The Doctor's Newfound Family

by Valerie Hansen

  Her breath caught. In the rear of that throng, near the door, stood the smug-looking figure of William Bein. And he was leering at her.

  Taylor was afraid for his friend. As soon as Sara Beth joined him with his medical bag, he held out a hand. “It’s the subclavian artery. Give me the large hemostats. They’re made like scissors only they clamp instead of cutting.”

  “I know what they look like.”

  She was not only quick to respond; she seemed quite calm amidst all the bedlam, further impressing Taylor with her bravery and fortitude.

  As he worked to stem the bleeding and failed repeatedly to locate and clamp the damaged ends of the artery, he wondered how long poor James could last. It didn’t look good. Not good at all. And there was little anyone could do.

  Other doctors, older medical men, had been summoned. They shoved Taylor away and took his place. He would have fought for position if he had not already done all he could. Nuttall and Toland were good men, as surgeons went. Perhaps they would have more success by working as a team.

  “Why are you backing off and letting those men tend to him?” Sara Beth asked, frowning as she handed Taylor a damp towel from the washstand so he could wipe his hands.

  “Because there’s nothing more I can do. I’d let old Abe Warner himself try if I thought it would help.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t give up on him yet,” Taylor insisted. Though he knew his friend probably didn’t have much longer to live, he also knew that even while unconscious, James could likely hear and understand what was being said. Many a professor had impressed that fact upon him in medical school, citing instances where dying patients had rallied at the last instant and had later been irate at the conversations they had overheard during their supposed passing.

  Leading her aside, Taylor spoke privately. “I need to get you back home but I can’t leave James.”

  “Of course you can’t. I wouldn’t ask it of you. Besides, there may be some way we can assist those other doctors.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Even from where he and Sara Beth stood they could hear the others loudly discussing treatment. Nuttall was suggesting that they plug the wound with a sponge, much to Taylor’s dismay.

  “You can’t do that,” he insisted, stepping closer. “He’ll die of infection. Haven’t you read Semmelweis’s papers?”

  The others ignored him. Starting to turn away, he suddenly heard his friend moan and call his name.

  “James?” Taylor pushed through and fell to his knees by the side of the bed. “I’m right here.”

  “Don’t leave me,” King pleaded, grasping Taylor’s fingers so tightly the grip was painful. “In the name of all that’s Holy, Hayward, don’t leave me to these butchers.”

  “I’ve done all I can to stem the flow. We should let them try.”

  “I’m already a dead man. I know that,” King said in a low, shaky voice. “Promise you’ll see that Casey pays for murdering me.”

  Nodding, Taylor vowed that he would. In seconds, the other man was once again unconscious and had loosened his grip.

  The young doctor rose and returned to Sara Beth. “When we came in, I think I spotted W. T. Coleman with some of the other men from the Vigilance Committee. If I can locate him, I’ll have him take you home in my buggy.”

  “I should stay with you,” she said, eyeing the pompous other doctors. “You might need moral support, and besides, William Bein was downstairs the last time I looked.”

  “All the more reason for you to take advantage of the distraction provided by the crowd. I may be here for a long time. There’s no sense both of us holding vigil.”

  “All right. Whatever you think is best.”

  “Thank you for understanding,” Taylor said, gently taking both her hands and holding them. “If I don’t have your safety to worry about I’ll be better able to think, to help look after James properly.”

  “I heard him say he thought he was dying,” she whispered. “Isn’t that a bad attitude to foster?”

  “Not if it’s true.” Taylor released her and started to turn toward the closed door that led into the hallway. “I’d much rather see a man prepare himself to meet his Maker than die suddenly and not have a chance to repent.”

  The moment those words were spoken he rued them. Sara Beth’s mother and father might have faced exactly that fate and, judging by the pained expression on her face, she had reached the same conclusion.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know. And I agree. No man can predict when his time is near. I know Mama’s soul was right with God and I can’t imagine divine providence separating two people who loved each other as dearly as she and Papa Robert did.”

  “All right. Stay up here with James and the others where you’ll be safe. I’ll locate W.T. or one of his trustworthy men and arrange an escort.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider just letting me walk home?”

  “Not in a million years,” the doctor said flatly.

  He was not a bit surprised when Sara Beth answered, “That’s what I thought.”

  Chapter Eleven

  As far as Sara Beth was concerned, she was not in need of cosseting. However, given the stress Taylor Hayward was currently under, she figured it would be best to go along with his ideas and allow Mr. Coleman to see her home.

  The only off-putting element was the degree of nervousness and mental distraction the middle-aged businessman was displaying as he drove. To look at his pale skin, perspiring brow and glassy eyes, a person would think he was the one who had just been shot instead of James King.

  He brought the doctor’s buggy to a stop in front of the orphanage without comment, leaving Sara Beth wondering if he had even noticed where they were.

  She offered her hand. When he seemed to ignore the friendly gesture, she simply gathered her skirts and climbed out of the buggy unassisted before saying, “Thank you for bringing me home, sir. Will you be returning to the hotel now?”

  “What? Oh, I suppose so.” His hand was trembling as he touched the brim of his hat politely. “Evening, miss.”

