A Frontier Christmas (14 page)

Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: A Frontier Christmas

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“The reason you have to be quarantined is because you and your wife have been exposed to diphtheria. You may not come down with it . . . and chances are you won't, or you would already be showing symptoms. But, whether you show symptoms or not, you can still be a carrier. Do you want to infect the rest of the town?”

“No, I reckon not,” Lester said sheepishly.

“Then please, do what I say. Now, take Danny home, and take care of him.”

“Come on, Carl. Let's do what the doctor says, please,” Edith said.

Lester nodded. “All right. I'll do what you say, Doc, but please don't let him die. Just don't let him die.”

“I'm going to do what I can for him, Mr. Lester.”

After the Lesters left, Dr. Poindexter sat at his desk, smoking his cigar and staring off into space.

“George, are we going to have an epidemic of diphtheria?” Jenny asked.

Dr. Poindexter sighed and ran his hand through his thinning, gray hair. “First there was Laura Hastings, and now Danny Lester. I'm afraid we just might be heading in that direction.”

“Oh, George, surely not!”

“Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions here, but everything I've seen so far certainly makes me think that might be the case.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

With the Lesters gone and the immediate crisis temporarily dealt with, Dr. Poindexter continued to research all he could find about diphtheria.

At the moment, he was reading the article on diphtheria in the
Boston Medical and Surgical Journal
. When he came to what he was looking for, he smiled. “Jenny, listen to this. âIn 1883, a Swiss-German pathologist identified and described the bacterium that causes diphtheria. A year later, German bacteriologist Friedrich Loeffler developed an antitoxin, which has proved effective in treating the disease.'”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Jenny asked.

“It means that if I can get hold of enough of this antitoxin, I can treat this before it takes over the whole town.”

“Where are you going to find it?”

“Ahh, I'm afraid you've got me there, darlin',” Dr. Poindexter said. “I'm going to have to send a telegram off, asking for help.”

“Do you think it's wise to let people know that we may have diphtheria? Might it not spread a panic?”

“Yes, it could well do that. Another problem is that I may wind up having to put the entire town on quarantine, and if word gets out too quickly, I fear people will panic and start leaving town. That could spread the disease over the entire state, causing an even bigger disaster.”

“How are you going to send off a telegram without letting the telegrapher know? If he finds out something like that, the whole town will know within an hour.”

“I just won't use the word diphtheria. At least, not in the way that he would recognize it.” Dr. Poindexter stood and grabbed his coat. Leaving his office, he walked down to the telegraph office, where he wrote out a telegram.

POSSIBLE OUTBREAK OF CORYNEBACTERIUM STOP REQUEST IMMEDIATE SUPPLY OF ANTITOXIN SERUM SUFFICIENT TO TREAT INFECTED STOP NUMBER COULD REACH HIGH AS ONE HUNDRED STOP DR. GEORGE POINDEXTER STOP RAWHIDE BUTTES

“Please send this to the chief surgeon at the United Medical Center in Cheyenne,” Dr. Poindexter said, handing the message to the telegrapher, Howard McGill.

He read it. “What is this cory . . . coryne . . . ?”

“Corynebacterium,” the doctor said, pronouncing the word for him. “It's a type of respiratory ailment.”

“And this here serum will take care of it?”

“Well, Howard, it will if we send for it instead of standing here talking about it.”

McGill chuckled. “All right, Doc, I understand. I'll get it sent off right away.”

When Dr. Poindexter returned from sending the telegram, he found Tom Welch, the town mortician, had arrived in his office.

“Hello, Tom. What can I do for you?”

“Doc, I just got a man in that I think you'd better come have a look at.”

Dr. Poindexter chuckled dryly. “Well, Tom, if you've got him, it's probably a little late for me to be looking at him, isn't it?”

“Yeah, well, that ain't why I'm wantin' you to see him. It's the way he looks that I think you ought to see.”

“All right. I'll come down to your place and have a look.”

