Bixby’s face was ashen, but he complied and soon it was just John and Tuck left in the room. John stared at Chaim’s face for a long, thoughtful moment. He sure didn’t want to go this alone. Some moral support and assistance would help immensely. He remembered Lily’s steady hand as she stitched up his face, never squeamish about what she had to do. Just resolute on the job that needed doing.
He glanced up at Tucker. “Go ask Charity to go fetch Lily for me. Tell her to hurry.”
The boy nodded and ran out the door.
***
It had taken Lily a good half hour to calm her aunt. The woman had refused to tell her who she thought she’d seen, or why she was fearful of him. She’d stubbornly stuck to her excuse that she was tired and wanted to get some rest without anyone coming into the shop to awaken her. But she’d never complained about noise before and had slept undisturbed for many hours during her recuperation. Lily knew it was just a cover for what she didn’t want to say. Thank goodness she’d finally fallen asleep.
Now Lily sat in the upstairs sitting area, holding the cat. The trusting little animal purred contentedly, now dry and warm and snuggled on Lily’s lap. “What to do, kitty? I wish my aunt would tell me what she fears. Then maybe we could fix whatever it is.” The cat looked up at her with adoring eyes and Lily couldn’t help but smile.
A rapping on the front door made her jump. The pouring rain had stopped and Lily could hear female voices whispering softly. Setting the cat on the cushion, she hurried down the stairs.
“Lily,” Charity called through the door. “Open up. Chaim’s been shot and John needs your help.” Strain and tears marked the girl’s face and her clothes were completely soaked. A large red stain covered the front of her shirt. Fear rocked Lily when she realized that it was blood. She held Emmeline by the arm and the poor woman looked beyond her wits. “They’re in his office.”
“Of course. But, my aunt was—scared by the storm. I cannot leave her alone.”
“We’ll stay here.”
Lily hurried out the door. Entering the doctor’s office, she was shocked to see Dr. Bixby sitting at the kitchen table, his head resting in his hands. He didn’t even look up when she ran past and into the examination room.
“Thank you for coming, Lily,” John said softly, trying to hold back his relief at seeing her.
She looked at Chaim briefly, then up into his face. “Of course. Anything. What should I do?”
If she was squeamish over assisting, she didn’t show it. “Get washed up as quickly as possible.” The surgery he was about to perform, so close to Chaim’s heart, was a damn risky one. He doubted any arteries or veins had been hit, though, or there’d be more blood. Now, looking down into the face of this cousin, John knew he was shaken to his core. Chaim was too young to die. It would be such a waste.
Tucker stood at Chaim’s head with the can of chloroform and a cloth just in case Chaim actually woke up during the operation. He also kept his finger lightly pressed on the artery in Chaim’s neck, monitoring his pulse.
John looked at Lily, then at Tucker. “Here we go.”
With tweezers in hand, John probed around the exterior of the wound slowly, knowing full well he had to go down into the hole and look for the bullet. The possibility of nudging it in a wrong direction, even the tiniest bit, could claim Chaim’s life.
“You can do this,” Lily said in a soft voice.
Her spoken encouragement was a balm to his nerves. Her nearness gave him strength. Without glancing up, he nodded his thanks, acknowledging to himself how her presence here fortified him. Helped him. He could do this, and with God’s help, he would save Chaim’s life.
Lily dabbed at the blood that flowed steadily from the wound. As John went deeper, pulling some muscle and tissue out of the way with the needle nose tweezers, a bright red stream spurted up and welled, about to spill over. “Let me get that,” Lily said, soaking it up.
With his finger John pulled the hole wider to get a better look, not minding the feel of his cousin’s warm blood.
Chaim moaned, and his eyes fluttered.
“Sorry, cousin,” John said quietly. “You’re young and strong. It’ll take more than a little bullet to bring a McCutcheon down. You’re going to live to tell about it.”
So far John hadn’t seen the bullet. Typically extraction of a projectile didn’t take long. The loss of blood was usually the cause of death in a shooting. You had to get in and get out fast, then plug the hole. Charity’s makeshift bandage had done a darn fine job at stemming the flow until she’d gotten him here.