  Watching the familiar buggy drive away, Sara Beth realized that she was not lamenting its departure the way she usually did, which was, of course, because Mr. Coleman was driving instead of Taylor Hayward.

  Her heart ached for the young doctor. How difficult it must be to tend to a close friend and be unable to help him. Since the very thought of being in that untenable position caused her anguish, how must Taylor feel to be facing it in reality?

  How long would poor James King linger? she wondered as she entered the orphanage. He had endured so much suffering already that she was almost prepared to pray the Lord took him home soon, before he had to bear more. In that respect, she supposed her parents had been blessed, if one could imagine death being a positive event. How unbelievers coped with such a loss was unimaginable. No wonder so many folks, like Abe Warner, for instance, professed faith even if they chose not to attend church.

  Entering the kitchen, she smiled at Clara. “I’m back. Is there anything I can do to help you and Mattie?”

  “There’s always somethin’,” the heavyset woman answered soberly. “But I think you should check with Ella first.”

  Clara’s lack of joviality took Sara Beth aback. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “You’d best talk to Ella. I don’t want to be carrying tales, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t know what you mean,” Sara Beth said. “Tell me. Please?”

  Sighing, the cook dried her hands on her apron and nodded. “All right. It’s that brother of yours. Luke. He snuck off right after you left and hasn’t come back.”

  “Oh, dear!”

  She wheeled and ran for the front of the mansion. Luke was gone. And chances were good that if he’d made it all the way into the city, he’d heard the rumors and had done what so many others had. He’d followed the crowds to the scene of the shooting to see for himse
lf what all the excitement was about.

  Locating Mrs. McNeil in the parlor, Sara Beth immediately grasped her hand. “What happened to Luke? When did he leave? How long has he been gone?”

  Just then, a mild tremor shook the house, making the chandelier sway. Sara Beth was so used to the shaking and rumbling of the earth beneath the city that she barely took notice.

  Ella McNeil, however, gave a little shriek and froze, listening and waiting for more. “Mercy. I hate it when that happens.”

  “It’s over,” Sara Beth insisted. “What about Luke?”

  “Yes, Luke.” The matron made a sour face. “I don’t know what we’re going to do about that boy. I tried to reason with him, but I might as well have been talking to the garden wall.”

  “What did he say? Clara told me he left right after I went with the doctor.”

  “That’s right. He insisted that if you could leave, he could, too. He said he wanted to go home. I tried to explain that your old house was all shut up and guarded but he refused to listen to me.”

  “Is that where he was headed? Are you sure?”

  “I reckon so.” She held tight to Sara Beth’s hand when the younger woman tried to pull away. “I’ve sent one of the men from the Vigilance Committee to look for him. Luke will be fine. I don’t want you running off to find him, you hear?”

  “Who did you send? Does the man even know what Luke looks like? Does he?” She knew her voice was rising and her tone panicked but she couldn’t help it. “I have to go. Don’t you see? Luke will listen to me.”

  In her deepest heart she hoped that conclusion was correct. She realized that she had erred when she’d failed to inform the two oldest boys of William Bein’s treachery. As far as Luke and Mathias knew, Uncle Will was still to be trusted. Given that fact, there was every chance that if they chanced to meet, Luke would go willingly with that appalling man.

  And then what? she asked herself, her eyes growing misty. Someone had already tried to kidnap Luke once. If anything like that happened again and she wasn’t around to rescue him, what would become of her poor brother?

  She knew she should be furious at Luke for disobeying and leaving the orphanage grounds, yet she could sympathize with his urge to return to their once happy home. If that was all he did, and if he was not spotted by the guards the sheriff had placed at the property, then perhaps he would return unscathed.

  Tears brimmed and slipped down her cheeks. She had promised Taylor that she would stay on the grounds of the Ladies’ Protection and Relief Society for refuge. Like it or not, she was going to have to break that vow. She must track down her brother and see him safely back to the orphanage. There was no other sensible option.

  She paused. Her eyes widened. In all the confusion and drama surrounding the assassination attempt, she had neglected to find out how to load her mother’s pistol or obtain the means to do so. Once again, she would be making the journey down the hill unarmed.

  King had lapsed into unconsciousness and stayed there, even after Dr. Nuttall’s sponge had stanched the bleeding. If Taylor had been in charge he would not have risked the onset of sepsis by using that method, but he had to admit that, for the moment, his friend was still breathing.

  With the unconscious man fading, and the other doctors clearly in charge, Taylor decided to leave long enough to check with Coleman and make sure Sara Beth had arrived safely at the orphanage.

  Coleman was not in his office. Taylor found the head of the Vigilance Committee leading a rally at the Turn Verein Hall on Bush Street.

  Taylor had just reached the hall when another party arrived, led by Governor Johnson and a wiry military man he soon realized was Major General Sherman. While their entourage was made to wait, Taylor was ushered inside to see Coleman.

  The meeting room was filled with men who were risking their lives and their businesses by gathering this way, even though the roster of the committee was kept by number rather than given name.

  “Did you get her home?” Taylor asked.

  “What?”

