“Cream, you great old moocher,” Mollie scolded, then laughed. “All right. I’ll bring y’all some treats in a little while. I believe there just might be a spare sausage or two in the icebox up in the treatment room. But don’t y’all let on that I’m favoring you, now, you hear?”
Cream chuffed, then turned back to Miss Peaches and began to bat playfully at her. The two cats tussled for a bit over the remains of the goat until Miss Peaches lost patience and swatted Cream with her big paw. Picking up the haunch in her jaws, she carried it into her den with a regal air.
“Too bad, fella,” Mollie laughed as Cream chuffed mournfully. Finally, he plopped down on the floor and began studiously licking his paw as though to say, “Huh. I didn’t want that sorry old bone anyway.”
Still smiling as she headed up the hill, Mollie paused as she saw the barn doors standing wide open and the back of Nick’s buggy just visible inside. It occurred to her that the dairy inspection might have gone so well that he’d brought some cans of fresh milk back with him. Now that would be the very thing for a treat for the cats! The bear, hyenas, and raccoons, too. She quickened her step as much as the slick, sloping walkway would allow.
Once inside the doors, Mollie looked quickly about for Nick, but he was not in the large storeroom. She went over to Magnolia, who still stood in harness, and patted the horse’s rain-slick neck. “Putting away the milk, is he, girl? Don’t worry, he knows you’ve earned your supper in your nice, warm stall.” She raised her voice, called, “Nick? Nick, it’s me. Where are you?”
When there was no answer, she frowned, then gathered Magnolia’s reins and secured them to a support post. “Good girl, Maggie,” she said, giving the horse another pat. “Y’all stay here now. I’ll be right back and see to it you’re taken care of properly.”
Magnolia snorted and tossed her head, rattling the metal of her bridle and harness, but then she settled back down and relaxed, half closing her eyes and letting one hind hoof droop lazily. Mollie walked quickly across the storeroom and into the hallway. Once more she called for Nick, but when there was again no answer, her brows knit in concern. Seeing the door to the treatment room open at the end of the hallway, she hurried toward it.
Mollie rushed through the door, then came to a startled halt as she saw Nick seated at the worktable, his head down and pillowed on his folded arms. He seemed to have fallen asleep while working on reports, as papers were scattered beneath his arms and a pen lay beside an open jar of ink. Unwrapping her shawl and setting it on the corner of the table with her reticule, Mollie moved to stand beside her sleeping husband. Gently, she touched his shoulder. His woolen clothes felt sodden and clammy.
“Nick? Nick, wake up, dear,” she said, giving him a small shake. Slowly, he raised his head, blinked at her with glassy eyes.
“Mollie?” he asked, his voice thick with confusion. “What … y’all doing here? Shouldn’t be … out in the rain.”
“The rain has stopped. But it seems you neglected to use your umbrella again. Your coat is awfully damp, and.…” She frowned, her voice trailing off as she realized how pale he was. His face was ashen but for two streaks of feverish, hectic color across his cheekbones. The grooves along either side of his mouth had deepened, and his jaw was tense with pain. Gently, Mollie laid her palm against his cheek. Heat poured from him, and his skin was slick with sweat.
“Oh, Nick, you’ve made yourself ill!” she blurted out in distress. “Come now, we’re going home at once!”
“Don’t … take on so,” he muttered. “I’m jus’ … a little tired.”
Despite his protest, he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. Instantly, his right leg buckled and he gasped in pain, catching himself with hands braced on the table as he fell heavily back into the chair.
“Nick!” Mollie grabbed his arm to steady him, but he shook his head, shrugged away from her.
“I said … I’m fine,” he said thickly. “Jus’ gimme a minute an’….”
All at once, his eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled from the chair. Mollie tried to catch him, but his weight was too much for her and she fell heavily to her knees. A moment later, Nick sprawled, senseless, on the floor beside her.
“Nick!” she cried again. “Oh, dear God! Nick!”
Frantically, she pulled open his coat and unfastened his collar to ease his breathing. Running her hands over his body, she paused in horror at the sticky, sodden mess of blood and fluid soaking his right trouser leg. With his damp, dark clothing concealing the evidence, she hadn’t realized the severity of his injury until that moment.
