Race for the Dying

by Steven F Havill

  Thomas held up both hands, and suddenly the plaster around his left thumb appeared huge and ungainly. “As you can see, I’m not really in a position to go anywhere.”

  “Nonsense, man. You’ve had an accident, and a bad one. Nearly killed, I’m to understand. And yet look at you. You refuse to surrender. You wield the scalpel as if born to it. In a few weeks, all this will be behind you. Now, all I’m asking is that, when you’re first ready to travel a bit, that you come to Coues Island and review my proposal in person. Tour the clinic. Meet the staff. Learn of our other facilities, and, I dare say, our other opportunities.”

  “It sounds interesting,” Thomas said noncommittally. “Perhaps you should present your offer to Dr. Riggs.”

  “Well, I know that you don’t practice medicine as a road to being a wealthy man,” Carlisle said as if he hadn’t heard the comment, “but at the risk of being indelicate, let me present the bones of our offer, so to speak.” He sat back and opened his valise, leafing through several papers. Finally he found the one he wanted, consulted it, and then slid it back in the case without showing it to Thomas.

  “Pitt and Burgess hope that their offer reflects the urgency of our situation, Doctor. I had no difficulty whatsoever in persuading them that your remuneration from our company must reflect the fact that you are a young, ambitious physician who would otherwise be expected to build an impressive private practice over the years. They understand that. However, at Pitt and Burgess, your first responsibility will be to the diverse and growing number of company employees and their families.” He took a deep breath. “To that end, Pitt and Burgess Lumber and Mining is in a position to offer you the sum of three thousand dollars a month, with the express understanding that as the fortunes of our company continue to grow, so, too, will your remuneration.”

  “Three—”

  “Yes. Three thousand a month. That would total thirty-six thousand your first year. That’s entirely separate from expenses that you would be expected to encumber on behalf of operations, and in that respect, I’ve found our firm is most generous.”

  “My God…”

  Carlisle pulled what appeared to be a bank draft from his briefcase and laid it on the desk. “Some funds in advance, of course. And rest assured that Pitt and Burgess will make your move from Port McKinney to Coues Island as effortless as possible.”

  “I have little to move,” Thomas said, then frowned. “I have been in Port McKinney something less than two weeks…” He stopped as the door of the office opened abruptly. Alvi Haines’ face was flushed, her eyes narrowed with obvious anger.

  Prince shifted expectantly, but she ignored the dog.

  “Mr. Carlisle,” she said in greeting, and Thomas could see that she forced a smile, her lips tight, her jaw set.

  “Ah, Miss Haines. How delightful.” He started to rise, but she interrupted him.

  “Oh, no need for the courtesies,” she said. Her eyes shifted to the bank draft on the desk. “Dr. Parks is needed immediately in the ward. I do hope that your business is concluded?”

  “Well, I certainly don’t want to—”

  “It’s just that this is an extraordinarily busy afternoon for us, and several surgical patients are waiting,” Alvi said. She smiled sweetly this time. “I assume that you’ve already concluded your business with Dr. Riggs upstairs.”

  Carlisle rose to his feet, tucking the leather straps of the valise through their buckles. He frowned at them, taking his time, as if they presented a problem about which he had to think long and hard. Prince watched him intently, shifting his gaze back and forth between him and Alvi. “Zachary and I spoke earlier, Miss Haines.”

  With a sigh of resignation, he pushed back the chair and held out his hand to Thomas. “Doctor, I expect to be speaking with you again, very soon. As I said, time is something of an urgency for us. I hope you understand and give our offer prompt consideration. Good day to you.” He touched his forehead. “Miss Haines. As always.” As he left the office, he gave the dog a wide berth. Alvi moved just enough that he could pass. As he stepped by, he lowered his voice, and Thomas, although the exchange was obviously not meant for his ears, clearly heard Carlisle say, “Be careful, my dear.” He offered a cold smile and was gone.