Tuck looked up sharply, the sudden movement drawing John and Lily’s attention. “He stopped breathing.”
Chapter Forty-Two
John immediately grasped Chaim’s neck and pressed his forefinger into the flesh, smearing it with blood while barely able to feel even the slightest sign of life. He watched Chaim’s chest, willing it to rise. Moments ticked by. Although he’d only seen it done once, he’d read about artificial breathing in his studies. There were many cases cited and right now, it was his only option. But, before he tried, he’d quickly extract the bullet.
Lily looked at him with scared eyes and Tucker seemed to be in a trance. “He’s not breathing so we have little time. First, I’m going to find that bullet, and then….”
Lily nodded although he could see she was shaken.
“Swab away the blood.”
Gritting his teeth he went in like a bat after a mosquito, unwilling to retreat without the hideous ball of led. “I feel it.” Slowly, he opened the tweezers wider until he felt them around the bullet and brought it out, tossing it aside.
“Only light pressure, Lily.”
John stepped to Chaim’s head and tilted it back, making his mouth drop open. Before his eyes, and in a flash of inspiration, John saw the face of Bob Mackey lying dead on the ranch house floor, all those years ago as the man’s life’s blood leaked from his body, slowly sapping his energy away. Once again John felt the weight of his Colt 45 in his hands and the burden of guilt on his soul. Was this the reason that the accident had happened? So he’d be here as an educated doctor with the newest procedures, and prepared, to save Chaim’s life? Could that possibly be? Something good will come of this, you will see, his mother had insisted many times through the years. As horrible as that sounds, that’s how God works. It’s hard to understand and to accept, but it’s true. And when it does, you’ll know it.
John gave himself a mental shake. Artificial breathing was virtually unknown to self-taught doctors. It was just now becoming a talked about subject in the medical schools. Would Chaim die here and now, even with its possibilities to bring him back to life?
Not if he had anything to say about it. With renewed purpose, John gripped Chaim’s chin and nose and placed his mouth over Chaim’s, blowing a large breath into his cousin’s mouth. From the corner of his eye he saw Chaim’s bloody chest rise under Lily’s hands, bringing a startled gasp from her. Tucker stepped back several feet and watched. John said nothing but waited a few moments and repeated the process. After five more breaths, John paused to feel for a pulse in Chaim’s neck, hoping, praying, to feel something substantial. A flutter…
Determined, he kept at it, three breaths and quick check of his pulse. Three breaths, and check his pulse.
“You are doing well,” Lily said solemnly. “So much air going into his lungs is truly amazing.” She touched his shoulder for a quick moment, in support, he was sure. Just having her close kept him grounded. “His color looks better, John. It is working. I am sure.”
A handful of agonizing minutes ticked by. Ten turned into fifteen. Tucker came forward and wiped the sweat from John’s brow. Resigned that Chaim wasn’t going to start breathing on his own, knowing he should probably give up and face the fact that they’d lost him, he heard Dr. Bixby’s voice from somewhere in the room. “Keep going, boy, don’t stop.”
John took a moment and glanced around. At some point Charity and Emmel
ine had entered the room unannounced. They huddled in a corner with their arms around each other and eyes as big as saucers, staring back at him. Lily stood firm, her hand pressed upon the folded towel over Chaim’s chest.
Twenty more minutes passed—but felt like twenty hours. John stepped back and straightened his aching back, feeling light-headed and disappointed. He swiped his arm across his sweaty face and heaved a deep sigh.
They all stared at Chaim.
Without any help this time, his chest lifted, then slowly went back down. It rose again. Everyone gasped.
“He’s breathing!” Tucker said enthusiastically, pointing at Chaim as if anyone needed direction.
John placed his finger on Chaim’s neck one more time and smiled. “His heartbeat is strong. I think he’s going to make it.”
