Healing Hearts

by Sarah M. Eden

  The sound of footsteps, heavy and quick, on the stairs pulled her attention to the door. Cade appeared with Rupert Fletcher in his arms, inert and unresponsive.

  “We don’t know what happened,” Cade said. “He just went limp.”

  There wasn’t room on the bed beside the Clark children, but she couldn’t divide her time between rooms. She snatched an extra blanket off the end of the bed and flicked it onto the floor, pain shooting through her unhealed arm at the movement.

  “Lay him down,” she said, dropping to the ground beside the blanket. He was so pale, so still. He struggled to breathe. She touched his cheek. He was burning up. “Get his shirt off.” She struggled to her feet, then moved to the washbasin and the rags there. “When did Rupert last get silver nitrate?”

  Cade handed her a paper covered with her own frantic writing: the chart from the room Rupert had been in. She let loose a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. He was ready for more.

  “Cool him,” she said, handing Cade the cloth. She pulled the bottle of medicine from her apron pocket.

  Rupert’s eyes opened, though she didn’t think he saw anything.

  “You hang on, Rupert,” she said. “You be strong and fight.”

  She couldn’t get the lid off the bottle. The pain in her shoulder was too intense. If Rupert can fight through this, so can I. She tried again, but without success.

  Someone knelt beside her and covered her hands with his. Familiar hands.

  Gideon. Thank the heavens. She could have cried with relief.

  “I’ll give him the medicine,” he said. “You help shave his head.”

  She set the bottle in his hand. He held her gaze for the length of a breath. No words were exchanged. They weren’t necessary. He silently offered his strength and reassurance. She nodded in gratitude.

  She pulled a camel-hair brush from her apron pocket and gave it to him. Hawk had replaced the damp cloths on the Clarks’ bare heads with fresh ones. They’d need to do the same once Rupert’s hair was gone.

  Gideon’s father arrived with a bowl of chipped ice. Not a word was spared greeting his newly returned son. Everyone under­stood the danger they were facing.

  Rupert gagged as Gideon brushed the silver solution over the sores in his throat. His body was racked with the fruitless heaving of a stomach that was already empty.

  Miriam set the boy’s head on her lap, trying to soothe him while they waited for his stomach to settle. At least there were no convulsions. There was still hope.

  “Father, will you and Mother do the shaving?” Gideon asked. “I need to get an accounting from Miriam or I’ll be no help at all.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to move. Every fiber of her being begged her to stay with this child who had been the first in Savage Wells to show her acceptance and kindness. He was dear to her, and she couldn’t bear to lose him.

  Mrs. MacNamara set a gentle hand on her good shoulder. “Let us see to the boy. Gideon needs your help.”

  She nodded and, with a heavy heart, relinquished her position. “Be careful not to nick him. He had a sore turn putrid a few weeks ago. He might be prone to infection.”

  Mrs. MacNamara took Miriam’s place. Though she was a bit stiff in her ministrations, she was gentle. Mr. MacNamara had taken up the razor. Miriam hesitated, unable to look away from Rupert.

  Gideon’s hand rested gently against the small of her back. He nudged her the few steps into the hallway. He turned to face her.

  “Have we lost any yet?” The gravity of the situation required they be efficient and focused, but her heart ached for a word of reassurance, a momentary embrace.

  “No,” she said. “The Clarks were ill first; they’re the furthest along. The Abbott children grew ill about the same time, but they are doing better. Rupert—” Emotion clogged her words.

  “Hold yourself together, Miriam.”

  She breathed and pushed ahead. “Rupert’s rash was new last night. He began vomiting only this morning. He is growing worse faster than any of the others.”

  “How many are ill?” he asked.

  “Twenty-three children. Two adults.”

  Daunting numbers, but he simply nodded. “How many are receiving silver nitrate?”

  “Both of the adults and ten of the children—the ten who are in the worst condition.”

  “Epson salts for the others?”

  She nodded, feeling calmer. “Even those who haven’t shown symptoms. There’s no danger in having them gargle, and it might give us a head start on any new cases.” She looked up at him. “I’ve wished you were here so many times the past few days. I never could be sure I was doing the right things.”

  “As near as I can tell, you have been doing everything I would have done.”

  “Then why do I feel so defeated?” she whispered.

  “Because you are exhausted.” He spoke matter-of-factly, with none of his jesting tone she knew so well. “Have you been tracking their doses?”

  She nodded and pulled the paper Cade had given her out of her apron pocket. “This is the chart from the room just above us, where Rupert was. This one”—she motioned to the room behind them—“is where we keep the sickest children. Every room has a chart.”

  He took the paper and put it in his own pocket. “Is there a room the patients aren’t using?”

  “Yours. Those of us treating the ill have taken it in turns to lie down and rest.”

  “Is anyone in there now?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “We needed everyone working.”

  “Your next assignment, Miriam, is to go into my room and rest.”

