by Lisa Bingham
But there was no denying that the quarters were cramped. The heat from the stove barely reached the second floor, so their bedrooms grew chilly and uncomfortable during the night. During the day, all of the women congregated in the long, narrow room on the main floor. Space was at a premium and seating was limited. The women took turns using the chairs, or made do with upended kegs and weathered crates salvaged from the cook shack.
As much as she feared that moment when the pass cleared and Sumner’s fate at Bachelor Bottoms would be decided once and for all, Sumner knew it would be better if the mail-order brides were allowed to continue their journeys. The women deserved a chance to meet with their prospective husbands or waiting families.
On the other hand, if a means of escape proved impossible or hazardous, Sumner feared the limited space would eventually lead to conflict. The women were without privacy of any kind. Nor was there a place for them to keep all of their belongings. Besides their clothing, many of the women had brought trunks and crates full of household goods—dishes, fabric, books, pots and pans—which currently took up most of the back wall and the arch beneath the staircase. And other than the evening Devotionals and their shifts in the kitchen, they had no real access to fresh air and sunshine, both of which would soon wear on their moods.
Which meant the women were on tenterhooks, wondering what the day would bring.
Sumner was probably the only person who dreaded the moment when the men found a way through the pass. Unlike the other ladies, she had no one waiting for her.
“Is something wrong?”
Too late, Sumner realized that she’d paused while wrapping a bandage around her patient’s arm. She looked up to find Lydia Tomlinson watching her curiously.
“No. Just woolgathering.”
Lydia didn’t look convinced. But then, Sumner had begun to realize that Lydia had an independent soul much like her own. Unlike the other women, she’d sworn off marriage for good. Raised by a pair of aunts who were ardent suffragists Lydia intended to spread the word of temperance and equality up and down the Western coast, much as her aunts had done in Boston.
The door to the rear of the hall burst open, and Emmarissa, Ruth and Greta hurried in, their guards, Dobbs and Winslow, trailing behind them with the last of the sheets.
“Has there been any word?” Ruth gasped.
“No!”
The word was echoed by more than a dozen women, making them laugh.
Sumner’s eyes strayed to the window again.
“None that I know of.”
The pass wasn’t that far away—only a few miles. One would think that it would have been an easy matter to send a runner back with updates.
Unless they’d broken through to the other side.
“How long have they been out there?” Emmarissa asked, unwinding a brightly colored scarf from her neck.
Sumner neatly tied the bandage, offering a soft pat of reassurance to her patient. “They left about five this morning.”
It was nearly five in the afternoon.
“There you go,” she said with a smile to Nedra. “The gash is healing nicely. We’ll keep changing the bandages as least once a day, applying the ointment each time. That should help to prevent some of the scarring.”
“Thank you, Dr. Havisham. These miners would be crazy not to keep you on.”
As she stood, Sumner’s smile was rueful. “If only they shared your views.”
“They will. One of these days, someone besides Creakle is going to need your exper—”
A low rumbling shuddered through floor and built to a crescendo.
“Avalanche!” she shouted in warning as she and the other women automatically ducked for cover.
A huge gust of wind slammed into the windows, dirt and debris scratching against the panes, the world turning to a whirl of white.
Then Aspen Valley grew completely silent.
For a moment, Sumner was inundated by memories—the slam of snow against the train car. Tumbling over and over as the carriage summersaulted down the hillside. Only through sheer effort of will was she able to shake the images aside and jump to her feet. She ran to the door, whipping it open in time to see a maelstrom of snow, pine needles and dust spinning in the air.
Sumner didn’t need to think twice. She knew what had probably triggered the slide—an attempt to get the women out of the valley. And if Jonah and his men had been caught in the debris, she was sure that some of them could be injured.
She pointed to the nearest Pinkerton, a tall, angular man with a neatly trimmed beard. The man’s uniform had been dusted with so much ice that he could have been Jack Frost himself.
“Mr. Kingsley! There’s a crate of medical supplies inside by the stove. I need it taken to the infirmary down the street.”
He nodded and she gestured to the other men. “The rest of you need to bring me some kindling and firewood. We’ve got to get that building warmed up and fast.”
When the Pinkertons began running toward the rear of the cook shack where a stockpile of logs had been stacked, Sumner dodged back inside.
“I need all of you to gather up anything else that could be of use. We’ll need linens and blankets to make up the cots, waterbasins and fresh water.”
Lydia made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go. Go! Take your bag, and we’ll bring everything else. Then I’ll take a group of women to the cook shack to begin making coffee and stew—and some hot broth, in case we have anyone injured. No matter what has happened, the men will be cold and in need of something to warm them from the inside out.”
Sumner grabbed her coat and shrugged into its sleeves. “We’re going to need light soon, as well. Gather as many lamps and lanterns as you can.”
Willow snatched up two hurricane lanterns from the main table. “I’m coming with you. I can help you get things ready.”
“Thank you, Willow.”
