Unbridled Dreams (37 page)

Lightning flashed. The next clap of thunder terrified the horses in the area. One reared up, slipped, and toppled backward. Its rider lay motionless in the mud, his bright blue shirt turning indigo as the heavens opened and sheets of rain poured down.

“Dear God—no.” Momma’s hand went to her mouth.

“Stay with her,” Belle said to Orrin even as she gathered up her skirts and climbed the railing. Lowering herself into the arena, she ran toward Monte.

Oblivious to the rain, the mud, and the crowd, Belle trotted alongside Monte’s stretcher. He was still unconscious. Someone had put a folded kerchief over a cut at his hairline. It was already soaked with blood. His left arm curved at an unnatural angle alongside his body. What else might be wrong? She felt sick, almost faint as the stretcher bearers—Ned Bishop, two other wranglers, and one of the cowboy clowns—carried Monte into Dr. Miller’s hospital tent and laid him atop one of the tables. No one seemed to know where Dr. Miller was.

“There was a doctor sitting next to me up in the stands,” Belle said. “I’ll try to get him to c—”

At that very moment David Carter stepped into the tent. Glancing around at the shelves of supplies, he said quietly, “I’ll help until someone finds your surgeon,” he said. “With your permission?”

He was directing the question to Irma, but Momma spoke up. “Please, doctor,” she said.

With a quick nod Carter ordered the lamps be lit. “And I’ll need people to hold them up for me so I can see.” He felt for a pulse, then lifted the handkerchief and looked beneath it. “I need scissors,” he said. Rummaging in Dr. Miller’s drawers, Carter found scissors and cut away Monte’s bright blue shirt.

“Daddy?”

The doctor glanced over to where George stood, looking frightened.

“It’s all right, little man,” Carter said. “Daddy has to help this cowboy. You be brave, all right?” He turned back to Monte.

Ned Bishop crouched beside the boy. “We’re tough hombres, pardner.” He nodded to where Monte lay. “He’ll come around. You’ll see.”

When he looked up at Belle and nodded, she forced a smile. Maybe things would be all right between them again.

After a few more moments the doctor looked up and spoke to Belle and Momma. “He’s going to be fine,” he said. “He’s likely got a concussion, and he needs some stitches and a bone set, but I don’t think there’s anything seriously wrong. His pulse is regular and strong, and to be quite honest, it’s probably better if he doesn’t remember what I’m going to have to do in the next few minutes.” He looked around him as he said, “I’m going to need to splint this arm. I need boards about like so.” He held up his hands to show them. “And bandages.”

Momma stepped forward. “You find the doctor’s splints,” she said to Belle. “And I’ll find bandages.” She began to look through the supply cabinet. “Are you certain he’s going to be all right?” she asked.

Dr. Carter spoke as he worked. “I’ve got some stitching and some bonesetting to do, but I’m reasonably certain this cowboy will be good as new in a few weeks.”

Momma closed her eyes briefly. “Thank God,” she said.

“Will these work?” Belle held up the boards she’d selected from a variety of narrow boards leaning in one corner.

Dr. Carter nodded.

Momma set three rolls of bandages out. “Let’s see,” she said, “you’ll want sutures. A needle. Antiseptic.” She glanced at the doctor. “A curved needle, I presume?”

He smiled approval. “Indeed. If we can find one.” He glanced at Irma. “You didn’t tell me your mother had been a nurse.”

Before Irma could say anything, Momma forced a laugh. “I’m not, doctor. But we were on the frontier for many years before there was a doctor to call.” She shrugged. “We made do.”

The rain had let up, and about a dozen wranglers were gathered just outside the tent flap to wait for word of Monte’s condition. Ned backed out of the tent and joined them. Momma followed him and addressed the men. “I can’t seem to find Dr. Miller’s antiseptic,” she said. “I’ve been told Mr. Cody has a rule against alcohol, but I’m guessing someone has some whiskey they’ve kept about—strictly for medicinal purposes, of course. It would be helpful if we had some to clean the wound before Dr. Carter stitches it up.”

“Helpful to my patient when I set his arm, as well,” Carter said with a faint smile.

