Sawbones (4 page)

The man climbed down from the barrel with the girl's help. I was turning to leave when he caught my eye and moved in. “Interested in immigrating to Colorado, madam?”

I'd heard a little about the land promoters who haunted the ports of the South, trying to convince people down on their luck to move west. More often than not, when the poor souls arrived, after sinking all of their money into the trip, the Garden of Eden was a barren wasteland with nary a building in sight.

“No, sir. I'm traveling to California.” The man grabbed a flyer from the girl and shoved it toward me. I took it out of politeness.

“California, pah. Don't believe all the land of milk and honey you hear about California. Colorado, the Rockies,
that's
where the future is.”

“What of the Indian threat?”

“As I said, we will be traveling under the protection of the Army. The Indians will be no threat.”

“I was talking of the threat to the new town.”

“Safe as walking down the street in New York City.”

I thought of my last walk in New York City and shuddered. He stuck out his hand. “Cornelius Warren. This is my daughter, Anna.”

I hesitated before offering my own. I would humor Maureen's request to pose as a midwife for a bit longer. No need to draw attention to myself in a port city such as Galveston. “Laura Elliston.” The name was strange on my tongue. “Thank you for the flyer, sir. Good luck with your endeavor.”

I folded the flyer and placed it in my bag next to the jewelry and walked off before he could take a new tack.

As I walked away I wondered if immigrating to a small Western town might be a better option than California. Surely no one in such a venture would bother to investigate my past. Being in on the ground floor, building something from scratch, might be exhilarating. However, if it failed, it would drain what little money I would receive from the six pieces of jewelry we had brought to fund our new life and would leave Maureen and me destitute. No. Better to move to a more populated area where I would be able to support us.

My business with the apothecary was completed in short order, though I lingered over a trunk full of medicine designed specifically for shipment to remote towns in the West and for use on ships. The proud pharmacist could not resist bragging about how lucrative his mail-order business had become since the war ended and more and more people were moving to the territories. I barely resisted buying it. Common sense told me these items—ether, carbolic acid, morphia, quinine, bandages, sutures, saws, scalpels, and clamps—would be readily available in California and not cost me a precious cent to ship there.

I was requesting a quote from the jeweler in the shop next door when the door opened and the bell jingled. I turned, more from habit than curiosity, and was shocked to find one of my patients from New York waddling into the store.

“I thought it was you,” Molly Ebling exclaimed. “My very own doctor, in Galveston of all places.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “Mrs. Ebling!”

“When I saw you through the window, I thought, ‘No it can't be,'” she said. “Thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me, showing me what I wanted to see instead of what's there. You know Mr. Ebling has long accused me of that. Well, I've always told him I'm not imagining things and here I am, correct once again.”

“What are you doing in Galveston?” My voice was faint, hardly discernible from panic, but Molly Ebling needed little prompting to tell her story.

“Mr. Ebling had business here in Texas and I decided to come. Worst decision I ever made. The South is a backwater, full of ignorant, dirty rebels and the Negros! Never seen so many in my life. We stopped in New Orleans first, that's where I contracted malaria, and I was sick as a dog on the voyage over. Worst experience of my life. Well, I thought so until I spent a month housebound in a hotel. The man treating me is drunk half the time and shaking like a leaf when he's sober. The nurse is about as bad. Maybe worse. Heavens, I think everyone in this town is a tippler. I've always thought those temperance women were a little strident, but I see the inspiration now.”

“I'm sure Mr. Ebling—”

“Mr. Ebling nothing. He left me alone in this godforsaken place and went inland to conduct his business. I'm sure I'll never forgive him. He returns tomorrow and we leave next week. Though his business might delay him again. I wonder if he's not purposely prolonging his trip inland. He positively loves this horrid place. I can't imagine why anyone would want to visit unless compelled to by family or business.” She stopped and her eyes turned shrewd. “What are you doing in Galveston?”

