That Certain Spark

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “You’d know,” Mercy whispered to Enoch.

  He lifted her face to his. “And I’d still love you every bit as much.”

  Taylor turned away. She didn’t want either of them to see her tears. “Enoch, I’ll prepare everything. Go fetch Velma. She can assist me.”

  “No!” Mercy and Enoch said in unison.

  Mercy wrapped her arms around his waist. “Only Enoch. No one else. Please, Taylor. I trust him. He’s helped you with other surgeries, and—”

  “He’s too emotionally involved.”

  Enoch glared at her. “I vowed before the Lord to protect and cherish my wife. You and I work as a team, and no one else has half my skill. You’re not going to stop me, Taylor. I’m assisting you.”

  She looked from one to the other and got ready to argue. Mercy’s eyes held desperate trust, and Enoch stared at Taylor’s with a fierceness she’d never seen in him. Medically, Velma would be the wiser choice for an assistant; but they wanted—no, needed—this semblance of control. “The two of you are insane.”

  “I sure am. Crazy in love.” He must have thought she was out of earshot when she went across the hall to prepare her surgery, because he said, “I’m madly in love with you, Mercy-mine.”

  Heavenly Father, please, can’t you grant a miracle? Can you make this a mere cyst after all? They’re so in love. Heidi’s just a little girl, and she needs her mommy. . . . Prayers lurched from Taylor’s heart as she set out her carefully sterilized instruments. Trying to sound calm and maybe even a little lighthearted as she reached for the chloroform, she called out, “Okay, Enoch. It’s time for you to give your bride a good-night kiss.”

  A short while later, Taylor paused. In a second, the tumor would be visible. Some tumors spidered out in all directions, clear into muscles and the lymphatic tissue—even into the lungs in a few cases she’d seen. In such instances, the cancerous disease had gone so far into the woman’s being that putting her through the hardships of recovering from the removal of all of the tissue was not only useless but cruel. She stopped praying just long enough to order, “Give Mercy a little more chloroform.”

  “She’s had enough.”

  “I’m the doctor here.” She didn’t want her twin to see the tumor until she’d first had a glimpse of how involved it was; only he wasn’t cooperating. “I knew I should have gotten Velma to assist me.”

  “She wouldn’t administer more chloroform, either. It’d be too much, and you know it.” Enoch’s voice edged close to a shout. “Stop delaying. The truth isn’t going to change.”

  “I love her, Enoch.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you, too.” She drew a deep breath and pressed ahead.

  “ ‘Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me . . .’ ” Enoch crooned softly as he sat at the bedside and coiled one of Mercy’s little wisps of hair around and around his finger. She was hideously pale, her lips pinched in pain, and her body dwarfed by the bed and the stack of pillows Taylor had used to keep the covers from rubbing against Mercy’s chest.

  Mercy’s eyelids fluttered.

  Holding her right hand in his, he brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “ ‘Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me. . . .’ ”

  Slowly, one eye opened. “You need glasses.”

  Bolting up out of the chair so fast it slid back and crashed against the wall, Enoch chortled. “You need a kiss to sweeten your disposition.” He gladly obliged, then fearing she’d ask the one question he didn’t want to answer, he insisted, “You have to drink some of this. Taylor extracted a promise from me that I would make you down the whole cup when you woke up.”

  “What—”

  “It’s a mixture of juices and some medicine. I think you’re fairly safe. Taylor can’t cook, but no one can ruin juice.”

  Mercy rewarded that with a small smile.

  “And voilà! I have a straw for Madame.” He tucked the paper straw into the cup and aimed it between her lips. “I bought a whole box of them. Think Heidi’s going to like sipping lemonade with them?”

  “Mmm . . .”

  “She’s fine. I’ll bring her by later on.” He tapped the straw to urge Mercy to drink more. “You ought to see how much fun she’s having, sticking her tongue out through the hole where her tooth was. I caught her trying to wiggle another tooth loose.” Enoch twisted the straw. “Keep drinking. Taylor and Karl argued about her wanting to pay too much for coal today, and I’m not getting in the way of her temper. You’ve seen Taylor when she’s got her back up. She hisses at everything.”

