That Certain Spark

by Cathy Marie Hake

  After the surgery, Mr. Van der Vort’s fever raged all night, and he was in danger of hemorrhaging. Remaining by his bedside, she’d kept watch and prayed. Only as the sun started to rise did he slide from the last vestiges of the chloroform haze and drift into a restless sleep.

  Casting a look over her shoulder as she exited her patient’s room, Taylor frowned as she recognized the melody of “Massa’s in de Cold Ground.”

  “Enoch! Stop that whistling!”

  Chortles overtook the tune. “Bad choice, huh? What about this?” The first few notes of “Old Folks at Home” quavered in the air.

  Heading down the stairs, she ordered, “None at all.”

  “Don’t worry, Sis. Horses won’t be interested in Stephen Foster’s tunes.”

  “That wasn’t funny in the least.”

  “My comment or Van der Vort’s stunt?”

  “Neither. It’s a marvel I’m not deaf from his whistle.”

  “I wonder if he’ll have any hearing left after you serve him a piece of your mind. Though,” he mused, “I think you’re complicit since you did promise to help him.”

  She raised her chin. “I didn’t specify what type of help.”

  Taking an apple from the basket he’d hauled inside, Enoch buffed it on his sleeve. “I overheard you when I came back with the leather straps.” Eyes twinkling impishly, her twin kept the debate alive. “You laid equal claim to the plan.”

  “I agreed to help him. Febrile irrationality is the only explanation for his summoning his horse—that or simplemindedness.”

  “Horses are highly intelligent creatures. I’d like a good look at that Trakenhner. She’s a beauty.”

  Folding her arms across her chest, Taylor gave her brother an incredulous look. “There’s nothing beautiful about a horse in my surgery.”

  “It was stupid and dangerous for you to stay when I warned you to get out.”

  “In the future, if you don’t let a horse in, I won’t be put in such a position.” Though tired, she couldn’t help smiling at her brother. They constantly matched wits. “It’s a simple matter of cause and effect.”

  Enoch examined the red apple. He was peculiar about them—they had to be perfectly shiny before he’d take a bite, but Taylor wasn’t fooled in the least. The action served to smother his smile. “Piet mentioned Karl has a different whistle for each of their horses. You’re lucky. He could have summoned a seventeen-hand black Shire.”

  “No doubt he can call hogs, too. That doesn’t mean they belong in my surgery.”

  “Aha! I knew it! You’re jealous.”

  “Only of your apple.” She held out her hands for him to toss it to her.

  “It’s just an apple.” Enoch lounged against the banister and continued to shine the fruit. “You have to wait for your patients to come to you—”

  “And all you need to do is pucker up?”

  “I’ve never had to do that for my patients, but I’ve been known to enjoy it with an owner or two.”

  “I’m disappointed in you.” Taylor paused for the sake of timing. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “I didn’t tell who. I just said I enjoyed it. You might want to try it sometime.” He winked, tossed her the apple, and started whistling another song as he walked off.

  Weariness dragged at her. Concerned about blood poisoning, infection, and possible hemorrhage, Taylor needed to return to her patient’s bedside. She finished the apple, gulped a mouthful of last night’s leftover cold coffee and shuddered, then went back into the sickroom.

  Once at the bedside, she picked up her stethoscope to listen to the blacksmith’s heart and lungs. Especially after he’d received chloroform for the prolonged surgery, making sure his breathing remained stable was essential. The conical wooden stethoscope her grandfather and father had used didn’t transmit sound as well as this modern binaural model. Originally miffed that she’d not wanted his piece, Father had soon changed his mind when she had him borrow hers to discover its superior sound transference and the added bonus of freeing the physician from having to be within mere inches of a patient’s chest.

  Overall, her examination yielded good results. Mr. Van der Vort’s heart and lungs sounded excellent. The surgical dressing on his leg showed no bleeding. If only he didn’t have a fever . . .

