Love on the Mend (3 page)

“God have mercy on the lot of you, then,” the old doc grumbled.

Mollie just smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll be praying that he does.”

Chapter Three

Mollie’s quiet statement of confidence filled an empty place in Jacob he hadn’t been aware existed. He’d paused only a moment in the entry to get his bearings, but it was long enough for her words to wash over him. And what a gift they had been. Buoyed by her faith, he strode through the parlor area and located the surgery in a back room. He laid Adam down on the table and proceeded to wash his hands with soap and water thanks to an ewer and basin left on the counter of a medical cabinet. Soft footsteps behind him announced Mollie’s arrival.

“In my bag is an instrument kit,” he stated. “Open it and set it on the counter while I cut away the rest of Adam’s trouser leg.”

The girl made a perfect nurse, following his instructions, anticipating his needs, all without gabbing his ear off with pointless questions. After scrubbing her own hands clean, she set out his instruments, sprayed them with the carbolic acid solution, and then handed them to him the moment he requested them. In short order, they had the wound clean and sutured.

“Look in the cabinets for some bandages.” Jacob nodded toward the glass-doored shelves along the wall as he washed the last of the blood from his hands.

“Linen or cotton?” Mollie asked. “I see both.”

“Linen. The more porous the better.”

She scrunched her nose as she compared two sets of linen bandages. “Does that mean you want bigger holes?”

Jacob hid his grin. “Yep.”

It was so refreshing to deal with someone who cared more about getting things right than hiding a lack of knowledge. Maybe he should offer her a job working in the clinic. Heaven knew she had enough energy to keep the place going. And judging by the way she interacted with both Adam and the bristling Dr. Bradshaw, she had a nurturing temperament that would put folks at ease. Not to mention her lack of squeamishness. She hadn’t faltered once during the surgery, had calmly kept pace with him. Yes, she’d definitely be an asset.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he retrieved the gypsum powder from his bag. It wouldn’t hurt matters any that she was nice to look at. Eyes that hinted at mischief when they weren’t clouded with worry over the boy in her care, full lips that curved easily, and a slender figure bearing enough curves to turn a man’s head. He should know. They’d turned his head often enough. Not that he’d allowed her to distract him. On the way to town, though, it’d been impossible not to notice the sway of her hips or her willowy waist as she led Galen down the path in front of him.

“Here you go, Doc.” She set several rolls of linen bandages on the tray beside his elbow.

“Thanks.” Jacob cleared his throat. All right, so maybe he’d allowed her to distract him just a touch. “We’ll need a sponge and clean water as well.”

While she dumped out the old water and poured new, Jacob unrolled the first bandage and began rubbing the gypsum powder into it.

“Is that some kind of medicine to keep the wound from getting infected?” Mollie leaned close, peering over his shoulder. Evidence of other curves made themselves known.

Jacob stepped closer to the table. “No. This will make a plaster. Once we get Adam’s leg wrapped, we’ll moisten the bandages and work the gypsum until it forms a thick casing. When it dries, it will harden and protect the leg, keeping the bones in place until they heal.” He began working the powder into the second bandage. Mollie came around to his side and started in on a third, mimicking his technique.

“I suppose if it keeps the leg away from that bad air that Doc Bradshaw was talking about,” she said, brushing his fingers as she reached for more gypsum, “it might help keep infection out as well as keeping the bones together.”

He tilted his head to consider her more closely. “An intelligent observation, Miss Tate. Keeping the air out, as well as dirt and other impurities, can only help.”

Pink tinged her cheeks, but it was the grin that blossomed across her face that stilled his heart. Their eyes met and held for a moment before she returned her attention to the bandages. “I’m glad Adam will have the extra protection.”

“He’ll still need to stay off the leg for at least six weeks, maybe longer, and he won’t be able to get the plaster wet. However, as long
as we don’t find any sign of infection in the first few days, I expect he’ll recover.”

Her hands stilled, and her gaze once again found his. “Thank you, Dr. Sadler. For what you did at the church, for what you’ve done here, for . . . everything.”

This time Jacob was the one to turn away first. “Yes, well, the true healing remains in God’s hands.”

