Hope In Cripple Creek

by Sara R. Turnquist

“They turned the schoolhouse into a hospital.” The clicking of her knitting needles brought a steady rhythmic sound into the silent spaces between their interchanges.

  “Oh?” He closed his eyes, enjoying the remaining moments of peace before he needed to bring forth his news. Would it all be shattered then?

  “And your sister volunteered to oversee the patients there.”

  His eyes opened, and he turned to look at Mary. She had stopped her work to watch him. Was she attempting to gauge his reaction? He was filled with concern and a bit angered.

  “She’s got no business being around this plague. Why, she should have packed up and moved out to Ma and Pa’s house for the duration of the typhoid.” He worked to contain his frustration. “But that’s Katherine . . . headstrong.”

  “I worry about her, too,” Mary agreed, turning back to her project.

  He wracked his brain, but could not remember what she was making.

  “But I admire her sacrifice. She is brave.” That was Mary. Always looking for the better side of everyone and everything.

  “Reckless is more like it.” He set his pipe down with more force than he’d intended. It clanked off the end table and fell onto the floor, spilling tobacco in a small pile on the floor. A grunt escaped his lips as he reached over to pick up the pipe. “I’m sorry, Mary. I’ll clean it up.”

  He leaned his head against the back of the chair and allowed his eyes to close again. The sound of her needles working against each other had stopped, and he felt her eyes on him.

  “What’s on your mind?” Her voice was soft.

  “What do you mean?” He opened his eyes and looked at her.

  She blinked and jerked back a little.

  It had not been his intention to speak to her with such a tone.

  “You’ve been preoccupied this evening. Anything you care to share with me?”

  He leaned back in the chair once more, staring toward the fire in front of them, and took several deep breaths. It was time. “There’s been an announcement at the mines.”

  “Oh?” Her reply was simple, yet the lilt of her voice spoke volumes. But she didn’t speak further.

  “They plan to increase our days to ten hours.”

  There. It wasn’t the best news, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Still, it would mean he’d be getting home later. It cut into his time with the children. They would be going to bed by the time he got home. All of this he anticipated from Mary, but when she did speak, it was with a calmer voice than he would have expected.

  “For how long?”

  He forced himself to look at her again.

  She sat motionless, poised as he had last seen her, knitting in her lap, hands folded over it. How could she be so calm?

  “They didn’t say.” That would get a reaction out of her.

  Mary let out a long breath. “That does make things more difficult. But we can manage.”

  Had he truly just heard what he thought he’d heard? As he watched, she took up her knitting again as if he had just told her their Sunday lunch plans had been canceled.

  “Who knows,” she continued. “Maybe the extra money will come in handy.”

  It was David’s turn to let out a long sigh. “That’s the thing. They’re not paying us any more money. It’ll still be our daily rate of three dollars.”

  She put down her knitting again, eyes on him. “That doesn’t seem fair.” Now her tone was firmer, more the reaction he had been expecting.

  “I know. None of the miners are happy about it.”

  “Is there a plan to do something?”

  “Do something? What can we do? We’re at their mercy. We need these jobs. Especially now that the silver miners have come after our jobs.” He hoped he could help her see the situation they were in.

  “Still, there must be something you can do.” Her eyes flashed.

  “I wish we could.” Did she think he wanted to work more hours?

  “What about your union?”

  “What? The Free Coinage Union? It’s too small to have any real say in anything.” His voice began to rise. “These mine owners wouldn’t even listen if we did try to speak out. They’re too powerful.” He didn’t have the answers for her that he should. What was he to do? This was an impossible situation. And so he turned away from her, focusing on the floor.

  “I see.” Mary reached across the gap between their chairs to set a hand on his, her voice soft once again. “We will find a way to manage these changes.”

  He nodded, not wanting to look over at her. Would he find her true emotions in her eyes if he did? Disappointment? Concern?

  She squeezed his hand under hers. “I love you.”

  He lifted his head and met her eyes. All he found there was tenderness and support. “I love you, too.”

  * * *

  Katherine sighed as she moved about the schoolhouse-turned-hospital. After fighting to volunteer, she poured her heart and soul into her work. She wanted to do whatever was necessary to see mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters returned home. But she fought an unseen foe, one that had the power to steal and take at random.

  As she prepared for her first patient, she went through her mental checklist for the day. There were so many needs among the people here and so many patients to care for. Truly, they needed at least one more volunteer. But no one else had stepped forward. So, it was up to Katherine to bear the workload. She had settled into a routine, which improved her time management.

  Making her way from patient to patient, she checked on their progress through the night, saw to their immediate needs, and did her best to get some breakfast into them. Several had to be spoon-fed. This took up most of her day. It seemed once she finished rounding out breakfast, it would be time for lunch. No rest for the weary.

  Refocusing her attention on her task, she moved on to the next patient.

  “Good morning, Charlotte.” The slender woman was older than Katherine and no doubt taller, her frame seeming to stretch across the cot. Her long blond hair splayed across the pillow, clinging to her face where she had perspired in her sleep.

  “Good morning.” A smile graced Charlotte’s lips as she made a move to sit up.

