Sawbones
Page 14
“You have had a rather eventful few days,” Miss Mackenzie said. When I did not reply she continued. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” How many times have I offered the same condolences? How hollow they sound.
“Is moving Captain Kindle into his quarters entirely appropriate?” Harriet asked.
“As his doctor, I believe it is.”
“Oh, I am not questioning your reasoning behind the removal.” She chuckled as if the idea of her challenging authority was absurd. “I am quite sure you are familiar with the latest medical theories. Though we are removed from civilization, we still must maintain appropriate behavior. It is more critical here, when we are so removed from society, lest we forget the standards and morals that separate us from the savages.”
I must have looked incredibly stupid since I did not have any idea what she was talking about. She continued in a patronizing manner.
“As I believe Lieutenant Colonel Foster mentioned to you, we have a fair few young women, officers’ wives as well as children, in residence. It would hardly be appropriate for a woman, such as you, to be living under the same roof with a man. They are young and might find the arrangement shocking.”
“You do not?”
“I do not approve, to be sure. I am hardly shocked.”
It was a bald lie, but she pulled it off well. “You said ‘a woman such as me.’ Whatever did you mean?”
“An unmarried, somewhat young, handsome woman.”
I did not know whether to slap her or laugh at her. Laughter won out, which offended her more than a slap would have. It was a relief to laugh.
“Yes, the situation would be much easier if I were old and ugly.” I wiped the tears of laughter from my cheeks. My left shoulder smarted from the sudden movement.
“Really, Miss Elliston! I hardly find this situation cause for laughter.”
My mirth died. “It is Dr. Elliston, Miss Mackenzie, and I will beg you remember it. I am sorry I am not older and uglier to spare the gentle feelings of the young wives, but I cannot change my appearance, even if I were so inclined. I have always found it repulsive and ridiculous the idea less attractive women are somehow more qualified to take care of men on their sickbed.”
“I never meant to imply you were not qualified…”
“Furthermore, if I wanted to attach a man, which I decidedly do not, I would not need the aid of the heightened emotions of a sickbed. I am a doctor and Captain Kindle’s health is what I am interested in ministering to. My second objective is perform the duties set upon me by General Sherman, then leave this country, which—the beautiful sunset notwithstanding—resembles nothing more than the seventh circle of hell to me.”
“Dr. Elliston, your language is hardly appropriate.”
“There is that word again! Oh, how I have always loathed the word appropriate! It is a word used most often by women without the courage or imagination to think and do for themselves and by men who routinely engage in inappropriate behavior behind closed doors.”
It took a great deal of effort for Harriet to remain civil after my outburst. If she would have shown even a bit of emotion or told me plainly what she thought, I would have respected her much more. Instead, she wrapped herself in the cloak of responsibility and civility her position as the commander’s sister required. “Lieutenant Colonel Foster requested I organize a time for the women and children to see you for their complaints.”
I sighed and rolled my aching shoulder. What I wanted more than anything else was to sleep. “Get with Waterman and select a time. I do not know the post schedule or, indeed, the depth and breadth of my responsibilities. I am sure I can find an hour or two to see the women and children.”
“I will tell everyone you are a war widow. It should lend you the respectability you are sorely lacking. Good evening.”
She left.
I smiled. Maybe Harriet had more spirit than I gave her credit for. I took one last look at the fort before me, noting excessive activity near the corral, and went to check on Kindle.
I walked softly into the simply furnished parlor. A small fire glowed from the grate and a dimmed oil lamp sat on the table next to Kindle’s bed. I did not notice Kindle was awake until I sat down in my chair. “You’re awake. And, smiling.”
“Have you ever been on the stage, Miss Elliston? Forgive me—Doctor Elliston.”
“You heard.”
“It would have been difficult to miss, even if the window had not been open.”
“I suppose I should be chagrined. Alas, I am not. How is your pain? Your voice is strong.” I listened to his heart with my stethoscope.
“The pain is tolerable, but not for much longer, I fear.”
I draped the stethoscope around my neck. “Can you sit up?”
He nodded and took my offered arm. “Your lungs sound good. Wait while I position a pillow for you.”
I placed a flat pillow and a rough blanket folded into a thick square behind his back for support and helped him lie back.
“What is wrong with your arm?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your left arm. You wince every time you move it.”
“I didn’t realize.”
I retreated into the kitchen for the plate of beans and biscuit I had commandeered from the hospital kitchen. “You should eat something. This doesn’t look like much but I had it this morning and it was surprisingly good. I’m sorry to say Corporal Martin doesn’t like you enough to share his sorghum syrup.”
“You’re ignoring my question.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I won’t stop asking until you tell me what happened.”
“If you must know, you collapsed and I happened to be in the way. Not to worry. It popped right back in and is only a little stiff as a result. Please, don’t look so abashed. I am fine. It wasn’t bad enough to keep me from taking a bullet out of your shoulder.”
“I am sorry, Laura.”
“I’m fine. You, on the other hand, need to eat.”
“What am I doing in my quarters?”
“I had you moved here.”
“Apparently. But, why?”