Ned said he’d be back directly.

Belle hadn’t realized the performance had ended, but suddenly Shep and Helen and Dora arrived. “He’s all right,” Belle said. “He needs stitches. And a splint. His arm’s broken. But the doctor said he’s going to be all right.”

Just then Monte groaned. “My
head
. What . . . what happened?”

“You have a headache because you likely have a concussion,” Dr. Carter explained.

“Huh?” Monte frowned. He blinked up at Dr. Carter. “Who’re you? Where’s Doc Miller?”

Someone muttered, “Ain’t that the million-dollar question?”

“We don’t know where Dr. Miller is,” Momma said. “But Dr. Carter was in the audience, and he’s taken very good care of you.”

“Thank you,” Carter smiled, then turned to Monte, explaining, “You’ve a nasty cut along your hairline, and your arm is broken. A clean break I think—which is better than what we call a compound fracture.”

“That’s what’s
wrong
with me,” Monte said. “What
happened
?”

Chuckles rose from the onlookers, and Monte grimaced as he looked around. “Aren’t you all supposed to be someplace else?” More chuckles.

Shep drawled, “We’re just keeping watch so this sawbones here don’t mess up. Nobody knows if he’s really a bona fide MD or not.” Shep winked at Carter.

He looked down at Monte. “We could haul you onto the ferry and up to the hospital in Manhattan.”

“Hospital?” Monte mumbled. “What for? You just said you know how to fix me.”

“I do,” Carter said.

“Then have at it.” Monte paused. “Belle?”

“Right here,” Belle said.

He lowered his voice. “Could . . . could you see if Dora might come over?”

The onlookers tittered again and Monte added, in a louder voice, “And would you tell the audience this show is over and they can skedaddle.”

“You heard him,” Shep said, and began to shoo people away from the tent. Ned returned, slipping Shep a flask. Shep nodded, stuck the flask in his back pocket, and closed the tent flap.

“I could use more light,” Dr. Carter said.

“You got it,” Shep replied. He handed Momma the flask, then he and Dora and Belle all grabbed lamps and moved in.

“I believe the cowboy asked for you,” Momma said to Dora, and got up. “I can hold the lamp.”

“Dora?” Monte said.

“I’m h-here,” she replied, handing Momma the oil lamp and sitting down in her place.

Monte turned his head so he could see her. He smiled and held up his good hand. “I’d be mighty grateful if you would hold that, ma’am,” he said.

Blushing, Dora took his hand and kissed it.

Dr. Carter gave Monte a drink from the flask and began to sew. A few minutes later he snipped the thread and stood up. “Fifteen stitches,” he said. “That probably equals one pounding headache tomorrow.”

When it came time to set the broken bone and the doctor asked Shep to hold Monte down, Dora stood up. “I’ll help,” she said. “Hold him down, I mean.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Carter seemed doubtful.

Dora nodded. “I d-done it before.”

Dr. Carter put a cloth “sausage” in Monte’s mouth, directing him to “Bite on that and yell as loud as you want.” Before he finished the last word of his instructions, he grabbed Monte’s arm and pulled it into place.

Monte yelled, then apologized to Dora. “I guess I’m not as brave as I thought.”

Dora kissed his cheek and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, it brought the color back to Monte’s pale face. When he tried to sit up, Dora put her hand on his chest and ordered him to stay put.

Bill Cody strode into the tent complaining. “People seem to think a cowboy nearly killing himself is just part of the show,” he grumbled. “I had to wade through a sea of people before I could get in here. I was almost rude to more than one.” His gaze landed on Momma.

“Mrs. Friedrich.” He nodded and tipped his hat.

“Bill,” Momma said.

Cody looked around after being introduced to Dr. Carter. “It looks as though you all have everything well in hand.” He looked down at Monte. “And I’m especially glad to see you’re all right, m’boy.”

“I’m fine, sir,” Monte called, and once again tried to get up.

Dora stood up, put a hand on Monte’s shoulder, and pushed him back down. “He h-has a c-conc-cussion,” Dora said. She pointed to Monte’s scalp. “Fifteen stitches. A b-broken arm.” She began to cry softly. “B-but he’s going to be all right.”

