Her Healing Ways (8 page)

Indigo turned and grinned. “You miss nothing, Aunt Mercy.”

Neither does Ma Bailey.
Any kind of gossip could make Indigo the target of… Mercy didn't want to put it into words. But a certain kind of man would take advantage of any woman deemed less than respectable. And it could tinge the standing of Mercy's
fledgling medical practice. Mercy closed her eyes, resisting the temptation to worry.

Indigo began singing to herself, “There'll be peace in the valley for me someday, I pray no more sorrow and sadness or trouble will be, there'll be peace in the valley for me, there the flowers will be blooming, the grass will be green…”

Listening to Indigo's low, sweet voice, Mercy turned her thoughts back to the present.
No use borrowing trouble.
“I certainly haven't missed seeing how this young man has succeeded in bringing out thy smiles and laughter,” Mercy said, feeling guilty over her reservations.
Lord, let me be wrong.

“He does make me laugh,” Indigo replied as she began to set the table for three.

“Then he must be a good man.”

“At first I tried to avoid him,” Indigo said. “I mean, I am a woman of color and he's part white. But he says his mother won't care.”

“He has a mother living?” Mercy asked.

“Yes, farther north, near Canada. He came down to see if he could make some money mining or logging.”

“And what is this young man's name?” Mercy watched Indigo trying to hide how much joy merely speaking of her beau gave her.

“He is Pierre Gauthier.”

The names sounded good together. “I will, of course, make him welcome. What are thee preparing this evening?” Mercy glanced at the covered cast
iron pot hanging over the fire, gently humming with steam.

“Pierre went hunting and brought the meat over earlier. So I put it to roast with some wild onions and a few potatoes. I'm baking a pie, too.” Indigo pointed to the covered Dutch oven on a trivet sitting in the back of the fire. “I picked some late berries this afternoon. One of the miners eating at the café told me where to look for them. Wasn't that nice?”

Mercy nodded her agreement. “Sounds like a lovely meal.”
I hope Pierre Gauthier is worthy of it.

A jaunty knock sounded on the door.

“That's him.” Indigo's face lit up like a lightning bug. She hurried to the door and opened it.

“Bonjour, ma jeune fille.”

The man spoke French?

He walked inside, carrying a basket of fall leaves and pinecones. “I thought you might dress up your cabin with these.”

Mercy couldn't help herself—she was impressed. “What a lovely gift.”

He strode to her and executed a bow. “I am Pierre Gauthier, Dr. Gabriel.”

She gave him her hand. “Welcome to our home, Pierre Gauthier.”

“Merci, Docteur.”

Another knock on the door sounded. Mercy glanced at Indigo who shrugged and went to the door.

“Hello, Indigo. I've come to speak to Dr. Gabriel.”

Lon?
Mercy was caught completely off guard.

Indigo looked back at her. “Please come in, Mr. Mackey.”

Lon entered, doffing his hat. Then he paused, obviously surprised to see Pierre. His face changed in a moment from the honest one he had worn when they had spoken together earlier to the gambler's cool veneer.

Lon nodded toward Pierre. “I'm so sorry to intrude. I didn't know you had company.”

“Lon—” Mercy began, but couldn't finish her sentence. How did she say,
Don't act like this?

“You must come in, sir,” Indigo said, managing to take his hat from his hand. “We were just about to sit down to supper and we have more than enough for four.”

Lon looked ready to decline. And Mercy felt her former good spirits vanishing.

“
Mon ami,
stay,” Pierre said expansively. “You will even up the numbers.” He grinned. “Two ladies and two gentlemen.”

Mercy lifted her tight lips into a smile. Having another man at the table might give her a better perspective of this young man. If only Lon wouldn't carry on his “I am just a carefree gambler” role. “Yes, Lon Mackey, please stay.”

“As you wish, Doctor,” he said archly.

Soon the men sat on the bench on one side of the table. “Mademoiselle Indigo, something smells delicious,” Pierre said.

Indigo beamed and turned toward the fire.

“Thee are French, Pierre Gauthier?” Mercy asked, trying to relieve the tense atmosphere in the small cabin.