“To decrease your chance of infection.”
I moved my chair closer to his bed and held the plate in my lap. I handed him the biscuit.
“Biscuit and beans,” Kindle said with little enthusiasm. He took the biscuit and bit into it. “You know what I miss about the East more than anything?”
“The food?”
“Yes. I have not eaten a memorable meal since Saint Louis in sixty-four.” He took another bite. “I should probably amend that. I have had many memorable meals, unique in ways that would not be considered polite conversation.” I handed him a glass of whisky. He drank and after a small sigh of pleasure asked, “What was your last memorable meal?”
“Oh,” I chuckled. “There are so many to choose from.”
“Tell them all.”
“Good Lord, no,” I laughed. “That would make my dissatisfaction more acute, longing for what I cannot have.”
“You haven’t been here long enough to be dissatisfied, surely.”
“Dissatisfied isn’t the right word. None of this is what I expected.” I smoothed my skirt and picked at an invisible loose thread. What was it about Kindle that made me want to talk, to tell him everything? Would he be shocked? Turn me in for the reward? Or would he proposition me as Amos Pike had? I resisted the almost overwhelming urge to confess, more to retain my good opinion of Kindle than out of fear of the consequences. He was not a man to be put off, however. If I didn’t tell him something, he would probe and prod until he discovered my secret. “I thought the stories were exaggerations. Maureen believed. I teased her about it. I should have known.”
“Why?”
I smiled and chuckled. Because of Antietam, I thought. I couldn’t very well tell him that. I feared talking to William Kindle would always be a battle between telling him too much and telling him nothing.
“Who is Ester?”
“The woman whose boarding house we stayed in, in Austin. Her husband was tortured and killed by Comanche. Is it true? About white men?”
Kindle nodded. “Men come west to either get rich or to escape from the law. The ones who come to escape usually get rich by stealing and killing.”
“Are they as difficult to catch as the Indians?”
“No. Usually, they leave a pretty clear path when they ride into a town and cause problems. There’s one group who’s so good at what they do we didn’t even know they existed until recently. We still don’t know who any of them are, who the leader is. They’re the worst bunch we’ve seen.”
“I suppose Harriet was right, in a way. It is important to remind us of our civility lest we become savages.” I shook my head. “I shouldn’t have come west. If I hadn’t, Maureen would still be alive.”
“Do you think so?”
“I never saw raiding Indians in Washington Square.”
“I thought you were from London.”
“I lived in London as a child.”
“That explains your fluctuating accent.” He finished his whisky. I took the glass from him and placed it on the table. “Maureen would have died no matter where she was. It would not have mattered if she was walking through a city or crossing the Trinity River. God determined it was her day.”
“It does matter how she died, though, and that responsibility lay firmly at my own feet.”
He shifted in his bed. “I have seen boys on their deathbeds saying the right things but still unable to mask the fear of the beyond written in their eyes. I’ve seen men sitting in a tent, eating dinner one minute and joking about their deaf grandfather and blind grandmother, the next minute they are cannon fodder. Which is the good death and which is the bad?”
“The boy died well.”
“Is it better to know you are dying? To waste away in front of your own eyes and the eyes of those who love you? The other death is horrible in its suddenness, but its unexpectedness is also a blessing. They died happy. Your friend, Maureen, was she happy before she died?”
I thought of the change in Maureen while we were on the trail, the brightness in her eyes, the bloom on her cheek, the possibility of a home with Cornelius in her future, and my inability to bless it. My head throbbed. My answer was faint. “Yes.”
He closed his eyes. “You are responsible for her happiness. Not for her death.”
“Are you saying death is predetermined by God but happiness is not? That Maureen would not have found the same happiness in New York, though Death would have found her regardless?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a novel philosophy.”
He opened his eyes and smiled. “I’m under the influence of opium and whisky. I don’t know what I’m saying.” He swung his legs off of the bed and sat up.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“I want to stand.”
I caught him before he fell. I helped him sit back down and admonished him. “One biscuit and you think you can conquer the world. You must rest for at least a couple of days.”
“That is excessive.”
“Do I need to remind you of your two surgeries inside of one day?”
“No.”
“I will anyway. You’ve had two major surgeries in less than a day. Your body needs time to heal itself.”
“I’ve been injured before and returned to duties quickly with no adverse effect.”
“I didn’t say you wouldn’t return to duties quickly. I told General Sherman you would be up and about in a week and in the saddle in four.”
“Four weeks?”
“I was being conservative. If you do exactly what I say, you may be back in the saddle in two.”
“Try one.”
“Try two.” I crossed my arms and tried to hide my wince of pain. “Would you rather be in the saddle in one with pain or in two without?”
“I am not in pain now.”
“Captain, you are an incredibly bad liar.”
“I am normally a good liar. Maybe you are more intuitive than most.”
“What I am is impervious to flattery.”
“No woman is impervious to flattery.”
“The distinction here is I am a doctor first, a woman second. If you continue to lie to me, Captain, and treat me as you would a weak-willed woman who faints at the sight of blood, I will not be able to treat you appropriately, which will only prolong your recovery. Now, if you will listen to me instead of patronizing me I can explain your treatment plan.”