The undertaker's business was between the lumberyard and the hardware store, a convenient location because Welch not only embalmed the bodies, he also made the coffins. For that, he needed material from both his neighboring business establishments.

The body was that of a male who appeared to be in his early fifties. His neck was swollen to the size of his head. He was naked, and several large lesions were visible on both legs. His mouth was open as if he had been gasping for breath as he died

Dr. Poindexter leaned over to look into his mouth and saw several deep necrotic ulcers present on the tongue and the inner surface of the cheeks. The back of his throat was covered with a thick gray membrane. He straightened and asked, “Who is this man?”

“According to Hodge Doolin, his name is Ralph Walters,” Welch said.

“Doolin? From the hotel?”

“Yes, that's where this man was staying. Hodge said that after nobody had seen him for a couple days, he sent Mike up to check on him, and found him dead in his room.”

“Has his family been notified?”

“As far I know, he has no family here. I haven't been able to find anyone who knows anything about him. I'm going to have to get him declared indigent so I can bury him.”

“So he was just passing through town?”

“From what I've gathered. Hodge said he was sort of a traveling troubadour who went from town to town playing music and entertaining with stories.”

“Did he do a show here?”

“I don't know,” Welch said. “So, what about it, Doc? What killed this fella?”

“Diphtheria,” Dr. Poindexter said.

“Diphtheria? Damn, have I been exposed?”

“Probably not, but when you are finished with him, wash your hands thoroughly, and use a lot of soap.”

Leaving the mortuary, Poindexter walked two blocks to the Rocky Mountain Hotel. Hodge Doolin was watching as Mike and a volunteer were hanging a large banner on the wall above the fireplace. R
OCKY
M
OUNTAIN
H
OTEL
W
ISHES
M
ERRY
C
HRISTMAS
T
O
A
LL
.

“Joe, lift your end about an inch,” Doolin directed.

Joe complied.

“About another inch.”

Again the banner was moved.

“No, that's too much. Come back down.”

“Well, make up your mind, Hodge. We ain't exactly buildin' a house here, you know. All we're doin' is hangin' a sign,” Mike said.

“Yes, but we may as well do it right,” Doolin insisted. “All right, you've got it now. Put in the tacks.”

As the two men secured the sign, Doolin turned away, then saw Poindexter standing there. “Hello, Doc, what can I do for you?”

“I just left the mortuary,”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Walters. Damn. He must 'a been dead for two or three days. I ain't never seen a body that had a neck all swolled up like that.”

“Had he complained about not feeling well?”

“A couple days ago he asked for an extra blanket, said he was cold, but hell, that wasn't nothin'. This time of year lots of folks want extra blankets. He did say that his throat was sore. I asked 'im if he wanted me to call a doctor, but he said he didn't want one. I should 'a called you anyhow, I reckon. But I never figured he'd up and die on us like that.”

“Tom Welch said he didn't have any family here.”

“None that nobody knows anything about. He just got here last week.”

“Why was he in Rawhide Buttes, do you know?”

“I think he come here to entertain the kids in school,” the hotel clerk said.

“And did he?”

“That I can't tell you. You'll have to ask Miss Foley.”

“Yes, Mr. Walters was here,” the teacher said.

“What was he like?” Dr. Poindexter asked.

“Well, I found him to be quite a nice man. He even asked me out, but of course, I told him that wouldn't be possible,” Miss Foley said, smiling as she reached up to touch her hair. “He was very entertaining, though I think he would have been even more so, if had had been able to sing.”

“He didn't sing?”

“No, he said he was having trouble with his voice. You could tell just by listening to him. His voice was rather hoarse, though it carried well enough that he was able to keep the children entertained with his stories. Oh, and such marvelous stories they were, too. He told one about a Chris, the Christmas Bird who would eat flowers, then turn the color of the flowers he consumed. And he illustrated it by drawing pictures on the blackboard with colored chalk. The children were very entertained.”

