Wife in the Mail

by Marie Ferrarella

  “No.”

  Shayne removed the stethoscope from his neck. He supposed that, in the absolute sense, this was a pleasant change from his usual hectic pace. Today, so far, no one’d had so much as a hangnail. Just terminal nosiness.

  He could see that Ike was still waiting for him to elaborate. “Ben did.”

  Ike whistled softly between his teeth. “She’s Ben’s?” And then he scratched the back of his head. It didn’t add up. “But he—”

  “Ran off with Lila. Yes, I’m aware of that.” Shayne thought of the note that was still in the pocket of his parka. “Painfully aware of that.”

  Ike’s laugh, hearty and lusty, echoed in the office. Shayne saw nothing funny in the situation. “Trust Ben to have two of them.”

  Shayne had no idea why that comment rankled him the way that it did. Or who he was taking offense for, Ben or Sydney. He just knew it annoyed him.

  “He doesn’t have two of them. He has Lila.” Shayne nodded toward the outer office. “This one’s just decided to stay on for a while, that’s all.”

  That was good enough for Ike. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Well, a while’s all we’re asking.” He slipped on his fur-lined jacket, then set his black hat at a jaunty angle on his dark blond head. “What’s her name, anyway?”.

  Shayne was surprised that wasn’t common knowledge, too. “Sydney.”

  “Sydney?” Ike rolled the name around his tongue and made a face. “Damn silly name for a woman, especially a woman who looks like that, if you ask me.”

  “No one’s asking you.”

  Hooded eyes scrutinized Shayne closely. “Hey, you’re even testier than usual. Something bothering you?” A new light of understanding came into Ike’s eyes. “You and her aren’t—”

  “No, we ‘aren’t,’” Shayne assured him quickly.

  He had a pretty good idea he knew what Ike was implying. One hint, one ambiguous statement, and gossip would be off and running. In his experience, men were far worse than women.

  “I just don’t like having my time wasted by people who come here under false pretenses.” He moved to the door and waited for Ike to join him. “The past three days, healthy, strapping men have been filing in here, mumbling things about bellyaches, flu, hair falling out—anything—just to come in and look her over.”

  If he was being admonished, Ike didn’t seem to notice. “You get a box of candy delivered, Shayne, people are going to want to at least get a sniff of it.” A wistful look came over his rugged face. “Chocolate’s rare in these parts. Especially chocolate in a classy container.”

  Female companionship was always at a high premium in Hades. The mainstay of the town being the lumber mill, the workforce was almost all male. Except, of course, for the Widow Turner, who owned the mill and had buried three husbands. That made any woman who came into Hades fair and highly desirable game.

  Shayne had often wondered, with such an eye for the ladies, why Ike hadn’t left Alaska long ago. Or. if not Alaska, at least Hades.

  He smiled tolerantly as he opened the door for Ike. “Try not to trip on your tongue on the way out.”

  Ike pretended to take offense, though he was too easygoing and good-natured to ever become annoyed.

  “I’m not about to trip over anything—” And then an idea struck him. His eyes gleamed as he poked a finger into Shayne’s chest. “Hey, you know what we should do?”

  Shayne had no idea what Ike was thinking and even felt a little leery about asking. Not that he had to. Whether he asked or not, Ike would tell him.

  “No, what?”

  “Give her a party. A real big bash. Make her feel real welcome here.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he started making plans. “Maybe then she’ll stay permanently.”

  It was a bad notion all around. “I don’t think—”

  But Ike had already sold himself on the idea. He strode out into the waiting area and planted himself in front of Sydney’s desk, his knuckles digging into the worn wood as he leaned toward her.

  “Hey, darlin’, how would you like to come to a party?”

  She responded to both the wide grin on his face and the one in his voice. “A party?”

  “Yeah.” Ike glanced over his shoulder at Shayne as if backup was coming from that direction. “It’s in your honor.”

