With Autumn's Return (Westward Winds Book #3): A Novel (19 page)

Kneeling on the floor, Elizabeth closed her eyes in prayer. “Dear Lord,” she whispered, “I know you have a plan for Jason. I pray that that plan is for him to live. If it is, I ask that you show me the way to save him.”

There was no answer, nothing but the feeling that she had forgotten something important. She rose and returned to her office to leaf through her medical books, searching for a treatment that she had missed. There was nothing. She was already doing everything recommended, but it wasn’t enough. She knew that.

Returning to the infirmary, Elizabeth took Jason’s hand between both of hers, hoping that the contact would comfort him. Touch, she had learned, had great powers. But though she stroked the back of his hand and murmured words of encouragement, he continued to groan with pain, and his fever continued to rise. There had to be something else she could do. When Jason turned away from her, Elizabeth released his hand and walked to the window. It was an uncharacteristically
gloomy day, with clouds obscuring the sun, though no rain was falling. And yet, though the day was dismal, two men stood on the opposite side of the street, their heads tipping backward as they laughed.

She clenched her fists. It was illogical, but somehow it seemed wrong that these men were laughing when Jason neared death. She wanted to open the window and shout, telling them that a man’s life hung in the balance, that they should be praying rather than laughing, but as she reached for the window sash, the sight of the men’s laughing faces triggered a memory and Elizabeth stopped short.

It had been a winter day, snow swirling around the building, stinging her face as she walked to class. For reasons that she could no longer remember, she had been unhappy that day and had considered staying home. But something had driven her. Perhaps it was the realization that her classmates expected her to give up. She wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. That was the day the professor had described diphtheria.

When he’d finished outlining the accepted treatment regimen, the professor had set the class to laughing with tales of primitive treatments. “No one would consider doing this,” he told them as he mentioned the placement of leeches on the throat. “The outside, of course,” he added. Just as primitive, he’d told them, was the use of a rose’s thorny stem. “That was applied to the interior of the throat,” he announced. “Naturally, it failed. You can’t scrape the diphtheric membrane.”

At the time, Elizabeth had agreed with her professor. That was before she had seen an actual case of diphtheria. Now, faced with the reality of Jason’s situation, she wondered if the supposedly primitive technique might work. It couldn’t be coincidence that she had remembered that particular lecture,
not when she had just prayed for guidance. She wouldn’t use a rose, of course, but she couldn’t let the membrane continue to thicken.

After bringing a lamp to supplement the existing light, Elizabeth withdrew a scalpel from one of the drawers in her instrument cupboard. She was ready. Only one thing remained.

She touched Jason’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “You need to wake up,” she told him. When he did, she asked him to open his mouth. As she had feared, the membrane was continuing its relentless course. Hoping the fever and pain did not prevent him from understanding what she was telling him, Elizabeth explained about the thickening membrane. “I’m afraid it will kill you,” she said. “That’s why I want to remove it.”

Though his eyes were still dull, she saw the gleam of understanding. “Will that help?”

“I believe it will. I’ll give you some laudanum to ease the pain.”

Jason shook his head. “No. Had once.” He grimaced, though Elizabeth did not know whether it was from the memory or the pain in his throat. “Bad reaction.”

Elizabeth laid her hand on his. “It will be very painful without laudanum.”

He nodded. “Worse with. Go ahead. I trust you.”

And I trust that God
will guide my hand
. Elizabeth offered a short prayer before wielding her scalpel, then reached inside Jason’s mouth. It had to hurt. She knew that, and yet the only sign he gave was to grip the side of the bed. She began slowly, cautiously scraping the outermost part of the membrane. But as his breathing seemed to improve, Elizabeth became
bolder. When she finished, the slimy gray mass was gone. After she swabbed the area with iodine, she laid her hand on Jason’s forehead.

“You can sleep now. Don’t try to talk.”

He nodded. For the next hour, Elizabeth did nothing but watch and listen. At first there was little change, but as the minutes passed, she knew it was not her imagination. Jason’s breathing had improved, and he no longer seemed to have as much difficulty swallowing. The surgery was a success.

 13 

A
ugust became September. By the end of the first week of the new month, Jason felt well enough to return to his office. A rueful smile crossed his face as he descended the steps, recalling the last time he’d done that. That morning, he’d barely been able to keep his head upright. Today he felt like a new man. Elizabeth had warned him, but even so the recovery had taken far longer than Jason had expected.

Though he’d been able to swallow more easily within minutes of the surgery, he had required substantially more time to regain his strength. By the third day, he’d been fidgeting and griping so loudly that Harrison had hauled him upstairs, declaring that Elizabeth had no need of a quarrelsome patient. At the time, he’d been too weak to object, but now he knew Harrison had motives beyond sparing Elizabeth the sound of his complaints.

