Sawbones (14 page)

“The boy died well.”

“Is it better to know you are dying? To waste away in front of your own eyes and the eyes of those who love you? The other death is horrible in its suddenness, but its unexpectedness is also a blessing. They died happy. Your friend, Maureen, was she happy before she died?”

I thought of the change in Maureen while we were on the trail, the brightness in her eyes, the bloom on her cheek, the possibility of a home with Cornelius in her future, and my inability to bless it. My head throbbed. My answer was faint. “Yes.”

He closed his eyes. “You are responsible for her happiness. Not for her death.”

“Are you saying death is predetermined by God but happiness is not? That Maureen would not have found the same happiness in New York, though Death would have found her regardless?”

“Yes.”

“That's a novel philosophy.”

He opened his eyes and smiled. “I'm under the influence of opium and whisky. I don't know what I'm saying.” He swung his legs off of the bed and sat up.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I want to stand.”

I caught him before he fell. I helped him sit back down and admonished him. “One biscuit and you think you can conquer the world. You must rest for at least a couple of days.”

“That is excessive.”

“Do I need to remind you of your two surgeries inside of one day?”

“No.”

“I will anyway. You've had two major surgeries in less than a day. Your body needs time to heal itself.”

“I've been injured before and returned to duties quickly with no adverse effect.”

“I didn't say you wouldn't return to duties quickly. I told General Sherman you would be up and about in a week and in the saddle in four.”

“Four weeks?”

“I was being conservative. If you do exactly what I say, you may be back in the saddle in two.”

“Try one.”

“Try two.” I crossed my arms and tried to hide my wince of pain. “Would you rather be in the saddle in one with pain or in two without?”

“I am not in pain now.”

“Captain, you are an incredibly bad liar.”

“I am normally a good liar. Maybe you are more intuitive than most.”

“What I am is impervious to flattery.”

“No woman is impervious to flattery.”

“The distinction here is I am a doctor first, a woman second. If you continue to lie to me, Captain, and treat me as you would a weak-willed woman who faints at the sight of blood, I will not be able to treat you appropriately, which will only prolong your recovery. Now, if you will listen to me instead of patronizing me I can explain your treatment plan.”

“If Miss Mackenzie could hear you she would fully believe you do not have romantic designs on me.”

“Do you think I was lying to her?”

“I suppose not, which rather breaks my heart.”

“Maybe I should amend my treatment plan since you are well enough to flirt with me, though rather badly.”

“I apologize. I am out of practice.”

“Your behavior is highly inappropriate and a bit shocking after pontificating on death and happiness not a minute ago. We don't want to give credence to Harriet Mackenzie's ridiculous idea my treating you is inappropriate.”

“You're right. Forgive me.”

“We'll say no more about it. Now. Your plan.”

“Let me guess. Rest.”

“Yes. We will gradually decrease your laudanum and increase your activity. For the first two days, bed rest. A few times a day I will help you stand and walk around a little. It will exhaust you, which will encourage rest. On the third day, you will get out of the house and move around the fort. Sit on the porch and hold court if you like.”

“Thankfully, holding court is not my job.”

“We can sit on the porch and play backgammon. I saw a board in the parlor.”

“I cannot be seen sitting on the porch, playing backgammon, even if I am recuperating. If Mackenzie is right, Fort Richardson is going to be the main staging ground for whatever retaliation Sherman has in mind.”

“Is that how it works out here, an eye for an eye? It's no wonder it's so dangerous.”

“Sherman's pride has been wounded. Whoever attacked your group probably just rang the death knell for the plains Indians.” He shifted. “Thank God Mackenzie is in charge.”

“As opposed to who?”

Kindle laughed. “Almost anyone else. Especially Custer.”

“I thought he was one of the best Indian fighters.”

“Don't believe everything you read in the Northern newspapers. Let's just say the difference between the two is studied calculation versus vainglorious impetuousness.”

“And I suppose Custer is the latter?”

“In my experience, yes.”

“Colonel Mackenzie went after the Indians who attacked us?”

Kindle nodded. “They'll evaporate into the Territory. Maybe they'll try to sell the cattle they stole back to Sill. They do that, you know.” He laughed. “If they weren't so savage, you'd have to admire them.”

“Forgive me if I don't admire them. Now”—I stood—“let me check your wounds.”

“Speaking of wounds, what is that awful smell coming from my shoulder?”

