Sawbones (6 page)

When the wagon train had pulled out of Austin ten days earlier, I told Cornelius we were a sad excuse for a vanguard for a new town. He laughed and assured me the success of Timberline, Colorado, did not rest on our little group entirely. A business partner of his was heading out from Saint Louis with over a one hundred families any day now. I was skeptical of his claims, but held my peace. I needed to get as far from civilization as possible and Cornelius Warren and his overeager optimism was my only option.

Maureen watched the Warrens through narrowed eyes. Anna Warren tried to work while her father buzzed around her like a hummingbird trying to decide what flower to settle on. I knew Maureen well enough to see she was itching to go over there and take them in hand.

“You and I make a good team,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Beans and biscuits cooking, animals taken care of. We work well together.”

“That we do.”

“The farther we get from civilization, the safer I feel.”

Maureen nodded. “No one in Texas cares about a rich man dying in New York City. They'd probably give you a medal if they found out.”

“Plenty would turn me in for the reward.”

“Lucky there's no mention of yer troubles out here.”

Maureen would know. She had taken it upon herself to check every Wanted poster in Austin and did not find mine. She suggested more than once that the discovery of the dead woman had killed the scandal before it had the chance to spread too far west. She may have been right, but like today with Sherman, I still saw suspicion in everyone's eyes. Not for the first time, I wondered if this fear would lurk in the back of my mind for the rest of my life.

Maureen sipped her coffee, her eyes darting frequently to the Warren's camp. I was not sure how much of Maureen's interest in Cornelius was due to the man he was or to the man Maureen wanted to mold him into, but I knew she would never leave me if I did not give her a gentle push. I was an adult; I could survive on my own. Though she would always try to change me, she had molded me as much as she could. She needed to move on to her next project and hopefully find some happiness along the way. It was time to give my blessing.

“Maureen.”

“Hmm?”

“I believe the biscuits are ready.”

She lifted the lid to the skillet and nodded appreciatively. “So they are. You might make a cook yet, Laura.”

“I just might. Cornelius and Anna, on the other hand, could use some help.”

“Anna's a bright girl. She'll learn.”

“Not with Cornelius teaching her. You should take them under your wing.”

Maureen's brow furrowed, but her face reddened. “What are you on about, Katie Girl?”

“Don't play coy with me. You know very well what I'm on about.” Maureen pressed her lips together and stared into her coffee. I put my mug down and knelt in front of her. “Don't be embarrassed. I'm so very happy for you. You deserve to find love.”

“Harumph. Love. More like he needs a woman to take care of him.”

“So what if he does? Taking care of people is what you're best at. You took care of my father after my mother died. Raised me. Kept me well in hand for the past ten years.”

“And a more difficult job I've never had.”

“Think how much more compliant Anna will be. It will practically be a vacation for you.”

Maureen laughed, but tears leaked out of her eyes. “Do you not need me anymore, Katie Girl?”

“I'll always need your love and support. But, it is time you and I both step out on our own a bit.” I squeezed Maureen's hand. “We will be in the same town, we could even arrange to be next door to each other, if you want. I daresay nothing much about our relationship will change. It's just you'll be sharing a bed with Cornelius.”

Now Maureen's face reddened so deeply I was afraid she would spontaneously combust. “We'll not talk about that.”

I patted her hand and stood. “I've read books on the act and picked up some rather interesting tips treating Camille's girls.”

Maureen gasped and stood. “Katie!”

“You really need to stop calling me that.”

“You need to remember you're a lady and ladies do not talk about those things. I'm going to check that Cornelius and Anna haven't burned their beans.”

I suppressed a smile. I knew raising Maureen's pique would push her into action.

“Eat those biscuits before they get cold,” she said, and stalked off to take Cornelius and Anna under her wing.

