Redeeming Lies

by Samantha St. Claire

  "Of course! Women have held teaching positions for years." A gleam of large white teeth peeked out of his brush of a beard. "Why, my teachers throughout primary years were all women."

  Maddie paused for only a moment before saying, "They obviously taught you quite well. Let's see, that would be math, science, history, and literature."

  "Yes, of course, all the fundamentals. Why, Mrs. Brooks taught Latin! I'm certainly glad that she did because it gave me a leg up on my classmates in medical school."

  Maddie nodded, still smiling. "All those subjects taught by women. Imagine!"

  The brilliance of the doctor's smile faded.

  "As a young man under their instruction did you think you had ever surpassed their level of knowledge on any of those subjects?"

  "Why no, but. . ."

  "Do you think a woman might perform, shall we say, advanced geometry required for an architect, or does some innate limitation on her mathematical understanding exist?"

  "I'm sure exceptions can be found of course."

  "You had an excellent history education. You must have heard of Anna Atkins, the British botanist or perhaps Mary Chase, the American biologist."

  Maddie caught a glimpse of the smile tugging at Dr. Reynolds' lips. Sitting across from her, Jessie's mouth hung open, her eyes wide.

  Lena cleared her throat. "Madison, you've given this a great deal of thought. Aside from teaching, in what profession do you have an interest?"

  Lena's question interrupted the thread of her discourse. Maddie wasn't finished with the doctor. The arguments she'd been taught were fresh on her mind, ready for testing, eager for debate. That debate had just begun. Her mouth opened and closed as warning bells clanged in her head. The expressions of those around the table affected her much as the cold water on her face had this morning. Had she said too much for Madison Alexander, exposing her true self, the progressively educated Madison Jennings?

  An argument played out in her head. Madison Alexander could as easily as Madison Jennings aspire to the same profession. Her chin lifted as she declared, "I would become a published author."

  Jessie clapped her hands like a delighted child. "How wonderful!"

  Lena beamed her approval at Maddie. "You have before you many women writers who have already opened doors that once were closed to us."

  Dr. Thornton's mustache wobbled uncertainly for a moment before he said, "Why, of course! The Ladies Home Journal is a perfect opportunity for women with a propensity for writing. Articles of fashion and culinary arts are subjects perfectly suited for the fair sex."

  Before Maddie could recover her shock at the man's arrogance, David said, "Perhaps Miss Alexander had other types of writing in mind." He turned to ask her, "Are you more inclined to write novels or scholarly works?"

  Was he mocking her? Lifting her chin another fraction of an inch, she answered, "Literature."

  Lena was too quick with her next question directed to Dr. Reynolds. "And you, Dr. Reynolds, have you always aspired to become a doctor?"

  Dr. Reynolds brought his hands to the table, lightly tapping his fingers together before answering. "Actually, no. It was my father's wish for me to study medicine."

  "Really? How interesting. Was there another line of study you desired to follow?" Lena said.

  "It may surprise you. Art. My mother was a talented artist. My father felt that art was not a proper field of study for a man, at least not for his son. Our family had a history of medical men."

  Lena said, "I see. That must have been difficult for you."

  "Initially, yes. I continued to draw and paint my first year at university, but when my grades fell in the second semester, Father demanded to know why. I had to confess my attention was often distracted by my art."

  Maddie interrupted, "Why didn't you tell your father what your art meant to you?"

  David laughed lightly. "If you had known my father, you wouldn't ask that question. I stopped drawing after my mother made me promise to obey my father's wishes."

  "And you did—obey him?"

  "Of course."

  She noticed the small crease between his eyes as though the question was surprising. Maddie shifted in her chair, her heated agitation working its way through her body, from her tapping foot to her burning ears. "I don't understand how you could deny what you were gifted to do?"

  Dr. Reynolds shrugged. "Perhaps I was gifted to become a healer as well. Besides, I had made a promise to my mother. A promise is a sacred thing."