Quickly, Mollie climbed to her feet and rushed to the medicine cabinet. She pulled open the glass doors and scooped up scissors, gauze and bandages, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, tincture of iodine, carbolic acid, and the jar of salve she’d made up the week before. After dumping everything on the table, she grabbed a clean towel from a nearby shelf and knelt again beside her husband.
Gently Mollie slipped the towel under Nick’s head as a cushion. She then set to work removing the boot from his right foot and carefully cutting away the trouser leg. The sight of a sodden, gore-stained bandage wrapped about his thigh and ghastly red splotches streaking his skin above and below the dressing struck Mollie’s heart cold with horror. “Oh, sweet Jesus!” she whispered. “Oh, Nick, how could you let something like this go?”
Scrambling again to her feet, heedless of the stains on her own clothing, Mollie found a clean basin and filled it with hot water. Grabbing more clean towels, she bent to set the basin on the floor. Kneeling beside Nick once more, she poured alcohol over her hands and over the scissor blades, then slit the bandage and carefully soaked the gory cloth away from the festering gash.
“This must’ve happened when Bella kicked,” she murmured, though she knew he could not hear her. “I had no idea it was this bad! Why ever did you let it go like this?”
The knowledge that he had cared so little for his own welfare broke Mollie’s heart, but she could not let her emotions get the better of her. She cleaned the wound thoroughly, first with carbolic acid mixed with water, then with the tincture of iodine.
Even insensible, he reacted to the agonizing bite of the iodine, groaning as he curled onto his side. Frantically murmuring, “Easy, easy, I’m here, darling, I’m here, you’ll be all right,” Mollie spread a generous amount of medicinal salve on a folded piece of clean gauze, placed it over the wound, then bound it securely to his leg with a fresh strip of bandage. She tucked the jar of salve into the pocket of her skirt, then stood, grabbing her shawl and spreading it over Nick. Gradually, his agitation eased and he lay still once more. Whispering a quick prayer – “Oh, please, please keep him safe!” – she ran from the room to get help.
Ten minutes later, Mose and young Jemmy carefully lifted Nick into the buggy, arranging him as comfortably as they could on the rear seat, his feet on the floor, his head cushioned on Mollie’s lap and his limp hand cradled in hers. Mose took Magnolia by the bridle and walked her around in a circle until she and the buggy were turned toward the exit. Then he gathered the reins, climbed onto the front seat, and turned to Mollie, his dark eyes grim.
“The Gresses’ house is closer than yours, ma’am. Best we take him there.”
Mollie nodded, distress straining her voice. “Yes, yes, of course. Just hurry, please, Mr. Thompson!”
Mose looked down at Jemmy, who stood anxiously clutching his felt hat. “Jemmy, y’all go fetch Dr. Boehm, quick as you can. Tell him Doc’s been hurt and we’re takin’ him to the Gresses’. Then y’all get yourself on back here and take care of things ’til I get back, ya hear?”
Bouncing on his toes, Jemmy slapped his crumpled hat back on his head and said, “Yes, suh, Mist’ Thompson!” Without another word, the lanky boy sprinted for the stable to retrieve his horse.
Mose turned again to Mollie. “Y’all hang on back there, now, Miz Avinger. We ain’t got no time to lose.”
“Yes, yes! I’ve
got him. Just go!”
“Yes’m!”
Mollie tightened her grip on Nick as Mose flicked the reins and Magnolia started off. The moment the buggy reached the bottom of the rampway, Mose snapped the reins harder and the horse bolted forward with a jolt. Soon the buggy was racing along the muddy carriageway. Clutching Nick for dear life as the carriage careened and bounced, sometimes on only two wheels, Mollie prayed as she never had before.
Please, God, don’t let him die! He’s all I have. Please don’t let him die!
CHAPTER 17
Magnolia was sweat-streaked and blowing hard when Mose pulled her up in front of the Gress house, calling, “Whoa, Maggie! Whoa, girl!” He set the brake, jumped from the seat to the ground, then reached into the back of the buggy to take the doctor’s arm and pull the semi-conscious man onto his shoulder.
“Careful, please!” Mollie begged. “Be careful with him!”
The front door opened and Ida and Marie came out onto the porch. Ida gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, at the sight of her brother being half-carried, half-dragged up the walkway.
