Santa Fe Woman (31 page)

Jori let out a glad cry and threw her arms around him. “Thank God!” she exclaimed. “You’ll have to tell us what to do. I’ll help.”

* * *

“YOU KNOW WHAT THAT fella’s gonna do?” Stuffy McGinnis was staring over at the scene in the center of the wagons. Charlie Reuschel and Jesse Burkett had constructed a table, of sorts, using whatever material they could. Rocklin was lying on the table with a blanket over him, and Jori and Kate stood close.

“He’s gonna cut the top of his head off and mix his brains all up until they’re fixed.”

“That won’t ride. That’ll kill that fella,” Eddie Plank said with astonishment. “I never heard of such a thing.”

“Come on. I wanna see this,” Stuffy said.

He moved forward, but he was met by Herendeen, who said, “You keep out of there. Let Molitor do what he can.”

The men all obeyed Herendeen, but they could see and they could hear very clearly everything that was said.

* * *

MOLITOR LOOKED AROUND THE circle and said, “We’re going to have to have a plate. When that bone comes out, I’ll have to put something in.”

“What kind of a plate, boss?” Addie Joss was standing there.

“Something about this big, about the size of a silver dollar, very thin. Better if it were made out of silver.”

“I can do that!” Addie Joss exclaimed at once. “I can take this silver dollar and beat it out.”

“Do it now, Addie.”

As Joss left, Molitor looked around the circle. His black bag, which he had carried all the years since he had left practice, he had brought with him. He never could understand why, since he never used it, but it was the one tie to his old life and, perhaps, a symbol of what might happen one day. Now it was happening, and Paul Molitor looked around at the faces. They were all hopeful, and he said, “I’ll say this again. I don’t think this will work.”

“Tell us what to do,” Jori said quickly.

Molitor reached into the bag and pulled out a brown bottle. “This is ether. He’s got to be absolutely still. Jori, somebody has to put a few drops on this. It’ll put him to sleep, and if he gets restless, you’ll have to add some more.”

“I can do that,” Jori said.

Molitor bent over and studied the wound. “His color is bad, and his breathing is erratic. There’s a lot of pressure on his brain, but if we can get that bone out of there and relieve the pressure, I think he’ll be much better.”

“When do you want to do it?” Leland asked. He was standing farther back and had no inclination to watch. He was squeamish about this kind of thing.

“We might as well start now. It’ll take awhile.” He looked up at Kate and Good News. “I guess you two are the champion prayer warriors on this train, so I’d advise you to get to it.”

“I already started,” Good News said. “I like to shout when I pray, but I figure now wouldn’t be no time for that.”

“No, I need everything as quiet as I can get it.”

Molitor straightened up and took a deep breath. There was something different in his face. Everyone saw it, and Callie at that moment smiled at him. “You can do it—just like you did my shoulder.”

“I wish it were that easy,” Molitor said. He hesitated and then began to lay out the contents of his bag. “Kate, you hand me these things when I ask for them. I don’t know the names of them. I’ll point to them, and you just hand them to me. Now we need to wash up as well as we can.”

Everyone watched as they washed their hands thoroughly in a basin with strong soap. Molitor came back and said, “That’s a scalpel. Give it to me with the handle toward me.”

Kate picked up the scalpel carefully and handed it. Molitor bent over and looked at the wound, then he lowered his hands and began to make his cut….

* * *

IT WAS A MUCH slower process than any of them had thought. Molitor worked very carefully with tweezers and scalpel, pulling out fragments of bone. No one said a word, and Molitor had apparently forgotten his audience. Twice he had to say, “A few drops more of ether, Jori, about three or four.”

Jori put the cloth over Rocklin’s face, placed the four drops on it, and felt his breathing grow steady. She was not watching the operation itself but kept her eyes fixed on Rocklin’s features. She wanted to reach out and put her hand on his cheek, but there were too many people watching. She was praying constantly, as she knew others were.

Finally Molitor said, “Joss, you got the plate?”

“This be all right, boss?”

Molitor took the rounded piece. It was about an inch and a half in diameter and smooth, without a sign of a scratch. “How’d you get it so smooth?”

“I’m a blacksmith, boss. I do things like that.”