  The anger she'd repressed toward her father for the past day bubbled to the surface. That a man, a man privileged by the mere fact that he was a man, would choose to follow the dictates of another, turned her blood hot. Maddie felt her disapproval work itself into a scowl. "It seems to have been an ill-considered acceptance of a promise."

  Dr. Reynolds pulled his gaze back to his hands resting quietly on the table. "Nevertheless, I did agree, and if I cannot keep my word, I would neither be a good man, nor a good person. I must be true to my word if I am to live with myself."

  Jessie held up the plate of scones, her smile slipping as she looked pleadingly across the table at Maddie and David. "Scone, anyone?"

  Chapter 9

  "I Suppose you might be wondering why I took you to visit the patients in town first." Dr. Thornton slapped a rein to the mare’s rump, and she picked up her pace.

  David shrugged, saying, "Didn’t think about it much, really. Just more expedient, I’d suppose."

  "Better part of the practice comes from the town folks. People out here tend to do their own doctoring."

  Snowberry residents were much the same. The inconvenience of travel tended to make those living miles from town more independent. Of course, the mortality rate was higher in those families far from modern medicine. David frowned, remembering.

  Thornton relaxed back against the wagon seat, giving his horse its head. The bay glanced over her shoulder and slowed, slipping into a more leisurely gait. "Thought you'd get a better feel for the practice this way."

  David's attention drifted between the changing terrain, the irascible Dr. Thornton, and the remarkably opinionated Miss Alexander. With Thornton's most recent comment, that attention shifted a degree in Dr. Thornton's favor. "And why is that?"

  "Calls out here are less frequent—weekly in good weather or when the roads are passable. In winter months, they mostly seek my help for only the most desperate of situations, making the trek to town on their own. Usually some unfortunate comes in bundled into the back of a buckboard or wagon, suffering from gangrene or fever that's beyond my abilities to treat."

  David nodded, remembering similarly tragic occasions over the past winter. Here, perhaps even more than along the Payette, injuries or illness would arise over the long winter months where people made do with their own dubious remedies. Often as not, those home treatments only worsened the poor soul's condition. That was simply the reality of life on this harsh frontier.

  "The point is, most of your time will be spent within only a mile or two of town."

  David picked up an apologetic tone in Thornton's explanation. "Don't worry, Dr. Thornton. I have no intention of abandoning your practice now. Before I arrived, I gave my word. I intend to keep it."

  Thornton gave a satisfied grunt, leaving David to his thoughts for a mile or more.

  The mountainous terrain recaptured David’s attention, the hills mounding up one on the other like folds of fabric rolling to the higher peaks. What he saw contrasted with the gentler Payette Valley, miles to the west, this range hinting of an aspect of greater fierceness. He surmised that those stalwart souls who chose to live here must be cut from an even tougher cloth than those he knew in Snowberry.

  That observation brought his attention back to the stalwart Miss Alexander, one who was surely made of a unique fabric. He'd encountered a few suffragettes in his years in Baltimore. Most of those represented a decade or more than she. He'd found their arguments sound, though often expressed at a volume lo
uder than necessary. Miss Alexander's zealous defense of her convictions demonstrated an exposure to such an education. She was courageous. Her failure to see him as an ally baffled and frustrated him. Instead, she seemed intent on attacking him with her very able tongue and exceptional gift for language.

  "Quite the firebrand!"

  David threw Thornton a glance. "Excuse me?"

  Thornton grinned and said, "Miss Alexander. She certainly laid a clever trap for me."

  David lifted a shoulder, considering the comment for a moment. "She struck me as exceedingly intelligent."

  It was Thornton's turn to look in David's direction, one eyebrow tilted upward. He chuckled and said, "I would hope you were struck even more by her good looks—arresting beauty, really."

  David ignored the remark, thinking it inexplicably insulting rather than complimentary to the woman. "Her point is well-taken, I think. I do believe women should not only be allowed to pursue the same professions afforded to men, but encouraged to do so."

  Thornton pursed his lips. "I will concede only the one point. Exceptions can be found to nearly every rule, of course. But honestly, David, I believe the gender, on the whole, is far better suited for other vocations."