“Of course.” She laid her fingers atop his. His entire body stilled. “But God is the one who put you in the right place at the right time. He’s working through you, and for that, I am grateful.”

Mollie pulled back her hand and reached for another bandage. It took Jacob a moment to recover. Not just from her touch, but from her words. How often had he prayed for God to work through him to heal those who sought his care? Yet the flood of wounded during the war had drained the optimism from his soul. So much death. So many left maimed—by his hand. It had carved gouges of doubt into his faith, left him questioning his calling.

Hearing Mollie credit him as being a conduit for the Lord’s healing bound up those still-oozing inner wounds in a way he’d been helpless to accomplish on his own during his two-year sabbatical from regular practice.

“Would you consider staying on as my nurse?” Keeping her near suddenly seemed of paramount importance. “You could organize the clinic inventory, assist me with patients, perhaps do some cleaning when things are slow. I’d pay you, of course.”

Her eyes went wide, and she blinked several times before attempting to answer. “You don’t even know me, Doc. Why would you—?”

“Can you read and write?” he interrupted, not wanting to answer her question.

“Y-yes.”

“Then the offer stands. I know everything else that I need to know. You’re good with people, you don’t faint at the sight of blood, and you’re a quick study.” Jacob set to work wrapping the gypsum bandages around Adam’s leg. “You don’t have to answer right away. Just consider it. All right?”

Mollie stared at the new doc, too numb to do much more than nod and hand him another bandage.
Be his nurse?
Mercy, how she
wanted to say yes. To work beside the man who’d rescued Adam, the man who actually saw qualities to admire when he looked at her. No fat pocket had ever tempted her more.

And that was the problem. Dr. Sadler didn’t know her history, didn’t know how her light fingers used to pick plump pockets along the docks of Galveston. She couldn’t accept his offer without revealing the truth of her past, not with a clean conscience. Yet once he learned the truth, the light of respect glowing in his eyes would dull into pity or, worse, contempt.

Uncle Curtis had saved her from that life, had given her a home, had introduced her to Jesus and a forgiveness that could take a stained life and make it whiter than snow. She couldn’t dishonor such a gift by burying the truth. Maybe she should just turn the offer down. Keep her distance. But in the past hour, she’d felt a part of something that mattered. Not that keeping house for Mrs. Peabody didn’t matter. It was honorable work and provided her with a place to stay. But working in the clinic? She’d be helping to save lives, to ease pain and suffering. A chance to be a part of that . . . well, it might be worth the risk.

“Hand me that basin and sponge, will you?” Dr. Sadler tucked in the end of the last bandage, then tipped his head in the direction of the basin of clean water she’d prepared earlier. His hands were white from the plaster dust, as were hers.

Mollie grabbed a towel to wipe off the worst of the dust before handing him the basin, but she needn’t have bothered. He plunged his hands into the water, dust and all, grabbed the sponge, and started moistening the bandages. A paste formed, and he molded and shaped it until it looked the way he wanted. Then he propped Adam’s foot on a thick cushion so air could flow around all sides of the bandages.

“It will need to set and harden before he can be moved,” the new doc said as he washed the white plaster from his hands and forearms. A dusting of white powder had even found his chest, standing out in stark contrast between the closures of his black vest and tempting her to brush at with her towel. Mollie gnawed on her bottom lip. She really needed to find the man a shirt.

Doc Bradshaw had already cleared out all his personal belongings from the clinic a week ago, so there wasn’t much chance of finding anything in the bureau drawers. The new doc hadn’t had a carpetbag or anything tied to his horse, so he must have arranged for his things
to be transported from Liberty through one of the freighters. Which meant they likely wouldn’t arrive until later tonight. Maybe Mrs. Peabody would let the doc borrow one of her late husband’s shirts. Or Uncle Curtis . . .

“I take it you know the boy’s family?” the new doc asked. “His parents will need to be informed of what happened. I’m sure they’ll want to be by his side when he awakes.”

“He doesn’t have any parents,” Mollie said absently, still preoccupied by the shirt issue. “He lives with Uncle Curtis just outside of town. I can—”

The sound of the front door flying open and banging against the wall cut off the rest of her sentence.