  Skimming a vinegar-water cloth over his furrowed brow, heavily muscled arms, and wrists allowed for significant evaporative cooling. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes that she realized she was humming the tune Enoch had been whistling as he’d left. Mortified, she shot a frantic prayer heavenward. Please, God, let this man be too sleepy to remember what I just hummed.

  Karl floated on the haze of mostly asleep and felt an odd pressure on his chest as the strains of a song teased the edges of his mind. Something cold and wet kept bothering him, too. His nose tingled from the odd smell of . . . vinegar? Nothing was making sense.

  “Beautiful Dreamer.” His eyes shot open. A dark-haired, green-eyed temptress was leaning over him, humming the song in a sultry key. He didn’t recognize her or the location, but only one kind of woman wore scarlet. A strong blink didn’t make the color of her shirtwaist fade one iota. So much for giving her the benefit of the doubt—but then, there really hadn’t been much room for uncertainty. No decent woman would hover over a strange man’s bed, humming a love song and caressing him.

  She cleared her throat. “Your fever is coming down. I’ll get you something to drink.”

  “Nee. No. I’ll go home and have water.” What he’d mistaken for vinegar must have been the mingled odors of beers and whiskey. A gigantic hammer and anvil pounded in his head already. The last thing he wanted to drink was alcohol.

  “I have water right here.” Dropping the cloth she’d mangled into a bowl, she rose.

  Karl wasn’t about to wait for her return. Jackknifing—or attempting to jackknife—put him flat on his back, teeth gritted against a wave of pain.

  “Mr. Van der Vort, foolish actions could very well start bleeding or rip your sutures.” Face puckered like a sour schoolmarm, the chippie came back over. “Prop yourself up on one elbow.”

  “Bossy,” he muttered. Raging thirst made him comply as he strained to recall when he’d last had anything.

  “Sip it. If you do well, you may have broth next.”

  “Broth?” Another reason he knew he had to leave. This woman planned to starve him.

  “Yes. Now please attend to what I say. You sustained significant damage to your quadriceps femoris. The most powerful muscles in the human body are in the lower limbs, and of them all, the quadriceps are the strongest. With the . . .”

  She said a few more words that made absolutely no sense to him. Then suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Karl choked on the last gulp of water and bellowed, “You’re that woman doctor!”

  Five

  Sis?” It took all of five seconds for a man to appear in the doorway. His voice sounded casual and even lazy, but his intense stare told Karl the doctor’s brother considered himself to be her champion and defender.

  “Mr. Van der Vort is surprised to meet me, Enoch.”

  “Furious.” No use mincing words. Karl directed his instructions to the man. “Give me my jeans. I’m leaving.”

  Enoch didn’t move, other than to face his sister and shrug. “At least he didn’t ask for his horse this time.”

  “Don’t give him any ideas.” Focusing back on Karl, the doctor gave him a no-nonsense look. “Your pants have fewer stitches in them than your leg and—”

  “That’s why a woman should content herself with sewing quilts.” Bound and determined to leave, Karl pushed himself into a position where he half sat on the edge of the bed, battling the sheets and a blanket. Just before he tossed them all aside, he realized the folly of that action and dropped them in a wadded mess around himself.

  “Trousers will not fit over your dressing.”

  “Lady, there’s enough wrapped around me to fill the Grand Canyon halfw
ay.”

  “There’s a hole in your leg to rival the canyon, sir.” The minute his fingers closed around the knot on that bandage, her voice turned just as hard as the iron he worked each day. “Any less pressure or padding, and the benefit accomplished by the surgery would be for naught. That must stay in place, just as you must severely curtail your activity until the immediate postoperative period has passed.”

  His thigh started throbbing like anything. Fancy as all her words sounded, it didn’t mean she knew beans about how to doctor folks. She must have done something wrong to his leg—probably wrapped it too tight. Once he broke free from here, he’d loosen it up, get a gander at it, and decide just what was necessary under the circumstances. Mind made up, Karl moved again—all of a pathetic inch that left him breaking out in a cold sweat and gritting his teeth.

