Captain Hawkins and his men turned and left the room, her father following. He called over his shoulder. “I’ll be ready to operate on Mr. Luckett in a few minutes, Tave. I’ll be right back to get him ready. In the meantime, it might make him feel better if you’d bathe his face with some cool cloths.”
Tave hurried to the pitcher on a table against the wall and grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer underneath. Holding the cloth over the washbowl, she poured water over the cloth and wrung it out.
When she stepped back beside the injured man, she glanced down at Daniel Luckett again. Even with the evidence of pain, she realized he had a handsome face. He was young, perhaps about her age, maybe a few years older. She wondered what had made him take a job on a steamboat. Perhaps if he lived, he would tell her.
She touched his forehead with the wet cloth and began to move it gently across his skin. Her fingers moved to his cheeks and across his mouth that puckered with pain. She rewet the cloth and wiped at his mouth and across the lower part of his face. A groan rolled from his throat, and his head twitched.
Without warning, his eyes blinked open, and she stared down into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. They glazed as if trying to focus, and his forehead wrinkled. He tried to push up, but she restrained him with her hand on his chest.
“Don’t move. You’ve been hurt, but we’re going to help you.”
He frowned and struggled to speak. “H–h–hurt?”
“Yes, you’ve been shot, but you’re going to be all right.” She bit her lip after the words were out. Should she have said that? Her father said he was hurt badly.
Daniel stared up at her for a moment then closed his eyes, and his body relaxed. Terrified that he had died, she leaned over him to see if she could detect breathing. His body jerked, and his eyes blinked open again. He stared at her with eyes that held the wild look of one lost in another world. He tried to raise his arm, but it fell back to his side.
He thrashed his head from side to side on the pillow. “Mama! Where are you, Mama?”
Tears flooded Tave’s eyes, and she glanced over her shoulder at her father reentering the room. “He’s calling for his mother.”
Her father nodded. “I’ve heard ninety-year-old men call for their mother when they’re dying. I suppose one never gets too old to want the comfort a mother can give.” He sighed and glanced down at his patient. “Well, let’s see if we can save this boy for his mother.”
Two
Three hours later, Tave put the last of her father’s tools away, placed her hands in the small of her back, and stretched. Working with her father hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d thought it would be. Even the blood hadn’t made her queasy like it usually did. Maybe she was getting used to being in a doctor’s office. Or maybe her calm in surgery had been brought about by the plaintive cry of a man calling out for his mother. Whatever the reason, she felt hopeful that her father had succeeded in saving Daniel Luckett’s life.
She stepped to the door of the small bedroom where recuperating patients stayed. The young man lay on the bed where her father, with the help of Mr. Jensen from the livery stable and one of his workers, had moved him after surgery. Some color had returned to his face, and he appeared to be breathing better. He had survived, but her father had warned her the next forty-eight hours would be critical.
Her father stood beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of Daniel’s chest. He turned to her, smiled, and held up the object in his hands for her to see. “Did you see what came on the Montgomery Belle today?”
Tave nodded and walked over to her father. “Your new stethoscope arrived. I saw it during the surgery, but I didn’t want to distract you by saying anything. How does it work?”
He looked at the instrument and smiled. “You’ve seen my old stethoscope. It’s one long tube that stands upright on the patient’s chest. Then I had to place my ear at the top of it to hear anything. A lot of doctors have been afraid this new one with two earpieces would confuse them with different sounds in each ear, but it doesn’t. It’s great, and just in time for a patient who needs all the help he can get.”
Her father stuck the ends in his ears, bent over Daniel, and pressed the stethoscope to his chest. Tave waited until her father straightened before she spoke. “How’s he doing?”
“Holding his own right now. We’ll have to wait and see. He’s young and strong. That should help a lot.”
Before Tave could reply, the small bell her father had placed over the front door to alert him to arriving patients jingled. She frowned. Who could be arriving so late in the afternoon?