“Mollie? Where are you, girl? I just heard about Adam.” Uncle Curtis’s deep, gravelly voice echoed through the small house.

“Back here,” she called, the panic in his tone urging her to rush to the surgery door and pull it open.

Uncle Curtis hated to see his kids hurt. Shoot, the man had cried when he’d had to pull a bee stinger from her shoulder when she’d been twelve. Every time she winced he’d apologized, as if it were somehow his fault that the critter had stung her. “Adam’s fine,” she assured him. “He busted his leg, but the new doc set it and has it all wrapped up tight.”

Uncle Curtis lumbered forward, his stiff gait awkward as he maneuvered around the parlor furniture. Mollie took his arm to help him into the room, but he stiffened and halted in the doorway.

He swallowed slowly, his gaze glued to the new doc. A gaze shining with regret and a longing so stark it shocked her . . . and nearly broke her heart. “Hello, Jacob.”

She swiveled her attention back to Dr. Sadler. His face had drained of color, and his hand grasped the cabinet behind him as if it were the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“I thought you’d be dead by now.” The words emerged barely above a whisper, yet Uncle Curtis heard them.

The older man’s lips curved slightly in a sad, lopsided smile. “I can’t tell you how many times I wished I was.”

Uncle Curtis? He was the most hope-filled man Mollie had ever met. What had happened between these two?

Neither spoke again. They just stared at each other, letting the silence grow so oppressive she could feel its weight bearing down upon her.

Enough.
“Come this way, Uncle Curtis,” Mollie said, tugging his arm. “I’m sure you’re wanting to see Adam. He’s resting now but should wake soon. Why don’t I bring in a chair so you can sit with him?”

“No!” Dr. Sadler lunged away from the cabinet and blocked their path. “He’s not getting anywhere near this child!”

Uncle Curtis stopped, not a hint of the shock reverberating through Mollie visible on his face. “Jacob, I’m his guardian. He lives at the farm with me.”

“Yeah, well, we lived at the farm with you, too,
Uncle Curtis
, but you didn’t give two figs for our well-being, did you?”

Mollie frowned at the snide tone. Where had her heroic, dedicated doctor gone?

“You
shot
Emma!” he shouted.

Mollie gasped.
No
. Uncle Curtis would never hurt anyone. Never!

“My baby sister died because of you.” His hands fisted at his sides, and he took a single menacing step forward. “Get out of my clinic.”

Uncle Curtis nodded but held his ground. “I’ve been waiting seventeen years for you to get that accusation off your chest, Jake. Maybe now that the boil’s been lanced we can finally see about healing the wound.”

Mollie’s heart beat a painful rhythm against her ribs. Why wasn’t he denying it? That poor little girl. Uncle Curtis couldn’t be responsible for her death. Could he? The man had rescued her, raised her. She knew his character, his kind nature. There had to be more to the story. Some explanation. Maybe . . . maybe there’d been a horrible accident that couldn’t have been helped. Yes, an accident. That must have been what happened. So why didn’t Uncle Curtis just clear up the misunderstanding?

She silently begged him to explain, but the man she loved like a father simply patted her hand and slipped his arm free of her hold. “Watch over Adam for me, my girl,” he called over his shoulder as he limped back through the parlor. “I’ll be back to try again later.”

The clinic door closed softly behind him.

Chapter Four

Jacob sagged against the far wall of the surgery for support as strength seeped from his body. His uncle was alive.

When he’d decided to return home to make peace with his past, he’d wanted to reclaim part of what he’d lost. His parents’ old homestead had sat neglected for eighteen years. He wanted to restore it, bring back the cozy home he remembered—perhaps make it into a place where he could start a family of his own. Doctoring would require him to office in town, but he could work on the cabin in the evenings once he got his practice established.

And the graves of his family. They needed to be tended by someone who’d loved them, not strangers. He’d thought he was ready to face the memories, to let go of the bitterness he’d carried for so long. But then again, he’d also thought he’d only need to mumble a few words of forgiveness over Curtis Sadler’s grave to be done with it. He never imagined coming face-to-face with the man.

Jacob rubbed a trembling hand over his face as he struggled to regain his emotional footing. The eruption of rage had taken him by surprise.