  David waited a long moment before saying, "I can see that we must agree to disagree."

  For the next mile, they fell into silence until a clapboard house came into view nestled in a clearing surrounded by Aspen. A narrow stream of smoke rose from the rough stone chimney, drifting across the clearing to lose itself in the pines.

  Thornton slowed his horse and whispered, "We're here to look in on a young woman named Ruth Farley who suffered a significant burn last week. A lamp broke, spilled oil on her arm. I don't know for certain, because Ruth would never admit it, but I think somehow her father had something to do with it. He appears to love the girl, so it was probably an accident, maybe when he was in one of his drunken stupors. If we’re lucky, Sam isn't home so we can see to his daughter alone. Just watch yourself if he is. He can be a beast if he's been at the bottle."

  As they pulled up alongside the porch, a man staggered into the open doorway, squinting out at them. "Thornton, why are you here? Thought I told you we don't need your help." He reached a hand out to the door frame as though to steady himself. The man’s bloodshot eyes swept over them.

  Dr. Thornton hissed under his breath, "Trouble." To the man he shouted, "Sam, good to see you well. How's Ruth?" Thornton reached for his bag and jumped from the cart.

  David grabbed his own and followed a few steps behind Thornton.

  "Get back on your wagon and take yourselves back to town. Ruth's fine and don't need your help. Told 'ya. We can't afford it." The man's words came out slurred. It would be more than interesting to see how Thornton handled the situation.

  "Now, Sam, I already told you that I'm not charging you for keeping an eye on her recovery. Besides, remember? She came to me." Thornton took a step onto the porch. "I wanted to introduce you both to the doctor who's taking over my practice. This is Dr. Reynolds."

  Sam Farley turned a dark, red-rimmed eye on David but did nothing to show he cared to acknowledge him in any way. David dipped his head once.

  Thornton drew Farley's attention back to him. "All we want to do is see Ruth. It’d be good to take a look at that arm. It’d be bad if it became infected. You know that better than most, Sam."

  "Doctor? Dr. Farley, how are you?" A young woman appeared from the far side of the house, a basket of laundry perched on her hip. David was glad to see that she, at least, seemed pleased to see them.

  "Ruth! There you are." Dr. Thornton was by her side in a moment, relieving her of the burden of the basket.

  With his attention trained on the two, David didn’t hear Sam Farley come up behind him.

  "I told you, Thornton, we don't need your help!" Farley shoved David aside. "Get away from her, Thornton!"

  David recovered his balance and reached out a restraining hand on Farley's arm. The man spun on him, taking David completely off his guard. The man suddenly seemed to grow before him as he pulled himself to his full height, turning a menacing eye on the younger doctor.

  "Don't you touch me!" His voice lowered as he hissed, "No one ever touches me."

  Farley moved faster than David could have imagined possible. Along with the jarring impact of Farley's fist to his face, David felt the stinging pain of tearing flesh at the point of contact just below his left eye. He stumbled against the porch railing as bright lights spun before his eyes.

  Thornton's voice preceded the sound of the man's boots thundering up the steps. "Farley, stop, you fool!" A scuffle of boots followed before David's vision cleared. A few feet away, Thornton had Farley pinned to the house wall. Thornton leaned in close to Farley's face. "Get a grip, man!"

  David leaned against the porch post, his fingers probing his split cheek. Out of all possible, reasonable thoughts, the one that surfaced was that he'd be able to experience first-hand the sensation of a needle sewing his skin together.

  Thornton released his hold on Farley as the fight drained from the man's eyes. Farley sank to the porch whimpering, "I hate this place. I hate it. Ain’t nothin’ good ever come from movin’ here. Nothin’ but trouble."

  By the time Dr. Thornton had finished a quick examination of Ruth's arm and sewing two stitches into David's cheek, the sun had set. So the two men made the trip back to Ketchum under the light of a waxing moon.

