by Lisa Bingham
“Yes. I do know.”
She thought of her stepbrother. He would be eighteen? But in her head, she always imagined him as that mean-spirited little boy who’d been brought home so abruptly and had stolen what crumbs of her father’s affection that she’d ever managed to obtain. Time had probably changed him. It had certainly changed her. She knew the way his brash statements had spurred her on whenever she’d even thought of giving up her goals. She’d been driven to prove that he’d been wrong when he’d insisted that she would never be good enough.
Because she was a girl.
But she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a woman. And he was probably well on to being a man.
Which meant it was high time she put those inner demons to rest. They were nothing more than ghosts of her past, and from this moment on, she refused to allow them to have the power to sting. She’d learned that she was responsible for her future. And with help from God and a good measure of determination, there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do.
Sumner hadn’t realized how much bottled-up resentment she’d held within her until it began to seep from her body in that moment of forgiveness. A forgiveness that had been too long in the making. With it came a peace and a certainty that she would be writing a letter to Jefferson to make that forgiveness complete. It was the only way to move forward.
Please, Lord. Give Jonah and I another chance to make this right.
Realizing that Mr. Ingraham was still watching her closely, she smiled and began wrapping the gash on his forearm that she’d stitched closed.
“Tell me more about your family, Mr. Ingraham. I would love to hear all about them.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jonah knew he was in trouble. He lay on his stomach, in much the same position as he’d been when the explosion and cave-in had thrown him to the ground. He could feel the water rising around him, chilling him to the very bone. It wouldn’t be long now, before the wetness would reach his face.
Creakle’s face swam in front of him and Jonah tried his best to focus. The man was a gray fuzzy shape in the darkness. Behind him, Jonah could see that the workers on the other side had managed to punch a hole through the debris. In the glow of their lanterns, he could see that the opening was nearly large enough for the men to crawl through.
But not Jonah.
He panted softly as waves of searing pain radiated through his body from a point low on his back. He was finding it difficult to breathe.
“As soon...as you can make it through...you get out...all of you...”
Creakle shook his head.
“We ain’t goin’ nowhere without you, boss man.”
Jonah tamped down a sound that was half moan, half sob.
“I’m not...going anywhere... Creakle...” He swallowed against the nausea that rolled in his stomach. “Can’t move...can’t feel my legs...”
“Don’t you fear none, boss. We’ll have you out in a jiffy. Then that nice doc’ll fix you up right as rain.”
Jonah couldn’t prevent the desperate laugh that shuddered through his throat. “She can’t fix this, Creakle.”
Creakle bent close, so close that his nose all but touched Jonah. “Now you listen to me, and listen good. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with you that a few days in bed won’t cure. That beam that landed on you...well, it cut off the blood flow, that’s all. That’s why you’re feelin’ a bit numb. Willoughby Smalls is waiting on the other side of that wall. As soon as they’ve got a hole big enough for him to wriggle through, he’s gonna lift that beam up—an’ you know he could lift an ox with a single finger, if’n he had a mind t’ do so. An’ he’ll get you out.”
Jonah shook his head. For years now, he’d lived with those little pieces of metal pressing against his spine, but this time he knew they’d shifted. He’d tried to move his feet, his toes, all to no avail. He’d known that this could happen. But somehow he’d thought that he’d go quick.
Dear sweet Heaven, let him go quick.
But not until he’d seen Sumner one more time.
He could feel himself slipping. Though the voices of the miners were growing more excited, he was having a hard time seeing the glow on the other side of the wall of rocks, rubble and shattered timber. Jonah reached out, flailing his hand in the darkness until he found Creakle’s gnarled fingers.
“If I don’t make it, I need you to do something for me.”
“Yer talkin’ nonsense. Just a few more minutes. Then we’ll have you out of here.”
“Tell Sumner that I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Y’ don’t have anythin’ t’ be sorry for.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. For the longest time, I didn’t trust her enough to...to tell her how I really felt...how I... I should have told her...sooner...” He could feel the seeping water against his chin now and he coughed.
“Don’t you fret none, y’ hear? You can tell her yerself.”
The tunnel appeared to dip, sway. Jonah’s stomach heaved.
“Tell her I love her,” he whispered.
Or he thought he’d said it aloud.
It might have only been his heart echoing the words that Jonah had tried so hard not to accept.
* * *
The doors to the infirmary burst open, letting in a swirl of cold air. Sumner turned to chide the person responsible, but the words died in her throat. Several men were carrying a makeshift stretcher fashioned from a ladder covered in blankets. The moment she saw the familiar profile of the man on the stretcher, she waved them into the examination room.
“In there. Quick!”
The men staggered, maneuvering the tight spaces until they could set the ladder on the floor. Then each of them grabbed a handful of wool in their hands and hoisted him up onto the examining table.
Sumner turned to the closest man saying, “I need hot water, lots of it.” She turned to the others. “The rest of you, start getting him out of his filthy clothes.”
Sumner had been told that the affected mineshaft was wet and damp and cold, and she could believe it when she saw the state of Jonah’s clothes. He was covered in mud that began dripping onto the floor. If she didn’t know the shape of his face as well as she knew her own, she wouldn’t have recognized him.
The men glanced at one another uneasily, and they were so caked in mud Sumner wasn’t sure if she knew any of them by name.