Keeping his voice matter-of-fact, the doctor inquired, “Were Danny Lester and Laura Hastings present for his performance?”

“They were both here. As I recall, there were no children absent on that day, although both Danny and Laura have been absent since that day. I do hope Laura is back in time for our Christmas pageant. Oh. Even though you have no children in school, you are invited. The entire town is invited to see the children perform. They have been working so hard to prepare for it.

“How are you feeling, Miss Foley?”

“What do you mean, how am I feeling?”

“I mean, have you had any spells of dizziness? Is your throat sore?” Dr. Poindexter reached out to put the back of his hand on Miss Foley's forehead. “Have you had any fever?”

“No, I feel just fine. Why are you asking?”

“I'm asking because you were exposed to Mr. Walters.”

“What about Mr. Walters? Has he taken ill?” she wondered.

“I'm afraid he has died,” Dr. Poindexter replied.

“Died? Oh, heavens!” Miss Foley gasped, putting her hand to her chest. “Oh, how tragic. The children enjoyed him so.”

“I'm sure they did.”

“Dr. Poindexter, do you think I might be taken ill?”

“From Mr. Walters? Probably not, you were exposed to him long enough ago that if you were going to be ill, the symptoms would be presenting by now.”

“Oh. Well, that is good to know. The children have been working so hard on their play, I would hate to be the cause of it not being done.”

Dr. Poindexter started to tell her that there would be no play, regardless of whether she was ill or not, but he decided against it. “Yes, well, I thank you very much for the information, Miss Foley.”

“You're quite welcome, though I'm sorry it had to do with such a sad bit of news. Do tell Mrs. Poindexter hello, for me, won't you?”

“Yes, thank you, I will.”

Having returned to the office, Dr. Poindexter went straight to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a drink that filled half a water glass.

Jenny looked up from what she was doing. “George! What are you doing, drinking in the middle of the day?”

He did not take the glass from his lips until he had drunk the entire thing. Then he wiped his mouth with back of his hand. “I have found where it started, Jenny. I know where the cases of diphtheria are coming from.”

“Where did it start?”

“It was brought here by man named Ralph Walters.”

She shook her head. “That's not a name I recognize.”

“You wouldn't. He just came to town a few days ago. You know why?”

“Why?”

“He was here to entertain the children at school. He already had the disease when he arrived.”

“Where is he now?”

Dr. Poindexter's heart was heavy. “At the mortuary. He's dead, but before he died, he exposed every child in town. And those children have exposed their parents, and those parents may have exposed others.” Dr. Poindexter

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. God help me, I don't know.”

“Doc! Dr. Poindexter!” someone shouted from outside.

Jenny stepped up to the window. “It's Mr. Sinclair. He's carrying Helen.”

The doctor walked over to open the door as Sinclair came rushing in, holding a little girl in his arms.

“Doc, it's my daughter! She's stopped breathin'! Do something! Please, do something!”

Dr. Poindexter could tell by looking at the little girl's face that there was nothing he could do. She had already died.

Sky Meadow Ranch

Ahead of him, Duff could see the snowcapped, purple mountains. To the observer, it was a Christmas scene as could be portrayed by Currier and Ives, a lone rider on a horse, leaving a trail in the snow behind him. The house before him had gleaming windows and displayed a green wreath with a red bow. From the chimney, a curl of white smoke climbed into a bright, blue sky.

After stabling Sky, Duff walked to the house, stomping the snow off his boots on the back porch before he went inside. He could smell the aroma of cinnamon and sugar and knew that Mrs. Sterling was doing everything she could to make Christmas a gala event. Stepping into the kitchen, he saw Mrs. Sterling wasn't working alone, for Sally was just as busy.

“Where are Smoke and Matt?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“They've gone out to find a Christmas tree,” Sally said.

“Tree? Why do we need a tree? We already have a Christmas wreath hanging in the front window.”