  That took Sydney a minute to absorb. She glanced at Shayne, but nothing coming from that quarter enlightened her. “Mine?”

  One of the men in the waiting room cheered his support of the idea.

  Half the men in the room would have gladly supported any excuse for an extra round of beer, Shayne thought cynically. After a hard day at the mill, going to the Salty Saloon and knocking a few back with their friends was all some of the men had to look forward to.

  “Sure. Hades is a real friendly place.” Ike chuckled as he straightened. Man, but she smelled good. Someone should warn her about that. “Time you met some of your neighbors and such. What do you say? Six o’clock tonight?”

  “Tonight?” When had all this been decided? Sydney wondered. Did Shayne have a hand in this? But looking at him, she knew without being told that he hadn’t. He didn’t seem like a man who fancied parties or noisy gatherings. “Aren’t you moving a little fast?”

  “Have to in these parts in order to keep warm,” Ike said. The chuckle deepened into a lusty laugh. He winked at her, the dark brown brow wriggling. “Shayne knows the way, though he don’t bend an elbow very much anymore,” Ike imparted to her sorrowfully. “And if he don’t bring you, darlin’,” Ike announced gallantly, knowing he had to get his marker in early, “I’ll come get you myself.”

  About to leave, Ike stopped long enough to look around the waiting room. It was filled to capacity with men, all of whom he had served over his stained counter at one time or another. Most far more than once. “You’re all invited.”

  Cheers met his announcement.

  And that, Ike figured, took care of the invitations. Turning around again, he pointed an index finger at Sydney, simulating an old-fashioned six-shooter about to be fired. “See you tonight, darlin’.”

  “He’s very friendly,” she said to Shayne as the outer door closed behind Ike. She had to admit, the impromptu invitation really made her feel welcomed here.

  Shayne watched Ike through the window as the man trudged away. “That’s one way to put it.”

  Curious, Sydney looked at him. “And how would you put it?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Shayne scanned the waiting room, taking a long, hard look at the remaining men. The ones who hadn’t been lucky enough to secure a chair leaned against the wall or sat on the floor. There wasn’t much walking space to be had.

  Time to clear the area.

  “All right, everybody, this is Sydney Elliot—no relation to Faye Elliot,” Shayne qualified. “She’s going to be staying on for a while as my assistant until she realizes that it’s too damn cold here and moves on. If you want to see her, do it on your own time, not mine.” He walked over to the front door and opened it. Cold air rushed in, chilling him, but he held the door wide open, waiting. “Now, I’d appreciate it if everyone who’s not really sick leaves. I need the space for real patients.”

  A low rumble of dissatisfaction undulated through the crowd as men of all ages rose to their feet beside their standing comrades. Slowly, they trickled out the door.

  Several extended greetings to Sydney as they filed out, promising to see her later tonight at the Salty. She noticed that their words evoked an even darker frown from Shayne.

  She waited until everyone had left and Shayne had closed the door again. The waiting room was empty. “I know this is your clinic, but you could have worded that a little more politely.”

  He didn’t take criticism well, constructive or otherwise. Besides, where did she get off telling him how to behave around people he’d known far longer than he’d known her?

  “I know those men. Being polite wouldn’t h
ave gotten me anywhere with them. You have to haul them out like mules.”

  “If you say so.” The image left something to be desired. “By the way, you were wrong.”

  Was she determined to argue about this? “I already said there’s only one way to—”

  She shook her head, stopping him before he could continue. “No, I mean about my not being related to Faye Elliot.”

  That took him by surprise. As far as he knew, Faye Elliot had never mentioned anything about having a family, only her father, and Reverend Elliot had died long before Shayne had been born.

  “You’re related to Miss Faye?”

  Sydney nodded. “She was my father’s aunt. He used to get postcards from her occasionally.” She could re member how excited she’d get each time one arrived. The scenes depicted on them had looked so exotic to her. A fond smile curved her mouth. “I kept them all in a scrapbook. Sometimes there were letters.” Long, voluminous letters—filled with details of daily life in a harsh, unforgiving land—that arrived sporadically, coming every few years just when it seemed that Aunt Faye had forgotten about them.