“Please, call me Pierre. And I am Métis.”

Mercy didn't want to seem rude, but the words popped out. “What is that?”

“It's the name given to Indians who intermarried with the French fur traders much earlier, before the U.S. was even a nation,” Lon said smoothly.

“
Oui,
I am French and Ojibwa and Dakota Sioux also. Most Métis live in Canada, but my family settled on this side of the border.”

“Ah.” That explained the mix of French in his English and the blend of races in his face and build.

Lon looked pained with the polite conversation. Or was it something else?

“Indigo says thee has a mother,” she said, forging on.

Pierre nodded. “Mackey, do you not gamble tonight?”

Lon cleared his throat. “I will be in the saloon tonight if you should wish to try your luck with the cards.” His mouth quirked into a faint smirk.

In spite of Lon's provocation, Mercy kept her face impassive.
Lon, I won't let thee lure me into any discussion of thy gambling.
She hated that their new accord was slipping through her fingers.

“I was stopping to let Dr. Gabriel,” Lon said,
watching her, “know that I intend to leave town in the next few days. Since our paths rarely cross except in passing, I didn't want her to find out secondhand.”

Mercy's insides turned over. “Thee plan on leaving?”

Indigo stopped on her way to the table. “Leaving? Why?”

Lon shrugged. “Gamblers never stay in one place for long. Miss Indigo, that certainly does smell delicious.”

Indigo set the meal on the table and began serving. Lon lifted an eyebrow, his expression almost a challenge to Mercy.

Mercy tried to keep up the conversation while trying to decide why Lon had come and if he was sincere in planning to leave.

An hour after the meal, Pierre excused himself. “I must go home and sleep. I begin work at dawn.” He bid Mercy a formal goodnight and then lifted Indigo's hand, kissed it, and left, murmuring,
“Bon nuit, ma chère,”
before he left.

Lon had not followed the young Métis out. He rose. “I thank you, ladies, for an excellent meal. But I must go earn my living at the saloon. I will need sufficient funds to leave town.”

“Is thee really leaving town?” Mercy asked, unable to stop herself.

“Indeed. I hope to leave by week's end.” He bowed, donned his hat and departed.

Indigo closed the door and then leaned back
against it. She straightened, looking directly into Mercy's eyes. “What do you think of Pierre, Aunt Mercy?”

Mercy tried to sort through all her impressions, but Lon's unexpected announcement had distracted her. “I like him,” she said at last. “I don't know how anyone could not like him.”

“But you don't think that's good enough.” Indigo's face looked downcast.

“I didn't say that.” Mercy had no room to talk. She knew by now that Lon commanded her attention more than he should. She also tried to think of a way to ask the question that had not been asked.

“You're wondering if he's friends with the Lord?”

Mercy walked to Indigo and put an arm around her. Lon did not appear to be friends with the Lord. War could do that to any man. But when her daughter didn't answer the question, Mercy's smile slipped away.
Oh, dear.

“I don't know the answer to that, Aunt Mercy.”

Mercy gazed at Indigo's lovely face. So young, so pretty, so wanting to be loved. “We will pray about it.”

“But I am going to have to ask him, right?” Indigo looked as if she were hoping Mercy would say no.

Mercy nodded. “Thee
must
know the answer.”

Sudden tears sprang into Indigo's eyes. “I don't want to lose him.”

Lon Mackey slipped into Mercy's mind, and
her mind repeated Indigo's words,
I don't want to lose him.

How can I lose what I never had?
Yet Lon Mackey was the only man who had ever lingered in her mind like this. This left her feeling empty. If Lon left town, would every day fill her with this sense of loneliness and loss?

 

It had taken a bit longer than Mercy had hoped to get the meeting arranged at the church where she and Indigo had treated the last few cholera patients. Nonetheless, today, humming with anticipation and nervousness, Mercy walked to the front of the church. She looked out over the small gathering of around thirty women all dressed in their Sunday best. Would they listen with understanding to what she had to say? Or would they reject what she longed to teach them?

“Good afternoon, ladies. I'm so glad that thee has come to hear about some of the discoveries doctors here and abroad have been making about the human body and how to keep it healthy.”