I knew the question was coming but had been so flustered by her arrival and her rapid recitation of her problems I had not formulated a good lie. I was as surprised as she, probably more so, at what came out of my mouth.

“I am married.”

Her astonishment turned to happiness more quickly than I expected. “Oh, I'm so happy for you, Dr. Bennett! I always told Mr. Ebling, I said, ‘That Catherine Bennett is a beautiful woman and
smart
. She would make some man the finest wife,' and here you've gone and done it. Another instance where I was correct and he was not. I must keep track of these moments. Well, tell me. Who's the lucky man?”

I tried to remember how to smile shyly. “A man I have known since childhood.”

“Oh, you two have always been in love, then.” Mrs. Ebling clasped her hands over her heart.

“Yes, we finally admitted we were best suited for each other.”

“Well, that's splendid. Of course, it means you will give up your practice. I can't say I'm sorry. I always thought you were an exceptional doctor but it's not a natural profession for a woman. Better you spend your time supporting your husband and taking care of your family. What does your fiancé do?”

“He's a lawyer,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I'll have Mr. Ebling contact him. Maybe he could send some business your husband's way.”

“How kind.”

“How long are you in town?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

“You and your husband must drop by the hotel before you leave.”

“I'm not sure, Mrs. Ebling. I have many errands to run in preparation.”

“Oh, please. I'm anxious to meet the man who won your heart.”

I smiled. “I will try.”

“Wonderful.”

The little jeweler returned. “I can give you one hundred dollars, ma'am.”

While lies were coming easily, my luck was not. If the jeweler had come back thirty seconds later, Mrs. Ebling would have been gone. “What are you talking about, man?” I snapped. “I asked how much it would cost to tighten the loose stone.”

He considered me to Mrs. Ebling and seemed to grasp the situation. “I apologize, ma'am. I will fix the loose stone at no cost. If you would like to wait?”

I nodded and he walked to the back of the store.

“Stupid little Jew,” Mrs. Ebling said. She turned to me and smiled. “I will be waiting for you. Grand Hotel.” She took my hands and squeezed. “I am so, so happy for you.”

Tears of frustration stung my eyes. “Thank you,” I said in an emotion-choked whisper. She tilted her head and with an understanding smile, patted my hand, and left.

I wanted to scream or throw something, but closed my eyes and dropped my head in my hands instead. I gave a silent prayer for Molly Ebling's malaria. It was obvious she was ignorant of my alleged crime and my subsequent death. But, would her husband be? I imagined the scene when he returned from the interior, her bragging about seeing me and complimenting my marriage and his shock at her conversation with a dead woman. At worst, I had a day to get out of Galveston. At best, Mr. Ebling would not believe his wife, and they would travel to New York in a state of angry silence. But, the silence would not last forever. In as little as three weeks, New York could know I'm alive.

I lifted my head. How long would it take for Beatrice Langton to send the Pinkertons after me?

The jeweler returned from the back room. “Seventy-five dollars.”

“You said one hundred.”

He shrugged and placed the necklace and cash on the counter. I narrowed my eyes at him, took the cash, and left.

Without question, I needed to leave Galveston. If I lived in a large port city I would run the risk of seeing someone from my past. It might be years before I was forgotten enough to chance living in San Francisco.

I stopped a street urchin and asked for directions to the train station. I hoped the last train off the island had not departed.

I was in luck; the last train left in an hour. I bought the tickets and was putting the change back in my reticule when I saw it. I pulled out the advertisement for Timberline, Colorado, and knew I had found the means of my salvation.

“I've never looked so forward to a bed in my life,” Maureen said.

The stage rolled to a stop in Austin after 150 miles of bad road, three nights of flea-infested mattresses, and seventy-two hours of Cornelius Warren's constant chatter about Timberline, Colorado.

“Down-filled ticking, I assure you. Ester runs a fine boarding house,” Cornelius said for the tenth time before jumping out of the stage to assist us.

