“I’d rather not.” Before Paul could rip into him, Swenson added, “That’s just because I’m not completely certain and would hate to get you all worked up over nothing.”
“You’d hate to get me worked up?” Paul scoffed. “I’d say that ship has sailed.”
“Please. Just give me a bit of time to see a few more things. To be completely honest with you, I shouldn’t have even told you as much as I already have for just this particular reason. Acting on a false diagnosis does us as much good as chasing a shadow. Or . . . a dog trying to catch its tail.”
“I know what you’re trying to say. How much time do you need?”
“Give me a few days,” the doctor said.
“Will you know anything by tomorrow?”
“Possibly.”
“Then that’s when I’m coming back. My little girl is in there,” Paul said. “You can’t expect me to stay away much longer than that without a damn good explanation.”
“The more time I have, the more certain I can be,” Swenson said. He then rolled up his sleeves and ran his fingers through his hair like any other man who was about to get to work. “I appreciate the breathing room. Tomorrow I should have something more to tell you.”
“You’d better.”
Chapter 11
It was one of the roughest days Paul had trudged through since Joanna had been in labor with their son. As soon as the midwife had shooed him out of their home, Paul spent the day and a good portion of that night fretting in his store and sweating through his clothes. All he could think about was the pain that had been seared into his beloved’s face when he’d been forced to leave and the cries of agony that had filled their home. When Paul was finally brought back to see her, Joanna was spent and David’s cries were the only ones to be heard. Even though she’d eventually gotten up and to her feet again, his wife was never the same. She’d left something of herself behind that day that never quite came back again. Not long after that, she was gone for good.
Paul would be damned if he was going to let another loved one wither away like that.
Much like that long day nine years ago, Paul spent most of it in his store. Part of him was anxious to be told it was all right to return so he could see how his kin was doing. Another part wanted to keep his distance where he was safe from hearing anything at all. Ignorance might not have been bliss, but it allowed him to take a few more breaths before being overwhelmed.
Half an hour after he would normally have gone home, Paul put the sign in his window announcing his store was closed. “To hell with this,” he grunted. “I’m going over to that doctor’s office whether he likes it or not.”
David was nearby and nodded meekly.
Recognizing the sheen of sweat and pale hue to the boy’s skin, Paul went over to him and placed a hand on his forehead. “What’s the matter with you, son?”
“Nothing. I swear.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“You don’t like it when I say I don’t feel good.”
Paul winced at that as he recalled several instances when he’d scolded the boy for playing possum just to get out of any number of obligations or chores. “I won’t be mad,” he assured him. “Just be true.”
“I feel dizzy,” David said. “And kind of warm.”
“You want to go home?”
David nodded, lowered his head, and trudged along beside his father as if it took every bit of his concentration and effort just to keep from stumbling into a post or off the boardwalk completely. Paul kept a hand on his son’s shoulder to keep him steady while staring straight at the path in front of him. Every now and then, they would pass a familiar face or get a polite wave from a neighbor, but Paul ignored them. Considering his brusque mannerisms, nobody was particularly surprised by such reactions.
After putting his son to bed, Paul went to Doc Swenson’s office. He opened the door, strode inside, and took no notice of the slender woman in her early forties who walked up to greet him.
“Excuse me,” she said while trying to step between Paul and the hallway leading to the examination rooms. “What’s your business here?”
“Doc!” Paul shouted so he could be heard anywhere within the office or the living space above it. “It’s Paul Meakes. I’m here for news about my girl.”
Before he could finish that statement, the doctor emerged from the room where Paul had last seen Abigail. “There’s no need for raised voices,” Swenson said. “Your daughter is resting. I suggest you allow her to do so.”
“Is she better?”
“Honestly, it would do everyone the most amount of good if—”
“Don’t try to appease me and don’t try to chase me away,” Paul warned. “I gave you time to do your doctoring, so tell me what you learned or I’ll take her to someone who can.”
“She shouldn’t be moved.”
“Why?” Paul asked. His question fell upon deaf ears because the doctor had already taken notice of David and was crouching down to place his hands on the boy’s face. Paul placed a hand on Swenson’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Answer my question, damn it.”
“I need to keep a close eye on her. The boy too.”
“Tell me what’s wrong with them.”
“Please, just bring him in here. I’d like to take a look at him. I’m concerned about something.”
“You’re concerned?” Paul said in an exasperated tone of voice. “What do you think you’re doing to me?”
The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke in a low but steady tone. “Paul, it won’t do any good if I tell you something about the well-being of your children unless I know exactly what’s going on with them. And I won’t know what’s going on with them until I can get a look at both of them. Right now.”
No matter how much Paul wanted to stand his ground and demand his answers right then and there, he recognized the truth in Swenson’s words as well as the determination in the doctor’s eyes. Whatever was wrong with Abigail and David, Swenson wanted to uncover it just as much as he did.
