The Seeds of Change

by Lauraine Snelling

  “In fact, I was unable to save even my own wife. She died of pneumonia shortly before I joined the wagon train that led me here.” He glanced down again a moment, pushing down the ache in his chest.

  The roomful of people quieted.

  “But I can promise you this.” He tried to meet the gaze of every person he could. “I will not lie to you. I will not carelessly experiment on your loved ones. I will do my best always to help, to ease suffering, and, when God allows it, to save lives. For He is the only One who truly has that power.” Adam drew a breath. “I hope to get to know many of you not merely as patients, but as friends. I ask only that you would give me that chance.” He paused a moment, but there seemed to be nothing left to say. “Thank you.”

  He sat down, spent. Henry Caldwell returned to the pulpit, and discussion ensued regarding getting the school ready to open in September, advertising for a sheriff, and planning some sort of community harvest celebration for the fall. But Adam couldn’t focus on any of it.

  Had his words made any difference? Lord, I’ve done all I can.

  26

  A growing race had begun in the garden.

  Forsythia breathed in the fresh morning air and bent to brush her fingers over the feathery carrot tops waving above the earth. They’d had gentle rain and plenty of sun, just right for these new seedlings. The beets and turnips were sending tender new leaves up, too, and the potatoes had sprouted like weeds. As for the beans, they seemed to be striving to win the race.

  “Ready?” Lark spoke from behind her.

  Forsythia turned with a smile and tightened her sunbonnet strings. “Ready.”

  Lark handed her a spade. “I’ll drive the plow, and you and Lilac can come behind and cut the sod strips.”

  Today was the day to cut sod for their addition to the house. Which would mean more room soon, praise be. Even with Lark still sleeping in the wagon, they always seemed to be stepping on each other.

  Larkspur hitched three of the oxen to the breaking plow and started on a section of mown prairie grass near where the barn would eventually be built. Following, Forsythia marveled at how the plow’s steel blade cut through the tough sod, slicing off a long strip about four inches deep and—when Lark turned and plowed the other direction—twelve inches wide. She and Lilac came behind with their spades and sliced the sod into bricks about two feet long.

  By the time they’d worked for an hour, sweat was pouring down Forsythia’s neck inside her bonnet. She huffed a breath to blow the stray hairs off her face. She fully understood why Lark preferred a straw hat.

  “Dr. Brownsville’s here,” Robbie called, running toward them from the house. “Him and Jesse. To help!”

  “Wonderful.” Lark turned the oxen for another row. “Sythia, ask them to start carrying the sod bricks over to the house. They’re heavy, so it will help to have the men for that.”

  If only she weren’t so sweaty and disheveled. Forsythia wiped grimy hands on her apron and headed for the soddy. Del, with Mikael in her arms, stood chatting with the doctor and Jesse.

  “Thank you so much for coming, Doctor.” Forsythia approached them. “When you’re ready, Lark said we could use help lugging the sod bricks we’ve been cutting over to the house. No hurry.”

  “We’ll be right over.” Adam turned to her with the smile that always weakened her knees. “I was just telling Del that the town is in need of a schoolteacher. The woman Rev. Pritchard thought he’d found can’t come after all, and the townsfolk want the children to get some schooling in before harvest season pulls them back to the fields.”

  “I’d have to take the teacher’s examination to get a certificate, but I’d like to try.” Del’s eyes were lit up. “I’ve always wanted a chance to teach.”

  “And you’d be good at it.” Forsythia wanted to hug her sister, but her hands were too dirty.

  “Well, let’s get to sod laying, then.” The doctor rolled up his sleeves and winked at Jesse. “Before we get roped in to building a schoolhouse next.”

  “The town already has one, silly.” But Forsythia smiled. Something seemed lighter about Adam in recent days. Was it the talk they’d had? Or was God healing his heart?

  As for her, she’d known a greater depth of peace since their conversation. Not just over Adam, but over the thief she’d killed. How easy it was sometimes to forget the simple truth of having a Savior. But she was trying hard to remember.