“Anybody here?” A voice from the waiting room called out.
Tave suppressed a giggle at her father’s arched eyebrows. He shook his head. “Martha Thompson’s come to see what’s going on.”
“You want me to go talk to her?”
Her father nodded. “If you don’t mind. I’ll stay here with Daniel.”
Tave hurried into the waiting room and closed the door to the bedroom behind her. Martha Thompson stood just inside the front door, a large basket in her hands. “Hello, Martha. What are you doing here? You’re not sick, are you?”
Martha’s ample frame shook with laughter. She waved a pudgy hand in dismissal. “Landsakes, no. I thought ’bout you and your pa over here a-workin’ to take care of that poor boy that got shot, and I knowed you was hungry. I brought you some supper.”
Guilt flowed through Tave. Martha might be the biggest gossip in town, but she also had a heart that looked to the needs of her friends. “That’s so sweet of you. I haven’t had time to fix anything for Poppa and me. He’ll be so excited that you stopped by. He always tries to get whatever you cooked when we have the church dinners.”
Martha’s face flushed, and she lowered her eyelids. “Oh, hush now. You gonna give me the big head. I’s just trying to help out a friend in need.” She lifted the cloth covering the top of the basket, and the delicious aromas that drifted from it made Tave’s stomach growl. “I fixed chicken and dumplings for our supper and had plenty left over. I stuck in a piece of cornbread, too. So you and your pa enjoy it.”
Tave took the basket from Martha. “Let me get the bowls out, and you can take your basket home with you.”
Martha shook her head. “No need for that. I’ll stop by tomorrow and get ’em. That’ll give me a chance to see how the young fellow that was shot is doing.” Martha glanced toward the closed bedroom door. “How is he doing?”
“He came through surgery. Now it’s just wait and see. The next forty-eight hours are critical, Poppa says.”
Martha’s eyebrows drew down over her nose. “Um, you don’t say. Did you find out anything about him? Like where he’s from? What made him try to take that gun away from the gambler on the boat?”
“No, Martha. I’m afraid I don’t know anything. Just that he’s a very sick person right now. We’ll all have to pray that he pulls through.”
Martha nodded. “I’ll be doin’ that, and I’ll be back tomorrow to check on him.”
Tave handed Martha the basket. “I can’t thank you enough for the food. I’ll have your bowls ready to return tomorrow.”
“I’ll be back to get them. Maybe you’ll know more about him when I come.”
Tave tried to suppress the giggle in her throat. “We’ll see.” She took Martha by the arm, escorted her to the door, and opened it. “I don’t want to keep you from your family, and I should see if Poppa needs me. Thanks again, and you have a good night.”
Martha stepped onto the porch and turned. “Like I said, I’ll see you—” She stopped midsentence, and a slow smile curled her lips. She tilted her head to one side and glanced at Tave. “Well, would you get a look at who’s here. No wonder you’re trying to get me to hurry off.”
Tave frowned and stepped onto the porch beside Martha. Her heart gave a thump as she spied Matthew Chandler coming around the corner of the building. When he saw her, his dark eyes lit up, and he smiled. Stepping onto the porch, he took off
the wide-brimmed hat he wore and nodded to Martha, then Tave.
“Good evening, ladies. It’s nice to see you.” He turned to Tave. “I didn’t expect to find you at your father’s office. I thought with the last day of school over, you’d be home resting.”
Martha grinned. “She don’t have time to rest. Not with all that’s happened around here today.” She reached out and patted Tave’s hand. “Well, I know when I need to leave two young people alone. I’ll see you tomorrow, Tave.”
Tave shook her head and chuckled as Martha walked down the steps and turned in the direction of her home. “That woman never ceases to amaze me. She comes over here to get all the news on my father’s latest patient, but she brings us supper. You can’t help loving her.”
Matthew nodded. “I know. But what did she mean about all that’s happened today?”
“Come on inside, and I’ll tell you.”