  “I always envisioned her as this brave pioneer woman, carving out a life for herself after her father passed away.”

  In the tradition of a pioneer, Aunt Faye had come to Alaska with her father, an ordained minister, to do work among the Inuits. She’d often written that, rather than save their souls the way he’d intended, her father said that they had saved his by renewing his zest for life.

  Shayne leaned a hip against the reception desk, looking at Sydney and trying to detect a resemblance between her and the small, stately woman who had taught him how to read and write and told long, beautiful stories about far-off, exotic places.

  Maybe around the mouth, he thought. He could remember the way Miss Faye would set her mouth when she was attempting to coax a pupil into giving the right answer to a question. Pure determination. Rather like the way Sydney had looked at the airport.

  “Folks said her father died trying to get to a sick child in the village.” Bemused, amazed, Shayne shook his head, looking at Sydney again. “You’re related to Miss Faye.”

  She smiled, amused at the expression on his face. He looked as if someone had just told him that the answer to two plus two was secretly five. “That’s what I said.”

  “She was my teacher. My first teacher,” he amended. And one of the kindest people he had ever met. But he never recalled seeing her smile. She always struck him as a woman who lived with some deep sorrow.

  “Small world.”

  And getting smaller all the time, he thought. “Listen, perhaps later you might like to—”

  The front door banged open, blotting out whatever he was going to say and snaring their attention.

  A towering man rushed in, a half-crazed look on his face. In his arms was a screaming child of no more than five. Blood smeared the man’s face and clothing. It took Sydney a moment to pinpoint the source. The boy’s left hand was wrapped in a towel—a very blood-soaked towel. Shayne moved from her side and took the boy into his arms.

  The boy’s pitiful cries of pain ricocheted around the room.

  “Doctor, it’s his hand, his finger.” Hysteria built in the man’s deep voice, matching the volume the child was achieving. “Oh God, I told him not to touch it.”

  Shayne raised his voice to be heard above both of them. “What happened?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know!” the man practically wailed, shadowing Shayne as he turned to enter the examining room. “One minute he was playing with his friends, showing them my fishing equipment, and then suddenly, I heard him screaming and there was blood everywhere.”

  Sydney positioned herself between the man and Shayne, placing her hands on the man’s trembling, blood-stained arms. He would only get in Shayne’s way.

  “It’s going to be all right,” she said soothingly. “Just wait here, please.” She blocked his access to the inner room. “You won’t do him any good in here.”

  “But he’s my son.”

  She met the angered look head-on. “No one’s disputing that. And if you want your son to get the best care as quickly as possible, you’re going to have to stay out here.”

  For a second she thought the man would toss her aside, out of his way. And then a hopeless look entered his eyes. Hopeless because he knew there was nothing he could do.

  “But my boy…he needs me.” The words were shrouded in despair.

  “He needs to calm down more.” She backstepped toward the door, watching, to make sure he wouldn’t follow. “We can handle this.” It was a promise she had no authority to make.

  Turning on her heel, she hurried into the room, shutting the door behind her. Quickly, she pulled out a fresh covering for the examining table.

  “The instruments—” Shayne began as he placed the boy on the table.

  “Got ’em,” she announced, sliding the tray parallel to the table.

  The boy’s screams rose in intensity as a new fear compounded his pain. He jerked upright the moment his back came in contact with the table. Sydney grasped the boy’s right hand and wrapped her fingers around the small wrist.

  “Look at me,” she urged softly. His head tossing from side to side, Sidney knew they had to get him to lie still for the injection. She raised her eyes to Shayne. “What’s his name?”

  “Joseph,” Shayne answered as he tore open a fresh package of surgical gloves on the tray and pulled them on.