  "I'm sorry, David. Grief over his wife's death has pushed him over the edge. The mines aren't doing well. It was a different story a few years ago. Seems it's been one thing after another for the poor old fool. He should count his blessings that his daughter stays with him. She's a comely young woman and I suspect she's turned down at least one offer of marriage. The only explanation I have for that is her loyalty to her father. In my opinion, she’s wasting her life here. Sad all around."

  With his eye swelling, David had to turn his head to Thornton to look at him. He said, "I wonder why he stays if he hates it so much."

  Thornton shrugged. "People get stuck in one way of thinking. Can’t see any other way, so they just stay where they are, and keep doing what they know. Hard to explain, but I’ve seen it time and again."

  David drew a hand to his cheek, gingerly fingering the stitches. "Have you many patients like that one? Anymore I should look out for?"

  Thornton threw back his head and laughed. "Those better. Those worse." He tapped the wagon seat between them. "Take a look under the seat."

  David twisted his head to get a view of the space beneath the seat. He recognized the rifle; something he'd seen Kat carry when she made calls up in the higher valleys—a Henry rifle. She swore by it as the best for all-around protection from both four-and two-legged predators.

  "Have you ever used it?" David asked.

  "Used it? Yes. Fired it at someone? No. I've only fired it for target practice. Mostly, it's a deterrent." Thornton narrowed his gaze as he looked at David's face a moment. "You know how to use one?"

  It was David's turn to shrug. "I've had a few lessons from a man that certainly knew how. I can hit what I aim at if it isn’t moving. Just never felt a need to carry one."

  In a voice that carried no hint of humor, Thornton said, "You might want to reconsider that feeling."

  David didn’t respond, but his eyes wandered to the looming mountains silhouetted against the last vestiges of day.

  "Still going to stick around?"

  David could feel the doctor’s eyes on him. He gave a rueful smile and winced again. "I gave my word, didn't I?"

  Thornton seemed content to ride through the night without talking, probably out of habit. In the silence, David's thoughts turned in the dark direction he’d allowed them to travel for the past two years. Here was yet another reminder of his insufficiencies, unable to defend himself even against a drunk. All those years in school and training later in the hospital, he'd been at the top of his class, admired, even envied for his knowledge a
nd skill as a surgeon. In his fiancé's eyes, he was a hero—the brilliant doctor with a promising future. Here, where real men fought hard for what they earned or claimed, he seemed to fail in every way to measure up.

  This land, this wilderness, wasn't going to change anytime soon. If he was to stay, he'd need to be the one to change, to harden in both mind and body. What he'd learned in school, he was living out here. Adapt or die.

  With his head throbbing and his eye nearly swollen closed, he felt more like a victim than ever before. Something had jarred loose in his thinking when Farley's fist had slammed into him. He had to stop thinking of himself as weak. He would stay here and he would prove himself worthy. One day he'd be man enough for a woman like Kat Meriwether or perhaps someone as intriguing as Madison Alexander. It was a goal worth pursuing.

  Chapter 10

  Lena and Jessie settled into the kitchen to prepare the evening meal, leaving Maddie alone with her remorse. She slumped onto the bed, knowing she'd made herself a perfect fool by giving into her anger, and worse, she'd drawn unnecessary attention to herself.

  The ginger cat oozed around the open door, taking a cautious survey of the room and at last determining to enter. He stood in the middle of the rug for a moment before jumping onto the bed beside her. A gentle nudge of his head against her arm made his request clear. Maddie stroked the orange head. The cat's eyes closed and he thrust out his chin for more.

  Laughter drifted upstairs.

  "No point in sulking, right, kitty?" The cat purred in response and curled beside her into a passable imitation of a bread loaf.

  Dr. Reynolds seemed to make a point of flaunting his honesty, insisting he had no choice once he'd given his word but to do as his father bid. The virtuous Dr. Reynolds would disapprove of her father's pragmatic notions of honesty. A man not given to reading literature, her father had heard once and often quoted Plato, of all people. "Honesty is for the most part, less profitable than dishonesty." She'd hated it then; she loathed the philosophy now.