“Cotton-filled, at least,” his daughter, Anna, said.

“As long as it isn't straw.” I gave Cornelius my hand and stepped out of the coach to a muffled scream emanating from the two-story house in front of us.

Maureen poked her head from the coach. “Someone's either bein' murdered or giving birth,” she said, and stepped out.

The teamster unloaded our trunks and placed them on the porch. He cackled. “Sounds about the same, I grant you. No, mayhap Ester's daughter is having her baby.” He placed his hands at the small of his back and stretched. Another scream pierced the night. “Might want to go on in. Doubt she'll hear ya knock.”

My mind started working through the scenarios I might see on the other side of the door. My fingers itched to move, to help, to heal. “Maureen, make sure there's plenty of water on boil. And coffee,” I said. Maureen nodded and went into the house with purpose. “Anna, ever seen a child brought into the world?”

“No.”

“Would you like to.”

Anna nodded.

“Come along.”

“I'll see to the trunks,” Cornelius said.

I pulled my father's watch from my medical bag and opened the face. “I may need to get into the black one.” Another scream pierced the night. I clicked the watch shut. “Rather soon, I think.”

With my medical bag in my hand I entered the house and followed the screams up the stairs.

A tall, weedy-looking young man stood on the landing, running his hands through his hair and pacing the width of the hall. He stopped and talked to a closed door. “Want me to go for the doc?”

“Joe, stop pacing outside that door,” said a voice from inside. “Doctor's no use. It'll be over before you find him.”

I placed a hand on the young man's arm. He jumped.

“Joe, I'm Laura. I'm here to help.”

His relief washed away any questions he might have had about who I was or where I had come from. “Thank you. Ma said the baby ain't turned right, but she won't tell me what that means.”

I patted Joe's arm again. “Go on downstairs, Joe. Maureen will fix you a cup of coffee.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Fix us up some, too. I'll help your ma.”

He nodded and stumbled downstairs. When he was gone, I contemplated Anna, who stared at the door with apprehension. “Do whatever I ask immediately and without question.”

Anna paled a little but nodded. I opened the door.

The light of four lanterns bathed the bed in the center of the bedroom with a warm glow but were not strong enough to banish the sense of panic that hovered over the scene. Sweat-soaked tendrils of hair framed Joe's mother's pale, worried face. Dark half-moon circles sagged beneath her eyes. She pressed on the pregnant woman's stomach with as much strength as her small, exhausted body could muster. The pregnant woman moaned and whimpered like a wounded animal, delirious from pain and the heat emanating from the lanterns. “Open the window.” Anna did as ordered.

The midwife looked up. “Who're you? What are you doing?”

“I am Dr. Laura Elliston.” Anna eased next to me. From the corner of my eye I saw her surprise at my title, but she remained silent. “This is Anna. Are you Ester?”

At the word
doctor
, the woman's shoulders drooped. Her tension and worry shifted to my own. “The baby's breeched and coming fast. Nothing I've done is working.”

A quick visual sweep of the room showed me Ester Mebane knew how to birth a child: a pan full of water, plenty of sheets, string to tie the cord, a knife, a blanket for the baby. She'd probably brought dozens of babies into the world without incident or with only the normal problems attending childbirth. Tonight, this birth was different.

I placed my bag on the dresser and regarded the pregnant woman's face for the first time. She was Anna's age or a little older. “What is her name?”

“Ida.”

“She your daughter?” I lifted the sheet from the girl's legs.

“Yes.”

Ida was almost completely dilated. I could see the child's behind at the edge of the birth canal. I pulled the sheet back over the girl's knees.

“Anna, go to my trunk, the black one. Bring back the bottles labeled chloroform and carbolic acid. Ester, go with Anna and bring two pans and as much hot water as you can carry. Get Joe to help. Also, a spool of your strongest thread, and a bottle of whisky. Go. Now.”