  “I won’t keep you here if you insist upon leaving. Just know this: Your wound is liable to open up and bleed all over my nice clean floor. If you’re well enough to make that kind of mess, you’re obligated to clean up after yourself.” Her green eyes held challenge.

  Frustrated by his weakness and vexed by the way she was goading him, Karl muttered, “A woman’s place is to sew clothes and mop floors, not to sew men and order them around.”

  “I understand.” The doctor nodded slowly. “Women to the cradle and coffeepot; men to all great endeavors.”

  Karl gaped at the so-called doctor. He couldn’t have heard her correctly. “All women feel the cradle is their greatest endeavor.”

  Her brother didn’t manage to cover his laugh with a cough. “You would have stood a better chance of gaining her agreement if you’d said everyone aspired to making a good pot of coffee.”

  “That would be a lie. Piet and I, we gave up. Ours is always burnt. I’ll wait to leave until I’ve eaten breakfast and had coffee.” He grunted as he slid back to the center of the bed. “Doc, he wasn’t always so good at fixing sick people, but anyone who came here for help knew they were welcome to the coffee on his stove. He always brewed the best in town.”

  “Even if he wasn’t a woman? Imagine that!”

  Karl shot the woman doctor an impatient glower. He should have anticipated her reaction. “You’ve got plenty of perk, but there have to be grounds to brew the right cup. Same with doctors. Women don’t have the necessary . . . grounds it takes to serve as physicians.”

  “If it would instill confidence in you, I’m willing to show you my medical degree.”

  Staring at her, Karl took in the fire in her eyes and all the strands of hair that had worked free and coiled into touch-me curls at her temples and nape. “There’s not a piece of paper in the world that could make me look past your dimples or forget your humming.”

  Taylor blushed. Enoch scarcely believed it. With society’s prejudice against female physicians and doctors themselves being the most stalwart subscribers to that ignorance, Taylor had endured untold ridicule during her years at medical school. She’d been the butt of jokes, she’d been the victim of sabotage in the laboratory, and she’d endured every possible type of accusation. But after the first week of medical school, Taylor had ceased blushing.

  “Speaking of coffee, I put some on the stove.” Enoch purposefully omitted the fact that he was merely reheating last night’s. He gave his sister a questioning look. “Only you know what’s okay for Van der Vort to eat.”

  “My appetite is good. Strong. Lusty.” As soon as he used the final adjective, the blacksmith went ruddy.

  “Then I’ll find us some breakfast.” Taylor left.

  Launching in as soon as she was out of earshot, Van der Vort said, “You’re a veterinarian. You have medical skills. Surely you can render care to me.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “My sister doesn’t treat animals, and I don’t treat humans. It’s that simple.” He allowed a rueful grin that kicked up the side of his mouth. “Well, almost that simple. I’ve been around when Taylor’s had to treat some men who acted like jackasses, but she still treated them.”

  “You love your sister.”

  “I do.”

  Looking at him intently, the blacksmith ordered, “Then send her back to your parents. She’ll be unhappy here.”

  “We’ve both signed four-year contracts. We’re honoring our pledge.”

  “Then she’ll stay, but she’ll have to stop this nonsense of doctoring.” Van der Vort yanked the blanket up and clamped it in place beneath his arms.

  Is he trying to shield Taylor, or is he embarrassed that she’s worked on him?

  “The wrongs permitted in big cities aren’t acceptable in our small town.”

  Now Van der Vort had crossed the line. Enoch expected men to ask him to treat them, but he always refused. People might give their opinion about women as physicians. Though it wasn’t necessarily enlightened or kind, Enoch tolerated such blather. But the blacksmith had just judged and condemned his sister. “There is nothing wrong with someone—man or woman—using the gift God gave them. You, of all people, should be grateful.”

  Taylor’s patient glowered at him. “I’m not going to be a testimonial for her.”

  “She didn’t ask you to.”

  “Good thing.” Van der Vort closed his eyes. “Anyone can sew.”

