House of Mercy (27 page)

Beth’s own heart was straining inside her ribs. Tiny buggy spots were beginning to swim at the edges of her vision when she saw the wolf, with powerful hind legs, propel the cougar off his body and over the edge of the bluff. She heard the cat slide down the loose rocks and then, she thought, find its footing and run away down into the valley.

She couldn’t see this happen because the wolf was sitting between her and the view, and its eyes commanded her to look at him.

It was the second time she’d seen the wolf in daylight, the first being that day when the antelope straddled life at the stream. She was struck again by its size, so much larger than a domesticated dog’s, and yet it was half the mass of that mountain lion.

“Hi, Mercy,” she whispered. “Hope you don’t mind a girl’s name, seeing that you’re male. But it’s time I called you something, don’t you think?”

The wolf yawned. Hastings reacted as if the wolf were a butterfly. He flicked his tail once.

“Maybe it would have been better if you’d knocked me off my feet the way you did that mountain lion before I even got out of the barn,” she said. The wolf walked away from the lip of the earth, passed under Hastings’ nose, and then began to pick up its pace as it ambled into the shelter of the trees. Soon it was trotting away.

“Is this how it’s going to be? With you constantly showing up and not explaining anything?”

As if in answer, Beth’s mind was filled with a vivid image from her dream: the antelope with stethoscope horns climbed the mountain of her mind’s eye, a mountain that was actually the back of a wolf.

She could hear the canine’s movements through the brush. In the distant valley, a different dog barked.

Beth turned her head and looked down the slope. A large herd of cattle was moving out from under the shelter of shade trees onto the green plain. The cows were a variety of colors, black and tan, mahogany and yellow. And a significant cluster of them shared a brilliant copper-red that reflected the same tones of the sun. It was the red of Beth’s hair, the same red she had shared with her late father. These were Gelbvieh cows, and she knew they would have the Blazing B’s brand on their hindquarters: a capital B with a tongue of fire touching the uppermost curve.

A cowboy on a large black horse followed them, close to the river. Though Beth couldn’t say for sure from this distance, the white hat made her pretty certain this was Ash Martin, the pool rider. A black-and-white dog bounded next to his horse, its head turned toward the meandering cows. Its bark reached Beth’s ears.

Herriot.

Beth scanned the hills for the safest route to the valley floor and wasn’t surprised to see that the wolf seemed to have taken it.

Hastings turned to follow Mercy before Beth gave the command.

24

C
at was treating Randy Mason, the Burnt Rock stable owner, for an infected cut in his knee when Garner stumbled through the front door of her offices. He was doubled over, gripping his stomach and squinting from a headache that couldn’t tolerate the light. He had heartburn like never before, he said, and stomach cramps took him to the floor within minutes of his arrival.

Cat had been prepared for this event. She lived for those who needed her. In serving others and having her services accepted, Catherine Ransom had learned to finally capture happiness. She quickly assessed Garner, knowing exactly what was wrong with him. He was developing a fever. It was low-grade now but would probably rise soon enough. She slid a pillow under his head right there in the center of the waiting room floor, draped a light blanket over him, drew the blinds, and told him to hang in there until she could send Randy on his way.

This was her chance to shine.

She had already finished cleaning the stableman’s wound. Now she applied antibiotic ointments and clean dressings, and gave him a prescription for oral antibiotics.

“When was your last tetanus shot?” she asked.

“No idea.”

“Then let’s get you one, and let me know Tuesday how this is doing.”

“It’s a good thing we have you, doc.”

“I’m glad to have all of you too. Help me with something before you go?”

“Just tell me what to do.”

“Help me lift him?” she asked. “I don’t have a gurney to make this easy, I’m afraid.”

“I can handle it,” Randy said. In simple, controlled moves, Randy scooped Garner off the floor like a child and slung him over his shoulder. “Something I learned to do in the army,” he said to Cat.

Within just a few minutes they had transported Garner onto a wheeled hospital bed in the patient room closest to Dr. Ransom’s private office.

“Thanks, Randy.”

“Any time. Call me if you need my muscle again. You get better, Remke.”

Randy left, and Cat removed Garner’s shoes. She ran her fingers over his hands and feet. Both were freezing to the touch. “Could be food poisoning,” Cat said for Garner’s benefit.

“The elk sandwich, you think?”

“Too long ago. Might have been my salmon.”

“Not a chance.”

“Have you eaten anything that tasted a little off ?”

He barely shook his head, then frowned from the pain the movement caused.

“Have you thrown up?”

“No.”

The vomiting would start soon enough. Cat turned down the lights. It was easier to appear calmly authoritative, and therefore trustworthy and comforting, in a dim room. And Garner would be more relaxed. More suggestible.

The age of the patient, the isolation of the town, the privacy of this office—all the factors in place today would surely make this easier than the time she’d employed similar methods with little Amelia Reinhart for the sake of winning her father’s adoration. Already, everything had gone so much more easily.

Cat gave Garner instructions to try to sleep while she fetched a few items she needed.

Ergot brought down its victims simply enough with symptoms that could be blamed on any number of causes: nausea, vomiting, stomach cramping, headaches, numbness, fever. Such symptoms were consolable, eased by time, patience, love, and the understanding of a gentle doctor. In small amounts, the effects were reversed easily enough: all one had to do was stop eating the ergot-tainted food and let the monster run its course.

Depending on how Garner responded to Cat’s TLC, she could keep nurturing him with those rye rolls he loved so much, or put him on an ergot-free diet. She’d take one day at a time.