Matthew followed her into the building, and she related the events that had caused Daniel Luckett to become her father’s patient. “At the moment, he’s fighting for his life.”
Matthew picked up a medical book that lay on a table and flipped to the first page. “That’s too bad, but I’m sure he’ll be all right. Those deckhands are a resourceful bunch. Not very intelligent, but hardy, if you know what I mean.”
An uneasy feeling rippled through her at the unconcerned tone of Matthew’s voice. She was just about to say that she didn’t know what he meant when the door to the bedroom opened.
Her father emerged. “Matthew, what are you doing here so late in the day? Not sick I hope.”
Matthew dropped the book on the table and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. It’s one of my tenant farmers, Sam Perry. He almost cut his fingers off this afternoon when he was chopping wood.”
Her father looked around. “Why didn’t you bring him with you? Wasn’t he able to come to town?”
Matthew laughed. “Oh yes. He’s with me. I had him wait out back until I told you he was here. I didn’t figure you wanted him waiting inside.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at Matthew. “Waiting outside with his fingers almost cut off? What were you thinking?”
Tave’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, but Matthew shrugged and smiled at her father. “I know you talk about your oath to help everybody, Dr. Spencer, but this is a black man. The people in this town don’t let black people walk through their front doors, and they sure don’t want to share a waiting room with them.”
Her father clenched his fists and took a step toward Matthew. “Now listen here, young man—”
Tave grabbed her father’s arm. “Let’s not waste time arguing, Poppa. A hurt man sitting outside needs some help.”
Her father took a deep breath, walked to the back door, and flung it open. “Sam,” he called out. “Come on in here, and let me look at your hand.”
A black man Tave had seen in town several times shuffled through the back door. A bloody rag bound the injured hand. He didn’t look up as her father steered him into the exam room. She took a step forward. “Do you need me, Poppa?”
He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Not now. Keep Matthew company.”
After her father and Sam had disappeared, Matthew walked over and stopped next to her. “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to see you this week, but we’ve been busy. Things should slow down in a few weeks. I’ll make it up to you then.”
Tave stared up into the dark eyes that had attracted her to Matthew when she and her father had first come to Willow Bend from eastern Tennessee eight years before. She’d been only twelve at the time, and she’d thought the nineteen-year-old Matthew Chandler was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and the richest.
He had hardly noticed her then, but that had all changed a year ago when he suddenly developed an interest in the young woman she’d become. He’d been a steady visitor at their home ever since, but on many nights, her father, who’d supported the Union in the war, and Matthew, a staunch supporter of the Confederate cause, had clashed.
She wondered sometimes if they would ever be able to find some common ground in their beliefs. But then, that seemed to be the problem of many people in this part of Alabama. She tried to tell her father that Matthew was a product of his upbringing, but it hadn’t changed his opinion of Matthew.
Tave, however, had come to the conclusion that Matthew had many likeable qualities, and when he and her father weren’t arguing, she enjoyed his company. As she’d told Savannah earlier, she wasn’t getting any younger, and no other young men had come calling.
She smiled at Matthew. “I’ll look forward to seeing you more.”
❧
The clock in her father’s office chimed midnight. Tave shivered in the dark room where she sat beside Daniel’s bed and pulled the quilt around her body. She didn’t know if there was a chill in the air or if she shivered with concern for the unconscious man. Her father had done all he could to save Daniel’s life. Now it was up to God.
The oil lamp on the table beside her flickered and cast shadows on the wall by Daniel’s bed. He’d been restless for the past few hours, but her father had warned her he would be so soon after surgery. If Daniel lived through the night, he would have a good chance of survival, her father had said.
A moan drifted from the bed. Tave jumped to her feet and felt his forehead. Perspiration covered his brow. Wringing out the cloth she’d kept in a bowl of water, she laid it on his forehead.
His head twitched on the pillow, and his hand jerked the cloth from his head. “No, don’t do it!”