  Her lids drooped.

  “You’re tired, sweet pea. Go on and take a little nap.” He drew away the empty cup and pressed his lips to her temple. “Praise God, you’re doing fine.”

  He stepped out of the room and Taylor grabbed his sleeve. Hauling him over to the room that had been his bedchamber, she whispered hotly, “You can’t do that, Enoch. You can’t. She’s not fine. It’s wrong to tell her otherwise.”

  “I’m doing what’s right for my wife and family. It’s my decision.” For the past three days, they’d been squabbling over this issue. He’d continued to argue, assuming that Taylor would eventually give in. First, he’d attributed it to the stress they’d both been under. Then, the sleepless nights. But now—now things were hitting a critical point.

  Eyes afire, Taylor kept hold of his sleeve and shook it. “How dare you relegate Mercy into the same category as you would a naïve child. She’s a grown woman who’s cared for herself and her daughter and run two successful businesses. Suddenly, since you put a ring on her finger, you know so much more than she does about herself that you get to decide what she’s told about her own condition? No. Absolutely not.”

  “Not everyone is as headstrong and autonomous as you. Certainly not other women. You can’t judge what my wife needs based on what you’d want.”

  Taylor released his sleeve and stepped back. “I based what I said on what other patients have desired and on the character of the woman I know Mercy to be.”

  “My decision stands.”

  “It’s not your decision to make, Enoch. Mercy is my patient. When she asks me—and she will—I’m not going to lie.”

  “So then you lied when you told me you love her . . .” He couldn’t force himself to add and me. He knew better. Taylor and he shared a bond that was unmistakable, undeniable. But he couldn’t reconcile how pitiless his twin planned to be toward his bride.

  “Go home, Enoch. Spend time with your daughter. She’s hardly seen you these last three days. Get some sleep.” Taylor turned and started out the door.

  “I’m not leaving my wife.”

  “Velma’s coming in to sit with her. You can go on home.” Taylor descended the stairs without looking back.

  Enoch felt the distance between them grow wider with each step. The day of the surgery, the aftereffects of the chloroform had kept Mercy asleep most of the time. Taylor hadn’t skimped on dosing her with laudanum the second day or yesterday, either. Drifting on the cloud of medication, Mercy hadn’t been aware of much more than someone being nearby to give her something to sip or turn her when she woke. Today would be nothing short of hell. Used for even modestly long periods, laudanum could cause addiction, so the blessed relief it had brought these last few days now had to be taken away. Taylor had spoken with him about it a few times, preparing him—and he’d agreed, the medical part of him saying all the right words. Deep inside, he railed at the thought of his wife hurting. The only thing Taylor could offer was acetylsalicylic acid—nothing more than a chemical name for willow bark scrapings that was suitable for headache relief.

  Velma was coming. Plainspoken Velma would state facts without considering the consequences if he wasn’t there to stop her. Sure of that, Enoch strode back to Mercy’s side. He ought to do something—anything—to help her, yet he was powerless.

  A tap sounded at the back door. “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”

  Giggles twinkled up the staircase. “Yoo-hoo!” H
eidi copied.

  For the briefest instant, delight filled him. Next came the crashing realization that he had to protect Heidi from the harsh realities every bit as much as he needed to spare Mercy.

  “Hope! Heidi!” Taylor sounded genuinely surprised and pleased.

  “Auntie Taylor!”

  “Shh, dear. Bethany is resting,” Taylor said. They had moved Bethany temporarily into the kitchen so the surgery would be free for Mercy’s operation. And apparently Bethany enjoyed being in the midst of the action.

  “I brung a chicken, only I decided to do a swap. Heidi, you be a good helper and put this basket on the table there.”

  “Okay.”

  Enoch walked into the kitchen in time to see his little girl stand on tiptoe, seeing to the chore. The minute she spied him, she shrieked, “Daddy!” and sprang into his arms.

  The way her little arms and legs wound around him and she clung to him like a little monkey never failed to delight him. He held her close and dipped his head to press a kiss on her rumpled hair. “Ahhh. Here’s my girl.”

