Beloved Physician (8 page)

“Right. I’d say we’ll be finished here in about twenty minutes.”

When Tharyn entered the office, she noted that Mandy Dexter was still the only person in the waiting area. As she moved behind her desk, she said, “Mandy, Doctor said to tell you he’ll be finished with Craig in about twenty minutes.”

“That will be fine, Mrs. Logan. Is Craig’s hand going to be all right?”

“Oh yes. The burns are serious, but they will heal with no problem, I’m sure.”

“That’s good.”

Suddenly they heard pounding hooves outside, a man’s voice calling “Whoa!”, and the sound of a wagon rattling to an abrupt halt.

Both women looked out the window and saw a man in his early sixties hop down from the seat and dash toward the office door.

“Looks like another emergency of some kind,” said Mandy.

Tharyn fixed her eyes on the door just as the man came in.

He hurried to the desk, a look of surprise on his face. “Nadine isn’t here, ma’am?”

As Tharyn was shaking her head, ready to explain, he snapped his fingers and said, “Oh, of course. Dr. Logan told me a few weeks ago that he was getting married and that his wife would be taking over Nadine’s job. I’m Eric Cox. You
are
Mrs. Logan?”

“Yes. I’m Tharyn Logan.”

“Glad to meet you, ma’am. Dr. Logan has treated my wife, Nelda, twice since taking over the practice from Dr. Fraser. She’s fifty-eight years old and has a bad hip. Dr. Logan told us that Nelda was going to need a hip replacement sometime in the next year or so, but I think it’ll have to be sooner. Nelda just fell down a flight of stairs and her hip is hurting something awful. We live a few miles out of town. Our daughter is with her at the moment, doing everything she can to help alleviate the pain. How soon could the doctor come and look at her?”

Before Tharyn could reply, Mandy rose from her chair and approached the desk. “Mrs. Logan, I can come back tomorrow. It’s best that Dr. Logan get to this man’s wife as soon as possible.”

“Are you sure you want to wait till tomorrow?” asked Tharyn. “I know you are quite anxious to learn the doctor’s opinion of your condition. I could send a messenger to your house when the doctor gets back, and he could still see you today.”

Mandy shook her head. “That’s not necessary. Another day won’t make that much difference. This man’s wife needs the doctor, and he may need to stay with her for a while. Can you work me into your schedule tomorrow?”

Tharyn picked up a pencil and opened the appointment book. She set her eyes on the page before her. “I have an opening at nine o’clock in the morning and one at eleven-thirty. Or I could give you an afternoon appointment at two-thirty, three-thirty, or four o’clock.”

“Well, I’ll take the one at nine o’clock in the morning.”

While writing in Mandy’s name, Tharyn said, “All right. It’s done. We’ll see you at nine in the morning.”

The silver-haired Eric Cox set appreciative eyes on Mandy. “Thank you, ma’am. You are very kind.”

Mandy smiled. “I hope everything turns out all right for your wife, sir.”

As Mandy was stepping out on the boardwalk, Tharyn headed for the door of the examining room and said over her shoulder, “I’ll see how Doctor is doing with the patient back here, Mr. Cox. Be right back.”

Eric nodded and remained standing in front of her desk.

In a few minutes, she returned. “I explained to Doctor about Nelda’s fall, Mr. Cox. He said he will be able to go to her aid in about ten minutes.”

“Oh, good. Thank you, ma’am. I’ll go on back to the house and let Nelda know that the doctor will soon be on his way.”

As Eric hurried out the door, Tharyn thought of when she and Dane first met in Manhattan ten years ago, and how desperately the fifteen-year-old Dane wanted to be a physician and surgeon.

“Thank You, Lord,” she said in a soft tone. “Thank You that You made it so Dane has been able to realize his dream, and thank You for the great measure of success he has known in his few short years as a doctor.”

Just over three quarters of an hour later, Dr. Dane Logan bent over Nelda Cox’s bed with her husband and daughter beside him, while he was finishing his examination. He covered her hip and leg with the sheet, and said, “Well, Nelda, the fall definitely has accelerated your need for the hip replacement. It must be done as soon as possible.”