I washed my hands in the basin on the table. “Carbolic acid if applied correctly to wounds, has been shown to significantly decrease infection. It should keep it at bay altogether, especially now that you are out of the hospital.”

As I went about my task, Kindle's scrutiny weighed on me. I kept up a commentary on the state of his wounds to keep my focus on my task and away from him. I did not want him to suspect my irritation with his banter had to do with anything other than my desire for professional respect. He said not a word during the exam, but waited until he was dosed with laudanum and settled back on the bed.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“How do you feel?”

From my toilet earlier, I knew my appearance showed plainly my inner torment. I liked Kindle too well to lie to him. “Terrible.” The admission of which made the headache and nausea, my constant companions since the massacre, more prominent. “Though good enough to take care of you.”

“Will a nurse come soon to relieve you so you can rest?”

“There's no need.”

“I insist,” he replied. His eyes were drooping and his words were slurring together. “Promise me you will send for one and take care of yourself.”

“I promise,” I lied, as he drifted off to sleep.

As it turned out, Caro came of her own accord, around midnight, giving me the opportunity to have a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. The next morning, as the sun broke through the thin curtains fluttering in the open window, I took full stock of myself for the first time.

The mirror over the dresser was small with a long diagonal crack down the center, but not small enough to hide how gaunt and haggard I looked. Dark circles ringed my eyes, making my naturally fair complexion look more faded than usual.

My headache was abating but still present, throbbing steadily in time with my heartbeat. The nausea was absent, thankfully, replaced by ravishing hunger, due in no small part to the smell of bacon floating up the stairs.

I splashed cold water from the porcelain basin on my face and rinsed my mouth out. I removed my shift and bathed myself with a coarse, damp washcloth. I dressed in a clean dress and almost gagged at the smell of wildflowers. I rummaged through my trunk and found a sachet of dried wildflowers Maureen had made from the ones I picked for her the first day of our journey across Texas. I stared at the small pouch and tentatively lifted it to my nose. As I sniffed the musky scent of the prairie—grass, dirt, a hint of sage, and the muted sweetness of the pervasive bluebonnets—the sounds of the massacre ricocheted in my head.

I dropped the bag, covered my ears with my hands, and squeezed my eyes against the images. My breaths came in short bursts, and I rocked on my heels, trying to get control of myself. With great effort I forced myself to think of a happy memory, of my childhood in England with my cousin Charlotte. The pasties we would steal from the kitchens, the small dollhouse we played with, reading
Jane Eyre
to each other and falling in love with Rochester, fighting over which of us would win him if we had the chance. My smile slipped when I wondered if I would ever see Charlotte again. I steadied my breathing. When I opened my eyes, they were drawn to the open bottle of laudanum on my bedside table.

The wooden platform bed creaked under my weight as I sat down. The room smelled of freshly lumbered wood and I wondered how long Kindle had lived in these quarters. Had he and his men built this small house? It would have been a cozy place to live if it wasn't marooned in the middle of the prairie and surrounded by heathens.

I picked up the cork stopper and remembered with chagrin the night before. Sleep was kept at bay by visions of the attack and morbid fantasies of the exposed fort being overrun by an army of thousands of Indians. My mind also drifted to Anna. The thought of her being raped repeatedly and mercilessly finally drove me to my medical bag and the bottle of laudanum now sitting innocently, and half-empty, on my bedside table.

My racing heart beat with every throb of my head. The temptation to banish my vivid visions with more laudanum so I could get through the day was seductive. I lifted the bottle and to drink deeply when the image of my father, lying in a crude wooden coffin, coins covering his eyes, stayed my hand. My wonderful, honorable father had spent the last few months of his life behind the same haze I yearned for. The bottle reminded me of my humiliation at the man he became, and how I, in my youthful hubris, scorned his justifications and excuses.

Slowly, I replaced the cork stopper and dropped the bottle into my medical bag. As appealing as the idea was, I couldn't afford to be pulled into insensibility. Sherman had given me the opportunity to turn this tragedy into a positive and I was determined to succeed.

Resolved, I pinched my cheeks, patted my hair into place, and left the room.

