Earth Angels (9 page)

When Lazarus Weatherby finally took one drink too many and went quite mad one night in the tavern, Joseph heard himself lecturing the other patrons on the evils of drink, sounding like some puritanical fanatic, even though he knew quite well most of them were honest, hard working farmers and loggers enjoying a rare and well deserved pint.

In his office, he was curt and preoccupied. He no longer had the tolerance to sit and listen to long, involved stories from his elderly patients. He cut them off and hurried them out.

He told Lewis, one of the barbershop quartet, that his piles would be much improved if he found something more worthwhile to do than sit on his backside ten hours a day.

“Yer gitten’ a mite big fer yer britches, ain’t ya?” Vernon grabbed his decrepit old hat and plunked it on his head, glaring at Joseph. “I knew yer daddy well, young Gillespie, and he’d be mortified if’n he heard ye talking to yer elders that way.” He stomped out of the office. “Young whippersnapper. Call yerself a doctor, humph!”

The mention of his father brought a rush of agonizing memories. Emma had asked him once about his parents, but he’d told her only about the happy days of his childhood. He still couldn’t speak of the agony their loss had brought. And he’d never told her about Ruth.

Damn Emma, for worming her way into his heart. Damn himself, for allowing it to happen.

The day after Lewis’s visit, Joseph was surprised that his first patient of the day was Granny.

“Well, Granny, good morning.” He tried to inject enthusiasm into his voice and muster up a smile for his old friend, but he knew his efforts were futile. “What brings you here?” Granny had always prided herself on her own remedies.

She peered around with open curiosity, examining the rows of bottles and jars on his shelves, poking a wary finger at his stethoscope.

“Newfangled frippery,” she snorted, then turned and peered at him from under her black bonnet. Her shoe button eyes seemed to see into his very soul.

“What’s amiss between you and Emma is why I’m here, lad.” She settled herself in a chair and folded her wrinkled hands in her lap. “She’s a fine lass. I’m right fond of her. Fond of you as well, I was the first one to shake yer hand when ye came into the world so I reckon that gives me leeway to poke and prod a bit, don’t it?” She smiled at him, a caring smile. “Yer not yerself, Joseph. Folks is sayin’ yer losin’ yer healing touch, that yer right cranky and outta sorts. What’s ailing ye, lad?”

Joseph liked Granny, but at the moment irritation at her prying welled up in him. The last thing he needed right now was Granny lecturing him about his life. “I assure you, I’m quite well,” he snapped.

“Humph. Ye don’t sound it. Don’t look it, neither. Maybe ye oughta get down off yer high horse and go speak to Emma, talk things over, like.”

Each repetition of her name was like a spear in his heart. It was all he could do to force himself to speak about her. “Miss Walsh was the one to sever our relationship,” he snarled. “Maybe it’s her you ought to speak to instead of me.” He wasn’t about to admit to Granny that it was his fault Emma had thrown him out. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.”

He was relieved beyond measure to hear the door to his waiting room open and close. “I have another patient to tend to, Granny, so if there’s nothing I can do for you medically….”

She gave him a long, measuring look before she struggled to her feet. “Ye make it hard to help ye, Joseph. Remember, pride’s cold comfort in bed.” There was resignation and sadness in her voice. She walked out slowly, leaning on her cane.

For an instant, he felt he should go after her, but the young mother in his waiting room had a child with a bad nosebleed. He hurried them inside and tried to forget Granny’s words.

During the days that followed Granny’s visit, his patience was nonexistent, his temper volatile. When he found Mrs. Lepage in his office for the third time in one week, he rudely interrupted her latest complaint of aches and pains.

“Mrs. Lepage, your only problem is you eat too much and do too little. Lose forty pounds and find a worthwhile endeavor to fill your idle life, and don’t come to my office again until you do.”

Her mouth, half buried in flesh, opened and closed like a fish, and her small eyes seemed about to pop out of her head.

