing regularly?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “They argue such things aren’t natural.”
Her laughter surrounded him, banishing doubt. “Dentures? Dentures are natural?”
He chuckled, despite his wish to remain beyond her influence. “Of course they are. Every component is indeed natural, from vulcanized rubber to porcelain.”
At his reply, she lit up, from the crown of her head to the soles of her boots. She’d worn “country” clothes, simple, plain, warm, and durable. Almy’s mud clung to her hems and boots.
She didn’t need vivid raspberry or royal-blue wool. She didn’t need dyed feathers or ridiculous stuffed birds. The woman’s natural state was filled with life, energy, and color.
