Since Percy’s death, a few men had tried to court her. A hard-working woman with her own business was a catch in any frontier town. She hadn’t been interested. With her cafés and a young son, she had her priorities. But now… She shook her head and her throat tightened. “Claire, I just don’t know…” She grabbed onto the table edge to steady herself.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. You know I only want the best for you. It’s just that you two seem to get along so well.” Claire patted her hand. “Sweetie, it’s been over two years now. Percy would want you to be happy. Maybe I’m out of place to say so, but please don’t be mad.”
The emotion drained from Connie, and she slumped heavily. “I’m sorry. I guess if you count the evenings he’s come for dinner, we have been seeing each other quite a bit. I think his housekeeper must not ever cook for him.” She reached for the coffee pot.
Claire peered up from her cup. “He doesn’t have a housekeeper. Mrs. Cullen left town weeks ago. She and her husband stopped in the mercantile for supplies. Said something about going to live with a daughter. I thought you knew.”
Connie brushed crumbs from her lap and looked up. “No, I didn’t. Who’s been keeping house for him?” An image of James living alone in the big house shook her. He was too fine of a man to not have a woman share his life. I want to be there with him, care for him. Andrew and I could be his family. Oh, my gosh, what am I thinking? Do I love him?
“Listen, I overheard something in my store. I shouldn’t repeat gossip, but you know Miss DuBois?” Her friend poured herself another cup of coffee and stirred in a spoonful of sugar.
“Yes. She owns the fancy dress store.” Connie focused her attention on Claire. “What about her?” Connie had long admired the clothing but not the owner who paraded the latest dress fashions in order to promote her shop. She had a reputation for flirting with single and married men.
“I heard her tell another customer she was planning a big Christmas Eve with a certain handsome doctor. She was in my place buying canned oysters, imported Swiss chocolate, and a bottle of my best wine. She spent over ten dollars.”
“James isn’t her type.” Connie glanced around the room. The dinner crowd was coming in. She needed to get back to work. She didn’t have to worry about him. She knew him, his character.
“He’s a good-looking, educated, kind man. And he’s breathing. Of course he’s her type.”
Connie clasped her hands over her mouth. The thought of him with anyone else made her feel more than a little green. I love him. Oh, my word. I love him.
“He’s coming to dinner at my house for Christmas Eve. I don’t know what Miss DuBois has in mind. He said he wants to talk. I guess I’ll be doing some talking too.”
Chapter Fourteen
Christmas Eve day, James tended to a few scattered patients. He’d learned over the years that only the truly ill visited the doctor on a holiday. One woman had sliced her palm on a butcher knife while beheading a turkey her husband shot. James closed her wound with tiny stitches. The cut, deep but clean, would heal without complications. Then he treated a small boy who’d gotten into a hidden cache of peppermint sticks and eaten an entire package. James had grinned to himself that there probably wouldn’t be any candy in that child’s stocking on the morrow.
For the boy’s upset tummy, he poured a few ounces of dried huckleberries into a paper cone and twisted it closed. He instructed the child’s mother to make a tea from the berries, sweeten it with molasses, and administer it two to three times over the next few hours. When the two left, he glanced at the clock. It was after three and the waiting room stood empty, so he closed the office early. Arianna had left at noon, and besides, he had some very special last minute shopping to do.
He had another reason to celebrate. A doctor had sent him a telegram today, accepting his offer to join the practice. The physician would arrive in three days, and the influenza outbreak was finally easing off. Ten people had died, but James had treated over seventy that survived. Having another man on staff would free him up to spend more time with Connie and Andrew and take some well-deserved time off. If all went well, he’d have a life-changing event to plan.
Before locking the front door, James posted a sign that he was closed until after the holiday. As he exited toward the back, a pounding out front caught his attention. Hurrying back to the door, he swung it open to a frantic farmer twisting his hat in rough hands.
“Doc, you’ve got to come quick. My wife. It’s her time, and something ain’t right. She says it hurts somethin’ fierce. Please. Come on!”