“You ought to marry the gal, you know,” Harrison had
announced one morning when he’d come to help Jason bathe and shave.

“Elizabeth?” he asked, wondering why Harrison was mentioning her and marriage in the same sentence. When the older man confirmed that it was indeed Elizabeth he was discussing, Jason shook his head. Elizabeth was beautiful, she was talented, and he enjoyed her company more than any woman he’d ever met, but she was not the mother he wanted for his children. He didn’t doubt that she would love them—the way she cared for Rose dispelled that concern—but a part-time mother wasn’t enough, at least not for his children.

There was no reason to tell Harrison that. The man was in one of his cantankerous moods, and he’d only disagree. Instead Jason introduced an argument Harrison could not rebut. “Even if I were interested, Elizabeth isn’t planning to marry. She’s certain God intended healing people to be her whole life.”

Jason had been surprised when she’d said that. It had been the day after she had scraped his throat. When she had announced that he would live to marry and have children, he’d turned the tables, asking her when she planned to marry. Though her response had not been the one he’d expected, it had confirmed what he already knew: that Elizabeth was no ordinary woman.

Harrison handed Jason a towel to wipe the residual shaving soap from his face. “That may have been her plan at one time, but she’ll change her mind when she loses her patients. I doubt she’ll have many left once folks hear how you spent a week in her infirmary.”

Absurd! It was true that Jason had warned Elizabeth about
a potential backlash if she treated Phoebe’s girls, but surely this was different. “I was ill. From what Elizabeth says, I was one step away from the pearly gates. How could anyone believe anything improper occurred? It’s preposterous!”

Harrison’s shrug was eloquent. “You’ve lived in small towns, Jason. You know that gossip is a major pastime.”

“Cheyenne is not a small town.”

“That’s what Elizabeth said too. For both of your sakes, I hope you’re right.”

The memory of that conversation lingered. Jason shook his head as he unlocked his office door. It did more than linger. It haunted him. He would never have willingly done something to harm Elizabeth, but now the damage was done. All he could do was hope that no one learned he’d been her patient. That hope was soon dashed.

“I’m glad to see you’re back in business,” Richard said as he entered Jason’s office and took his favorite seat in front of the desk. Pushing the chair back a few inches so he could stretch his legs, he added, “I was worried when I heard you’d caught diphtheria.”

Jason managed a small nod. “As you can see, I survived.” He wouldn’t mention Elizabeth’s role in his survival. Though he trusted Richard, the fewer people who knew, the better.

“I have to admit I was surprised when I heard you let Elizabeth treat you.”

So much for secrecy. “How did you hear that?”

“When Miriam came for an appointment one day, she heard you and Harrison Landry talking and realized you were in the infirmary. She said he was insisting you had to get well in time for the grand opening.”

Jason had no trouble recalling that conversation. Harrison
had just received a letter from Barrett, saying he and Charlotte were delayed and that Harrison should open the dry goods store without him. In typical Harrison fashion, the man was fuming . . . loudly. It was no wonder Miriam had heard him. Jason wouldn’t have been surprised if passersby had heard the tirade about how Barrett’s delay was putting a crimp in Harrison’s plans. “I’ve got my eye on a piece of land that’ll be perfect for horses, but I can’t very well move out there if I have to run Barrett’s store.”

Jason had been sympathetic that day. Today he wished he’d told Harrison to keep his troubles to himself. “It’s true,” he admitted. “I was Dr. Harding’s patient.” Perhaps if he referred to her formally, Richard would understand that the time Jason had spent under Elizabeth’s roof had been purely professional. “I would prefer that you not mention that to anyone, though.”

“I understand.” There was a brief silence, as if Richard were measuring his words. “No man would want it known that he went to a lady doctor. The way I figure it, you were too sick to get to Doc Worland’s. But you needn’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not the reason for silence. Elizabeth is a fine doctor. I doubt I’d be here if it weren’t for her.”

When Richard raised his eyebrows, Jason told him how Elizabeth had used a decidedly unconventional technique to clear his throat. “That’s what saved me. I could feel the change immediately. You may not believe me, but I’m convinced that Doc Worland would never have tried that.”

“You may be right,” Richard said slowly. “Miriam claims it was Elizabeth’s treatment that cured her and not anything that Doc Worland prescribed. It was only after she was on the
mend that Miriam admitted she never drank any of the purgatives Doc gave her. It seems Elizabeth left some medicines of her own, and Delia made sure she followed Elizabeth’s instructions.” Richard crossed his ankles, uncrossing them a second later in an uncharacteristic sign of discomfort. “I guess I owe Elizabeth an apology.”

“Or a thank-you.”