After supper, everyone gravitated together to talk, listen to the fiddler play his two songs, and if we were lucky, eat a bit of the dessert Frau Schlek always had left over. On most nights dessert was apple crumb, due to the barrel of apples in their wagon, though I contributed wild berries whenever I came across them in my ramblings.

With shawls wrapped around our shoulders Maureen and I moved to the Schleks' fire, always the largest blaze thanks to the exuberance their youngest showed in gathering firewood. Frau Schlek was telling Maureen the recipe for her fruit crumble when General Sherman and a young officer approached.

“May I join you?” the General asked.

“Of course,” Amos Pike said, with more generosity than I expected. Herr Schlek stood and offered the general his chair.

“Thank you.”

Sherman talked to the Schleks about their journey. His young lieutenant stood near me, taking in the entire group. A wispy dark mustache struggled to banish the boyishness of his baby-smooth skin. His clear, callow eyes lingered on Anna Warren, obviously pleased at the sight of a beautiful young girl near his own age. Anna's face was flushed, whether from the fire or the lieutenant's gaze I did not know. Since she studiously avoided looking in his direction, I had my suspicions.

“What is your name, Lieutenant?” I asked.

He was well bred enough to shift his focus from Anna to me with a polite smile. No doubt he considered his duty as an officer and a gentleman to humor the middle-aged spinster. I suppressed a smile. “Lieutenant Beau Kindle, ma'am.”

“Lieutenant Kindle is readying to see his uncle for the first time,” Sherman interjected. “How long has it been, Lieutenant?”

“Eight years, sir.”

“Long time,” Sherman said. “Most like he won't be as you remember him, Kindle.”

“Where is your uncle, Lieutenant Kindle?” I asked.

“He is stationed at Fort Richardson, ma'am. Captain William Kindle,” he said, as if I would recognize the name.

“Fought with him at Antietam. He got a bad wound there, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

I pulled my shawl closer against the chill the name gave me. Antietam. The worst—and best—day of my life. It was the day my father received the wound that would eventually kill him, the last day of my masquerade as a male orderly, and the day I realized my true calling as a doctor. As Sherman took control of the campfire conversation, I wondered if I helped treat Lieutenant Kindle's uncle.

Sherman spent the next hour talking to us, asking where we came from, where we were going, and sharing more than a few stories of his time in California. He was an amiable fireside companion while he was on the subject of the joys of the West and the bright future for the emigrants. When conversation turned to his journey in Texas and what he saw of the Indian problem, the aspect of his personality that expected to be deferred to on every subject and had been polished to a bright shine by years of Army command emerged. I watched Amos while Sherman railed against politicians so concerned with ridding their state of “lying, cheating Yankees” that they would fabricate stories of massacres and raids to divert soldiers from the important task of Reconstruction. Pike, at last, could take no more.

“Fabricate stories? Are you blind, man?”

“Blind? I have seen nothing to indicate Indians are raiding up and down the line of settlements.”

“What do you make of the abandoned homesteads you've passed since San Antone? You think those people just up and left? These same salt-of-the-earth immigrants you think are going to make the West great? Somehow the lily-livered ones just happened to settle in a line out here? Those that weren't killed in their homes and in their fields were scared east. And why? Because your precious Army don't know how to fight them and because Yankee politicians are more concerned with taking their pound of flesh from us than helping us!”

Sherman's face resembled so many New York granite statues. “My army knows how to fight. Have you forgotten the lesson the Army taught you rebels six years ago?”

“I haven't forgotten the swath of wasteland you left through Georgia, nor has any other right-minded Southerner. Maybe the reason you don't see anything alarming out here is because it coincides with your idea of warfare.”

“From what I hear, it's as likely to be white men as Indians.” When Pike didn't immediately answer, Sherman pressed his point. “White men paid by ex-Confederates to murder innocent people to draw us away from Reconstruction.”

“Reconstruction ended here a year ago,” Cornelius said.

“Indeed. So why are Rebel gangs still raiding?” Sherman asked. “Because the settlers are easy pickings? Or because there is money in it?”