***
The group clustered around the kitchen table in a hushed silence. Charity and Emmeline, with teeth chattering, did their best to drink the hot peppermint tea Dr. Bixby had prepared for everyone. They’d been draped with a blanket and looked like a pair of rag-a-muffin bookends as they sat in stunned silence. As soon as the emergency had passed, they’d told Lily that Louise Brown had been walking past her shop after closing up the Post Office early and they’d begged her to stay in the store. After hearing why, she insisted it was the least she could do to help, being her and Chaim had practically grown up together. She’d sent her prayers and promised to come and get them the moment she heard Aunt Harriett wake up.
Exhausted, John gazed out the window at the evening street deep in thought. Overhead clouds made the town darker than normal. Tucker was taking the first shift sitting with Chaim to keep a close watch on him. He, too, had a cup of tea to soothe his frayed nerves. None of them, with the exception of John, had ever witnessed a person being brought back to life.
“Will there be problems later?” Dr. Bixby asked, looking much older than his years. His hands still shook as he had the cup sandwiched between his palms, almost as if he’d forgotten he held it.
John dragged his attention away from the window to look at his friend. “Impossible yet to tell. Cases very. It’s the opinion of many doctors that it depends on the length of time his brain was deprived of oxygen.”
Emmeline’s cup rattled badly and she quickly set it down. Her silent tears had not stopped flowing since they’d come into the kitchen and it was clear to everyone in the room that things had changed considerably since she’d gone out to the ranch to stay.
“But, we’ll not think of that now,” John added. “Besides his wound, Chaim’s strong as an ox. If infection doesn’t set in he even may be up in time for the dance. I’m not saying he’ll be able to participate, but at least he’d be able to go. We’ll shoot for that.”
Charity glared at his choice of words.
She had reported to the sheriff what had taken place, and he’d ridden out to the Rim Rock to let the rest of the McCutcheons know what had happened. If the runaway horse hadn’t made it completely back, perhaps stopping in some pasture to graze, they’d have no way of knowing anything was amiss. John was sure it wouldn’t be long before someone would be arriving in a panic.
Bixby set his cup down heavily. “I’ve heard of artificial breathing from time to time, but haven’t yet read about it. And I surely wouldn’t know how to do it. I’m flabbergasted.”
Lily rose and went over to the stove to get the kettle of hot tea, then went around the table refilling everyone’s cups. The sweetness of peppermint filled the air. “That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Breathing for another human being. Imagine that. If not for you putting air in Chaim’s lungs—” She shook her head in disbelief and it was a second before she continued. “He would be gone. You saved him as surely as I stand before you now. The last two hours have been astounding.”
She gazed at him, pride shining in her eyes, and it was impossible for him not to smile. There was something else there, too. A promise of things to come? Or, perhaps, just his imagination. “I’ve never done it before myself,” he said. “I could only hope I was doing it right.”
“I think there was something bigger watching over you today, brother,” Charity whispered. “It was miraculous.”
“She’s right, John,” Emmeline said. It was the first words she’d spoken since coming from the store. “I’m thankful you didn’t stop. It felt like a dream.”
John didn’t know how to respond. Although artificial breathing was a fact of medical science now, he too, felt as if there had been, at that moment, something else, something supernatural, guiding him.
Thundering hooves clamored from down the street, everyone jumped up. It didn’t take but a second and Dustin burst into the room, followed by Winston, Winnie, Madeline and Becky, all dressed for hard riding. “He’s in there,” he gestured with his head. “He’s alive, but tenuous. We have to keep a close watch on him for a couple of days.”
It was Aunt Winnie who spoke first, “Can we go in?”
John nodded.
They went in single file, as quiet as a parade of mice. They gathered around the examination table and Tucker backed away.
Uncle Winston tenderly touched the bandage over his son’s chest, and for a moment squeezed his eyes closed. “You got the bullet, then?” he asked in a strangled voice.
“Yes. But he’s weak.”
“Look!” It was Becky as she stroked her brother’s forehead. “He’s opening his eyes.”