“Of course. I’ll grab my bag, and we’ll go. I’ll get my horse from the livery and follow you.”
“No time for that. Hurry, my team’s out front. You’ll ride with me.” The farmer grabbed James’s arm. “Now.”
Snow fell as James climbed into the man’s wagon, and they headed north, out of town. He looked over the man who was urging the worn-out horses to go faster, even as the snow accumulated in the road and fields. “Mister, who are you, and how far away is your wife?” The man was unfamiliar. A sense of dread seeped through his body. Something wasn’t right.
“Name’s Smith. We’re down the road a piece. Now shut up so’s I can drive.”
James turned to him, putting a hand on the man’s burly arm. “Hold on. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. I insist.”
Smith flung off his hand and turned his head slightly. Snow caught on his bushy brows. “I told you. The baby’s coming, and it ain’t coming natural like. My woman says it hurts too much. She’s birthed six other youngin’s all without some citified doctor. When she passed out, I knew I had to come find you. We’ve got a patch of land near Fort Robinson.”
“How far apart are the pains?” James held on to the wagon’s edge as they slid in the snow. The horses slipped and strained in their harnesses as the farmer cracked his whip over their heads. James reached to grab the whip, but the man’s frown stopped him.
“Don’t know. Just that there’s blood, a lot of blood. She’s been having the pains two days now.”
James dropped his eyes to his lap and hugged himself to stay warm. Too much time and too much blood were not good omens. A woman who’d had six children should be delivering this one as easy as pie. “Mr. Smith. You need to slow down and stop whipping these horses. They’re giving all they’ve got.” The wind howled, and snow blew sideways. “Smith! If you kill these horses, you won’t get us there in time.”
The farmer hollered his frustration. “Land sakes! What am I supposed to do?” He slowed the team, and they regained their footing. James replied, “Pray, let’s pray. That’s something we can do.”
Lately, he’d been turning more to God than away from Him. Connie got the credit for that. Through her kindness, cheerfulness, and optimism, he could see God’s hand leading her. He wanted that guidance for himself. In the Christmas Eve snowstorm, he prayed aloud. “Dear heavenly Father, give these horses the stamina to reach Mrs. Smith on time and provide me with the skills to deliver her child safely. We put our trust in Your hands. In Christ’s name we pray, Amen.”
The farmer peered sideways at James and muttered, “Amen.” He raised his whip, then lowered it, placing it the holder. Instead, he urged the horses. “C’mon boys. You can do it! There’s carrots waitin’ for you in the barn. C’mon boys.” The horses trudged onward. The snow fell thicker and thicker.
Two hours later, when James was so cold he couldn’t feel his toes or his fingers and feared frostbite, they pulled up to a small shack on the prairie. A plume of smoke rose from the chimney. He almost fell trying to swing his stiff body off the wagon seat.
“Go in, Doc. I got to care for them horses,” the man hollered over the storm. “My youngins’ll help you.”
James nodded as he shook the snow off his coat. “Hello to the house, I’m Dr. Connor.” He pushed open the flimsy front door. Six children huddled by a fire.
The eldest, a girl of about fifte
en, stood. “Ma’s in there.” She pointed to a door. “She been hollering for hours, but she’s quiet now. Tole us all to git out.”
James raced through the room. The furnishings were poor and the room clean but barely warm. He called over his shoulder, “Please bring me water to wash my hands. Then, I need you to heat more water and pour it in a clean basin. Use snow if you have to.”
The girl handed him a pitcher. He rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and dried them with a cloth from his bag. Knocking on the bedroom door, he let himself in and closed the door behind him.
“Mrs. Smith, I’m Dr. Connor,” he said to the exhausted woman sprawled in the iron bedstead.
She lifted her head, and her tired eyes tore at his heart. “Praise the Lord,” she whispered.
My goodness, she looks to be fifty years old. She’s had too many children and worked too hard. Lord, help me help this lady. “Tell me what’s going on, and then, with your permission, I’ll take a look.” He set his medical bag down, leaned over her, and placed his palm on her forehead. It was feverish and moist.