Tave gasped in surprise at the shouted words. She reached for the lamp and held it up to see if his eyes were open, but they weren’t. He groaned again, and she set the lamp down and repositioned the cloth.
His mouth opened, and his body shook. “Leave her alone!” The shout cut through the silent room like thunder.
Tave reached for his hand and wrapped both of hers around it. “It’s all right. I’m here with you.”
He took a deep breath, but he continued to tremble. A whimper escaped his throat. “Mama, come back. Don’t leave me.”
For the second time, Tave heard the unconscious man call for his mother, and it touched her heart. She wondered what had happened to his mother and why he called out to her. Tave thought of her own mother, who’d died when she was five years old. Sometimes she had trouble remembering what her mother looked like, but she had never overcome the emptiness of not having her in her life.
Still holding Daniel’s hand, Tave dropped to her knees beside his bed and bowed her head. “Dear God, I pray You will calm this man’s heart and give him peace for tonight. Let him sleep so that his body may begin to heal. Only You know what causes his heart to ache so, Lord, and I pray You’ll ease his pain.”
Tave lost track of time as she continued to pray, but the longer she stayed on her knees, the quieter Daniel became. Only when his body relaxed and a soft snore echoed through the room did she rise.
She stared at the handsome young man who’d come so close to death and thanked God again for sparing his life. Then she sat back down in the chair and wrapped the quilt around her.
As she huddled beside the soft light from the lamp, she thought about Daniel’s earlier cries and wondered what they meant. Maybe something had happened in his past that had left him deeply scarred. Her father had often told her that wounds to the spirit can be much worse than those inflicted on the body. Perhaps God wanted her father and her to help heal Daniel’s spirit, too. Only time would tell.
Three
Daniel Luckett drifted in a dream world. Time held no meaning. At some point, he’d heard voices. He didn’t know who the people were, but something in his soul told him they were discussing him. Snatches of sentences came to him: saved my life. . .lost a lot of blood. . .we’re going to help you. He didn’t know what any of it meant, but the last one comforted him.
We’re going to help you. The voice that spoke those words had so
unded like music. It had the same lyrical quality of the songs his mother used to sing. She could always make him feel better, just as that soft angelic sound had.
Who was with him? At times it seemed like many people, and at other times just the comforting voice. It would come to him at odd times, telling him to open his mouth or prodding him to turn his body. Sometimes he could hear a soft whisper beside his bed, as if someone knelt beside him and prayed, and he would strain to open his eyes. But it was no use. His eyes felt glued shut. Just when he would think he was going to be victorious and catch a glimpse of the illusive spirit who hovered over him, quiet would return. And with it, he would descend back into his dream world.
How long he’d drifted like this, he didn’t know. He had to wake up. He needed to know what had happened to him.
A groan echoed in his mind, and he wondered if the sound came from his mouth or if it only resonated in his mind. With all the strength he could summon, he blinked. His eyes opened.
He lay still for a moment. Then he rubbed his fingers on the blanket that covered him. The touch was unfamiliar. He turned his head to the left and saw the outline of a window. Beyond the pane, he could only see darkness.
Turning his head to the right, his eyes grew wider. A round table sat a few feet away from the bed where he lay. An oil lamp on top cast an eerie glow across the room. But it wasn’t the light that took his breath away. It was the woman in the chair next to the table.
She slept soundly, her auburn hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders. She wore a shapeless, blue housedress with long sleeves and a high neckline. He struggled to focus his eyes on the sleeping woman. His heart pounded. He had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.
She stirred and opened her eyes. They stared at each other, but then she smiled and jumped to her feet. “Oh, you’re awake. I’ve been waiting for that to happen.”
He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry as cotton. “W–water,” he whispered.
She picked up a pitcher, poured some water into a glass, and stepped to the side of his bed. Slipping one arm beneath his head, she lifted him up just enough to get his lips on the glass. He sipped at the water until she pulled the glass away from his mouth.
Dinner at the St. James Page 2