“How—how dare you,” she gasped. “How dare you speak to me in such a fashion, and me not a well woman?" She heaved herself to her feet and stood panting and glaring at him out of spiteful, beady eyes. “I assure you, the entire town will hear of this insult. As you well know, Mr. Lepage is on the town council, and he most definitely will be upset when he hears of your rudeness. I shouldn’t be surprised if you lose your license to practice in Demersville over this.”

Joseph watched as she huffed her way out the door, and all he felt was indifference. He didn’t care if he lost his practice. Maybe it was time he moved on. Emma was gone. Nathaniel was gone. Even Granny had given up on him.

There was a dark and empty space inside of him as massive as the gray Montana sky.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Several days after the scene with Mrs. Lepage, Joseph was summoned at dusk to Granny’s tiny cottage. A neighbor had noticed there’d been no smoke from the chimney all day, and inside she’d found Granny on the stone floor, unconscious.

Joseph raced over, and when he saw Granny he knew it was already too late to do anything to save her. A hard lump formed in his chest, a lump of utter despair.

Knowing it was fruitless, still he worked with frantic determination over the frail, barely breathing body, doing everything in his power to restore the life that was ebbing away.

He even called Nathanial to please help him, but there was no response to his desperate plea. And even if Nathanial had been there, Joseph knew there was no hope. Granny had suffered a massive stroke, and just before midnight, the old woman died without regaining consciousness.

Joseph held her in his arms, tears coursing down his cheeks, oblivious to the two neighbor women who’d kept vigil all evening. He leaned down and kissed Granny’s wrinkled cheek and stroked her knotted hand.

“I was the first to shake yer hand when ye came into this world
,” she’d told him the last time he’d seen her. Now, he was the last to hold hers, and the memory of her visit to his office and the horrible way he’d acted haunted him.

“Forgive me, Granny,” he whispered, grief and remorse mingling like bitter gall inside of him. “I was a stupid, rude fool. You were a good friend, and I’ll miss you.”

His chest ached with sorrow when he left the little cottage that night, and he cursed himself for the way he’d treated her. How could he have been so callous, so cold, when she’d come to him only to help? What kind of man was he, to have treated an old woman that way?

He’d miss Granny. So would Emma. They’d often talked of the eccentric, wise old woman, exchanging amusing bits of her folk wisdom. If only he could go to Emma now, share with her the pain, the terrible sadness and remorse, tell her he regretted the horrible way he’d treated her, too.

He detoured through the village so he could walk slowly past the closed door of the General Store. It was long past midnight, and there was no light in Emma’s upstairs rooms. He stood and stared up at her bedroom, thinking of all the glorious nights he’d lain there with her clasped in his arms.

He longed to see her tonight, to tell her of Granny’s death, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. He moved towards the stairs, began to climb. But halfway up he stopped. He’d lost the right to go to Emma for comfort. He’d said unforgiveable things to her and he couldn’t take them back, any more than he could change the way he’d acted toward Granny. How could he expect Emma ever to forgive him? He went down the steps again and made his way back to his lonely house.

At dawn, he lay on his bed, fully clothed and wide-awake, staring blankly at the gray light seeping in his window. Then he heard someone run into his office and on through the house to the bottom of the stairs.

“Doctor Gillespie—Joseph—“

The frantic voice was that of Benjamin Irvine. “It’s—it’s Prudence,” he hollered, galloping up the stairs, bursting into Joseph’s bedroom. “Come quick, please come quick. “The baby—there’s something wrong.”

“When did the pains begin?” Joseph was on his feet. He didn’t bother tying his shoes. Grabbing his medical bag, he leaped down the stairs after Benjamin and hoisted himself into the buggy.

“Three hours ago, Ma’s there, but she sent me to get you, something’s wrong, she says. We have to hurry.” His handsome face was stark white with terror. “There’s—there’s blood everywhere, Doc. There shouldn’t be so much blood, should there?”

Joseph did his best to reassure Benjamin as the other man slapped the reins, sending the horses into a gallop. But an overwhelming sense of doom overcame him the moment he rushed into the farmhouse and up the stairs to the small bedroom where Prudence lay.