Though Garner’s liver cancer was an unknown variable, short-term exposure to ergot was easy to handle. If she decided to, she’d keep him down long enough to restore his adoration of her but not long enough to need to admit him to a hospital. If exposure to the ergot went on too long the toxicity would mount. Some patients would experience convulsions, hysteria, hallucinations, dementia. Skin infections would flare, accompanied by such unbearable pain that the condition had been known for centuries as St. Anthony’s Fire. In others, especially in animals, blood flow to the extremities was reduced to the point that gangrene set in.

As Cat gathered various analgesics from her supply closet, she found herself particularly curious about how Nova’s exposure to the fungus would turn out. Ergot had been used by midwives since the dawn of time to contract the uterus after the birth of a child; modern-day obstetricians used a derivative of ergot to jumpstart an expectant mother’s contractions. In the distant past, some women used ergot to abort their babies—though they tended to be successful only insofar as one considered the death of both child and mother a “success.”

Cat could only guess how far her generous dose might go in the fetus of a woman as slightly built as Nova. It would be an unscientific experiment.

She returned to Garner’s room carrying a box of medications that she might or might not administer: a vasodilator and an anticoagulant, in the event Garner's extremities began to turn black, though that would take days, maybe even weeks; activated charcoal, if any of the symptoms worsened; saline and a stomach tube, mainly for appearances. Gastric lavage was only sometimes recommended for this type of poisoning. The box contained several other sterile items, still in their sealed plastic and brown bottles, also for appearances.

But she would go through whatever motions were required to make people love her.

A shout came from the entrance. “Dr. Ransom! Where’s Garner?”

Cat left Garner’s side and leaned out into the hallway. Dotti had already crossed the waiting room in those bright orange sneakers and was coming straight at her.

“Randy told me Garner came in half dead.” The woman’s eyes and hair were both frenzied, as if she’d run here all the way from Salida. She was even slightly breathless.

“Shh, shh. He’s in good hands, Dotti.”

“A person can be in good hands and still be half dead. What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m thinking it’s a little food poisoning, nothing worse than that. It’ll pass.”

“Food poisoning! The man’s got liver cancer. He might as well have Alzheimer’s of the liver. It won’t have any idea what to do with poison.”

“Dotti.” Cat laid a hand on the woman’s arm. “Being upset won’t help him get better.”

The woman finally grabbed hold of some calm. She took a deep breath and said, “Well, just tell me what will help, Doctor, and I’ll be doing it right away.”

“Why don’t you come see him? Quietly. He’s sleeping, and he needs the rest. But I’m sure he’ll be able to sense your positive energy.” He might technically be unconscious, but Cat wasn’t about to suggest that Dotti help her verify this.

Dotti silenced herself and followed Cat into the room. The feisty marmot woman approached Garner’s bedside and placed her wrinkled, sunspotted hand over the top of his. Her shoulders, cloaked in a light summer jacket that said Whitewater Rush, drooped.

“No one should have to get sick like this,” Dotti murmured. “Especially not someone who’s been through all he’s been through.” Cat felt a small rumbling of jealousy in her chest. “I want to take him home and nurse him back to health. What do you say, Dr. Ransom? A few days off his feet? A ginger tea, do you think? Garner says it’s good on an upset stomach, settles the nausea. I can slice some fresh—”

“He needs to be here for a while,” Cat said. She tried not to be brusque. “I want to keep a close eye on him. There’s always a chance he could turn for the worse.”

The ensuing silence felt awkward to Cat, though Dotti nodded her agreement.

“You must be very busy with your rental company right now, with the end of summer on its way,” Cat said. “Sometimes focusing on work helps me to keep my mind in an optimistic frame.”

“I’ve got plenty of employees to do that work for me, honey. It’s a perk of being old.”

Cat sighed, not knowing what she’d have to do to get the woman to leave. “You know, Dotti, this sickness was so sudden—I wouldn’t be surprised if Garner has left his shop unmanned. It would be a great deal to ask, I know, but if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Yes, yes. That’s just the thing, isn’t it? He probably left his front door wide open and has busybodies crawling like aphids around his basement. I’ll go stand guard.” She patted Garner’s hand. “Leave it to me, Mr. Herbalist. You just do the work of getting better.”

Cat said, “He’s got a friend staying there, but I don’t think he knows as much as you about Garner’s—”

“Trey Bateman?” Dotti was already in the hall. “He doesn’t know squat about plants. Let him drive a bus and collar wildcats with his bare hands. I’ll handle the gardening. You call me and keep me up to speed on this man’s progress.”

“I think Trey isn’t getting back until Tuesday night.”

Dotti waved her off. “I got it covered.” She pushed open the front door, and Cat was overcome by pleasant relief.

“Thank you!” she called out as the door glided shut and Dotti’s purposeful form crossed the front window.

She might have raised her voice too high, for Garner stirred and murmured. Cat approached and laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Garner, I’m here. You’re going to be just fine.”

His eyes opened and seemed to notice Cat, though it was impossible to tell. “Dotti?” Garner mumbled, then he saw he was speaking to someone else. “Where’s Dot?” He was frowning, as if perturbed that Cat wasn’t who he thought she was.

“Need Dotti,” he insisted. Cat forced a painful smile. She considered cramming another rye roll down the ungrateful man’s throat. Or dispensing with the vehicle of the roll entirely; she ought to just drop the fungus into his mouth one piece at a time, straight up. A man who rejected the help smack in front of him and grasped for something out of reach could hardly be worth her investment of time.

“Dot . . .” Garner’s eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re a fighter,” Cat whispered. “Hang in there, my friend. When I say you’ll be just fine, you can know I’m good for it.” But if she had to compete for her patient’s affection, she might stop saying it at all.

25

B
eth woke as if an alarm had pulled her out of a deep sleep. One minute she was in a dreamless state, and the next she was aware that a man was watching her. A very tall man who was not Ash Martin, the pool rider. The jolt pulled her straight up onto the seat of her pants and set Herriot into a brief frenzy of barking.