I removed my traveling cloak and rolled up my sleeves. I placed a straight-backed chair at the end of the bed and set my surgery kit on top of it. Ida shifted, moaned, grasped the sheets, and sat up with a bloodcurdling scream. I moved forward and grasped her shoulders. “Try not to push, Ida.”

Beneath the sweat, tears, and flush of pain from childbirth I could clearly see the young girl only a few years past playing with dolls. “It hurts,” she sobbed.

“I know it does. It will be over soon.”

She collapsed back onto the mattress, insensible again. I checked my father's watch and calculated her contractions were only five minutes or so apart.

Anna and Ester returned. The two women followed my preparation instructions to the letter and without complaint while I dosed Anna with morphine-laced whisky. I rested my hand on Ida's forehead. “There now, that will help ease the pain.”

I moved to the end of the bed and placed most of my surgery tools into the waiting pan of hot water with a few drops of carbolic acid. “Ester, put the thread in there as well.”

In the other pan, I washed my hands with lye soap and rinsed them. “Wash your hands,” I said to the women.

I doused a clean cloth from my medical bag with chloroform. “Ester, I want you to be ready to receive the baby. Anna, hold this lightly over Ida's nose and mouth.”

With an assurance that belied her youth Anna went to the top of the bed and waited for my direction. Ester stood at the foot of the bed next to me. I nodded to Anna, who placed the cloth over Ida's nose. Ida's body relaxed.

I pushed my right hand up the birth canal until I touched the baby. “Good.”

“What?” Ester said.

I pushed against the baby's bottom to move it back into the womb and with my left hand pushed against Ida's abdomen. I closed my eyes and visualized the baby's situation in the womb as I maneuvered it into the correct birth position. Ida's cervix contracted around my wrist. I stopped and pushed back against the baby's desire to see the world. A trickle of sweat ran down between my breasts and my arm trembled with the effort. Finally, Ida's contraction passed.

It was almost time for the next contraction by the time I maneuvered the baby into the correct position. I removed my hand slowly. “Let her breathe.” Anna held the cloth aloft.

“She's overdue by about two weeks,” I said. I picked up the scalpel.

“Yeah. What are you doing?” Ester said.

“The baby is big, and your daughter is small. She will tear.” I took the scalpel and made a one-inch incision below her vagina. “This will help.”

The baby crowned, and with the next contraction a beautiful little head emerged. I rotated the baby to release the shoulder, and the baby slid out into my hands. I held him upside down and slapped his back. He gave a lusty, life-affirming cry as I placed him in Ester's waiting arms.

“Congratulations, Grandma.”

Tears flowed down Ester's cheeks. “And a fine boy he is.” I tied the cord off and cut it with the scalpel while Ester cooed to her grandson. “Take him downstairs and clean him. Give him a sugar teat until Ida is ready to nurse.”

I took the pan of soapy water to the window, glanced below, and when I saw the street was clear, tossed it. I cleared the chair, sat, and waited for the afterbirth. I glanced up at Anna, who was staring at me, eyes wide.

“You are a doctor.”

“I am.”

“Why did you say you were a midwife?”

In truth, the word
doctor
had slipped from my mouth before I considered the ramifications. I could have easily delivered the baby as a midwife and kept my identity a secret for a while longer. The horse was out of the barn now.

“People accept women as midwives easier than as physicians.”

“Oh, but this is wonderful. Father will be so pleased. Having a doctor as a founding member of our community. They are tremendously hard to recruit to the frontier.”

“Can we keep my profession between us for a while longer?”

“But, Father—”

“I will tell Cornelius in due time.”

Anna nodded but still looked a bit peaked.

“Are you going to faint?”

“I've never seen the like.”

“Neither have I.”

“You've never—?”

I shook my head. “She would have died giving birth breech. She's too small.”

I caught the flush of blood and afterbirth in the empty pan and massaged Ida's abdomen to staunch the bleeding. “Take this,” I said, holding the pan of afterbirth out to Anna.