  They labored until noon, Lark plowing, Forsythia and Lilac cutting sod bricks, and the doctor and Jesse loading them on the wagon to take over to the house, laying them along the lines Lark had marked on the east side. After stopping for the dinner Del prepared, they all joined in continuing to build the sod walls of the addition.

  They laid the bricks end to end lengthwise, then started the next row with half a piece of sod so they could overlap the lay of the bricks, always setting the heavy lengths grass-side down. The walls rose slowly but surely, firm and two feet thick.

  “But how do we get in?” Robbie popped out of the main soddy, eager to help. “There’s no door in this wall.”

  “It will be a separate room.” Lark paused to wipe her forehead with her wrist, leaving a streak of dirt. She pointed to the soddy wall with no door or window. “We can’t cut a door in that wall without compromising the main house, so we’ll just have another door, right there.” She pointed to the gap with her boot. “But it will provide good storage and a place for a couple of us to sleep. A lot of families build wooden additions instead, since it’s hard to join sod walls. But we don’t have that much lumber yet, and sod is free.”

  “It’s free ’cause it’s dirt.” Robbie flung his arms wide. “And we don’t have to pay God for it.”

  Laughter rose above the climbing sod.

  Robbie studied the growing room. “Our chickens could live in there too.”

  Forsythia choked trying to stem her laughter, then gave up. “Oh, Robbie, such a mind you have. But you’re right, we need a house for our chickens too.”

  “They can live with Buttercup.” He nodded sagely, a finger against his chin.

  The grown-ups all nodded, mostly with faces creased in delighted laughter.

  Two days later, Adam and Jesse pounded the wooden planks Lark had bought for the doorframe snug against the sod bricks bordering the door space, and they continued laying sod blocks against them. They nailed another board over the top to complete the frame, then continued laying sod atop it for a couple more rows. Adam climbed onto a ladder to reach the highest part of the wall.

  By the time the sun lowered toward supper the next night, the walls of the addition were finished. Weary and thankful, they sat on the grass to survey their handiwork.

  “New house!” From Forsythia’s lap, Sofie clapped her tiny hands and beamed.

  “A new part of our house anyway.” Forsythia squeezed her close, so thankful for the ease of her little girl’s breathing. Her little girl. When had she started to think of Sofie that way? And not just her, but Robbie and Mikael too.

  “I’d call that a good day’s work.” Beside her, Adam stretched his arms, then leaned back on his elbows. “But I think I’ll opt for shipping in timber to get my own house in town built.”

  “We couldn’t have done it without you.” Forsythia fought the urge to brush a wayward dark curl off his forehead.

  He tipped his head back and smiled at her. “That’s what friends are for. Besides, it’s not like I have patients banging down the door or even at the door.” He rolled his eyes, making the others chuckle.

  “The meeting didn’t make a difference?”

  “Not yet. But we’ll see.”

  He and Jesse declined supper, choosing to drive home to get some rest before they came back to help lay the roof in the morning. Forsythia fought disappointment, focusing on Mikael’s gurgles and coos as she warmed his milk and fed him from the cup Jesse had carved.

  Lord, why is my heart tugging toward Adam so much now, just when he has pulled back?
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  Adam’s back muscles ached as he placed another sod brick atop the closely spaced wooden rafters they had laid across the Nielsens’ soddy addition.

  He didn’t mind helping the Nielsens—certainly they had helped him plenty. It was what neighbors did out here on the frontier, and they’d no men of their own, hardy though these women were. And he hoped someday they might be more than friends, even family, despite his telling Forsythia he needed time.

  But even with all the manual labor he’d done in recent months, lifting and laying heavy bricks of sod taxed his muscles in entirely new ways. His shoulders felt like they were on fire, and not from the baking sun.

  At a distant noise, he glanced down from his perch on the ladder. A wagon came rattling across the prairie, kicking up dust from the trail leading from the north. The horses pulling it were near galloping.

  “Jesse,” he called to his nephew, who was helping cut more sod, “can you see who that is?”

  Jesse straightened and shaded his eyes. “N-not sure. But they’re in a hurry.”

  Adam clambered down the ladder. No one pushed a team like that on a hot day, not without good reason.

  The wagon clattered up, and a man jumped down. Anthony Armstead. Adam’s first patient in this town.