  “How very, very odd,” Thomas said. Alvi turned and nudged the office door shut. “Mr. Carlisle sailed on the Alice with me. I hadn’t seen him since then.”

  “And hopefully won’t again,” Alvi said.

  “What did he mean by his remark to you just now? You two appear to be acquainted. Be careful of what?”

  “Ah, well, that,” Alvi said dismissively. She crossed to the desk and picked up the bank draft that Carlisle had made no effort to recover. Glancing at it dismissively, she handed it to Thomas. “Other than misspelling your name, Doctor Thomas Park, it’s an impressive offer.”

  The draft was for six thousand dollars, and he stared at the figure. “Impressive indeed,” he murmured. He looked up at Alvi. “How is it that this Carlisle chap has come to know Zachary Riggs?”

  “He is a supplier of certain pharmaceuticals,” Alvi said, and it was clear she didn’t want to discuss it further.

  Thomas sucked in a breath at the memory. “Carlisle’s anodyne.”

  Alvi didn’t respond to that. “Bertha asked me to remind you that Mr. Deaton is anxious. And Mr. Unger is here to fetch the child.”

  Thomas dropped the bank draft on the desk, and was surprised when Alvi picked it up. With exaggerated precision, she tore it into small bits and held the remnants out to him.

  “Something to think about,” she said, and then smiled in sympathy at Thomas’ expression. “We need you here, Dr. Thomas. If Carlisle’s check were an honest offer, I’d have done my best to talk you out of accepting.” She smiled coquettishly. “Bribery, logical discourse, charming feminine wiles…anything it took.”

  “It’s not an honest offer? Am I to understand that?”

  “Not to worry,” Alvi said, and then bent down to ruffle Prince’s shaggy ears. “I want to talk with Father about this.”

  “Alvi,” Thomas began, then stopped, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t wish to sound ungrateful for all you’ve done for me—for all your father has done—but Carlisle made the offer to me, and it’s my choice whether or not I accept.” He saw her eyebrows knit. “Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your concern. I’m most grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Truly I am.”

  “You would consider his offer?”

  “Well, no. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t. I don’t even know where Coues Island is, or Bartlestown, or—”

  “Bartlesville,” Alvi corrected. “It’s a small village about a hundred miles northeast of here, near the border, but well inland from the coast. If it has a medical facility of any kind, I’d be much surprised. And the next time you speak with Mr. Schmidt, whose operation you have now seen in person, ask him about the company that Carlisle claims to represent.”

  “Pitt and Burgess?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t sure what company name he was using this time.”

  “Just what are you saying, Alvi? What am I supposed to believe? You’re implying that Carlisle is an imposter of some sort? Why would he make a spurious offer to me? Am I supposed to jump at it, running off and leaving the clinic just when your father is less able—”

  “A spurious offer. I like that, Dr. Thomas.” She shook her head. “Let me tell you what my fear is, my friend. If you accept that offer and hie off to Coues Island, we’ll never see you again. There will be no six thousand dollars waiting for you, no medical director’s job. We’ll never know what happened to you. Zachary Riggs will convince my father that he be allowed to hire another physician, and rest assured, it will be someone who is more compliant with Zachary’s grand design.”

  “And what is that, Alvi? Just what is his plan, other than t
o make obscene amounts of money from snake oil? I haven’t been able to ascertain what that might be. I never see Riggs down here with real patients. He offers no assistance of any kind, even when we’re in sore need of another willing pair of hands. You have been helpful, I must say. Perhaps it is none of my business, but it is clear to me that Mr. Riggs is no more a physician than Prince here.” At the sound of his name, the dog lifted his head a few inches off the rug, but his eyes remained fixed on the door. “And why a complicated conspiracy to get rid of me, if that’s what he’s about? Carlisle, I mean. Your father—or you, for that matter—have but to say, ‘Thomas, you’re not the man I had in mind. I’m hiring another.’”