Still somewhat in pain though the doctor had given her a strong dose of laudanum upon his arrival, Nelda looked up at him and nodded. “Whatever you say, Dr. Logan. I’m just so thankful I have you to do the surgery.”

“For sure,” said Eric.

Bonnie Wilcox, the Coxes’ daughter, set quizzical eyes on the physician. “Dr. Logan, please help me to understand what it is exactly that you do when you perform a hip replacement. I know you’re well-known for this surgery. Mama was trying to explain it, but I want to make sure I understand.”

“Certainly,” said Dr. Dane.

“I understand you use an ivory ball in the hip socket instead of a steel one, like most doctors do. Why is that? Wouldn’t the steel ball last longer?”

“I learned in medical college that the ivory ball is better because the heavy steel ball tends to damage bone tissue in the socket. This means that after so much time, the socket is so damaged that there can never be another hip replacement. The person is then committed to a wheelchair for the rest of his or her life.”

Bonnie rubbed her chin and nodded. “I see.”

“I can tell you now that almost all surgeons who do hip replacements on both continents have gone to the ivory ball. It’s very strong but extremely light in comparison to the steel ball. So far, all the hip replacements I’ve done in Wyoming, Nebraska, and Colorado have turned out quite successful, and the recipients are still very satisfied with the results.”

“So the ivory ball lasts a long time?”

“Yes. It will last as long as the recipient lives. Like I said, it is very strong.”

Bonnie smiled and took hold of her mother’s hand. “Sounds like it’s going to be all right, Mama.”

Nelda nodded. “I believe so, honey.”

Eric looked at the doctor. “Let me tell you, Dr. Logan, I’m so glad that you are the one who will be doing Nelda’s surgery.”

“Thank you. Now let me explain about the surgery. It must be done at Mile High Hospital in Denver. My office doesn’t have the proper facilities.”

“We understand,” said Eric. “So we’ll make the trip to Denver whenever you say.”

Nelda adjusted her position on the bed. “Dr. Logan, you told us when you were treating me several weeks ago that the young lady you were going to marry had been your surgical nurse to help you with the hip replacement surgeries at Mile High Hospital.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Would it be possible for you to take her along when we go to Denver so she can assist you with my surgery?”

“Most certainly. I still have Dr. Fraser to fill in for me when I’m gone, and Nadine has volunteered to fill in for Tharyn whenever she has to be out of town. I’ll talk to Tharyn about it, and we’ll plan on it.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Nelda. “That makes me feel even better.”

The doctor grinned. “I’ll wire Dr. Matthew Carroll at Mile High Hospital right away and set up a time for the surgery.”

Arriving back in Central City, Dr. Dane drove his buggy to Main Street and pulled up in front of the Western Union office.

Charlie Holmes, the Western Union agent, was behind the counter when Dr. Dane entered, and looked up at the doctor with a broad smile. “Howdy, Doc! Something I can do for you?”

Drawing up to the counter, Dr. Dane said, “You sure can, Charlie. I want to send a telegram to Dr. Matthew Carroll, the director of Mile High Hospital in Denver.”

Charlie lifted his cap and ran splayed fingers through his thinning silver hair. “That can be arranged.”

Dr. Dane chuckled. “Good! That’s why I came in here.”

Charlie picked up pad and pencil. “Shoot!”

While Charlie wrote speedily on the pad, Dr. Dane dictated the message. He told Dr. Carroll what date he would like to do the
hip replacement surgery on Nelda Cox and asked if Dr. Carroll would wire him back and let him know if the date would be all right.

Charlie laid the pencil down. “I’ll bring the telegram to you when Dr. Carroll sends his reply.”

“I appreciate that, Charlie. Well, I’ve got to get back to the office.”

“Before you go, I want to say something.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve treated me twice since you took over Dr. Fraser’s practice.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, I’d just like to tell you how glad I am that it’s
you
who took over his practice. I appreciate your medical knowledge, and I also appreciate your professional demeanor. And let me tell you something else. There are a whole lot of people in this town and the surrounding areas who have told me they feel the same way.”