“It’s just right.” Kate watched as he inserted the plate and then said, “Hand me that needle. I’ll be putting the sutures in now.”

Kate handed Molitor the needle and watched as he stitched the scalp together. Finally Paul cleaned the wound and moved around so he could look in Rocklin’s face. He was still for a moment and then turned to face Jori across from him. “That’s all I can do, Jori.”

“His color is better, I think.”

“I believe you’re right. We’ll just have to see.” He turned and walked away and began to wash his hands. He felt a touch and turned to see Callie standing beside him. Her eyes were like stars, and there were tears in them.

“You did so good, Paul! You did wonderful!”

At that moment Paul Molitor felt better than he had in years. He studied the face of the young woman and said, “If you hadn’t guessed that I was a doctor, it wouldn’t have happened. Rocklin would have been lost, and I would have stayed lost the rest of my life. So, I guess you saved my life, Callie.”

“I was proud to do it!”

* * *

THE TIME PASSED SO slowly that Jori lost track of it. She sat beside Rocklin and seldom took her eyes from his face. It was two hours after Molitor had closed the wound that he suddenly blinked his eyes. Instantly she called out, “Paul, he’s waking up!”

Molitor was there. He took Rocklin’s wrist and exclaimed, “His heartbeat’s much better!”

“And his color. That dreadful pallor’s gone,” Jori said.

Kate, Mark, and Leland came closer, and Good News took Kate’s hand and held it. She looked at him, and he smiled. “Don’t
give up prayin’,” he whispered, “but I think God’s done reared back and worked a miracle!”

Jori felt the tears rise in her eyes, and she could not stop them. They overflowed and ran down her cheeks. She suddenly felt her father’s hands on her shoulders. He had a handkerchief, and he wiped the tears away. “He’s going to be all right, daughter, I just know it.”

“He has to be, Papa—he just has to be!”

At that moment Leland Hayden knew that his daughter’s life was tied in with this man who lay before them. He squeezed her shoulder, and the two stood there looking down at the still face of Chad Rocklin.

THE DARKNESS DISSIPATED, DISAPPEARING like fog drawn away by a soft wind. It had been a warm, friendly darkness, comfortable, and one that he hated to leave. As long as he was in the dark there was no pain, but the light brought the pain with it. Several times he had almost come to the brightness, but the pain had been so intense that he had allowed himself to sink back into the black velvet night that enveloped him. He was like a swimmer who floated to the top, but something dreadful appeared to be there so he had allowed himself to sink back into the depths.

This time, however, the light seemed to touch his eyelids with fingers so gentle as to be almost unfelt, and there was sound too. He had known sounds before but always the sound of voices. This time the sound was of a bird singing somewhere close by. He listened and could not identify the bird, but he began to wonder why a bird should have such a happy song. Birds couldn’t have lives all that wonderful, but the song was as merry, as gay as anything he had ever heard.

Then a memory came shouldering its way into his mind, almost like a big strong bully pushing his way among weaker people. It was a terrible memory—violence, pain, screaming, and death. He himself was in the dream, and he could almost smell
the burning powder and feel the sweaty grip of his hand on the butt of a pistol.

The dream faded, and he felt something on his forehead. It felt cool and wet. This was no dream! He took a deep breath and was suddenly aware that he was lying down and some sort of light covering was over him. The light was stronger now, and he opened his eyes a mere slit. Something was moving in front of him, and all he could tell was that it was a light blue color. Opening his eyes more he saw that it was cloth, and then he saw a face. Great relief came to him for it was a face he knew, a woman wearing a blue dress.

“Hello.”

His voice was weak and rusty and seemed to come from deep inside his throat.

“Chad, you’re awake!”

“I guess …”

Then he opened his eyes fully and saw that she was holding a cloth to his forehead. He was lying down on some sort of a bed, and the sky was blotted out by an arching cover of some sort.
A
wagon. I’m in a wagon.
“Where is this place?”

“Don’t try to talk. Let me get you some water. I know you’re thirsty.”

At her words he was keenly aware of a raging thirst, and he heard the sound of water being poured from one container to another. While that was happening he glanced around and saw that he was in a wagon that was full of all kinds of objects, boxes, sacks, bags, clothing, but a bed had been formed on top of it. He lifted his head and saw that the back cover was off of the wagon. He could see other wagons outside, and now he heard the birds singing louder, and over this was the sound of voices. The smell
of wood smoke came to him, and he caught sight of a fire and a woman bending over it cooking something.