  “Know many who can take three metal shards out of a man?” Slamming a handkerchief onto the bed next to the patient’s hand, he ordered, “Open that.” Anticipating Taylor would have to prove herself, Enoch had saved the pieces she’d removed during the surgery last night. Jagged and sharp as could be on many points, all three measured about an inch long.

  Van der Vort let out a long-suffering sigh, complied, then flipped the edge of the handkerchief back over the mean-looking pieces. “The part my brother took out was bigger and longer.”

  “Is that all that matters to you—what you can see on the outside?”

  A single crack of a laugh blurted from the patient. “Very clever. A man who loves and protects his family—I can respect that. But your sister . . .”

  “You will treat her with the utmost respect.” Enoch stared at the blacksmith as he gave the command. “My sister is a godly woman and a lady.”

  “Who does a man’s job.”

  “More than a man. We fought last night. Your brother and I told her to amputate. She didn’t just save your life; she saved your leg.”

  For a moment, Van der Vort went silent. “I won’t treat her disrespectfully. That much I give you, but don’t expect more. I still believe what she does is wrong.”

  “No one asked your opinion.”

  “I get an opinion. I’m in a bed, and she’s in and out of this room.”

  Staring a hole through him, Enoch bit out, “Now that you’re conscious, she’ll never be here alone with you.”

  Dishes rattled on the stairs. Taylor was coming. Lord, please open this man’s eyes or close his mouth. When Taylor reached the landing, the floorboards creaked.

  “Talcum powder.”

  Taylor entered the sickroom. “You need talcum powder, Mr. Van der Vort?”

  “No, you do.” He grinned at her.

  “That’s enough.” Enoch thrust himself between his sister and the man.

  “Dump talc on the floor and rub it into the cracks. It’ll sift down to the joists and stop the creaks.”

  Setting the tray on a three-drawer bureau, Taylor smiled. “For that, you may have coffee and a little something to eat.”

  The blacksmith fell upon the baked goods like a starving man. A pang shot through Enoch. Keeping this man here would mean feeding him whatever food they’d been given. Other than that, the kitchen didn’t have anything in it. With her patient in a better mood, Taylor removed the dishes. “My brother will assist me in examining your wound.”

  “He’ll look at it and tell you how it is.”

  “The relay has begun, and you chose your partner. You cannot change that now.”

  Van der Vort’s fair eyebrows slammed together and hi
s blue eyes turned to ice. “I did not choose you to be my partner.”

  “Ah, but you did. Furthermore, I carried out my part of the agreement. I helped you, and I didn’t amputate your leg.” Taylor gave him a stern look. “On the other hand, your only contribution to the partnership was whistling me deaf and getting a horse in my surgery.”

  “See?” He turned to Enoch. “Fanciful imaginations are just another reason women aren’t intended to be—”

  “Your grandfather’s leg was amputated. Or at least I assume it was your grandfather. You called him Opa when you asked for my help. Yes, you grabbed my wrist, rolled off the table, and begged me to help you escape before they could amputate. Please don’t feel I’m making fun of you, because I’m not. I take ethics quite seriously, and all of this goes to the heart of that matter. You did indeed ask for my help, and you specified no amputation. I honored your wishes on both accounts.”

  “Honor them now. I want you to stop treating me.”

  Taylor shook her head. “It would be unethical. No one else is close enough to oversee your care. As I tried to tell you earlier, you are in great peril of hemorrhaging, contracting blood poisoning, or having any of several other complications. In three days, if you still wish, I will sign off on your case and send you to another physician. By then it should be safe for you to travel.”

  “Three days!”

  Proud of how she’d taken charge of the whole situation, Enoch inserted, “You heard the doctor. Three days.”

  Now that she’d managed to distract her patient, she motioned Enoch to pull back the covers. “I have deep scratches in my entryway floor downstairs and in the surgery from horseshoes, and though I wouldn’t have known what to call that huge brown mare, my brother tells me she was a Tran-Tranek—”