John pushed forward and again took Chaim’s pulse, thankful that it appeared as strong as it was before. He leaned closer. “Chaim can you hear me? A moment passed. “Chaim?”
Chaim’s eyes fluttered for a moment and then opened again slowly. He looked around at the faces of his family standing around him and tried to smile.
“No. Don’t smile,” Becky admonished, sounding like a little girl. “Save every ounce of energy you have for getting better. I love you.” Her face clouded up and she had to quickly back away. Once out of sight, she ran out of the room.
Uncle Winston took Chaim’s hand and leaned in close to his face. “Can you hear me, son?”
Chaim’s nod was almost imperceptible, but it was there. The family wasn’t aware that Chaim’s waking up this soon was a good sign. And the fact that he’d responded to his father’s question, even in such a small way, spoke volumes.
Winston looked up sharply. “He just squeezed my hand.”
Winnie pressed forward impatiently. “Let me talk to him.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek gently. “I love you, Chaim. I love you.” That’s all she said as Chaim gazed up at her. She looked as if she was going to say something else, then stopped. “Just rest. Get stronger.” She kissed him again and let Madeline take her spot.
She gazed down at Chaim with tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m happy to see you, brother,” she said affectionately. Then, teasingly: “You’re always one for stealing the attention, aren’t you? But this time you’ve gone too far.” Her expression wobbled and John placed his hand on the small of her back. He feared this many visitors was wearing Chaim out.
Dustin came up and just stared at his younger brother lying so helpless on the table. “Chaim.” The name came out like a croak. He cleared his throat, then sniffed loudly. John almost swore Chaim was tearing up at the sight his big brother was making. “Chaim,” Dustin tried again, without any better result.
“I think we should let Chaim get some rest,” John said, starting for the door. He looked at Tucker with a silent request to stay watchful.
Emmeline inched into the room, then tiptoed to Chaim’s side. She gazed at his ashen face, eyes closed, for several long moments. Kissing the tip of her finger she placed it on his forehead.
Turning, she looked at John. “Will you forgive me?” she whispered so only he could hear.
“I’m happy for you, Emmeline. For Chaim, too.”
Several shouts came from the alley, then a string of curse words. Dr. Bixby went to the back door, opening it wide. Everyone watch
ed as the sheriff and his deputy pulled Harland Shellston from his horse and shoved him toward the back door of the sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Dexter looked over to the group watching. “Got your man.”
Chapter Forty-Three
“Harland Shellston?” Bixby was the first to say.
“We found him hiding out in the brush between Rio Wells and the ranch,” Pete Miller, the deputy, responded. “Don’t take age to pull a trigger.”
John could attest to that fact. “Did he have a gun on him?”
“Yes.”
The boy sat sprawled on the ground, glaring at anyone who dared to look his way. His hands were bound and his face showed signs of a fight, with blood dripping from his nose and his clothes were covered in dirt. As much as he hated to do it, John would go over there after things had calmed down and see to his scrapes and bruises. Make sure he hadn’t suffered any broken bones.
“Go get my father,” Harland shouted defiantly, as the deputy attempted to lift him to his feet. He slumped down like a sack of potatoes, refusing to go into the sheriff’s office and be locked in a jail cell. He kicked out at the deputy viciously, connecting his boot heel to the man’s shin, making the deputy curse in pain. Dustin pushed between his family members crowded in the doorway watching and made a direct line for Harland.
“Hold up, McCutcheon,” Dane bellowed. “I’ll have no vigilantly justice in my town.” He pulled his gun and cocked the hammer, pointing it in Dustin’s direction. Everyone in the doorway pulled back.
“The hell you won’t. Just try and stop me from teaching this piece of scum a lesson he’ll never forget. He bushwhacked my brother! I aim to see him in no better condition than Chaim, who is fighting for his life as we speak,” Dustin shouted. When Harland saw the rage in Dustin’s eyes he turned over and scrambled, trying to get to his feet. Instead, he fell and accidentally rolled under a horse, spooking it. He was tromped on several times before the deputy and sheriff could pull him free.
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