  “Joseph. Look at me,” she ordered, her voice soft, commanding. When the boy didn’t comply, she turned his head toward her with her free hand, forcing him to look in her direction. “It’s going to be all right. Do you hear me? Dr. Shayne is going to help you feel better. You’re going to be all right. I promise.”

  Her eyes met Shayne’s. She could see admonishment in them.

  “I promise,” she repeated. The boy needed to hear that more than he needed to be apprised of the possibilities that faced him.

  She could see Joseph’s heart pounding in his chest as he cringed at the sight of the needle Shayne was preparing. “No, no, don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. It hurts. It hurts…it hurts,” he sobbed.

  Her own heart was in her mouth. She’d been around cuts and bruises, but nothing approaching the apparent severity of this young child’s injury.

  Releasing her grasp on his wrist, Sydney threaded her fingers through Joseph’s and held on tight, trying to fuse courage into his small body. “Of course it hurts. You had a very big accident.” She talked quickly, hoping to distract him long enough for Shayne to administer the anesthetic.

  “And there’s going to be a great scar—something to impress your friends with. But first you have to stop screaming and let the doctor do his work.”

  Huge tears rolled down Joseph’s cheeks as he winced and tried to focus on her.

  “Dr. Shayne’s going to sew up your hand so you can play again. But he needs your help to do it, okay?”

  His tears continued to flow, but slowly, the terror receded and he began to calm down. Within a few minutes, the anesthetic Shayne had given him began to take effect. Joseph’s eyes drooped as he became drowsy.

  Throughout it all, Sydney never stopped talking to him. She continued, touching on everything she could think of that might interest a boy, until the surgery was finally over.

  Sydney didn’t feel as if she released the breath she was holding until an eternity later when Shayne placed a groggy, bandaged Joseph into his father’s outstretched arms.

  He slipped a comforting arm around the man’s shoulders. “There shouldn’t be any permanent damage. You got him here in time.”

  Larry Elder hugged his son to him.

  “I want you to give him two of these for the pain every four hours the first day.” Shayne unlocked the small cabinet by his desk and doled out eight white pills into an envelope. Very carefully, he sealed it. “After that, it should be all right.”

  He tucked the pills into the man’s
shirt pocket, then tugged the open jacket back into place. “If not, I want to see him. Any sort of problem, I want to see him. Otherwise, bring him by in four days, I’ll change the bandages and check on my handiwork.” He walked over to the front door and opened it for them.

  Larry Elder nodded his dark head at each instruction. “Right, absolutely. And thanks again.” His dark eyes filled with tears. “Really.”

  Shayne spared them both. “That’s what I’m here for. And next time, lock up your fishing equipment,” he added.

  He shut the door behind Elder. That was the last of the codeine pills, he thought. He would have to take a run down to the hospital pharmacy in Anchorage to get more.

  When he turned around, Sydney was looking at him. “Nice job.”

  He shrugged off the compliment. He was a doctor, he was supposed to be equal to these kinds of situations. “Thanks.” Shayne nodded, realizing she hadn’t lost her head the way his last assistant had. Whether by instinct or design, Sydney Elliot seemed to know her way around an emergency. Maybe that story about wanting to be a doctor had been on the level. “I guess I could say the same to you.”

  She wondered if he felt as reluctant as he sounded. “If you want to.”

  She knew how to draw things out of a person, Shayne thought grudgingly. “All right, I want to. You did a good job, especially calming the boy down. You’re right, kids do like you.”

  She smiled. “Most adults do, too.”

  He thought of the men who had been in earlier. “I noticed.” He dragged a hand through his hair, feeling drained now that the crisis was over. “So, I take it you want to go to that thing tonight at the Salty?”

  Sydney was surprised he even had to ask. But then again, he would. “Wouldn’t be right not to, seeing as how I’m supposed to be the guest of honor.” She peered at his face. “Will you come with me?”

  He shrugged again. “I suppose I’ll have to. The place is going to be full of men, falling all over each other just to get close to you. Someone has to protect you from that.”