“All right, then,” Paul said grudgingly. “I’ll fetch David so you can have your look. But after that, whether you find what you’re after or not, I want to know what the hell is happening here.”
“Agreed. Now please . . .”Swenson said as he stepped aside and motioned Paul toward the door.
Paul marched outside, thumping his boots against the ground with every step, but David wasn’t where he’d left him. “David!” he called out. “Come over here this instant.”
Still, he got no response.
When Paul got home and still couldn’t find his son, he nearly threw a fit. His next stop was the store, where he found David tucked away in the corner with all of the books. “Come along with me,” Paul said.
“Where are we going?”
“Can’t you just mind what I say?”
Hanging his head, David trudged over to his father. After they’d walked a short way from the store, Paul told him, “We’re going back to Doc Swenson’s.”
David perked up immediately. “To visit Abby?”
“We can check in on her, but that’s not why we’re going. The doc wants to get a look at you.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Why would it hurt?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop fretting,” Paul snapped. “Do what you’re told and don’t talk back. If the doc tells you to do something, no matter what it is, you do it. Understand?”
“Yes, Pa.”
After a few more steps, Paul picked up the boy and carried him. David was too big to be carried that way for long, but he relished every moment. “You know I’m only doing this for your own good, right?”
“Yes, Pa.”
“Everything’s gonna be all right. I promise.”
David smiled and rested his head on P
aul’s shoulder. It wasn’t a long walk to the doctor’s office and Paul wasn’t anxious for it to end. When it did, he set the boy down and led him inside.
“There he is!” Swenson said as though Paul had been gone for the better part of a week. “Come over here and let me get a look at you!”
When David looked up to him, Paul gave him a little push. “Go on, now,” he said. “And remember what I told you.”
“I will,” David sighed.
The doctor placed a hand on the boy’s back so he could steer him down the hall to the room directly across from Abigail’s. Once they were inside, the door was shut.
Feeling somewhat abandoned, Paul stood near the front door for a minute or two. He checked his watch, paced for a few minutes, and finally picked a chair to sit in. After settling in for all of four minutes, he checked his watch again and crossed his legs in the opposite direction. His eyes wandered around the office walls, where he found cracks that needed to be repaired, spots where termites were going to be a problem, and a few stains marking points where water had dripped in after a hard rain.
When a wind blew, Paul could feel the slightest trickle of cool air that had snuck in through a warped window frame or a door that hadn’t been cut to fit precisely within its jamb. All the while, he heard the muffled voices of his son and the doctor as Swenson checked whatever it was he needed to check. Once boredom left him, anger began taking hold within Paul’s idle mind.
That doctor was being paid by Paul for a service and Paul had every right to know what was happening. If he wanted to storm into whatever room Swenson was using, he’d paid for the privilege.
The more Paul thought along those lines, the more convinced he became that he was absolutely right. When he got to his feet, eyes set firmly upon his target, he was ready to barge into the examination room and be heard. A second later, he worried about what he might hear. A few seconds after that, Paul sat down to once again brood in silence.
As soon as he resigned himself once again to waiting, Paul heard one of the doors down the hall open. Instead of his daughter walking on her own accord to pay him a visit, Paul saw Doc Swenson walk down the hall toward him. The expression on the doctor’s face was near unreadable.
Walking straight past the chair where Paul was seated, Swenson said, “Let’s get a bit of fresh air, shall we?”
Paul stood up and followed the doctor through the front door to the porch in front of the office. Once there, the doctor removed a dented cigarette case from his pocket and opened it. “Care for one?” he asked while offering the case to Paul.
“Thank you, no,” Paul replied.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long, but I appreciate your patience.”
“To be honest, that patience is running a bit thin.”
“Can’t say as I blame you. If they were my children, I’d be champing at the bit to hear something one way or the other.”
“You got that right.”
The tip of Swenson’s cigarette flared as he pulled in a long breath. The tobacco, although of a high quality, didn’t do much to soothe him. Finally he flicked some ash to the ground and said, “I don’t know a good way to tell you this, Paul, so I’ll just come out with it.”
Part of Paul was glad to hear that and the other part just wanted to pretend there was no news to be told. “What is it, Doc?” he asked, even though the part of him that didn’t want to know was growing by the second.
Despite his recent promise to do otherwise, the doctor took a moment before saying another word. After steeling himself, he straightened up and looked Paul squarely in the eye. “They’re poisoned.”
“Wh . . . what?”
“That wound of Abigail’s shouldn’t be as bad as it is right now. It was properly cared for as near as I can tell and I’ve seen plenty of wounds like it. The stitches were a simple affair and wouldn’t explain the symptoms that have cropped up since then.”
“What symptoms?”