“Don't be such a Scrooge,” Sally said. “You need more than a wreath. You also need a tree.”

Stomping noises came from the back door and they rushed from the kitchen. Smoke and Matt had brought the tree into the house. Mrs. Sterling suggested that it should be placed in the parlor, and the men set it up there.

She and Sally returned to the kitchen to put it to rights and soon joined the men in the parlor. Decorations had been pulled out and they began decorating the tree.

“I wish Meagan could be here helping us,” Sally said. “I'm looking forward to seeing her again. But, this close to Christmas, I'm sure she is very busy with her dress emporium, getting ready for the holidays.”

“She is busy, but not with her shop,” Duff said. “She went back to Rawhide Buttes to help a friend get her store ready for Christmas.”

“That's very nice of her. She will be back before Christmas, though, won't she?”

“She plans to be.”

“There's a dance Christmas Eve,” Elmer said. “You had better believe that Miss Parker won't be missing that.”

“A dance on Christmas Eve? How nice,” Sally said. “Is everyone invited?”

“I really don't know,” Duff said. “But you are invited. Whether 'tis an open dance or nae, the three of ye will be m' guests.”

The next morning dawned clear. Duff stood at the window in the front parlor, drinking a cup of coffee as he looked out over the field of snow glistening brightly in the morning sun.

“Good morning,” Smoke said, coming into the room behind him.

“Have you got coffee?” Duff asked.

“Just poured myself a cup.”

“Where are the others?”

“Matt spent the night in the bunkhouse, and hasn't come in yet. Sally is in the kitchen with Mrs. Sterling.”

Duff frowned. “Why did Matt stay in the bunkhouse?”

“He was playing cards with Al, Case, and Brax last night. He said he didn't want to come in late and wake everyone up.”

“Here he comes now,” Duff said, looking out the window again.

Matt and Elmer were coming toward the house, leaving behind a track of black holes made by their footfalls in the white snow.

A moment later, the two men began stamping their feet on the front porch, so as not to track snow into the house.

“They'll be wanting coffee.” Duff walked back into the dining room to pour a second cup for himself and one for Elmer. Smoke followed him and poured a cup for Matt. When the two men came in, they were greeted with hot coffee.

“Thank you,” Elmer said, accepting the cup, then taking a swallow. “I tell you what, it might have faired off, but it sure as hell didn't get no warmer. I hate cold weather. I truly do.”

“Elmer, you've been all over the world,” Duff said. “I'm sure that in your travels you've been to places that don't get cold.”

“Pago Pago. It never gets cold there. And the women wear no tops,” he added with a broad smile.

Duff raised his mug in the manner of a salute. “There you go. Why didn't you stay there?”

“The only way I could 'a stayed was iffen I had jumped ship,” Elmer said. “The island is too small for a person to hide out for long. I've always thought I might like to go back someday, though. You know what? Once you 'n Miss Parker get married, you ought to take a trip there. That would be a real nice place for you to go to.”

“Be ye nae so quick to get me married, Elmer,” Duff said. “I told you last night, dinnae ye be rushing me.

Elmer laughed. “Yeah, I know you keep puttin' it off. But you ain't foolin' no one, Duff MacCallister. You 'n Miss Parker will be gettin' married before you know it.”

“We'll see. Listen, how about having someone hitch up the sleigh for me? I told Smoke and Matt I'd take them into town this morning.”

“Will you be visiting our friend Biff at Fiddlers' Green?”

“Aye, 'twould be the only decent thing to do. Sure 'n Biff would be upset if we didn't call on him now, wouldn't he?”

“We?”

“I expect you'll be goin' along as well.”

Elmer grinned. “I thought you'd never ask.”

“You'll be seeing Mrs. Winslow?”

“I never pass up the opportunity to have a piece of pie.”

“A piece of pie. Right,” Duff said with a broad smile.

Vi Winslow was a widow. She and Elmer Gleason had been “keeping company,” as Meagan described it.