  “And how are we feeling today?” Katherine placed fresh flowers in the vase next to Charlotte’s cot and assisted her in her efforts to sit more upright. Her body was weak. The same could be said for many. Still, they fought.

  “As well as I can be, I suppose.” Now that Charlotte was sitting, Katherine propped the pillow behind her.

  Charlotte’s husband had already fallen victim to the typhoid. Katherine did not know the woman at that time and could only imagine how devastating it was. She had tasted death in the loss of a close friend, but to lose your life partner . . . how does one survive that?

  But Charlotte hadn’t time to grieve her loss before she’d found herself a patient. And, though she hated the circumstances, Katherine found herself thankful she had come to know Charlotte. The two had developed a rather special friendship. She had become Katherine’s confidant. It might not be wise. But Katherine didn’t care.

  “My stomach still hurts.” Charlotte grimaced and laid a hand across her waist.

  Katherine frowned, sorry to hear her new friend was so uncomfortable. “Dr. Sullivan will be in later to check on everyone. Is there anything I can get you until then?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Just sit with me and chat.”

  “For a little while.” Katherine sat on the side of the cot. She reached over and grabbed a bowl from the nearby stool. “In the meantime, I’ve got your breakfast.”

  “Let me guess,” Charlotte said, furrowing her brows as if she had to think intensely. “Broth?”

  “How did you know?” Katherine teased, stirring the brownish-yellow liquid.

  “A crazy guess.” The corners of Charlotte’s mouth played at a grin. “At least you could serve it with coffee.”

  “Sorry. Broth and water. Doctor’s orders.” Katherine scoo
ped a spoonful.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Now, be a good girl and take your broth,” Katherine admonished as she held the spoon toward Charlotte’s mouth.

  “As long as you tell me the latest with you and the reverend.” Charlotte offered her a playful smile, weak as it was.

  Katherine gave her a sideways look and a sly half-grin. “All right, but just because you asked so sweetly.”

  Holding the spoon out, Katherine helped Charlotte take in the broth. As she continued ladling broth for Charlotte, she told her about dinner the previous evening with Timothy. Their time together had been abbreviated once again, as she had been quite tired. Truth be told, it wasn’t much of an outing, but things were as such for now, and Timothy understood. That’s what was important—that he supported her work at the hospital. He was a good man.

  The door creaked open. Glancing in that direction, she watched as Wyatt stepped into the schoolhouse. Drawing in a deep breath, she let her shoulders sag, relieved she was almost to her last patient’s breakfast.

  Wyatt scanned the small room. What was he looking for? His eyes caught hers and his search came to an end. A few long strides and he was across the room at Charlotte’s bedside.

  “How are you this morning, Mrs. Smith?” Wyatt appeared as put together as ever. How could he be so unfazed by this plague? How was that possible?

  “About the same,” Charlotte replied. “My stomach hurts.”

  “Where?”

  She pointed to the lower portion of her abdomen off to the right side.

  Katherine looked on as he leaned over Charlotte and listened with his stethoscope. After some moments, he moved expert fingers gently over the entirety of her belly. She could not help but remember those fingers moving over her own injuries. Jerking her head away, she banished those thoughts from her mind.

  “Your spleen and liver are enlarged,” he noted. “So we’ll need to keep you from anything too active.” His face broke out in a crooked smile.

  Katherine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You should know she’s been having those spells too.”

  “Tell me more about these spells. How bad are they?” Concern was etched in his features.

  Pausing for a moment, Katherine considered her words. “She becomes confused and disoriented, doesn’t seem to know what she’s doing or who is around her. But nothing uncontrollable.” Katherine had seen some patients with these states of delirium get quite violent.

  “How often?”

  “Maybe a once or twice a day.” Too often.

  “Let’s keep an eye on it.” He patted Charlotte’s hand, turning his attention back to her. “Did you take all of your broth and water?”

  “You say that as if Katherine lets anyone skip it.” Charlotte shot Katherine a sharp look.

  Wyatt’s face lit up. “Good. You need plenty of fluids.”

  With that, Wyatt nodded at Katherine and Charlotte before moving on to the next patient.

  Katherine avoided working too closely with Wyatt. Still, she had come to learn a few things about him. Like how much he cared for those under his charge, how good his bedside manner could be, and how he tried not to show his growing concern for a patient’s well being. As much as she fought to hold on to her anger toward him, something akin to sympathy filled her. Was it the turn of his countenance? Or the sadness in his eyes? She did not know.

  It would be better to focus on something else. Like Charlotte. Her heart twisted. Despite the ease of Wyatt’s words, Katherine had seen enough of the typhoid to know Charlotte’s condition needed to turn around soon.

  * * *

  Darkness had fallen by the time David left his house. He apologized to Mary for having to slip away instead of retiring with her. But a meeting of the Free Coinage Union had been called to discuss the new demands placed on the miners. Many were angry and ready to protest the unfair changes. Perhaps the union’s reason for meeting was to ensure everyone would make a stand together. Maybe that would be all they needed.