Instantly she stooped down to Marie’s level, took her daughter by the shoulders, and said urgently, “Marie! Run to the stable and fetch Nestor! Quickly! Uncle Nick needs help!”
The little girl’s eyes widened with alarm, but she whispered, “Yes, Mama,” and darted down the steps and around the side of the house toward the back yard and stable. Lifting the hem of her skirt, Ida raced down the porch stairs, meeting Mose and Mollie as they hurried toward the house, both supporting Nick as best they could. Mose had draped one of Nick’s arms over his shoulders, and Mollie had wedged herself beneath Nick’s other arm. Nick’s head lolled, but he was coming around enough to take a few stumbling steps.
“What’s happened? Good Lord, what’s happened?” Ida asked, her voice frantic.
“I’m … okay, Ida,” Nick mumbled. “Jus’ a … li’l cut.”
“He had an accident, Ida,” Mollie explained in a rush. “At the zoo. It was closest to bring him here.”
“Oh, no! Well, quickly, then, let’s get him inside!”
Just as they reached the stairs, Nestor sprinted toward them from around the side of the house. “Nestor!” Ida said. “Help Mr. Thompson get Mr. Nick inside. Take him to the back bedroom! Hurry, please, but be careful!”
“Yes’m!” Nestor said. He moved quickly around Mollie, saying, “Here, ma’am, let me have him now,” as he took Nick’s weight from her.
“Careful with him, boy,” Mose cautioned. “It’s his right leg’s the trouble.” “Yessuh. I see it. I got him, suh.”
Together, Mose and Nestor bore the half-conscious man up the stairs and into the house. Mollie and Ida followed close on their heels.
“Have you sent for a doctor?” Ida turned to Mollie as they hurried after the men.
Mollie nodded. “Yes, yes. A … a Dr. Boehm, I think.”
“Karl Boehm. Good, that’s good.” Ahead in the hallway, Mose and Nestor stopped to shift Nick’s weight and reposition themselves in the narrow space. Ida pointed toward the end of the hall. “Take him to the back bedroom, please! Last door on the right!”
Within minutes, Nick, growing dazedly combative and mumbling that he needed no help, had been undressed and gently bullied into bed by Mollie and Mose. Ida rushed to find fresh bandages and towels, allowing Marie the responsibility of carrying them into the bedroom while she herself filled a large pitcher with cold water.
Setting the pitcher aside on a tray, Ida put a pot of water to boil on the stove, adding several strips of willow bark to the pot before covering it. She then added a large, empty bowl and a drinking glass to the tray with the pitcher, carried it into the sickroom, and set it on a bedside table.
Nestor had already left the room, hurrying outside to tend to Magnolia. Mose stood uncertainly, gripping his hat and shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. Finally he asked, “Miz Gress, you want me to go over to Miz Willie Mae’s house? Fetch her to come help y’all?”
Ida distractedly gathered her thoughts, then shook her head. “No, thank you, Mr. Thompson. It’s her day off, and Mrs. Avinger and I can manage, I think. The doctor will be here soon, and my husband will be home from work before much longer.”
“Yes, ma’am. Well then, reckon I’ll be gettin’ back to the zoo. I’ll leave Magnolia and the buggy here, take the streetcar on over.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” Ida said.
“Yes, I’m so very obliged to you,” Mollie echoed. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
“Happy to be of help, ma’am,” Mose said, nodding to Mollie. “Miz Gress.”
“Very much obliged, Mr. Thompson,” Ida repeated as Mose slapped his hat back on his head and left the room.
Mollie, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Nick, her hand resting lightly on his cheek, looked up at her sister-in-law, her expression strained with worry.
“Oh, Ida, he’s burning up!”
Ida nodded, her face taut with worry. “Yes, I know. I-I’ve set some willow bark tea to boil. It’ll be ready soon. Do you think, maybe … maybe he’ll take a bit of cool water?”
“I don’t know if he’ll swallow it,” Mollie fretted, “but we can try.”
Ida filled the glass from the pitcher and handed it to Mollie, who slipped her hand behind Nick’s head, raising it as she brought the glass to his lips and encouraged him to take a few sips.
“Mama? Mama?” Marie asked, clutching the linens as though they were life preservers, her eyes huge and filling with tears. “Is Uncle Nick gonna die?”