Cody turned to the doctor. “Doc Miller was in the city earlier today. He must have been waylaid by the storm. I imagine he’ll be back yet before the night’s over, but I’d be grateful if you’d keep an eye on the patient tonight. As a precaution.”

Dr. Carter glanced toward his son.

“George,” Shep said. “What would you think of bunking with a cowboy tonight?”

George’s face lit up. “Y-you mean with
you
?!”

“I’d have to get word to my Aunt Mae,” Dr. Carter said, “so she doesn’t worry.”

“Miss Keen and Irmagard could stay with me at the hotel,” Momma said, looking at Bill for approval. “That would free up their quarters for Dr. Carter and his patient.”

Cody nodded. “Excellent.” He looked to Dr. Carter. “If you can agree to this rather unorthodox arrangement, I’ll see that you’re well rewarded,” he said. “And I’ll send you a messenger to take word to your aunt.”

C
HAPTER
22

T
HEREFORE DO NOT WORR Y ABOUT TOMORROW
;
FOR TOMORR OW WILL CARE FOR ITSELF
.
E
ACH DAY HAS ENOUGH TROUBLE OF ITS OWN
.
Matthew 6:34
NASB

Willa stirred at the sound of laughter in the adjoining room. Fumbling for the locket watch that lay on the bedside table, she opened it and squinted at the dial.
Nearly noon?
It all came back. The rain . . . Monte’s accident . . . and the awful next couple of hours. Thank God for Dr. Carter. Thank God Monte was going to be all right. By the time they’d gotten him settled atop Irmagard’s cot in the girls’ tent, he was complaining about all the fussing and fawning—a sure sign that he would, indeed, be fine. He did not, however, Willa remembered with a smile, complain about Miss Dora Spurgeon’s attentions. She was a sweet girl. Charlie and Laura would like her. And they were going to get their son back home. She and Bill had spoken in the tent last night and arranged for Monte to travel with her and Orrin back to Nebraska. “
Until he’s recovered,”
Bill had said. They wanted him back with the Wild West for the winter season.

The comings and goings in the tent last night, the laughter, the good-natured ribbing, and above all, the efficiency with which people seemed to shift and adjust to accommodate Monte’s needs, had shown Willa a side of the Wild West troupe she’d been told existed but stubbornly refused to believe—until now. Nearly a dozen wranglers had been crowded into that tent before Shep herded them out. It was as if Monte had acquired a set of brothers. The camaraderie among them was evident, and seeing it for herself was beginning to effect a shift in Willa’s feelings about the Wild West.

She might never understand Irmagard’s determination to turn her back on her home and pursue such an unorthodox life, but perhaps, Willa thought, perhaps she didn’t have to
understand
it in order to
accept
it. Could it be that Otto had been right when he extolled the positive aspects of Irmagard’s joining the tour? Was part of the attraction the acquiring of a large extended family? Was there more to Irmagard’s adventurous spirit than just rebelling against her upbringing?

My plans are not your plans . . . my thoughts are not your thoughts.
Maybe Otto had been right when he challenged Willa’s certainty over what God wanted for Irmagard. Blast the man, anyway. How could he be right? He had no more interest in spiritual things than . . .

With a sigh, Willa got up, pulled on her dressing gown, and went to the window. The sky was overcast and, while it wasn’t raining now, the street below was wet, the park across the street sodden beneath trees dripping moisture. She freshened up, brushing her thick hair until it gleamed and tying it back with a ribbon. Laughter erupted in the adjoining room. Again. She opened the door and immediately saw at least part of the reason for the raucous laughter that had awakened her.

Irmagard gulped down the bite she’d just taken of a pastry. “There was a knock at the door and—” She gestured at the silver coffee service, the pitchers of milk and juice—so much food it barely fit on the table. “They said to call when we were ready for breakfast.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine anyone wanting breakfast after this?” She reached for a pastry and held it out. “Try this one, Momma. You’ll love it. Apricot filling.”

Helen grinned and motioned Willa over. “Set yerself down, ma’am, and dig in—compliments of the management.”