  “I can’t. Not with these children so near the point of—”

  “A quarter hour, Miriam. Only fifteen minutes. You don’t have to lie down. You don’t have to close your eyes. Just breathe for fifteen minutes, away from the worry and the panic and the weight you have shouldered.” His expression was sterner than she’d ever seen it. “If you don’t, you will fall to pieces, and I need you to be strong if we are going to get the children through this.”

  She suspected he was being firm with her, not out of a lack of empathy for all she’d been through, but as a means of keeping her calm.

  “Fifteen minutes,” she repeated.

  “Then come back here. I’ll need you.”

  She held his gaze. “I did my best.” It was important he know that.

  “I have no doubt you worked miracles, Miriam.”

  “You’re not disappointed?”

  He shook his head. “Not in the least.”

  His praise, offered quickly in the moment before he returned to the sickroom, quieted many of her doubts. She had done her best, and she had done well. She would allow herself to rest for the prescribed fifteen minutes, then together she and Gideon would do everything in their power to save this town.

  Chapter 27

  Gideon sat in the hallway, his back pressed against the wall outside the bedroom where the sickest of the children were being tended. Miriam slumped against him, deeply asleep. Hawk sat opposite them, leaning against the spindled bannister surrounding the staircase.

  “We should have been burying children today,” Gideon said. “As sick as they were when I arrived last night, I was certain they wouldn’t all survive. I don’t know how they pulled through.”

  “The answer to that question is asleep on your shoulder.” Hawk motioned with his chin. “Ran herself to tatters, rushing from one child to the next, between this house and the jailhouse, seeing to patients. I think this is the first time she’s truly slept in days.”

  Gideon gazed down at her. Dark circles of exhaustion marred the skin under her eyes. “I should have come back sooner. She’s still recovering herself.”

  Hawk tugged his hat lower, covering his eyes. “I don’t know many people who would pull the
ir arm out of a sling and endure the kind of pain she did all to help another person. She has grit—there’s no denying that.”

  “You’re fond of grit, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Beneath the brim of his hat, Hawk grinned. “We’ve a friendship between us, but nothing beyond. She’d tell you the same.”

  “Let’s not wake her up to ask. We might yet have more children pass through the crisis phase. She’ll need her strength to endure another night like last night.”

  Someone was coming up the stairs.

  “What are the chances that’s good news?” Hawk wondered out loud.

  “I’d say about zero.”

  Cade stopped a few stairs short of the landing and talked to them over the bannister. “The stage let down two passengers.”

  “Did you warn them we have scarlet fever in town?” Gideon asked.

  Cade nodded. “One of them’s a doctor. You have an offer of help.”

  Hawk sat up straighter and tipped his hat back, eyeing Gideon. “Good news, after all.”

  “Where is this doctor now?” he asked Cade.

  “Over at the jailhouse, looking in on the patients there. He said he’d come over this way if all was well with them.”

  This was a bit of desperately needed good news. Miriam would at last get some real sleep, and Gideon would have the medical help he required.

  “Send him over right away. I’m going to see to it Miriam lies down.”

  He adjusted his position, slipping an arm behind her. When he jostled her injured arm, she groaned in her sleep, her features turning in pain. He’d need to slip her arm back in its sling before she lay down. She didn’t awaken enough to stay upright.

  “Best carry her, Doc,” Hawk said. “She’s dead on her feet.”

  He managed, with Hawk’s help, to get her in his arms and safely situated. He carried her into his room. She winced with every step he took.

  He laid her down on the bed. She didn’t even wake as he slipped a sling around her neck and tucked her arm into it. He re-tied the bandage holding her arm against her side. If her arm kept still, it wouldn’t hurt her as much, and she’d sleep better.

  He pulled the blanket over her. “You can rest now, dear. We have help.”

  Her health concerns could not be hidden forever; eventually the people of Savage Wells would become aware of the full situation. But after this past week, they had reason to trust her, to have faith in her ability to help them. She had saved their children. He knew it, and he would make absolutely certain the town knew it. They needed her. And so did he.

  He pulled the door closed. Hawk had disappeared, no doubt checking on a patient or heading back to his office. He’d been helpful during the crisis, but he still had a territory to protect.

  Gideon peeked into the room where the Clark children and Rupert slept. They were still not truly well and wouldn’t be for some time yet. Father sat beside the bed, watching over them.

  “Are you in need of anything?” Gideon asked.

  He shook his head. “But fevers are climbing in the room above us.”

  Gideon moved swiftly down the stairs and out onto the porch. As always, someone was watching. Reverend Endecott arrived almost immediately, ready to help.

  “We need ice.” Gideon was careful to sound calm. There was no immediate, looming crisis. He didn’t mean to keep the worried parents in a constant state of terror.

  The preacher turned and waved Mr. Abbott in the direction of the ice cellar before returning his attention to Gideon. “How are the children?”

  “Some are on the mend, thanks to Nurse Bricks. We have a few who are still in difficult straits, but they’ve been expertly tended, which gives them a far better chance than they would have had otherwise.”

  “Thank heaven for Miss Bricks,” the preacher said. “What would we have done without her?”

  “If I can be frank, Reverend: without her, you would be overseeing funerals today, not gathering ice.”