The two women hurried down the street to the infirmary, unlocking the door and swinging it wide. Minutes later, the Pinkertons arrived and began lighting fires in the box heaters. Not long after, a brigade of women arrived. Myra and Miriam began cleaning the examining area, while Nedra, Ruth and Greta made up the cots. Emmarissa, Louisa and Marie arranged piles of bandages on every table, then began filling pails of snow to heat on the stoves for fresh water. Iona and Stefania arranged an army of lanterns brought by the other women, adjusting the wicks so that the rooms were ablaze with light.
By the time the alarm bell near the mine began clamoring, Sumner and her feminine recruits were ready. The infirmary was still chilly, but there was hot water and a precious cache of medical supplies ready for the first of the patients.
They didn’t have long to wait. Within a few minutes, a thunder of hooves came from the direction of the mine. By the time Sumner and her companions dodged outside, men on horseback were already coming into view.
She waved to them, shouting, “Bring the wounded to the infirmary!”
The men in the lead must have heard her because they changed direction, their pace unabated until they were a few scant yards away. Then they brought the animals to a skidding halt.
A quick sweeping glance assured Sumner that she would be dealing with minor injuries—cuts, scrapes, abrasions. One man had tucked his arm inside the front placket of his coat, which meant a possible broken bone.
Sumner ordered the Pinkertons to help the men inside. Standing near the door, she quickly sorted the injuries. Those that were minor and merely required washing and bandaging, she directed to the waiting area where her comrades were ready with hot water, ointments and bandages. The fellow she suspected of a broken bone, she sent to the examining room.
“How many more men were injured?” she asked as she guided him to a chair, then gingerly began to remove his coat.
“This is most of us but...” He hissed when she tried to stra
ighten his arm enough to slip it from the sleeves of his coat.
“Slowly, slowly,” she murmured.
“But there’s three men trapped under the snow. They’re digging like the blazes trying to get ’em out in time.”
Sumner froze. “Three men? D-do you know who?”
The miner shook his head. “I think Pearson Cowan was one, but... I don’t know. I was trying to dig myself out so...”
She touched his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. If I hear something more, I’ll let you know.”
“I’d appreciate that, ma’am.”
Sumner laid his coat over the back of a chair. “You’ll need to remove your shirt so I can examine you.”
The miner’s head whipped up so fast he nearly lost his balance.
“What?”
“Your shirt. Do you want to take it off yourself? Or would you like me to help you?”
He shrank away from her. “Oh, no, ma’am. There’s been a mistake. I won’t be...bothering you with this.”
“But, Mr....”
“Fredrickson.”
“You may have broken something. I really need to examine it, and I can’t do that properly unless you undress.”
“No!”
His face leached of what little color had been there. “No, ma’am.” He tried to stand. “I won’t be bothering you.”
“But—”
“I need a real doctor, ma’am.”
“I can assure you that I’m highly trained and more than capable of tending to your needs.”
“No, ma’am. I’ll head back to my quarters. Later, I can have Stumpy look at it.”
“Stumpy?”
“He’s taken to stitching us up until the real doctor arrives. A male doctor.”
Sumner opened her mouth to argue the point, but more shouting from the main door sent her scurrying into the other room in time to find several men carrying a prone body inside.
She whirled to face Fredrickson. “Go into the kitchen area. I want you to keep your arm up. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime, get something warm—coffee, soup.”
Fredrickson looked as if he wanted to argue, but when he saw his colleagues, he slid from the table, allowing them to set the prone man on top.
The miner’s skin was so pale that she immediately pressed her ear to his chest.
“He’s alive.”
She pointed to the men who had brought him inside. “Help get him undressed and I’ll—”
More shouting came from the waiting room.
“Get him out of his clothes and I’ll be right back.”
The next patient was conscious, but had suffered a gash across the top of his skull and several broken teeth.
“Kitchen table,” she said bluntly. “Get his clothes off. How many more?”
“Just Creakle and Ramsey,” one of the men grunted as they moved past her to the doctor’s quarters.
“Creakle and Ramsay?” she whispered.
Her stomach flip-flopped—a reaction she hadn’t had since the beginning of her training.
Dear, sweet Heavenly Father. Please, please let them be all right.
The door burst open and Jonah staggered inside, bearing the brunt of Creakle’s weight.
“I need help!” he shouted.
A pair of men rushed forward to take Creakle just when Jonah looked ready to collapse.
“Put him on one of the cots,” Sumner said, pointing. Then she ran to Jonah as he sagged against the doorjamb.
Wrapping his arm over her shoulders, she helped him to a nearby chair. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “No...just winded.”
Winded? She’d guess that his back was paining him like the devil—he might have even damaged it further. But she could tell by the glint in his eyes that he wouldn’t be accepting her help. Not while his men were awaiting her attention.
She pointed at him with a stern finger. “Don’t move,” she said.
He nodded—and his agreement to follow her orders had her more worried than ever.
Sumner quickly checked on Creakle, but after ensuring that he was conscious and alert, she asked two women to layer him with blankets and put a hot brick at his feet.