“They could be carpetbaggers as easy as Rebels,” Amos said. “And don't you worry. Those white men will swing for what they're doing. What we don't like is the government taking care of Indians, and then the savages turning around and massacarin' our people.”

“The peace policy—” Sherman said.

“The peace policy.” Amos sneered. “That might be the worst-conceived idea the government has ever had, and that's saying something. Even your Quaker up in Fort Sill thinks it's a failure. And he's the one administering it!”

“These Indian stories are all blown out of proportion.”

Pike shook his head in wonderment. “You aren't going to believe it until you see it for yourself. It's a terrible thing more innocent people are going to have to die brutal deaths to get their government to believe there's a problem. I only hope the Comanche has the politeness to murder a bunch of farmers when you're in the neighborhood.”

“It's only a matter of time before our men beat them.”

“How do you propose to do that? Line them up behind a fence and fire on them until time to charge? That ain't how Indians fight. Never have, never will. You ain't fighting one army with a bunch of commanders of the same mind. You're fighting different nations and tribes within the nations. You don't know where or when they will attack because they don't think like we do. There is only one way to stop them.”

“Please, Mr. Pike, tell us.”

“Kill or hang 'em all.”

“Even the women and children?”

“They don't care about killing our women and children, why should we care about killing theirs?” Amos said.

“That's barbaric,” Anna said.

“It is. Nothing else will stop them.”

“I know our soldiers, the quality and resilience of the American man, will win in the end,” Sherman said.

Though I agreed with the sentiment, it was said with such dismissive arrogance even I was offended.

Amos stood. “I'm glad you have such confidence. I ain't seen no one since Jack Hayes who could outsmart an Indian.” He walked off.

Maureen was pale and her hand shook as she lifted her cup to drink. Damn these men for scaring her with their stories. I changed the subject by addressing a nearby cowboy with his arm in a sling. “Walter, how is your arm?”

“Fine, Doc. Though it itches a bit.”

“That's normal. I'll remove the cast in a week or two.”

“Doc?” Sherman interjected.

My back straightened. My midwife ruse had abruptly ended when I set Walter's compound fracture. Everyone in the wagon train took it in stride. Sherman didn't strike me as the type of man who would approve of a female physician. “Yes, General. I am a doctor.”

“I have heard rumors of female doctors in New York, but I never put much stock in such an outlandish idea. All the more reason to get away from that cesspool, I say.”

“I trained in London,” I said. Sherman shrugged, as if it was the same to him.

“She did a fine job on my arm,” Walter said.

“Hell, son, I can set a broken bone. There's not much skill in it.”

“When the bone is sticking up out of the skin, I guess there is,” Frau Schlek said. “I don't know a man who could have fixed it.”

“Thank you, Frau Schlek. Do not bother trying to convince General Sherman of my skills. Men rarely believe a woman could be better than a man at a profession such as medicine. Their doubt only makes me more determined to prove them wrong.”

“Let's hope you never get the chance,” Sherman laughed.

“If there are more reckless cowboys out here like Walter, unfortunately I will.”

“Now, ma'am, I told you my horse got spooked by a snake.”

“Yeah, the mysterious, disappearin' snake,” another cowboy said.

“Did you hear of the female doctor in New York who killed a man?” Beau Kindle said.

I forced myself to stay relaxed and turned my attention to Lieutenant Kindle. “No.”

“She killed him out of jealousy,” Beau Kindle said with enthusiasm. At Sherman's expression of disgust, Beau turned red and clarified without the eagerness in his voice. “My sister wrote to me about it.”

“I don't know the details,” I said, “but it is difficult for me to believe a doctor would kill another person willingly and knowingly.”

“Come, now,” Sherman said. “People will do anything to survive.”

“A romantic disappointment is hardly life or death.”

“It's hard to believe a woman would be able to kill a man in cold blood,” Cornelius said.