“You’re right. I also owe her payment for services rendered.” Richard was silent for a moment. “I’m not sure I understand. If you’re not ashamed that Elizabeth treated you, why are you concerned about secrecy?”

“It’s Harrison. He thinks folks will be scandalized if they learn that I stayed in the infirmary.”

His expression pensive, Richard inclined his head. “He could be right. A single man. A single woman. I can see how tongues might wag. It probably wouldn’t hurt you, but Elizabeth’s another story.” He nodded briskly. “You don’t need to worry about me. I won’t say anything, and I’ll make sure Miriam doesn’t either. Your secret is safe.”

Jason hoped he was right.

Elizabeth’s step was jaunty as she headed for Phoebe’s establishment. There were so many reasons to give thanks: the beautiful day with just a hint of autumn’s cooling in the air, Gwen’s cheerful mood, and most of all, Jason’s recovery. His throat had healed properly, leaving him with no aftereffects from the disease. Truly, it was a day for rejoicing.

“I’m glad to see you again, Dr. Harding.” Today, rather than its usual intricate arrangement of curls, Phoebe’s light blonde hair was braided and arranged in a coronet. That
and the purple gown were enough to give her a regal air, but what set her apart today was the imperious tilt to her head. Gone was the injured woman who’d leaned on Elizabeth. In her place was a self-sufficient female, a woman accustomed to having her word be law.

Elizabeth tried not to frown as she wondered what edict she would hear today. Each time she had visited her, Phoebe had insisted that Sheila was making a mistake in keeping her child. Perhaps today she was going to issue a royal proclamation, demanding that Elizabeth resolve the problem according to Phoebe’s desires. No matter how it was phrased, Elizabeth’s response would be the same.

“I won’t say the girls are looking forward to your examination,” Phoebe continued, “but at least they don’t complain the way they did when Doc Worland came.”

Although grudging, it was a compliment, and Elizabeth accepted it as such. “Shall I begin with you? You look like you’re walking normally now that the cast is off, but I want to check your ankle again.”

“Certainly.” Phoebe led the way to her quarters. “Come on in, and be sure to come back when you’re finished with the girls. We’ll have a cup of coffee while we talk.”

If Elizabeth had had any doubts that Phoebe was preparing to give her an ultimatum, the thinly veiled command to return and report, all under the guise of a friendly cup of coffee, would have quashed them.

When Phoebe had removed her slippers, Elizabeth examined the previously broken ankle, comparing it to its mate. Everything looked fine, but that didn’t mean the healing was complete. The key was range and flexibility of motion. “Flex your toes,” she directed, watching the movement carefully.
“All right. Twist your foot to the right. Now the left. Point your toes down.” When Phoebe had completed the exercises, Elizabeth smiled. “It appears to have healed properly,” she confirmed.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Phoebe muttered as she slipped her shoes back on. She faced Elizabeth and added, “Wearing that cast put a crimp in my business. I don’t entertain too many gentlemen callers, but I’ve got a few regulars. All except one declined the pleasure of my company while I had the cast.”

That was more than Elizabeth needed to know. “You shouldn’t have any residual effects,” she told Phoebe, hoping that the time for embarrassing confidences was ended.

“Good.” Phoebe narrowed her eyes, studying Elizabeth for a long moment. “You’re a mighty fine doctor. Even though you and I don’t always agree, I know that my girls and I are fortunate to have you, but I am puzzled about one thing. You seem to be what my mother would have called a gently reared lady. Don’t you want a husband and children?”

It was the same question Jason had asked the day after she’d scraped his diphtheric membrane. At the time, she had given him the answer she gave everyone, that God had different plans for her, but ever since that day, the image of holding a baby with Jason’s strong features and his dark hair kept flitting through Elizabeth’s mind. The thought was tempting, so tempting, and yet she knew it could never be. Jason would not settle for a part-time wife and mother, and she could not abandon the gift God had given her and the life he had planned for her.

“Maybe someday,” she conceded. It was possible that someday she might meet a man who could accept her calling and love her despite it. It was also possible that someday
God might tell her she had done enough healing. Until one of those seemingly unlikely possibilities occurred, Elizabeth would continue on her current path. “Right now my purpose in life is being a doctor.”

“Can’t you do both?” Phoebe seemed genuinely puzzled. Leaning back on the settee, she cupped her chin in her left hand and gave Elizabeth a slow appraisal.

“Only with a very special man.” A man like Jason and yet not like him. Unwilling to continue the discussion, Elizabeth rose as she said, “I ought to see the girls.”

She saved Sheila for the last, in part because she suspected that examination would take longer than the others. Sheila always seemed anxious to talk to Elizabeth, admitting that the subject of her unborn child was not one the other girls welcomed.