Benjamin had spoken the truth. There was blood everywhere, dripping to the floor. For a moment, experienced as he was, Joseph had to quell his instinctive horror at the sight of so much blood.

“Doctor, thank God you’re here, I’ve done everything I could think of.” Benjamin’s mother, Letitia, was a level headed farm woman, and she’d obviously tried unsuccessfully to staunch the flow by packing towels around Prudence and raising the end of the bed on stout wooden blocks. “Everything was going fine, and then all of a sudden—” She choked and her face crumbled.

It was all too obvious her valiant attempts had failed. Prudence moaned feebly as each new pain racked her, but she was becoming progressively weaker. The labor was precipitate, the birth already near, but she no longer had the strength to expel the child. It was imperative the baby be delivered as rapidly as possible, and the flow of blood halted.

Joseph sent Benjamin running for a basin of hot water, and when it came, he rolled up his sleeves past the elbows, scrubbed his hands with carbolic soap, and set to work.

He showed Letitia how to drip chloroform on the gauze covering Prudence’s nose. The moment the young woman slipped into unconsciousness, he ruthlessly delivered the child, a large, well-formed boy. He hurriedly clamped and cut the cord.

The baby didn’t cry, but there was no time for him to tend to it. Prudence was bleeding out.

“Clean out his nose and mouth. Breathe into him if you have to.” He shoved the child’s limp body at Letitia and turned to minister to the young woman lying lifelessly on the bed.

As he worked, he was aware of the baby’s weak cry from somewhere behind him—and of the fact that he was losing Prudence. Despite his every frantic effort, her life’s blood gushed from her in a stream nothing could stop.

“Nathaniel,” he begged in a whisper. “Help me, please.”

He saw his friend appear, and slowly, sadly, shake his head before he faded away again.

Joseph knew it was over, and still he kept on. Then Letitia touched his arm and said in a broken whisper, “She’s gone, Doctor. The baby’s fine, but she’s—she’s gone.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

The next hour was a nightmare for Joseph as he explained to Benjamin why his beloved wife had died. Joseph tried to comfort him, saying his newborn son needed him now, but Benjamin was beyond comforting.

The young man’s sobs and curses echoed in Joseph’s head long after he left the little farmhouse, borrowed a horse to ride home, dropped it at the livery stable, and at last stumbled up his own steps.

Inside, he slumped into a kitchen chair, aware for the first time of the bloodstains that covered his clothing, but unable to make himself get up and wash and change. A terrible weariness made his limbs feel like stone. The kitchen was icy cold, the fire long dead, and the house empty and still.

Intolerable longing rose up in him as he envisioned Emma’s warm rooms, filled with color, overflowing with the same exuberant life force she herself exuded.

Emma.
His stomach clenched, and for the second time in only a few hours he longed for her comfort, her strength. But again he reminded himself harshly that he was the one who’d severed the bond between them.

Two deaths in less than a day, and he had been unable to prevent either one. And he called himself a doctor? He’d wanted nothing more than to save lives, ever since his parent’s illness, when he’d stood by helplessly and watched first one and then the other die an agonizing death. And only days later, Margret, too, had died.

Helpless, lonely, feeling totally abandoned, he’d pledged from that moment on to devote himself to healing. He’d also pledged never to allow anyone to get that emotionally close to him again. If he kept the world at bay, he’d never risk the terrible pain of loss.

And he’d managed it, until Nathanial came into his life. Nathanial had been the one to convince him to lower his defenses, to fall in love with Emma.

Nathanial. Emma. Granny. Joseph’s mind went from one to the other. They were the only ones he’d ever allowed inside his barriers, and now he’d driven two of them away and lost the other to death. Now he was truly alone.

His chest seemed to knot with pain, and his hands doubled into fists as waves of agony rolled through him. “Nathanial,” he gasped. He drew a shuddering breath, and the whisper became an agonized roar that echoed through the empty house. “Nathanial--Nathanial--Nathanial—“