  “Please, it’s my boy. Carl.” Anthony was gasping for breath as he gestured to the wagon bed. “A rattler got him.”

  Adam charged for his buggy, where he always kept his bag ready. “Get me cold wet cloths.”

  Lilac and Lark ran for the well. Forsythia hurried at his side. “Do you need a knife?”

  “Have one.” He snatched up his bag and rushed to the Armsteads’ wagon.

  A boy of about ten lay in the back on a quilt, his mother cradling his head and shoulders. The same youngster Adam had seen driving the wagon the day Anthony came into town with a gashed hand. His trouser leg was rolled up over a bare right foot, the ankle an angry red and swollen to twice its normal size.

  “We were raking hay, stacking it.” Armstead’s words tumbled over each other, and he shoved his hands through his hair. “The snake was hidden in the hay. It darted out and struck him before we even knew it was there.”

  Made sense—warm, dry hay, the perfect place for a cold-blooded creature to curl up. Adam yanked a strong bandage from his bag and tied it tight around the boy’s leg below the knee in a quick jerk. For a tourniquet, it would have to do.

  “Hello there, Carl. I’m going to see what I can do for your leg, all right?”

  The boy nodded, his eyes glassy. That wasn’t a good sign. His mother smoothed his hair back from his damp forehead, her hands trembling.

  “Please take my scalpel from my bag and go hold it over the flame in the stove,” Adam told Forsythia. “Then you and Anthony hold Carl’s leg.”

  She was already on her way to the soddy with the scalpel as if she’d been reading his mind.

  Moments later, Adam pressed his now cooled scalpel to the swollen flesh and made two quick incisions across the bite. Carl moaned, quivering, but Forsythia held his leg firmly. Adam bent his mouth to the cuts and sucked and spat several times into the dry grass. This should have been done immediately after the bite, but he could only hope it might still have some effect.

  Lilac appeared at his elbow with a cup of water and the wet compresses. With a nod of thanks, he swished away any remaining poison from his mouth.

  Forsythia helped him pack the leg in wet cloths. “This slows the circulation?”

  “Yes. We hope.” Adam pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Think, think. His knowledge of treating snakebites had been purely theoretical until now.

  “Ma always said to use indigo for a snakebite.” Forsythia’s voice cut into his tumbled thoughts, steady and calm. “Or a poultice of gunpowder and egg.”

  “You have those?” Adam lifted his head.

  “Yes.” Forsythia scooted out of the wagon. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Bring the wagon closer, into the shade of the sod house.” Adam beckoned to Anthony. “We don’t want to move Carl directly unless we have to.”

  Once in the shade, Adam climbed up into the wagon and checked the boy’s pulse. Still fast, and his breathing was rapid. But the leg seemed no more swollen or red than before. Please, Lord. Show us what to do. Save this boy’s life.

  “Here.” Forsythia emerged from the soddy, Lark behind her. Each held a dish. “Ma never mentioned using both together, but I don’t know which is best.” She sprinkled the powdered indigo on the incision, then reached for Lark’s dish and smeared on the grayish-yellow paste of egg and gunpowder.

  “My pa always said egg was good for absorbing all sorts of poison.” Mrs. Armstead spoke for the first time, her voice unsteady. “He cured our dog one time when she’d eaten rat poison by forcing raw eggs down her throat.”

  “Well, we’ll see what this does.” Forsythia gently repacked the sides of Carl’s leg in the wet cloths, then stepped back, her shaky release of breath the first sign of nerves she had shown.

  “Let’s pray.” Lark held out her hands, and her sisters grasped them. Forsythia hesitated, then reached for Adam’s. He took hers without letting himself think about it, then placed his other hand on Carl’s swollen bare foot.

  “Father.” Lark’s voice held steady. “We lift up Carl to you. We’ve done all we can, Lord, but nothing is too difficult for you. We ask for your mercy and your healing upon this boy. Amen.”

  “Amen,” came murmurs around the circle.

  Carl’s eyes had drifted closed. Adam checked his pulse and breathing. “Still rapid, but steady.”

  “What now?” Anthony raked his hands through his hair again.