“I’ll be back to tend to him as soon as I can.”
Then, inwardly girding herself for battle, she headed back to the examining room.
* * *
Midnight had come and gone by the time she’d seen to most of the wounded. Mack Epcot, the gentleman whom they’d brought into the infirmary unconscious, had, ironically, been the easiest patient. Before he’d gained his wits again, she’d been able to determine that he had at least three broken ribs. After binding his chest, she’d cleaned and stitched up the gash on his head, then left Willow to sit by his cot with orders to come get Sumner as soon as the man awakened. After that, she had examined Creakle.
He’d shivered from beneath his blankets, insisting that he was right as rain. But after learning that Creakle had been buried beneath the snow for several minutes, she’d insisted that he stay the night in the infirmary. He’d nodded, blinking against sudden tears. Then, obviously embarrassed at the emotions he’d displayed, he’d twisted his head to the side and closed his eyes, feigning sleep. After whispering, “Call me if you need me, Mr. Creakle,” Sumner had carefully tucked the blankets around his shoulders, then had gone to the examining room where the other men had finally managed to undress the injured miner.
Pearson Cowan had proven much more difficult, thrashing against the other men when she’d reentered. Much like Fredrickson, he’d refused to let her treat him—or even examine him—until she’d finally been forced to give instructions to one of the Pinkertons on how to give the man a cursory examination. Without being allowed to touch the patient herself, Sumner had been able to determine little more than the man had injuries to his shoulder, knee, and a huge lump at the back of his skull. Unable to do anything more for him at the time, she’d insisted that the Pinkertons carry him to the cot next to Creakle’s. Then, issuing detailed instructions, she’d enlisted the Pinkertons’ help again to set and splint Fredrickson’s arm.
Then finally, with three patients sleeping in their cots, she returned to the waiting room.
Jonah sat exactly as she’d left him. He hadn’t even removed his coat. His chin had been on his chest and his eyes were closed, but as soon as he heard her footfalls, he was instantly awake.
He’d told her that he’d once been a soldier. Sumner had seen evidence of such training in the way he led his men, in his efficiency, in his dedication to duty. It was there in the way he held himself and rode a horse. And judging by the speed with which he went from deep sleep to instant alertness, she would hazard a guess that he’d also grown used to resting with one ear trained to his surroundings.
“How are the men?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“They’ve been examined, treated and are sleeping in the next room. Two of them—Epcot and Fredrickson—have broken bones. Creakle is exhausted and still suffering from the cold, but I haven’t found any other injuries. The other gentleman...”
“Pearson Cowan.”
“Yes, Mr. Cowan. His shoulder and knee are badly bruised. I don’t think they’re broken, but they’ve definitely been banged up. He’s also taken a blow to the head. I’ll watch him, as well.” She grimaced. “Or I’ll try. He refused to let me treat him, so I had to make my diagnosis secondhand.”
Jonah scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’ll talk to them in the morning. Maybe I can get them to—”
“Forget I’m a woman?” She grimaced. “I don’t think that your ordering them to accept me will do much good.” She sighed. “Indeed, it will probably make things worse. For now, the Pinkertons and I have developed a...system. If I need your help, I’ll let you know.”
He nodded.
“Now, it’s your turn, Mr. Ramsey.”
He blinked at her, uncomprehending.
“I need to examine you, as well.”
“No. Thank you.”
He tried to stand and stumbled.
Sumner whipped her arm around his waist and he hissed.
“Into the examining room, Jonah.”
“No, it’s really not—”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you going to argue that I’m not qualified? Because I’m a woman?”
She’d trapped him in a verbal corner. He’d been willing to insist that his men accept her care, yet now, he was the one who was balking.
He must have accepted her bluff because his breath whooshed from his lungs and he nodded. “Lead the way.”
The fact that he allowed her to help support his weight told her far more than words that the man was hurting. His gait was unsteady and she could hear his short pants. Her concerns grew.
She helped him to settle onto the table. “I’ll need to check your back. Would you like me to leave you alone to undress?”
“What?”
For the first time, she saw something that looked very much like fear in his eyes, but Sumner pushed that thought away. She couldn’t imagine Jonah being afraid of anything, let alone an examination. But when she smiled in reassurance, he looked away, clearly upset.
She took a step closer. “Jonah,” she said gently, “I can’t do my job if I can’t see...underneath your clothes. And it’s obvious from the way you’re moving that you’ve hurt your back. You may have even aggravated your old injury.”
She saw a ruddy color begin to seep up his neck and tint his ears.
Was he uncomfortable?
Or embarrassed?
“Have you had anything to eat or drink, Mr. Ramsey?”
He regarded her blankly.
“No.”
“If you’d like, I’ll go fetch something hot for you to drink while you shrug out of your clothes.” She crossed to the far side of the room to retrieve a blanket. “Are you feeling any pain in your legs?”
“What? No!”
“Then you can keep everything on below the waist. Above the waist” —she handed him the blanket “—you can drape this around your shoulders.” She paused before adding, “So you don’t get cold.”