  Alvi smiled, but Thomas saw a touch of sorrow in her expression this time.

  “I’ll talk with you tonight, Dr. Thomas. Give me until then.”

  Thomas held out a hand, catching Alvi by the elbow, but she took his hand in hers. “Give me until tonight. And Mr. Deaton is most eager to see you, Doctor.”

  Alvi opened the door fully, sliding the stop under it. “Prince may have the need,” she said. “A mess anywhere but my father’s office.” She smiled at Thomas once again, and he felt the warmth to the very core of his being.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Louella Unger’s brilliant blue eyes, huge in her thin, pale face, locked on Thomas and grew even larger. She stared at the scar around Thomas’ head, her lips forming a silent O of amazement.

  “Does it hurt?” she whispered.

  “Not anymore,” Thomas replied.

  “It looks awful,” Louella said soberly.

  “Child,” her mother said, “mind your manners, now.”

  “And how do you look?” Thomas asked. He felt the gauze stick a bit, and the girl flinched. “You’re going to be tender for several days, Louella,” he said. He cocked his head, examining the small wound. “Does it pain you?”

  “It aches a little,” Louella replied bravely. “Just a little.”

  “Well, I should think so.” Slight redness around the stitches, no swelling, no tenderness anywhere else in the abdomen—the child was well on the road to perfect health.

  He replaced the dressing and sat back. The little girl was unable to take her eyes off Thomas’ torn scalp. “I think you should go home,” he said. He turned to Mary Unger and her husband, Robert. “Unspiced fluids for the rest of today and tomorrow, the lightest of broths without much seasoning. Nothing with vegetables, or anything hard to digest. And then by Saturday, mild foods that offer little resistance to the digestion. A nice stew with soft potatoes, perhaps.”

  “Ice cream,” Louella chirped.

  “That would be fine.” Thomas held up an admonishing finger. “No nuts. Let’s see. This is…What day of the week are we?”

  “This is Wednesday, Doctor.”

  “Ah, thank you. Wednesday. I’d like Louella to remain quiet until Saturday, when I shall visit. And then short walks and quiet play. No sudden bending. No lifting. No straining. Activity increases after that, of course, when she feels no tenderness whatsoever in her belly. By next week, she’ll be nearly good as new. A regular, healthful diet may replace soft foods by Monday.”

  “Daddy said he was going to take me fishing,” the girl said. Her father smiled indulgently.

  “That’s perfect,” Thomas said. “When you land the big one, you must remember to ask for help hauling him into the boat.” He pushed himself upright, and found himself able to balance on his right leg without the crutches. “You’ve arranged something in the back of a buggy, Mr. Unger? Horsehair mattress, something like that?”

  “Got a goose-down mattress,” Unger said.

  “Well, you’ll ride in style then, Louella,” Thomas said. He nodded and looked up the ward. Bertha Auerbach was bent over, listening to something that Howard Deaton was saying. “I’ll be around to see you on Saturday. Until then, you behave yourself.” He extended a hand to her father, who pumped it fervently.

  “Who is taking care of you, Doctor?” Louella asked, brow furrowed with concern.

  “Well, I’m taking care of me, sweetheart.” He shrugged. “That’s what mirrors are for, you know.”

  “May we pay you now?” Mr. Unger asked.

  “Let’s settle up on Saturday,” Thomas said. “How would that be?”

  He glanced toward Bertha again and saw her put both hands on her hips, as if about to deliver a tongue-lashing to the teamster. “Excuse me,” Thomas said to the Ungers. “Not all patients are as delightful as your daughter.” He made his way to his chair and then wheeled up the ward.

  “Doc,” Howard Deaton whispered as Thomas approached. “Doc, you’re a right proper wreck yourself.”

  “I’m considering hemorrhoid surgery with a rusty scalpel for the next person who tells me that,” Thomas replied, and noted the dark circles around the man’s eyes, the sunken cheeks, the pale lips. “The leg is a trial?”