  Mr. Abbott, who had three children in quarantine, arrived in that moment with ice. He paled at the bold pronouncement but didn’t speak. He set the ice block on the porch and took a step back.

  “Will you thank her for us?” he said after a moment. “We’ll be forever grateful to her.”

  “I will,” Gideon promised.

  He took up the ice, wrapped in burlap to protect his hands, and lugged it to the kitchen. Andrew was inside, finishing a sandwich.

  “I can chip that,” he offered, nodding to the ice.

  Gideon hadn’t needed to issue instructions since returning. Everyone knew what to do; Miriam had seen to that.

  He returned to the entryway just as a man came through the front door.

  Gideon stepped closer. “You’re the doctor who has just arrived in town?”

  The man nodded and hung his bowler hat on the hatstand near the door. “I am at your disposal, Dr.—”

  “MacNamara.” Gideon held out a hand in greeting.

  “A pleasure to meet you. I am Dr. Blackburn.”

  Chapter 28

  Blackburn clearly thought Gideon was odd for insisting on repeated handwashing and clean instruments. He asked several times if doing so was truly necessary and whether or not it wasted valuable time. He did not, however, refuse, for which Gideon was grateful.

  Gideon gave strict orders to his parents, Cade and Paisley, Andrew, Tansy, and Hawk that Miriam was not to be disturbed—for days, if necessary. They would sleep in the vacant room beside the marshal’s office in turns. Even Gideon would be afforded sleep now that there was another doctor in town. His optimism grew by the moment.

  He and Blackburn sat in the room with the sickest children. Their efforts to cool the children’s fevered skin was proving beneficial thus far.

  “I am hopeful that these are the last who will grow dangerously ill.” Gideon replaced the cool cloth on Daniel Staheli’s shaven head. “Even those who have the rash are doing better than these children were at that same stage.”

  “They were likely already in your care when their symptoms began. Early treatment significantly improves outcomes.”

  Gideon nodded. Miriam had directed all the children gargle with Epson salts as soon as they arrived at the house. That had likely staved off some of the infection, giving the remaining children a better chance.

  There was nothing to do at this point for these children except keep their fevers down and apply the silver nitrate. That meant the rare opportunity to converse with another doctor, something he hadn’t done in years.

  “Were you on your way to or from your place of practice when you arrived here?” Gideon asked. Maybe Blackburn worked near enough for a correspondence.

  “Neither, actually. I’ve been traveling with a friend of mine on our way to visit a family member of his who is in dire need of medical care. Carlton is very concerned—as am I.”

  “And I am keeping you from reaching your destination.”

  Gideon dabbed a damp cloth along Daniel’s thin arms. Blackburn tended to Freddy Canton nearby.

  “Our undertaking is not a matter of immediate life or death,” Blackburn said. “We have time enough to help you see your town through this crisis.”

  “Your timing could not have been better,” Gideon said. “We were stretched to our limit. I only just returned from calls in a town quite far from here. My nurse managed without me, but I don’t know how much longer she could have stayed on her feet.”

  “I don’t believe I have met your nurse yet.” Blackburn shifted to another bed in the room.

  “She’s been sleeping today.” Gideon moved to another child, a cool cloth in his hand.

  “Once she is awake, I will make certain to greet her.” There was something odd in his tone, but Gideon couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Blackburn was focusing on his efforts—that likely had rend
ered his words a little tight, a little muttered.

  “How are those two?” Gideon asked, indicating the Patterson children Blackburn was tending.

  “Their fevers have spiked,” he said. “I’m growing concerned.”

  Gideon snatched up his stethoscope and listened to the breathing and pulse of the children. Neither sound set his mind at ease. He stepped to the doorway and into the hallway. Father was just stepping out of another room.

  “We’re going to need help in here,” Gideon said. “Who else is up and about?”

  “Your mother.”

  “Send her for ice. I’ll need you in here.”

  A moment later, Gideon and Blackburn were at the bedside, and Father stood nearby, waiting for instructions.

  “Check the chart,” Gideon said. “When did these two last have the silver?”

  Father glanced at the paper on the bureau. “About four o’clock.”

  “No ‘abouts,’ Father. I need the exact time.”

  “Three forty-seven.”

  It was still too soon. “What about fever powders?”

  “Last dose was at five past three.”

  That would do. “Fetch them for me.”

  “Which ones are they?” Father asked. No matter that they’d been at this for a few days, the bottles and vials could be easily confused.

  Before Gideon could answer, another voice responded.

  “I will get them for you.” Miriam crossed with determined stride to the tray of medicines set atop the lowboy. Her hair was a mess, with curls jutting out in all directions, and her dress was wrinkled. She must have come directly from bed.

  Gideon ought to have sent her back to rest, but an extra pair of trained hands during the coming hours of danger could make all the difference. “They’re on the table beside the other bed.”

  He could hear her moving, but neither he nor Blackburn abandoned their efforts long enough to look. Her footsteps brought her to him.

  She set the jar in his hand. “Is there anything else I can—”

  She stared at Dr. Blackburn, her expression one of shock, disbelief. Every ounce of color drained from her face.