“Here, take this.”

Rocklin felt her hand beneath his head, lifting it up. There was a moment’s pain, but he did not notice, for the water was the best drink he had ever had in his life. He gulped it down, and some spilled over his chin onto his bare chest. He saw that he was not wearing anything, and embarrassment came to him. “Where are my clothes?”

“It’s been hot, and you had a fever so we had to cool you off. How do you feel?”

The question confused Rocklin. He squeezed his eyes together, and then the memory came flooding back. “There was a fight with the Indians.”

“Yes. You were hit in the head with a war club of some sort. You were very badly hurt.”

“My head itches.” Rocklin lifted his hand to touch his head, but she caught it.

“Don’t scratch it. It’s got bandages on it.”

Now things were getting clearer. “This is your wagon, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You’ve been here for two days now.”

“Two days? That long? I don’t remember anything except the fight.”

Jori smiled. Her lips were trembling slightly. This was the first time he had come to a consciousness like this. Several times he had awakened. His eyes had opened, and his lips had moved. But now she felt he would be all right. Joy came to her, and she gave him another drink of water. “Drink it slowly now. You need to drink all you can, Paul says.”

“Paul? You mean Molitor?”

“Yes.”

“Anybody else get hurt?”

“Just Santana and his band. They’re all dead, but none of our men got hurt except you.”

Rocklin lay there and studied her face for a moment. The heat caused her to perspire, and the thin dress clung to her figure. She had a fine layer of perspiration across her top lip, and a lock of her hair had come down over her forehead. He wanted to brush it back, but instead he said, “I must have been hurt pretty bad.”

“You were dying, Chad. If it hadn’t been for Paul, you would have died.”

“What did he do?” Rocklin lay there while she explained how Molitor had come out of his shell and revealed that he had been a doctor in a past life. She told about the operation and how fine it was and how most had expected him to die.

“Well, I disappointed them, I guess.”

“Do you think you could eat something?”

“I reckon I could.” He was suddenly aware that he was hungry.

She had cleared a partial path to the back of the wagon, and now she filled the glass and said, “Here. Just sip it. I’ll be back with something for you to eat.”

Rocklin watched her go and then lay there listening to the sounds of the camp. It was all coming back now, and he could remember the wild light in Santana’s eyes as he lunged forward with the knife. He could almost feel the grate of his own knife as he had plunged it into Santana. Beyond that he remembered turning to see that Jori and Carleen were all right and then—nothing.

“Well, look at you.”

Rocklin looked down to see Paul Molitor framed in the opening of the wagon. He watched the man scramble up and then move along to where he could look at him. “Let’s see about your pulse.” He felt the pulse, put his hand on Rocklin’s forehead, then pulled the bandage off that covered the top of his head. “It’s healing real well,” he said. “You’re gonna be all right, but you won’t be doing much for awhile.”

Rocklin stared at him. “So you’re a doctor.”

“I used to be.” A look of wonder came into Paul Molitor’s face. “I guess I will be now. They probably need doctors in Santa Fe. If not, I’ll go on to San Francisco.”

“How much do I owe you, doc?”

Molitor laughed. “I’ll put it on your tab,” he said. “Now, Jori’s coming in with some soup. I want you to eat all you can and drink all you can.”

“We need to get out of this place. Those Indians might come back.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re all standing guard twenty-four hours a day, and Four Bears and Kicking Bird are out there. They’ll let us know if there’s any Indian trouble.”

“There’ll be water trouble. Water’s pretty scarce.”

“Grat Herendeen’s rode out. He’s already found water for the next stop. Grat said we could fill our water barrels up there.”

“It looks like I’ve lost a job.”

“For awhile. You just take it easy.” He turned suddenly and nodded. “You’re doing great. I think if any man has a right to thank God, it’s you. I’ll come and check on you later.”

Molitor was gone then, and Jori was back. She had a saucepan full of something that smelled delicious. She propped his head up with a pillow and said, “Here, I’ll have to feed you. Open up.”