“Your...hand feels...cold. My girl keeps...piling these here...quilts on me. I’m like to...burn up.”
“She’s a smart girl. You need to keep warm. You do have a slight temperature. Now, how long have you been in labor? This is your seventh child?”
“Ninth...lost me two...my man...wants a big family.” She shook her head. “Doc, this ain’t...goin’ right...too tired out.”
“How old are you, if I may ask, Mrs. Smith?” He reached for his stethoscope and bent to listen to her heart. He guessed she’d say forty-five, an age too advanced for birthing babies.
‘I’ll be thirty-two...next birthday. You shouldn’t...do that without my mister here. Aint fittin’.”
“It can’t wait. Your baby may be in danger. Call your daughter in then, the oldest one. She can watch me.” He put his hands on his hips and looked at her straight on. “Do it now.”
The tired woman caved and called out, “Sarah, git in here.” She mopped her face with a frayed handkerchief.
The girl raced in. “Ma…”
“Sarah, I need you. Time you saw such things...takes to bring a baby.” Mrs. Smith’s voice was barely a whisper. “Please, girl.”
The girl’s face paled, but she nodded in agreement.
James moved to the bottom of the bed. Sarah followed him. “Ladies, I’m going to lift the bed coverings and check the progress of the baby. He or she might need a bit of help.”
He glanced over at the girl. A mixture of fear and intellectual curiosity crossed Sarah’s face. Her eyes never left him and his hands as he gently examined her mother’s progress.
Moments later, he put back the sheet and wiped his hands. “Mrs. Smith, your child is coming breech. That means his bottom is coming out first. I want to try to turn him, but if that doesn’t work, we may need to let him come his way.”
“I saw Pa turn a calf that way,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. “It was a bloody mess.”
“Yes, it can be. Are you ready? This will hurt.” James glanced at the exhausted woman. Mrs. Smith tipped her chin in reply.
“Ma’am, bite down on this stick. Sarah, why don’t you go hold your mother’s hand? She’ll probably need to squeeze it.” He washed his hands once more and thought of the sterile supplies back in the warm medical office. He removed the coverings again and oh-so-gently turned the baby, mindful of the umbilical cord. The woman gasped but didn’t say a word. After a few moments, James said firmly, “Mrs. Smith, I need you to push. Now!”
An hour later, he delivered a sturdy boy, spanked him, and whispered a prayer of thanks at the lusty cry. He wiped the child clean and placed him in his mother’s arms. Sarah stared at him and then the baby with a mixture of awe and revulsion. “I ain’t ever letting no husband put a baby in me,” she declared. “But he is right pretty. Ma always has pretty babies.”
James looked over at her. “Time may change your mind, but for now, I wouldn’t worry about it.” He glanced back at Mrs. Smith who wept with exhaustion. They still weren’t done, and she knew it.
“Take the boy and wash him with lukewarm water and wrap him warmly. I’ll finish tending to your mother. I need clean bedclothes and a gown for her, and the baby needs a covering. Do you have something ready?”
“Yup.” She pointed to a wooden crate. “Sheets and such are in there. I boiled ’em last week. Ma had me sew up some little gowns for him. I did real good too.” She gently lifted the boy and cooed to him. “Pa’s gonna be real proud to have him another boy child.”
James continued to assist the woman. When he finished, he washed her and helped her into a worn but clean nightgown, all the while thinking how the girl was going to have to help even more now with another sibling. As he did, he could feel Sarah’s eyes on him. Then he helped Mrs. Smith sit up and placed the baby in her arms to nurse.
“Thank you for your help, young lady. You’d make a good midwife.” He cleaned his instruments and returned them to the medical bag. Sarah stood near him, watching closely as if she was memorizing his actions.
She surprised him with her answer. “Nope, not a midwife. They just deal with birthin’. I wanna be a doctor, set bones and sew up cuts. I already do that for my brothers. I wanna do it right. Is there such a thing as a lady doctor?”