  “The girl. Miss Reese. Is she safe?”

  Coleman took out a monogrammed handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Safer than any of us are. Did you see who’s waiting to interview me?”

  “Yes. So? You’re not doing anything wrong. None of us are. There’s no law against holding a meeting.”

  “There is if you’re planning vigilante justice,” Coleman said in a low voice. “How’s King?”

  “Near death. It won’t be long.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  Taylor eyed the throng. Many were watching their conversation with grim expressions. It looked to him as if Coleman was about to lose control of the mob.

  “Aren’t you going to go see what the governor wants?” the doctor asked.

  “I suppose I have no choice. What if he orders us to disband? I’ll never be able to convince these men that they shouldn’t act, especially if King dies.”

  “One thing at a time,” Taylor said, clapping him on the back. “Come on. I’ll go with you to beard the lions. I can tell them about King’s condition and his declaration that Casey shot him.”

  “Think it will matter?”

  “I certainly hope so. I’d hate to be stuck between justice and the law.”

  “Scannell, you mean?”

  “Him and Judge Norton. I don’t trust either of them, even though the judge does have a good reputation.”

  “At least the grand jury is in session. We may be able to convince them to indict Casey quickly and avoid a riot.”

  “It’ll have to be fast,” Coleman replied. “These men are at the end of their ropes and I can’t say I blame them.”

  The afternoon wind off the Pacific was chilling, making Sara Beth wish she had remembered to grab her shawl from the buggy. She hugged herself, wrapping her arms tight to ward off the shivers. It was not only the temperature and the breeze that were making her cold; it was also thoughts of her brother. Luke was not a bad person; he was simply naive. All the Reese children, herself included, had been sheltered from reality and were therefore un-prepared to discern evil and properly deal with it.

  How was she going to help Luke if he got into trouble again? She didn’t have a plan, but she would take advantage of the fact that she was young and female and would attract far less attention than a grown man, particularly if she kept her eyes downcast and didn’t get in anyone’s way. Such subservient behavior was contrary to her nature. That didn’t matter. Not now. Not when Luke was out there somewhere, alone and probably courting danger once again.

  She hurried along the boarded walkway that led to her former home on Pike Street, darting behind a tree as soon as she had the place in sight. From that vantage point she could see most of the property, at least the front and one side. It looked deserted. Then again, the guards might be inside, sitting in Papa’s chair, propping their dirty boots on Mama’s needlepoint-covered footstool and spitting tobacco juice on the floor.

  “That’s so wrong,” she murmured as those vivid imaginings whirled in her mind. “No one has a right to desecrate our family home. If my brothers and I don’t get it back, no one should have it.” She gritted her teeth. “Especially not William Bein.”

  Long minutes passed. There was no sign of life at the house or the laboratory that made up one wing. Not only were there apparently no guards, there was also no sign of Luke, which could be good news or bad, depending on whether he had come here at all.

  Stepping out from behind the tree, Sara Beth started to inch closer. A flash of movement in the bushes caught her eye. She froze, staring and praying that she had not alerted a hidden adversary.

  The crouching figure moved. It was small. Too small to be one of the sheriff’s men.

  It was Luke! He was trying to pry open a window near Papa’s assay office.

  Rather than call out and startle him or call attention to either of them, she hiked her skirts above her toes and raced across the intervening distanc
e. The boy was just lifting the sash when she clamped a hand on his shoulder.

  He screamed like a frightened girl.

  “Hush,” she ordered in a hoarse whisper as she pressed her free hand over his mouth. “It’s me. Sara Beth.”

  Instead of listening, Luke tried to bite her palm.

  “Stop that!”

  The boy was panting and wide-eyed in panic when she let him go. To her shock and disappointment, he started to curse a blue streak.

  “Where did you learn such terrible language?”

  “What do you care?”

  “I care enough to have followed you here,” she said flatly. “Now come with me. We’re going home.”

  “I am home,” Luke said, pouting. “I want my things. I’m going to go get them. You can’t stop me.”

  She grabbed him and pulled him down into the bushes beside her just as a shadow crossed in front of the window. “Quiet. I didn’t spot any guards on the porch but I just saw something inside. Unless you want to be kidnapped again and hauled off to goodness knows where, I suggest you button your lip.”

  “I don’t see nobody.”

  “Anybody,” she corrected. “I don’t now either. Let’s go check some of the other windows.”

  To her relief, the boy seemed agreeable. “Okay. You go that way and I’ll—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Sara Beth said. “We’re staying together. If you’re right and there’s no one inside, then I’ll help you get your personal belongings. I’d like some of mine, too. And clothing for the others. But if we see guards we’re leaving. Is that clear?”

  “I guess.”

  “Good. And while I’m thinking about this whole situation, I need to tell you a few things about Uncle Will.” As she watched her brother’s expression she found his apparent lack of concern surprising. Luke had always acted as if he worshipped that man, so why was he now apparently feigning disinterest?

  “William Bein is the reason why we can’t live here,” Sara Beth said. “He told me he owns the house and everything in it. He’s the one who’s responsible for the sheriff keeping a guard on it.”