  “We wait. And keep praying.”

  Hours slipped away, the sun passing the noon mark in the sky. Adam and Forsythia stayed with the Armsteads, Lilac caring for the children around them and giving the little ones their dinner. None of the adults had any desire for food. They kept the cloths around Carl’s leg wet and spooned sips of water down his throat. Lark and Del returned to cutting sod with Jesse’s help.

  “I should change the poultice again.” Forsythia pushed strands of damp hair off her face. The July heat baked around them, even in the scanty shade. She hurried into the soddy, then emerged with a fresh concoction. She climbed back into the wagon and gently peeled the drying poultice away, pausing to examine the bite below.

  “What do you think, Doctor?”

  It was hard to see with the substances coating it, and yet . . . “It’s not any more swollen. I want to say the swelling and redness have gone down a bit.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Armstead clasped the back of her hand to her mouth, hugging Carl’s shoulders with her other arm. Half-asleep, the boy stirred and moaned.

  Adam held up his hand. “He’s not out of the woods yet. But go ahead with another poultice, Miss Nielsen.”

  Forsythia smeared the egg and gunpower paste on again.

  By the time shadows stretched across the prairie, Carl’s pulse had slowed to a more normal level, and that glassy look was gone from his eyes. His leg, though still swollen, had lost some of the awful lividness.

  “I think you might take him home now.” Adam changed the wet cloths on Carl’s leg once more. “Just keep him resting and the leg downward from his heart, and change the poultice once more tonight. I’ll come see him in the morning. But I think . . .” Relief exhaled from his chest with the breath. “I think he’s going to be all right.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Armstead pumped his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Thank God.” And thank Forsythia.

  After a quick cold supper with the Nielsens, he and Jesse headed home, completely spent. The rest of the addition’s roof would have to wait. On the sidewalk outside his office, as his tired fingers fumbled to undo the door latch, Mrs. Jorgensen stepped outside, closing up the store for the night.

  Did she know about her grandson’s accident? Likely not, since the Armsteads wouldn’t have come by here
on their way to the Nielsens’. Anthony had told him that a friend who was haying with them had heard that Adam was out helping at the sisters’ homestead, so they’d gone directly there. But just in case . . .

  “Mrs. Jorgensen.” He cleared his throat. “Your grandson was bitten by a rattlesnake this morning.”

  Her head snapped up.

  “He will recover, I assure you. I just wanted to let you know, should you hear anything about it in town. He had a rough go of it, but I believe he will be fine.”

  “Do you, really?” Her voice dripped with doubt. “Didn’t try any newfangled treatments on him, did you?”

  “No.” His defenses rose. How could this woman do that? “I incised and applied suction to the wound and packed it in cold cloths. Miss Forsythia Nielsen assisted me, and she knew of some herbal remedies from her mother that seemed to prove helpful.”

  “Hmph. Sounds like she was more use than you were.” Mrs. Jorgensen locked the store door with a snap, then turned and stomped around the corner toward their house behind.

  Adam swallowed back any words he might retort. Lord, why do I let that woman irritate me like this? I shouldn’t have said anything to begin with. She’d have heard the news from her family tomorrow.

  He opened the door, letting him and Jesse into the welcoming shadows of their rooms.

  If even saving—or helping to save—her grandson’s life wasn’t going to change Mrs. Jorgensen’s mind, he might as well give up and leave it in God’s hands, as he should have done to begin with. It would save him a lot of grief.

  27

  Mail for you, Miss Nielsen.”

  Larkspur took the envelopes Mr. Jorgensen handed her across the store counter. A letter from Anders! It had been a while, though they’d all written to him and Josephine several times since they got settled on their homestead. What a treat to share with her sisters as soon as she got home. Another letter from the Herrons too.

  “Will that be all, then?” The storekeeper wrapped the silk ribbons Lark had chosen in brown paper.

  “Yes, thank you.” A small thing to come to town for today, but Forsythia, Del, and Lilac had taken the notion to trim up their best dresses a bit more before the harvest celebration tonight. Lark didn’t care much for frills and furbelows, so she’d offered to come get the ribbon while the girls added ruffles and tucks.