James paused and chose his words carefully as he unrolled his shirtsleeves. “Yes, there is. In fact, the first female doctor is a woman named Elizabeth Blackwell. She lives in New York and started a hospital. It’s called The New York Infirmary for Women and Children. Becoming a doctor is a fine goal. It would mean a lot of studying and going to school. You’d probably have to go back east to a university.”
Sarah hoisted the basket of soiled linens and turned toward the door. “Good. Then that’s what I’m gonna do. We could use us a hospital for women and kids out here. Then maybe so many mamas and babies wouldn’t die.” She stepped to the door and opened it. “Pa, come see the latest baby we done delivered.”
James excused himself from the room as the proud father rushed in. In the main room, the other children didn’t seem particularly interested in the new arrival. They were huddled in blankets by the fire, staring at the flames. James tried to engage them in conversation, but they wouldn’t talk.
He walked to the only window and pushed back the animal-hide covering. Snow fell so thickly he couldn’t see beyond it. I am snowbound here, and it’s Christmas Eve. No one but the Smiths knew his location.
Chapter Fifteen
Andy lit the tapers on the best table in the empty café and called to his mother. “I’m done. Looks Christmassy. Where’s James?”
Connie entered from the kitchen, balancing a platter of ham. “Here. Take this. Careful, it’s hot.” An image of Christine DuBois in one of her provocative dresses flashed in her mind, and she pushed it away. Christine wasn’t James’s type. Was she? “I’ll go get the rolls and potatoes. He’ll be along. Maybe he had a last-minute patient.”
“On Christmas Eve? Nobody gets sick on the night St. Nicholas comes.” Andy stood back from the table, hands on his narrow hips. “That’s plain dumb.”
“Andrew.” She frowned and strode back into the room with a basket of rolls and the mashed potatoes. “You sure you want to say that? St. Nicholas may not leave you anything in your stocking.”
Andy gulped and bowed his head. “Sorry, Ma. St. Nick will still come, won’t he?”
“Of course. He knows little boys have ants in their pants on Christmas Eve.” She studied the table. It did look Christmassy. If they didn’t eat soon, the food would get cold, and they’d miss the church services.
“Where is James?” The boy fidgeted with excitement. “I even got him sumthin’. Christmas can’t start without him.”
Connie eased into a chair at the table and pulled her son onto her lap. He tried to squirm away, protesting he was too big. Maybe he was, but she held on anyway. “Do you like having James around?”
&n
bsp; Andy twisted his head to face her. “Yup. He’s not my Pa, but he’s nice and smart and talks to me. He even ran in that three-legged race. Remember?” He wiggled and squirmed. “Let me down, I wanna go look out the window.”
She let him go and fiddled with the silverware. James was a decent, kind man. He wouldn’t make plans with two women. So where was he?
* * *
The snow continued to fall as James paced in the tiny cabin. Mr. and Mrs. Smith were closed up in the back room, and the children hadn’t moved from the fire. Only Sarah moved about, stirring something over the flames. It smelled like corn mush. His stomach rumbled. He’d missed lunch. He’d pass on dinner, though, if that was all the children had to eat. He’d eat when he got home. Connie had dinner planned. These children needed every bite they could get.
“Sarah, I need to speak to your father. If I’m to get back to town, we should be leaving soon.”
“We ain’t allowed to go in there when that door’s closed. Pa says personal time ’tween a man and his wife is sacred.” She swung the kettle away from the flames.
There must have been a lot of sacred time for them to be having so many children. He stared at the bedroom door. “But I need to get back. I’m expected somewhere.” He strode to the door and lifted his hand to knock.
Mr. Smith walked out, holding the baby. “Me and the missus was naming this fine boy. Abraham Lincoln Smith. Sounds good, don’t it?”
“It’s a fine name, Mr. Smith, but I need you to take me back to Omaha before the storm gets any worse. People will be worried about me.” Not just people but two special people. My family. At least I hope they’ll be my family.
The man handed the infant to Sarah and shook his head. “Cain’t, Doc. Storm’s too bad. Snow’s at least three foot high. My horses are wore out. Maybe tomorrow.”
Christmas Bells (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza) Page 9