  “I heard tell your missus is under the weather, so’s I went to the mercantile. Millie and me, we haggled.”

  “They fighted, Daddy. ’Bout wanting me.”

  “Because we both love you,” Hope said. “The Clarks have had you for a few days, so now you’re gonna have a fun time playin’ with my Emmy-Lou. But to make ’em feel a little better, I gave them the chickens I usually get from Dr. Bestman. And y’all can enjoy the soup I made for the next few days. Since they was your chickens to begin with, the swap was fair all around.” Hope beamed.

  Heidi squirmed. “I wanna see Mama.”

  Enoch pressed his forehead to hers. “She’s sleeping.”

  “I could give her sleepytime night-night kisses like you and Mommy give me,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” Enoch agreed and swung her around and onto his back. “You have to stay quiet, though. Mama needs her rest so she can get better. Just a few quick kisses, and that’s all.”

  In the end, it was ridiculously simple. Heidi gave her mama a dozen sloppy little kisses, and Mercy roused just enough to call her by name and say, “I love you.” Reassured everything was fine, Heidi waved as she rode away with Hope.

  Enoch waved until she was out of sight, then turned to his sister. “What did you tell Hope?”

  “You know my ethics and oath. I don’t discuss my patients.”

  “Good.”

  “Velma, however, is a professional associate. Though she doesn’t have formal training, she’s proven herself skilled and capable of giving care and rendering simple treatments.”

  Disbelief flooded him. Enoch knew most physicians stepped back and had someone else treat a family member—but not when the substitute was nothing more than a ranch cook! He gritted his teeth. “Velma—is—not—treating—my—wife.”

  “No, she’s not. But she needs to be informed of the diagnosis and extent of the surgery since she will be sitting with her. If the pillows aren’t positioned with exacting care, Mercy’s arm will swell more. Pain inevitably results from such swelling, and we both want to spare her as much as possible.”

  A ruckus sounded out on the porch. “Doc! Herman got hisself shot.”

  Taylor whirled away. A second later, he heard her order, “Remove his shirt and have him sit on my examination table.”

  “Don’t want you. Want Doc Enoch.”

  Another man tacked on, “He’s not over at his barn.”

  Enoch went to the doorway. “Get it through your thick heads. If you don’t have four feet or wings, I won’t treat you.” He pushed past three men and went up the stairs. His wife needed him.

  But with three men smelling like a brewery down there, his sister could use his help, too. He didn’t even glance over at Herman. Digging a bullet out of him wouldn’t be easy. The man had to be as big around as he was tall.

  A man’s first allegiance belonged to his wife, though. He went into the room and decided the pain medication was now working well enough to reposition Mercy. Drawing back the covers, Enoch took care not to let them brush against her chest.

  Lord, let me have her for a long time. You gave me this love for Mercy, and I’m selfish enough to beg for years of it. Don’t take her from me. Please, God, don’t take her from me.

  Moaning lightly as he finished tucking the last pillow into place, Mercy curled her fingers around his wrist, as if searching for him. “That’s right, sweet pea. I’m here.” Then just as quickly, her grasp loosened and her hand slipped away.

  Lord, no. Please don’t let us be like that. Not just a momentary coming together and tearing apart.

  “Wondered if you’d be up here.” Velma’s low voice took him by surprise. “That sis of yours has her hands full. A couple fools at the Nugget used each other for target practice.”

  “Go on down, Velma. You’ll establish order in no time.”

  Velma looked at Mercy, and then at the arrangement of the pillows. For an unguarded moment, shock widened her eyes, then she steeled herself with a deep breath. Hands rough and reddened from washing thousands of dishes petted back his wife’s hair, and Velma murmured softly, leaning down close to assess Mercy’s breathing and check her pulse. Not bothering to straighten up, Velma lifted the bedclothes a few scant inches.

  Enoch encircled her wrist and tilted his head toward the door.

  Velma settled the bedclothes back in place with great tenderness. Once she made it out into the hall, she grabbed both of his hands. “Just the left one?”

  He nodded.

  “Did your sis get it all? Cut it out and get an inch or so of healthy tissue all around just to be sure?”