“If Miss Mackenzie could hear you she would fully believe you do not have romantic designs on me.”
“Do you think I was lying to her?”
“I suppose not, which rather breaks my heart.”
“Maybe I should amend my treatment plan since you are well enough to flirt with me, though rather badly.”
“I apologize. I am out of practice.”
“Your behavior is highly inappropriate and a bit shocking after pontificating on death and happiness not a minute ago. We don’t want to give credence to Harriet Mackenzie’s ridiculous idea my treating you is inappropriate.”
“You’re right. Forgive me.”
“We’ll say no more about it. Now. Your plan.”
“Let me guess. Rest.”
“Yes. We will gradually decrease your laudanum and increase your activity. For the first two days, bed rest. A few times a day I will help you stand and walk around a little. It will exhaust you, which will encourage rest. On the third day, you will get out of the house and move around the fort. Sit on the porch and hold court if you like.”
“Thankfully, holding court is not my job.”
“We can sit on the porch and play backgammon. I saw a board in the parlor.”
“I cannot be seen sitting on the porch, playing backgammon, even if I am recuperating. If Mackenzie is right, Fort Richardson is going to be the main staging ground for whatever retaliation Sherman has in mind.”
“Is that how it works out here, an eye for an eye? It’s no wonder it’s so dangerous.”
“Sherman’s pride has been wounded. Whoever attacked your group probably just rang the death knell for the plains Indians.” He shifted. “Thank God Mackenzie is in charge.”
“As opposed to who?”
Kindle laughed. “Almost anyone else. Especially Custer.”
“I thought he was one of the best Indian fighters.”
“Don’t believe everything you read in the Northern newspapers. Let’s just say the difference between the two is studied calculation versus vainglorious impetuousness.”
“And I suppose Custer is the latter?”
“In my experience, yes.”
“Colonel Mackenzie went after the Indians who attacked us?”
Kindle nodded. “They’ll evaporate into the Territory. Maybe they’ll try to sell the cattle they stole back to Sill. They do that, you know.” He laughed. “If they weren’t so savage, you’d have to admire them.”
“Forgive me if I don’t admire them. Now”—I stood—“let me check your wounds.”
“Speaking of wounds, what is that awful smell coming from my shoulder?”
I washed my hands in the basin on the table. “Carbolic acid if applied correctly to wounds, has been shown to significantly decrease infection. It should keep it at bay altogether, especially now that you are out of the hospital.”
As I went about my task, Kindle’s scrutiny weighed on me. I kept up a commentary on the state of his wounds to keep my focus on my task and away from him. I did not want him to suspect my irritation with his banter had to do with anything other than my desire for professional respect. He said not a word during the exam, but waited until he was dosed with laudanum and settled back on the bed.
“May I ask you a question?”
/> “Of course.”
“How do you feel?”
From my toilet earlier, I knew my appearance showed plainly my inner torment. I liked Kindle too well to lie to him. “Terrible.” The admission of which made the headache and nausea, my constant companions since the massacre, more prominent. “Though good enough to take care of you.”
“Will a nurse come soon to relieve you so you can rest?”
“There’s no need.”
“I insist,” he replied. His eyes were drooping and his words were slurring together. “Promise me you will send for one and take care of yourself.”
“I promise,” I lied, as he drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As it turned out, Caro came of her own accord, around midnight, giving me the opportunity to have a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. The next morning, as the sun broke through the thin curtains fluttering in the open window, I took full stock of myself for the first time.
The mirror over the dresser was small with a long diagonal crack down the center, but not small enough to hide how gaunt and haggard I looked. Dark circles ringed my eyes, making my naturally fair complexion look more faded than usual.
My headache was abating but still present, throbbing steadily in time with my heartbeat. The nausea was absent, thankfully, replaced by ravishing hunger, due in no small part to the smell of bacon floating up the stairs.
I splashed cold water from the porcelain basin on my face and rinsed my mouth out. I removed my shift and bathed myself with a coarse, damp washcloth. I dressed in a clean dress and almost gagged at the smell of wildflowers. I rummaged through my trunk and found a sachet of dried wildflowers Maureen had made from the ones I picked for her the first day of our journey across Texas. I stared at the small pouch and tentatively lifted it to my nose. As I sniffed the musky scent of the prairie—grass, dirt, a hint of sage, and the muted sweetness of the pervasive bluebonnets—the sounds of the massacre ricocheted in my head.
I dropped the bag, covered my ears with my hands, and squeezed my eyes against the images. My breaths came in short bursts, and I rocked on my heels, trying to get control of myself. With great effort I forced myself to think of a happy memory, of my childhood in England with my cousin Charlotte. The pasties we would steal from the kitchens, the small dollhouse we played with, reading Jane Eyre to each other and falling in love with Rochester, fighting over which of us would win him if we had the chance. My smile slipped when I wondered if I would ever see Charlotte again. I steadied my breathing. When I opened my eyes, they were drawn to the open bottle of laudanum on my bedside table.