A Measure of Mercy (26 page)

The nurse gave her a questioning look but nodded.

As they rolled her over, the woman screamed like an animal caught in a trap. The orderly kept talking with her as they forced her to kneel, even though she was so weak she couldn’t hold the position by herself.

Dr. Barlow pushed aside the curtain. “Do you need help?”

“Someone rub her back. See if we can get her to relax.”
God, help
us.
“Hold her up!” The woman screamed again, the cry fading into faint groans.

Astrid got her hand into position again.
Please don’t let us lose her
either, God, please. I can’t stand another one dying.
The next contraction threatened to cut off the circulation in her arm, but the baby turned, and Astrid gave a yelp of joy when she felt the head in the birth canal. “We got it. Turn her over. Sean, you brace her against your chest and let’s get this baby into the light. Tell her to push now. Scalpel.”

The baby had blue fingernails, toenails, and lips when he slid into her hands, but even so, he wailed at the shock. The nurse laid him on a blanket on his mother’s chest. “Here you go, dearie. A fine son.”

Astrid ignored the tears streaming down her cheeks. When she heard one of the nurses sniff, she knew she wasn’t alone.

“Well done, Doctor.” The older man patted her shoulder. “Come and talk to me when you get her cleaned up.”

Astrid nodded. Her attention, now focused on cutting the cord when it stopped pulsating and letting the nurse take over on that process, focused back on her patient to stop the bleeding. “Here, massage her belly,” she told the young nurse in training as she packed soft cloths in place. “We can help the uterus contract that way and expel the afterbirth. Here it comes.” Another contraction delivered the remaining tissue.

The older nurse stopped beside her and spoke under her breath. “I’m going to scrub as much of her as I can while the others care for the baby. She is filthy.”

“Do you get many like her?”

“No. Most don’t get pregnant. There are ways to prevent it, you know.”

“I heard what I thought might be an old wives’ tales and that the Indians know of a way.”

“Don’t know about the Indians, but—”

Thinking she might want to explore this subject further, Astrid tucked it away in her mind and turned back to check on her patient. How could anyone be so dirty? Did she not have access to clean water? She checked her patient’s pulse and smiled down at her. “They’ll bring your son back to you as soon as he is cleaned and dressed. We’re going to move you to the ward now.”

She shook her head.

Wishing Sean were back, Astrid listened to the weak voice tell her something that seemed very important to the patient.

“I wish I could understand you.” Astrid turned back to the nurse.

“I’ll check back later. Let me know if there is any change. Make sure she gets some soup and . . .”

The nurse was nodding.

“Sorry. You know all that. Thank you for helping.”

“I’d not seen something like that done before. I was sure we were on our way to the OR.” The older nurse
tut-tut
ted almost like Mrs.

Valders when she didn’t quite believe something.

Benny was sleeping again when Astrid stopped by his bed. The chart said he’d eaten dinner and taken his medications, his temperature was slightly elevated, and the doctor had ordered the dressings be changed in the morning. She left him and continued her rounds. When she had only half an hour until class, she dropped by the dining room for a cup of coffee and a handful of cookies. Sitting down at the table, she took her pad of paper and pencil from her apron pocket and started a long overdue letter to Joshua.

Dear Mr. Landsverk,

Thank you for your letter. I’m glad to hear you are enjoying building windmills. That certainly is a job that makes life easier for your customers. They must be very appreciative.

Life here at the hospital is extremely busy. It makes me wonder how we will ever have a real hospital in Blessing. The operating rooms here seem to be busy all the time. I assisted with a little boy who fell under a dray wagon and lost both his legs. Such terrible things happen on these city streets. How I long for the open air and quiet life, although that’s not how I thought about it when I lived there.

She paused and rubbed her chin with the pencil. What else could she tell him? About dissecting the cadaver? He’d probably be mortified. The woman who’d finally given birth? One did not discuss such things with a person of the opposite gender.
Sex
was another word never used.

I will add to this later. It is time for my afternoon class.
She stuffed the pad and pencil into her pocket, stopped by her room to pick up her text and notebook, and headed up the stairs to the third floor, where the classrooms were located. For a change she was the first one in the room.

She dug into her other pocket for a handkerchief and found the letter from the missionary in Africa. She removed the sheet and read it again.
Lord God, is this from you? One minute I think it is, the next
I’m sure it’s not. Or is it just that I don’t want to go to Africa? I want to
go home to Blessing, the sooner the better.
She thought of crinkling the whole thing and tossing it in the wastebasket.

“You’re here early,” Red Hawk said as he sat down beside her. “A letter from home?”

“No, from Africa.” She folded the letter back up.

“Africa? The so-called dark continent?”

She thought a bit. Could she talk with him about something this important? Or would he go into his mocking, cutting responses? “Do you believe in God?”

He looked at her for a moment before answering, “I believe in the Great Spirit.”

“Does your God talk to you?” She squirmed a little at his concentrated gaze.

“In visions and through the elders.” He paused. “I do think you and I believe in the same God.”

“So you read the Bible?”

“Some. My mother did, which is why she named me Isaac, although I prefer Red Hawk. What does this have to do with your letter?”

Astrid paused for a moment. Why was he being so forthcoming this time? She wanted to hear more of his story, but for now she had to finish. “I will explain, but do you believe God calls us to different services?”

“I believe He brought me here to learn to be a doctor so I can help my people.” He glanced over his shoulder when he heard someone else entering. “If that is what you refer to as a calling, I guess I do.”