Kindle was propped up in bed and looking much better than I had expected, due in no small part to the half-eaten plate of bacon and eggs he balanced on his lap. In the kitchen, Caro hummed an unfamiliar tune and periodically had brief conversations with herself about her tasks. The scene was an unpleasant reminder of the happy days of my childhood when my father would read the paper at the kitchen table, eating the breakfast Maureen served, while she puttered around the kitchen, singing Irish tunes and admonishing me to mind my manners. Another memory to file away for later.

“You look well enough to, dare I say, ride a horse?”

“I believe I am,” Kindle replied. “Though I am under strict instructions to play the invalid for at least another day.”

“Two days.”

“We shall see.”

“You're dressed,” I said, noting his blue breeches, shirt, and unbuttoned waistcoat.

“Yes, Caro helped me this morning while you were having a lie-in.”

I bristled. “A lie-in?”

“A much-needed rest.”

“Please, Captain, don't mind my vanity. Abuse my outward appearance as much as you like.”

“I doubt you have a vain bone in your body. I, on the other hand, am quite a dandy. I must be presentable for the hordes of well-wishers who are sure to visit me.”

“I understand, though your garments will make it difficult to check your wounds.”

Caro walked in from the kitchen, holding a metal coffeepot. “I checked the bandages before getting him dressed, ma'am. No infection.”

A resisted a sharp retort with difficulty and forced myself to relax and smile. My recent testiness was not a typical characteristic of mine and was even grating on
my
nerves. “Wonderful. Thank you, Caro.”

“You're welcome. I made coffee. I'll bring your breakfast.”

“Thank you.”

With no professional tasks to distract me I stood in the middle of the drawing room floor—though to call it a drawing room was generous in the extreme—acutely embarrassed, as if I was standing in the bedroom of a man and not a patient. Turning my back on Kindle, I took in the view of the wide-open prairie out the back window of the room. “Why does this fort not have walls?”

“It's believed walls offer a false sense of security. Without them, we are always vigilant.” He paused before continuing. “It's not in the Indian's nature to assault a fixed position, such as a fort. They prefer to raid homesteads and small groups where they have the advantage of numbers and surprise.”

“Like wagon trains.”

He was saved the necessity of answering by the return of Caro with two cups of coffee. I thanked her, forced it down, and marveled at the lack of disgust on Kindle's face after taking a large gulp. “I've had worse,” he said.

I walked across the room to the front window. Every soldier had a task and was performing it, if not exactly with enthusiasm, at least with a languid purpose. Kindle's quarters, along with the other officers' quarters, made up the southern boundary of the fort, affording me a view of half the buildings on the eastern “border,” the hospital to the west, and straight ahead, a row of picket-style buildings.

“Those are quarters for the enlisted men,” Kindle said.

I pushed away the uneasiness his clairvoyance gave me and asked him about the buildings to the right.

“Adjutant's office, reading room, quartermaster's office, bank quarters. Just out of sight, near the corral, is the sutler's store.”

“Reading room?”

“It was the pet project of the first commander's wife. Harriet—Miss Mackenzie—teaches the children there in the mornings. You're welcome to borrow any book that interests you.”

“Is it used by the men?”

“Not as much as I would like, but some. Behind the barracks are mess halls for the men and on the far side of the fort are the stables and corral.”

“North of the hospital?”

“Bakery, ordnance store, magazine, guardhouse.”

Caro entered the room and placed the plate on the table. Kindle thanked her and complimented her cooking. “The eggs were perfect, Caro. Thank you.”

Kindle, finished with his breakfast, watched me eat. “Shouldn't you be sleeping?” I asked.

“I'm waiting on you to take me on a turn around the room. You promised me one or two today. I have been looking forward to it for hours.”

I shook my head and hid a smile. What an inveterate flirt. “How did you sleep, Captain?”

“A dreamless sleep of a baby. You?”

“The same.”

For a moment, I thought he was going to call me on my lie, as I had him the night before. Instead, he said, “You may call me William, you know. Or Kindle, if my Christian name is too familiar.”

“I'm not sure it's appropriate, especially in light of my conversation with Harriet Mackenzie.”

“We're alone and I won't tell,” he whispered.

The bacon was so crisp and perfectly cooked it crumbled in my mouth, a hazard when I laughed and almost choked.

He moved to help me but I held out my hand for him to stop and coughed a few times. Caro came to my rescue, slapping me forcefully on the back, which didn't help much.

“Thank you,” I croaked, and waved my hand at her. She retrieved a glass of water, which settled the matter. When she was back in the kitchen and humming, I chastised Kindle.