Ma Bailey sat front and center, glaring at Mercy.

Mercy resisted the temptation to lift her chin. However, if Ma Bailey thought she could take this hopeful beginning and turn it to dust, she was mistaken.

“The recent cholera epidemic is an example of a disease that can be stopped with public sanitation.”

“What's public sanitation?” Ma Bailey snapped.

“Public sanitation is the name of the emerging
movement to keep people healthy through clean water and food.” Mercy forged on, preempting Ma Bailey, who was trying to be heard. “As early as the 1830s, New York State passed laws to keep their water sources free of contamination from animal carcasses.”

As Ma Bailey opened her mouth again, Mercy hurried on. “Here, the first family to succumb to the cholera was the family that had made and brought the berry juice to the church meeting. Subsequently, dead rats were found in their well.”

A communal gasp went through the women. “No one told us that,” Ellen Dunfield declared, an angry edge to her voice.

Mercy nodded. “Thee may ask Lon Mackey and the bartender, Tom Banks. They discovered the rats themselves.”

This revelation was followed by a buzz of upset voices. Mercy hoped she had as good a poker face as any gambler because inside, she was rejoicing. The truth was a powerful force.

Mercy was about to go on when the door at the back of the church opened slowly. In the shaft of sunlight, Mercy couldn't see who had come late. Her eyes adjusted, and she saw Chen Park and his wife standing just inside the church.
Father in heaven, I never expected them to come. Help them be welcomed, not shunned.
“Chen Park and Chen An,” she greeted them as she went up the aisle.

Both of them bowed low several times. The
husband spoke, “We hear you tell women how to keep babies well.”

“Yes, I'm speaking on how to keep babies healthy. Please take a seat.” She motioned toward the nearest pew, which was far behind the nearest woman. Mercy hated the separation, but realized that this was neither the time nor the place for a lesson on the evils of discrimination.

The Chinese couple made their way into the pew and sat down. Mercy walked back to the front, ignoring the low rush of disapproving voices discussing the arrival of the Chens. She heard Ma Bailey hiss, “Heathens in a church.”

Before Mercy could reply, another woman said, “Mrs. Bailey, there will be every tribe and nation in heaven.”

To stem this theological debate, Mercy began speaking again. “Now many of thee have known women who have lost children due to milk fever.”

At these words, an anxious silence fell on the assembled parents. Milk fever killed many infants each year in the warm months. “Thee should know,” Mercy continued, “that a scientist named Louis Pasteur has shown that boiling milk destroys bacteria. And bacteria are what carry disease.”

“Bacteria?” Ellen echoed.

“Yes, as early as the 1600s a Dutchman, Antonie van Leeuwenhoek, developed lenses that could see living bacteria, which is too small for the human eye to see—”

“If it's too small for us to see, how did that ol' Dutchman see it then? Answer me that,” Ma Bailey crowed.

Mercy held her temper, which wanted to break away from her like a racehorse. Did this woman never have a helpful thought?

“Thee has seen spectacles, hasn't thee? Antonie van Leeuwenhoek ground glass lenses finer and finer, and as he did, he saw more. Pasteur used the microscope that Leeuwenhoek developed with finely ground lenses to view bacteria and their effects.”

Ma Bailey scowled.

“These bacteria are what make us sick?” another woman asked with a shyly raised hand as if she were in school.

“That is what scientists think. They are studying how bacteria do this, but we all know that contact with a sick person or even their clothing and bedding can spread a disease.”

“That's right,” Ellen agreed.

“Well, what do these scientists have to do with what we're doin' in the Idaho Territory?” Ma Bailey demanded.

“Very simply, some scientists have had good results after boiling questionable water and milk. So if—”

The pastor of the church ran inside, startling Mercy and the ladies. He halted at the pull rope and began tolling the bell. “Mine cave-in!” he shouted.

The women leaped to their feet, some with a
shriek. Mercy's audience fled down the center aisle and outside. The pastor continued to yank on the bell rope. The steeple bell joined what sounded like the fire bell, bellowing on Main Street, calling for help.