“Her fever,” Swenson replied while ticking them off on his fingers. “Her dizziness. The way she drifts in and out of consciousness. Her sweating. Her shaking. It took a short while for me to know for certain, but I was able to narrow my choices. Now that I can see the condition of the wound, I have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”
Paul shook his head as if he could somehow rid himself of what he’d just heard. “I want to see her. Take me to my little girl.”
“Of course.”
Swenson led him to Abigail’s room. She was sitting up, which was better than the last time he’d seen her. Unfortunately the pallor of her skin and the vacant look in her eyes were much worse. Forcing a smile onto his face, Paul sat on the edge of her bed and stroked the side of her head. Her hair was drenched in cold sweat. “How you feeling, Dumplin’?”
“Is that you, Daddy?” she asked while looking around as if Paul were nothing more than a ghost.
“Course it is. Who else would it be?” Since she didn’t seem willing or able to answer that one, Paul posed another question to her. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel sick?”
“Like before . . . but worse.”
When Paul felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked back to see Swenson motioning for him to leave the room. Paul nodded and said, “I just want to see your leg, honey. Is that all right?”
Too tired to speak, Abigail nodded.
Her sheets and blanket had already been folded down, leaving only an oversized nightgown to cover her. Paul eased the hem up just enough to see his daughter’s wounded leg. The stitches still looked fine, but the skin surrounding the entrance and exit wounds was inflamed and shot through with dark jagged lines.
“How does it look, Daddy?”
“Fine,” Paul said as he quickly pulled the nightgown back into place. “It looks fine. You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”
That was good enough for her and she closed her eyes to get some semblance of rest.
After leaving the room and shutting the door, Paul faced the doctor and asked, “What did you mean when you said they’d been poisoned? Was that just a slip of the tongue?”
“I’m afraid not. Your son is displaying some of the same symptoms, but in earlier stages. It looks to me as if he’ll be in the same boat as Abigail before much longer.”
“What could have done this?”
They stood in the hallway when Dr. Swenson said, “You mentioned Abigail getting shot by an arrow.”
“That’s right. The raiders were Comanche.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“As certain as I can be,” Paul replied. “I’ve seen a good number of Indians, but I’m no expert. Why?”
“Because the braves of some tribes have been known to dip their arrowheads in poison. Sometimes it’s to help bring down a large or particularly aggressive animal, but mostly it’s to help tip the scales in their favor when they’re out to hunt creatures of a two-legged variety.”
Thinking back to the day when those Comanches had ridden through the trading post, Paul gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “Damn. I thought them raiders were just out to do some damage.”
Dr. Swenson slowly shook his head. “The army has been stepping up their efforts to eradicate the tribes all throughout the country. Perhaps those tribes have stepped up their efforts to fight back as well. There’s one way for me to be absolutely certain.”
“What?” Paul snapped. “Tell me. What is it?”
“If I could get a look at that arrow . . .”
Paul spun around and nearly busted the door behind him off its hinges in his haste to get through it and into the room where his boy had been taken. As soon as he saw his father, David hopped off the cot where he’d been sitting. A second later, after seeing the expression on Paul’s face, the boy shrank back.
“You pulle
d the arrow out of your sister. Is that right?”
“Yes, Pa,” David said proudly.
“What did you do with it?”
“I got rid of it.”
“Why?” Paul groaned without truly expecting an answer.
“Because,” the boy replied. “It was scary.”
When Paul’s hands clenched once again into fists, his fingernails fit into the grooves he’d already dug into his palms. Perhaps sensing how frayed Paul was feeling at that moment, the doctor stepped forward and asked, “Do you recall what it looked like, David?”
“It was . . . an arrow.”
“What about the arrowhead? The tip. Was it a strange color or was there something on it?”
David nodded. “There was! Abby’s blood was on it. Does that help?”
“Forget him, Doctor,” Paul said through clenched teeth. “He’s useless. What else can I do to help?”
“Think, David,” Swenson pressed. “What did you do with that arrow? It’s very important.”
The boy closed his eyes. Tears welled in them, seemingly wrung out of his nervous little body the harder he tried to appease the adults in that room with him. “After I pulled it out, I tossed it away. That’s it.”
“Did anyone else come to collect it?”
He nodded slowly at first but quickly built up a head of steam before snapping his eyes open and looking back and forth between the two adults waiting for him to speak. “Someone did collect it! One of the ladies who works there. The one that showed me and Abby where to hide.”
“The one who served our food?” Paul asked.
“Yes!”
“What did she do with the arrow, son?”
“I don’t know. She just came to take it away. Does that help?”
Since Paul was slow to answer, the doctor rubbed the top of David’s head and told him, “Yes, my boy. That’s very helpful.”
Swenson could have stood there tousling the boy’s hair all day long and he wouldn’t have drawn David’s full attention. The boy was staring at his father, all but crawling for Paul’s approval.
“Stay here and rest,” Paul said. “Me and the doc have to talk.”
The Dangerous Land Page 7