“No, of course not, darling,” her mother assured her. “Y’all must not even think that way.” When Marie’s chin quivered and she sniffled, Ida knelt down in front of the child. “Don’t cry now, Marie,” she said gently. “You’ve been such a big girl and such a good helper.” Ida took the blankets and towels from Marie’s small arms, then stood again and gently guided the little girl out into the hallway. “Now, would you do your dear mama one more great favor?”
Marie nodded, wiping her sleeve across her nose. “Yes, Mama,” she sniffled.
So worried about her brother that she forgot to scold Marie for using her sleeve for a handkerchief, Ida gave her daughter a hug. “That’s my good girl. Now, I know Uncle Nick will be wanting a report on how Posey’s latest batch of kittens are faring. Will you go check on them please, and make sure they are all neatly combed and have plenty of milk in their bowls?”
“All right, Mama,” Marie said, dragging her sleeve across her face once more. She sniffled again, then lifted her chin. “I-I’m gonna make sure they look beautiful so’s Uncle Nick will be real proud of me!”
“That’s my girl,” Ida said, hugging the child again. “Go on, now. Scoot.”
As soon as Marie hurried off to find her pets, Ida returned to the kitchen to fetch the willow bark tea.
In the bedroom, Nick half-opened his eyes as Mollie gently bathed his face with a cool cloth. He swallowed, reached up, shakily stilled her hand.
“Mollie,” he rasped. “Wait. Listen.”
“I’m listening, sweetheart,” she said. “But I can listen and tend to you all at the same time.”
His hand fell back to the bed, and Mollie resumed bathing his face.
“I made … mess of things.” He turned his head, met her eyes. “Of everythin’. Sorry.”
“Y’all mustn’t worry about that now, Nick,” Mollie said, stroking his hair from his forehead. It was damp and matted with sweat, despite the chill in the air. “Nothing matters but that you get well, you hear?”
“How … how bad?”
Mollie took a breath, tried to compose herself. “Well, it’s not good, Nick, but I think we have caught it in time. I’ve cleaned the wound and applied carbolic acid, iodine, and the medicinal salve.”
“Okay.”
“Now you must rest,” she continued, “and give yourself time to heal. Dr. Boehm will be here s
oon, and he will know what more we should do. ”
Closing his eyes, Nick swallowed again, hard. “If….” He stopped, gathered his strength. “If he….” He shuddered, stopped again, took another breath, opened his eyes. His hand snaked out, gripped Mollie’s hand as though she were his sole lifeline. “Don’t … let him … take … my leg, Mollie. Please. Don’t … let him.”
“Oh, Nick.” A huge lump filled Mollie’s throat, and her heart broke at the pain and desperation in his eyes. “Darling, y’all mustn’t think that way. The wound cannot be so bad as that.”
“Promise … me,” he insisted, his voice hoarse and rasping.
“Yes, I-I do … for n-now,” she said, tears threatening to choke her. “But … but you must promise to get well, because I-I cannot promise, if worse comes to worst, to sacrifice your life. There is nothing … nothing more important to me than you are, Nicholas. Do you … can you understand?”
He stiffened, then sighed, closed his eyes again, and jerked his head in the ghost of a nod. “Just … promise me … some time,” he whispered.
Mollie gripped his hand in both of hers, pressed a kiss to it, then held it to her tear-streaked cheek.
There was a brisk knock on the bedroom door. Gently, Mollie laid Nick’s hand on his chest, placed a quick kiss on his cheek, then scrubbed her face clean of tears with her palms. She cleared her throat and called, “Come in,” though the words came out in little more than a scratchy croak.
The door opened and a large, balding man with an enormous white moustache stepped through the doorway carrying a black medical bag. Keen brown eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles immediately assessed Nick’s sweat-matted hair, ashen color, and fever-flushed cheeks as the doctor strode to the bedside and plopped his bag on a nearby wing chair.
“Ach! Hell’s bells, Nicholas! Vat haf you done?” he scolded in a thick German accent, shaking his head. Then he added a hasty apology to Mollie. “Begging pardon, madam.” With barely a pause for breath he turned back to Nick. “Haf you again been taking better care of your Gott verlassen giraffes und varthogs than you haf of yourself? Mein Gott!”
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