  “Pretty bad, Doc.” The swelling had increased, and bruising near the fracture site was worrisome. “I cain’t just lie here. This is like havin’ a boat anchor tied to my leg.”

  “The bones must have time to knit,” Thomas said. “If they aren’t held in place properly, the leg will be crippled.”

  “Yeah. That’s what you said, but it ain’t gonna work, Doc. I can’t just lay here for weeks. Christ, man, I’ll go mad. And I tell ya, it hurts like bloody hell.”

  Thomas sat silently, regarding the leg. So much time had been spent learning techniques for the speedy removal of a damaged limb—perhaps he had only prolonged Howard Deaton’s agonies by persisting with the fracture box. In less severe cases, in greenstick fractures, or when but one bone of the lower leg was affected, the technique was obviously proper. But here…

  “I would not hesitate,” he had heard Professor Roberts say. I would not hesitate. Good enough, Thomas thought.

  “Nature must be helped,” he said aloud, and surprised even himself at not only the remark, but also the accompanying wave of excitement that swept over him. Roberts had preached that. Nature must be helped. He swept the stethoscope from his neck, adjusted the earpieces, and listened to Deaton’s heart—strong, steady, willing. “Breathe deep for me,” he said, and listened to the air rush unimpaired through the man’s lungs.

  He sat back, removing the earpieces from his sore head with a flinch of relief. “Tomorrow morning,” he said. “We shall repair that leg.”

  “What do you mean? What do you aim to do?”

  Thomas held out two fingers of each hand, pointed toward each other, but an inch apart, like over-and-under derringers staring each other muzzle to muzzle. “Your leg bones are fractured, like so. In order to assist nature in reuniting them, so,” and he pushed his fingers together, “we must lead the way. Give them guidance. It is a common procedure,” he said, feeling the slightest flush at the falsehood. “What I propose is a series of silver pins, carefully inserted into the bone fragments themselves, arranged in such a way as to hold the bones in proper position until the bone heals around them.”

  “Jesus, Doc. You think that’s going to work?” Deaton asked. “Course, it don’t matter none. I got eyes. I can see. That leg is useless as tits on a boar hog the way it is. Fix it or take it. I guess my druthers is that you fix it.”

  “The recovery is still a matter of many weeks, or even months,” Thomas warned.

  Deaton fell silent, one fist thumping the bed. “That’s what it’ll be if you take it off, too,” Deaton said. “I seen that a time or two.” His face crumpled in a grimace, and Thomas saw moisture in the man’s eyes. “I guess it’s my time to pay the piper one way or the other, ain’t it? I’ve been lyin’ here, thinking about that most of the past two days. I don’t figure there’s much point in wasting time waitin’, and then dyin’ anyways…or end up with that leg all wadded up and crippled.” He shuddered a deep breath. “How do you aim to do it?”


  Thomas held his fingers together again. “It is possible to insert a pure silver pin in the bone,” he said. “The pin will serve as reinforcement and keep the bone fragments in perfect position until healing union can take place.”

  “Knew a man who fixed a wooden axle like that,” Deaton said. “He bored a hole in each piece, put a big old iron rod down the middle, and whanged the wood halves back together.”

  “In principle, exactly the same thing,” Thomas agreed. “Silver will not react with the body’s own chemistry.” He smiled as if he knew that for sure. “I’m afraid if I made you out of iron, you’d rust.”

  “’Spect so. I asked the man why he didn’t just make the axle out of iron in the first place. Save time and trouble. He said axles weren’t made out of iron. And that was that.”

  “But his repair worked.”

  “Oh, hell, yes, it worked. For a while, anyways.” He tried a smile. “With silver, I’m going to be worth a few bucks more, eh?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Well, then,” and Deaton covered his face with one arm, “have at it.”

  “Good man,” Thomas said. “I shall make preparations.” He saw that Bertha had moved around the bed and now stood with her hands folded.