“Before I left home, I heard this man talk about his mission in Africa. He said they needed medical missionaries and looked right at me. Now he writes to me telling me more and encouraging me to come to Africa.” How amazing it was to be talking with him like this, as if they weren’t just students across a cadaver.

“I see. Had you ever wanted to go to Africa?” His mouth twitched just a fraction as if he were trying not to smile.

She shook her head. “Not in the least. I am a homebody. We are dreaming of building a hospital in Blessing, and I’m to be one of the doctors there.”

“Unless you go to Africa?”

She nodded. “Why do things have to get so complicated?”

As Red Hawk leaned toward her to answer, another student stopped at her side. “I hear you may have saved a woman’s life today, and her baby. Where did you get such an unusual idea?”

“My mother has been helping birth babies and caring for the sick in our area. I remembered her telling about an experience like that.”

“Have you also done a cesarean?”

“No.”

She saw Red Hawk shut down into his impassive look again. Could he be jealous of her medical experiences? She kept herself from staring at him, willing him to come back. One of these days she’d just ask him.

“All right, Doctors, let us begin.” Dr. Franck tapped his pointer stick on the desk. “We are here to learn the human anatomy, not discuss personal things.”

Astrid pushed her letter back into her pocket and opened her textbook. A letter from Africa, and a letter to a man whom she thought she was interested in getting to know better. His letter had been brief to the point of being stilted, more a note than a letter. And now she couldn’t find anything to tell him about. She rubbed her forehead. And heard the instructor call her name.

She looked up. “Yes?”

“If you would like to join our class, we would be most appreciative.” The bite in his voice told her she’d not been paying attention.

“I’m sorry. Could you please repeat your question?” Maybe she needed another cup of coffee. Maybe what she really needed was answers.
Remember Benny
. The thought floated through, distracting her from the question again. From the look on the instructor’s face, she’d better focus on what was going on—right now. She braced for another line of sarcasm. What had he asked her?

“Just say yes,” came a whisper from Red Hawk.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’m glad you decided to join us.”

She knew better than to be distracted in this class. Dr. Franck believed women should be in nursing but should not be qualified as doctors, and here she was, playing right into his hands. What had he been asking her? She jotted a note to remind herself to ask Red Hawk. And thank him for his help. Honey instead of vinegar. Would it work?

21

B
LESSING
, N
ORTHDAKOTA

I
think my wife is ready to hang me out on the clothesline.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow. He didn’t blame Penny for being disgusted. Perhaps downright angry if she’d not heard from her husband any more than he’d said. “You were gone a long time. Even I began to think something had happened to you.”

“No telephones down around there. Sure makes me appreciate some of the things we’ve developed in Blessing. I’m thinking we should be selling telephone systems and installations. There’s going to be a boom there.”

Nodding, Joshua took a swig of his coffee. He and Hjelmer were sitting in the dining room at the boardinghouse, supposedly discussing where he would be putting up the next windmill. “So where do we go to next?” And it better be soon; the weather might not hold much longer.

“I have two orders south of Grafton. That’s all we’ll get done this fall, I’m afraid. I’ll work with you on those. I don’t see any sense in doing another trip like the one I just took. By the way, here’s your pay.” He handed Joshua an envelope. “Sorry I didn’t get it to you sooner. We’ll set it up next time I leave for Penny to pay you regular like. I really didn’t think I’d be gone so long.”

“Thank you.” Joshua looked at the details about the upcoming orders. “They both paid a deposit?”

Hjelmer nodded. “That way we can be sure they won’t change their minds. I have the specifics for each one too.”

“Clear down to Valley City. That brings up an idea Trygve had.” He nodded his thanks to Miss Christopherson, who refilled their coffee cups.

“More cinnamon rolls?”

Hjelmer handed her the plate. “I have sorely missed the good cooking here in Blessing. No wonder this boardinghouse is so famous.”

“Coming right up,” she said with a smile. “Do you need anything else?”

Both men shook their heads and returned to their discussion. “That Trygve, he has a good head on his shoulders. What’s his idea?”

“That we build a wagon like the cook shack the men take threshing. Small stove, cupboards, and beds for two or three men.”

“You know, I saw pictures of hammocks that they use for the crews in ships. They’re made of canvas and can be hung against the wall until night. Leaves the center free for cooking and such.”

“We could carry our tools in outside boxes, some materials on top or side racks.”

“You ever see a gypsy wagon?”

Joshua shook his head.

“I remember one year they came through here, a whole flock of ’em. I asked if I could see the interior. They used every inch of space. I think that’s where Haakan got the idea for the cook wagon. That or a chuck wagon like they use on cattle drives.” He took out a pencil and paper and began sketching. “One of these days there will be plenty of roads and automobiles driving them. I read that one company is now working on what they call a truck. Has a wagon bed for hauling things.” He smiled at Joshua’s snort of disbelief. “No fooling. You know, once we get these two windmills finished, we can build this wagon during the winter. We can use Lars’s machine shed, I’m sure. Not enough space at the livery or the smithy.”

“So when do we leave?”

“Soon as the rest of the parts get here. I’ll order them today.”

The fragrance of warm cinnamon rolls preceded Miss Christopherson like an invitation. “I brought you fresh coffee too.” She set the plate on the table. “Thorliff, er . . . Mr. Bjorklund, phoned and asked if you were here. He’s on his way over.”

“Good, thanks.”

A minute or so later Thorliff dropped two copies of the
Blessing
Gazette
on the table. “Thought you could catch up on the news.” He pointed to the headline. “James J. Hill’s second ocean liner, the
Dakota
, will carry two thousand passengers when completed.”