  Again, he nodded.

  Velma let out a huge gust of air. “Good, then. I’ll be sure to let Mercy know that I’ll keep her secret. A woman’s got a right to her privacy. You get on down there now and knock a few heads together. If you don’t, folks are gonna think you staying up here all the time means something bad’s wrong.” She turned loose of his hands and started pushing him toward the stairs. “Up till now, they’ve chalked it up to you bein’ a doting groom.”

  Enoch didn’t want to leave, but Velma’s comment carried some validity. She’d shown herself to be more capable than he’d imagined. More knowledgeable, too. He went on downstairs.

  “Now see here, young woman,” the mayor blustered. “There are considerations.”

  “Indeed there are. Your wound can wait. Mr. Clark’s cut is more serious.” Leaving Herman with his upper arm bandaged, she washed her hands.

  “Orville Clark is white trash; I’m the mayor. That’s as serious as matters get.” Cutter yanked the towel from her and grabbed her wrist.

  “Get your hand off her, Cutter,” Enoch snarled from the doorway.

  Twenty-One

  It took every last shred of self-control Enoch possessed to keep from launching across the room and throttling the idiot. “Don’t ever touch her again or you’ll suffer the most serious injury she’ll ever treat.”

  Once freed, Taylor swept right past the mayor and over to a chair in the corner. Along the way, she grabbed a stack of towels. “Let’s see to you now,” she said to Orville Clark.

  “Girlie, go have a tea party. I need a real doctor.”

  “Mr. Clark, if you had bothered to read it, you would have seen that that’s my name on the medical diploma. As for tea—you might consider switching to it yourself. A drunken brawl and a broken bottle fight have left you in bad shape.” She took a pair of shears and whacked his sleeve.

  “Hey! This is my last good shirt!”

  “It can be mended.” Staunching the blood with a compress, Taylor picked up tweezers with her other hand.

  “Since she’s busy, you’ll have to tend to me.” Mayor Cutter stuck out his hand toward Enoch, displaying a jagged cut. “I have more important things to do than sit here all day waiting while she digs bullets out of a man who cheats at poker and then wastes more of my time while she stitch
es up a swindler.”

  “You have nothing more than a jagged surface cut, Mayor.” Taylor’s tone remained wry. “I daresay the alcohol in the bottle you broke causing the injury has sterilized it quite efficiently.”

  Puffing up indignantly, the mayor hid his hand behind his back. “Who says that’s how I got hurt?”

  “Maybe you ain’t so dumb after all, Doctor.” Orville Clark started chuffing air. “Holy cow, woman! What did you do?!”

  “Having removed the glass, I obliterated any germs so you’d not suffer blood poisoning.” Taylor set down the steel flask of her special mixture of hydrogen peroxide and a few drops of iodine. The combination never failed to impress—it stung, bubbled, and left a rim of color that lingered for a few days as a reminder that care had been rendered.

  “Least she’s smarter’n you, Mayor. She didn’t waste good whiskey on a wound.”

  Mayor Cutter leaned closer and cast a glance at Taylor, then looked Enoch in the eye. “Treat my hand.” From the looks of Orville’s arm, Taylor would be suturing it for a while. Enoch jutted his chin toward a bench in a silent order to sit down. For all of his dramatics, the mayor needed nothing more than for his hand to be cleansed and bandaged, but what he said left Enoch glad he’d finally agreed to step in and render care.

  Forty-five minutes later, with all of the men gone, Enoch helped Taylor clean up. Her shoulders slumped with fatigue. He’d been sitting with Mercy, but Taylor was still at anyone’s beck and call around the clock. Had she gotten any sleep at all?

  Turning toward him, she stuffed a wad of bloody cloths in a basin. “I can’t for the life of me imagine what happened at the saloon. I don’t know who Herman is, but all the men seem to. No one said who shot him.

  “Orville has a big mouth, and Gustav Cutter’s temper is swift. I’d attribute a fight between them to that combination, but they weren’t baiting each other or waging war here. Do you know what happened?”

  “Yes.” He took the basin from her and carried it to the kitchen sink. Cold water rinsed blood out best—especially if done right away.