“You need to stop flirting with me.”

“Am I?”

He looked so shocked at the notion it made me wonder.

“Aren't you?”

His laugh was musical, as dissonant to his appearance and chosen career as his unblemished hands and flirtatious manner. I tried to be offended but his laugh was infectious.

I laughed as well. “You are incorrigible.”

“Precisely what my mother always said.”

I folded my hands together and stayed as far away from him as possible. “I know what you're doing.”

“Flirting?”

“Yes, as a way to distract me from my grief. I appreciate it, more than you know.” My throat closed with emotion. I coughed and continued. “I can tell it is taking a great effort for you to keep my spirits up.”

“I am trying to keep your spirits up?”

“Most assuredly.”

“It cannot be because I find you lovely and want to get to know you better?”

My stomach gave a pleasant little flutter. How my body could betray my mind at this moment, I didn't know. I kept my voice light, though part of me wanted to cry. “I've seen my reflection in your rather small, broken mirror. Lovely is not the adjective that comes to mind.”

“Maybe it's your conversation.”

“Do you remember them?”

“I would remember more but my doctor insists on dosing me with laudanum.” He put his plate aside. “It's heartening to know you think my motives are so noble. However, I must confess I am flirting with you for two selfish reasons. One, it keeps my mind off my pain.”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” I said, slightly disappointed.

“Two, you become charmingly flushed when I flirt with you. I am not in so much pain I don't receive satisfaction from making a beautiful woman blush.”

It would have been easy to bask in his attention. He was charming, handsome, and easy to talk to. It would have been nothing to let Kindle harmlessly flirt with me while he recovered and shake his hand with an affectionate good-bye when I continued on my journey. But I knew to let him have too much control would be dangerous.

I dropped my eyes to the floor and said in a small voice, “If you are not careful, Captain, you will have me falling in love with you.”

I let the silence stretch before looking up at him with a mischievous smile. The expression on his face in the moment before he realized I was teasing him was a disturbing mixture of astonishment, expectation, and desire, the latter of which confirmed my suspicion that Captain Kindle was, indeed, a quick healer.

“I must warn you, Captain. I spent my youth among some of the most shameless flirts in England. I escaped with my heart intact and, dare I say, impervious to cheeky men who wish to toy with my emotions.”

“I would never dream of toying with your…emotions.”

I stood and walked to the window. I held my hand to my fluttering stomach. I shouldn't be this happy. Why shouldn't I be this happy?

Maureen. Anna. Cornelius. The children.

My hand massaged my thickening throat and tears burned my eyes. How could I feel so much pleasure so soon after Maureen's death? After witnessing Amos burned alive? What kind of horrible, selfish person was I?

“I'm sorry, Laura,” Kindle said. “It is insensitive of me to act as if we are not where we are, and you haven't been through what you have.”

I turned abruptly to him to rebuke him for using my Christian name without permission and to agree with him on his insensitivity, to portion out to him some of the guilt I had for enjoying his company so much. Instead, the sound of light footsteps on the front porch stopped me. After a perfunctory knock, Harriet Mackenzie walked in. She ignored me and went straight to Kindle's bedside.

“Captain Kindle, I'm thrilled to see you in such great spirits.”

“Thank you, Miss Mackenzie. You have Dr. Elliston to thank for it.”

“Indeed?” Harriet replied. Still, she refused to acknowledge I was in the room.

I stepped forward. “Hello, Miss Mackenzie.” She acknowledged me with a thin smile. “Don't let him give me too much credit. I am sure his robust constitution is to thank for his appearance and good mood.”

“I come from hearty stock,” Kindle agreed.

“Hearty stock or not, you need your rest,” I said. “Would you like another dose of laudanum?”

“I think I will try whisky instead. I don't like the way laudanum makes me feel.”

“I will leave some for Caro in case you change your mind.” I took in Harriet's hat, gloves, and reticule and asked, “Where are you off to, Miss Mackenzie?”

“To town and thought I would see if there is anything the captain needed.”

“No, I am right as a trivet. But thank you for thinking of me.”

She nodded at Kindle, then posed the same question for me.

“I'm not sure, to be honest. I want to get settled a bit more, in the hospital and here, before I go on a shopping spree.”

Harriet laughed. “Jacksboro's offerings will hardly support a spree. I will be happy to take you on a tour of the town in a couple of days.”