“Well, thank you, Charlie. That means a lot to me.”

“Just thought you oughtta know. I’ll bring that reply to you as soon as I get it, whether it’s to your office or to your house.”

“Thanks,” said Dr. Dane, heading for the door. “And for such good service, your next medical treatment is free.”

Charlie laughed. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, come to think of it, Doctor, I have this pain in my back. Could you—”

Dr. Dane laughed, gave Charlie a wave, and stepped out onto the boardwalk with Charlie’s laughter in his ears.

A
s Dr. Dane Logan crossed the boardwalk heading for his buggy, he heard a man’s loud, angry voice pierce the air. He looked down the street in the direction of the sound. A half-block away he saw Central City’s mayor, Mike Anderson, facing the angry man, who was pouring out hot words of rage at him. They were standing in the dusty street in front of the Rusty Lantern Saloon.

Dane had become well-acquainted with the mayor in his short time as Central City’s physician and surgeon. Mayor Anderson, who was in his early fifties, was a Christian. He and his wife, Betty, were members of the church where Mark Shane was pastor.

People were gathering at the spot as the man—who was a stranger to Dane—was railing at Anderson about a family feud sometime in the past. Blood was flushing the sides of the man’s neck as he spewed out a string of hostile words at Anderson, who was trying to reason with him in a low, controlled voice.

Serious trouble was like a rank smell on Dr. Dane’s senses. He stepped into the street and hurried in that direction, noting that the angry man had his hand on the handle of the gun in his holster.

Dane knew that the mayor did not wear a gun.

He was within twenty yards of the two men when he saw the
stranger whip out his revolver and snap back the hammer while taking a few steps backward and swearing loudly at Anderson.

The people in the crowd looked on wide-eyed as they retreated.

Running hard, Dane shouted, “Hey, you! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

Before he could get to the spot, the gun roared. Mike Anderson buckled from the impact of the bullet and started to fall.

Holding the smoking gun trained on the mayor as he fell to the ground, the gunman looked at the man running toward him. He swung the muzzle on him and shouted, “Stop right there, mister!”

But Dr. Dane’s attention was on the wounded mayor lying in the dust, gripping his bleeding midsection. He gave the gunman a flicking glance, then dropped to Anderson’s side to examine the wound. Mike was gritting his teeth and gasping for breath.

The gunman’s features were broken into sardonic lines, and his eyes were narrowed as he fixed them on Dane. “Get away from him!”

On his knees beside the wounded mayor, Dane retorted, “I’m a doctor. I’ve got to take Mike to my office immediately and treat him, or he will die.”

The crowd stood with pale faces, eyes wide, mouths gaping.

The angry man’s voice was shrill as the scrape of a file. “I told you to get away from him! Do it, or I’ll shoot you too!”

Dr. Dane’s determination gleamed in his eyes as he lifted the wounded man up into his arms and rose to his feet. Putting a flat emphasis on his words, he said, “Mike was unarmed. If he dies, you’ll be up on a murder charge, mister. All these people are witnesses. I’ve got to take that slug out of his midsection right now, or he’ll die for sure.”

With that, Dr. Dane pivoted and headed in the direction of his office.

The crowd watched the gunman aim the gun at Dr. Dane’s back as he hissed, “Then you die, too!”

A shot rang out, and the gunman went down like a rotted tree in a high wind.

Every eye in the crowd turned to the man with the badge on his chest in the middle of the street.

When Dr. Dane heard the shot, he expected to feel the bullet plow into his back. With the bleeding mayor cradled in his arms, he paused, looked back, and saw Central City’s young town marshal, Jake Merrell, standing over the fallen gunman, but looking his way.

“Go on, Doc,” Merrell said solemnly. “Take care of Mike. This mans dead.”

Dane nodded, then set his gaze on a man in the crowd named Alf Roberts. “Alf, would you do me a favor?”

“Sure, Doc. Name it.”

“I need you to bring my horse and buggy to the office for me. They’re up there at the Western Union office.”