  Once David was secure in his saddle, he pushed his horse into a trot. The men agreed to meet by the creek closest to their mineshaft. David regretted venturing back out into the bitter cold of winter, but no one wanted to go into town for fear of the typhoid plague. He pushed his horse a little harder through the darkness, unsure what the night would bring. How would he even find the others? As he neared the creek, a bonfire beckoned to the coming men.

  He approached the small group of miners, his cohorts and friends, then tied off his horse on a nearby tree and joined them. By the looks of it, he was one of the last men to arrive. Several of the men in the group nodded in greeting.

  “We’ll wait a few more minutes for any others to show up,” one of the miners said. The man appeared to be older, his hair and beard well beyond graying. Was he from their mine or a representative from the Free Coinage Union? Either way, David judged this man to be the self-appointed leader of the group as he started speaking again minutes later when it became obvious the group was complete.

  “Brothers, we are all here for one purpose: to receive fair treatment. And we all agree this most recent announcement by the mine owners is not, in fact, fair. For a while now, they have been assigning us to riskier work and we have been silent. But to now ask us to work longer hours without more pay is unacceptable. This must stop.”

  As he spoke, David understood why he was the self-appointed leader. For one thing, he was educated. Not many of the miners were. And second, he had a presence and confidence about him that demanded attention. Could the same be said of David? Not likely. He was educated, but he didn’t fancy himself a leader. Just a workhand. It wasn’t his place to rally a group or run a ranch. No, he belonged in the background.

  “We are prepared to go to the mine owners and petition that they retract their demands or offer us more pay. What I want to know is, are we all together on this?”

  “What will happen if they fire us? Are there enough silver miners to take our jobs?” One of the men from David’s crew, Jonas, spoke up.

  David had this thought as well. Wouldn’t they just be replaced?

  “They won’t fire us all,” the leader said. “There are miners who need jobs, but there aren’t enough of them. That is a lie they have fed us to keep us in fear for our jobs.”

  “What if they become so angry they cut our pay further?” a voice from somewhere shouted.

  “This is a negotiation. No one plans on angering anyone,” the leader reasoned, holding up his hands, trying to calm the men.

  “Besides,” someone near David said. “They didn’t seem too concerned with whether or not their decision angered us.”

  There were more mumbles as several of the miners agreed.

  This was a bit much for David. Coming here tonight had been a stretch for him. Standing up to the mine bosses might be asking too much of him.

  “Any other concerns?” The leader seemed prepared to deal with whatever question came his way. He handled himself quite well.

  Despite his reservations about this union, David began to think he could trust the man, even though he didn’t know his name.

  “Then it’s settled. We will go to the mine owners tomorrow.”

  There were more excited murmurs among the miners. Was it the right thing though? Then the group began to disperse.

  David lingered for a few moments more, letting the fire warm him and letting what had occurred sink in. A hand came down on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with their leader. Now closer, he could see the man’s true age. His face was weathered and worn, perhaps from the ravages of mining. Perhaps from the years.

  “Do you have concerns, son?”

  Should he share his trepidations? “No, sir, I’m just nervous about how it’ll go. This is my livelihood, and I support a family on it.”

  “I understand. And we won’t be foolish with the mine owners tomorrow. We’ll take care of our own.”

  David nodded, not sure that made him f
eel any better. Words, after all, were just words.

  “I think the best thing for you to do is to go home, kiss your wife, and get a good night’s sleep.”

  David couldn’t fault the man’s advice. So, he offered the man his hand before walking back to where his horse stood. As he pulled his tired body up into the saddle, he glanced over at the few men remaining around the fire and longed for some sense of peace instead of the rock that had settled in his stomach. Only a handful remained—the one who had spoken and four others. They were already deep in conversation. Probably about tomorrow. But there was nothing more he could do, so he pushed his horse into a walk, then a trot, heading home.

  * * *

  Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose. Nothing. There seemed to be nothing he could do to solve this mystery and stop the suffering he was faced with each day. The plague began to wear on him. As it prevailed, so it consumed more of his days and nights. And his emotions.

  He did try to maintain some professional distance with his patients as he had been trained in school, but these were not just his patients. These were the people he grew up with. The people he looked up to and respected as he grew into the man he had become. And they were dying all around him. Would he ever get the better of it?

  He pulled out his pocket watch and noted the time. Schoolhouse rounds it was. Gathering his medical bag and stethoscope, he moved toward the door. There was a slight lag to his step as he did so. And he knew he could only push himself so hard. If he wanted to maintain this pace in caring for the people of this town, he needed to guard his rest time and mind his proper nourishment. At least he had some help from Katherine. She had been a godsend.

  But Katherine, too, pushed herself too hard. Not only did he find himself thankful for her help, he couldn’t help but admit he rather enjoyed watching her interact with the patients. She may have missed her calling. Perhaps she should have been a nurse, she was so caring and personable with the patients. It put them at ease and that made his job much easier. They all had only the nicest things to say about her.

  He had not been too sure about having a makeshift hospital being supervised by Katherine Matthews. She was smart enough. And quite good at anything she attempted. That wasn’t the issue. His concern had been their ability to work together. They had never had the best rapport. But he was all too willing to admit he had been wrong. It had been a good decision. She had served this town well.