“How would she be able to overpower him?” Herr Schlek asked.

“She poisoned him,” Beau said.

Poison?

“Then she bludgeoned him with a candlestick to make sure.”

I didn't need to look at Maureen to know she was panicking. I had to hope she would stay quiet and no one would notice her fear, or if they did, assume it was from talk of Indians. Her fear of the Comanche was well known to our group.

“I refuse to believe it,” I said.

“Why, did you know her?” Sherman asked.

“No. As I said, I trained in London. I do not believe it because she was a doctor. Our oath is ‘Do no harm.'”

“You've obviously never been crossed in love,” Sherman said with a laugh.

“I have known plenty of women who have and none of them have murdered their lovers.”

“What happened to the woman?” Anna asked.

“She was found murdered a few days later,” Beau said.

“Just desserts if you ask me,” Sherman said.

I stood. He was reprehensible. “If you will excuse me, I need to check on the animals.” Maureen rose to follow but I stopped her. “Stay and rest,” I said. We did not need the group to see us walk off and huddle together like criminals. Plus, I needed to be alone.

Maureen sat back down. Lieutenant Kindle took my spot next to Anna and tried to start a conversation. Cornelius sat next to Maureen. Though she blushed, Maureen stayed put and didn't look vexed with his presence for the first time.

I found Púca and Piper asleep on their feet. I put my hand on Púca's neck to steady myself and took a deep breath. I thought back over the conversation and believed I had handled myself well, given no indication of my connection to the story. And what a story it was. James had not mentioned poison or a candlestick, only a fireplace poker. Which was correct? It didn't matter. The murderess was dead and it was merely a campfire story for men to tell about the idiocy and weakness of women. I bristled at the idea that jealousy and murder would be Catherine Bennett's legacy instead of the strength and determination of an intelligent woman succeeding at a man's profession.

“Dr. Elliston.”

Amos Pike walked up, a large wad of tobacco bulging in his cheek and a flask of whisky in his hand.

“Mr. Pike.”

“Would you like some?” He leaned against Piper and held the flask out over her neck.

“Thank you.” I sipped the whisky. I held the back of my hand against my mouth to stifle a cough before handing it back.

Amos grinned. “Wish I had bourbon to offer you.” He leaned his arms on Piper's neck.

I cleared my throat, but my voice still sounded like a croak. “Why?”

“You give bourbon to people you're trying to impress. Whisky is for Mexicans, Indians, and old Rangers.”

“You were one of the best, I hear.”

“Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see.”

“Are you saying Ester elaborated?”

He took a long pull from his flask. “I doubt it. Ester's a fine woman. There ain't no lie in her.” Amos patted Piper on the neck and stared at the ox without seeing her. “It leaves a mark, witnessing something like that.” He spit tobacco juice on the ground and offered the flask to me. I took another sip. “Ain't goin' to apologize for what I done to avenge it, either.”

“No one is asking you to.”

Amos drank again and eyed me. “You're quite a woman”—he paused—“Laura.”

There was too much emphasis on my Christian name to be coincidental. His smile was sly, but nonthreatening and with a fair amount of admiration. He knew. He knew who I was.

“Did you hear our conversation?” I nodded in the direction of the group.

“Some.”

“You think I am her.”

He turned his head and spit a stream of tobacco juice onto the ground. He wiped his hand down his long, full, gray mustache. “I saw the poster, what, two months ago? Never forget a face. Not a good likeness, is it?” Amos's gaze traveled over my face and down, lingered appreciatively, before returning. His eyes were alive beneath the brim of his hat. “You're softer in person.”

“I did not kill him.”

I held his gaze while he studied me. His expression of amused respect slipped to something like disappointment. “No, I don't suppose you did. But you've got it in you.”

“What?”

“Killing.”

“I do not.”

He spit another stream of tobacco, wiped his mustache. “Laura, most everyone comes out here's got it in them. Only they ain't been pushed to the point yet.”