“Do you want me to throw it out?”

“The window? Heavens, no. Place it on the dresser and put a towel over it for now. Bring me that pitcher of water.”

“What are you doing?” She handed the pitcher over.

I poured a small amount of water between Ida's legs. “Have you heard of germ theory?”

“No.”

“I did not imagine you would have.” I rubbed the bar of carbolic soap between my hands, and gently cleaned the blood from between Ida's legs. “About eight years ago, Louis Pasteur theorized disease is not transported through the air, but by direct contamination; physicians and nurses with soiled hands touching other patients is what spreads disease. Pasteur wasn't the first to postulate the idea, only the most recent and well regarded.”

I threaded the needle that had been soaking in the carbolic acid solution and tied off the end. I held the threaded needle up. “Purple thread. I would have never guessed, Ester.” I leaned forward. “Could you bring a lantern over, please?” With Anna holding the lantern, I sewed the incision I made.

“The Rebels, during the war, ran out of everything. They resorted to using horsehair for sutures. Can you imagine the desperation you must be in to use horsehair? But it was coarse and not easy to work with, so they boiled it to make it more supple.” Ida twitched and moaned. I rose and held her by the shoulders while she drank the rest of the morphine-laced whisky. Soon, she was asleep again.

I returned to my task. “Turned out, the wounds that were stitched with the horsehair were less likely to get infected.”

“Because they were clean,” Anna said.

“Yes.”

“Four years ago, Joseph Lister championed the idea of using carbolic acid as an antiseptic during and after surgery. Like any new idea, it has been slow to take hold. It is difficult to change people's minds.”

“But, you listened.”

I tied off the suture and stood. “The benefit of being shunned by the medical establishment is I can do what I want. I will tell you this: I have never lost a patient to infection, and I never will.”

“Ten minutes,” Ester said. “Ten minutes from the time she walked in the door 'til I was holding my grandson. I've never seen anything like it.”

Maureen and I sat across Ester's scrubbed wooden table from Cornelius and Anna. Anna held a pencil over a small bound journal, waiting to write the next item on our list of supplies to buy and things to do before our wagon train pulled out of Austin in a week's time. Maureen licked the tip of her pencil and made note on her own list, or appeared to. In truth, she doodled boxes in the margins, having completed our list the night before.

It was three weeks past the night of our arrival and Ester had told the story of Ida's delivery daily, sometimes multiple times, ever since. Her gratitude and enthusiasm for my skills in saving her daughter and grandson were gratifying, a little too gratifying in Maureen's opinion. She believed one compliment was enough, constant compliments were the Devil's playground, and warned me more than once not to let Ester's praise go to my head. When Ester wanted to spread the story beyond the boarding house, I pulled her aside and asked her to keep my heroics quiet, as well as my profession. Her face fell, slightly, until comprehension dawned. She nodded once and with a firm expression kept her word, though she couldn't resist talking about it among our group in private.

“She just reached up in there,” Ester said, miming my actions with her arm, “and—”

“Yes, yes. That's quite enough. No details are needed.” Cornelius fidgeted with the knot of his tie and glanced everywhere but at the women who surrounded him. Anna and I exchanged subdued smiles. Poor Cornelius was outnumbered and it made him extremely uncomfortable. “We were talking teamsters not—the other. You'll need to hire one to drive your schooner,” Cornelius said to Maureen.

“No, we won't.”

“Have you decided to take me and Anna up on our offer to travel with us?”

“No need to be so crowded when we can afford our own.” Though paying for our outfit had depleted our money to an alarming degree. Only two pieces of my mother's jewelry remained and Maureen and I decided we must not sell them until we were settled in Timberline.

“I agree,” I said. As nice as Cornelius and Anna were, Maureen and I wanted our own space. “We purchased one this afternoon, and two rather docile oxen. We shall be fine.”

Ester stood at the stove chopping vegetables for a winter stew. “Throwing good money after bad.”