“He was hit by a beam and fell facedown in the mud.” As soon as the apparent leader spoke, Sumner recognized the low tones of Gideon Gault. “We brought him to you the way we found him. Before he passed out, he was saying that he couldn’t feel his lower limbs.”
A cool finger of dread slithered down her spine, but Sumner pushed the sensation away. He was here. He was breathing. She wouldn’t borrow trouble before she had a chance to uncover the facts. Crossing to a nearby table, she retrieved a pair of shears, which she slapped into Gideon’s hand.
“Cut him out of them if you have to, then cover him in blankets. As soon as you’re finished, call for me. I’ll be gathering up a few hot bricks as well as some water to wash him. We’ve got to warm him up as quickly as possible.”
If the men thought it untoward that she, a female doctor, would be about to examine their boss in the all-together, they gave little indication. Rather than fulfilling the dire prophesy uttered by Ezra Batchwell mere weeks before and running her out on a rail, they appeared grateful for her no-nonsense orders.
Nevertheless, as she hurried to the stove to retrieve the bricks that had been stacked there for warming, her legs were trembling so badly that she had to pause. Planting her hands flat on the table, she bowed her head, knowing that she would need every means of help that she could summon. The infirmary had only the most rudimentary supplies and equipment, and even without a detailed exam, Sumner knew that Jonah was in mortal danger.
Dear Lord in Heaven, Creator of a
ll, Giver of life...
She didn’t have a great deal of time, but she prayed from the depths of her soul, asking for guidance and strength and wisdom. When she finally lifted her head, she was feeling calmer.
Have faith.
She quickly wrapped a pair of bricks in flannel.
“Do you need help?” Willow asked as she entered the room with a handful of bandage rolls. They’d already run out of those that they’d prepared earlier and a team of women was ripping sheets and making more.
“If you could bring a few more bricks into the examination room?”
“Of course.”
Clutching a pair of hot blocks against her chest, Sumner reached the examination room just as the door opened.
“He’s ready.”
“Put these near his feet. We’ll have more soon.”
Gideon nodded and hurried to comply.
As Sumner approached the table, she was alarmed by the pallor to Jonah’s skin. She touched his forehead.
Icy.
Clammy.
But there was a hint of warmth.
She leaned low, pressing her ear against his back. After a moment, she was able to hear the thump of his heart. Slow. So slow.
Willow swept into the room. “I’ve got the bricks you needed.”
“Thank you. Tuck them next to his legs and feet please.”
Although he’d been covered by a blanket from his shoulders to his toes, Sumner glanced over Jonah’s frame, taking in the dirt and grime, then glancing at the pitcher and basin that had been brought in for washing. If he was as dirty beneath the blanket as above...
“Willow, could you bring more water and cloths? We’ve got to get him clean before I can see what needs to be done.”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
The men had stepped back and now stood uneasily, watching as she worked.
“Gideon, you and your men can go to the cook shack and get yourself something to eat,” Sumner said, not even bothering to look up.
“If it’s all the same, Dr. Havisham. We’ll wait here. Just in case you need us.”
She opened her mouth to refute such a statement, then stopped herself. She would not let pride get in her way.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. You said the beam struck his back?”
“Yes, ma’am. He was pinned for a while.”
Her heart lurched in its cage of ribs before settling back into place. Carefully lifting the blanket, she hissed. An angry red-and-black bruise ran diagonally across his back. Even worse, shards of wood had embedded themselves in his skin, one of them right near the base of his spine beneath the tangle of old scars.
Sumner glanced up, meeting the worried gazes of Gault and his men.
“You were right. I’m going to need your help. I can’t pull these larger bits of wood out. They could leave slivers behind that could cause infection. I may need to make sure that they haven’t caused more internal damage. That means I’m probably going to have to operate.”
Gault’s expression became grave, but he didn’t shrink from the news. “What do you want us to do, Doc?”
“I need one of you to run back to the Dovecote. Tell them I need the box marked Ether. Be careful on the way back—we don’t want to break the bottles. Make sure you bring the whole box. I’ll need the face cones, as well.”
One of the men dodged out of the door.
“The rest of you wash up. I want you scrubbed head to toe and dressed in the cleanest clothes you can find. I may require your help in holding him down.”
The men wasted no time vacating the room—even Gideon disappeared after only a quick look at his friend. And for a moment, Sumner was alone with Jonah.
He was suddenly racked with shivers and she covered him again with the blanket, tucking it around his shoulders. Then, unable to resist, she reached out to stroke his cheek. Her fingers brushed away the tangled curls, finding them as soft as she had often imagined.
Leaning down, she continued to stroke his hair, whispering for his ears alone.
“I love you, Jonah. Be strong.”
The door opened again and Iona Skye rushed in with a pitcher of water. Several cloths had been looped through the handle.
“I told Willow to stay in the other room. Figured you needed a widow woman who wasn’t about to faint at the first sight of a man’s bare back.”
She set the pitcher down and dipped one of the cloths into the water. When it emerged, steam seeped into the air around the flannel.
“Thank you, Iona,” Sumner said, more relieved than she would have thought. She was beginning to realize that there was no more shame in asking for help than in offering it.
“How are you at the sight of blood?”
The older woman laughed. “My father owned a butcher shop.”
“Good. I can use someone with a steady stomach.” She folded the blankets down. “We need to work quickly. The moment the men return, we may need to operate.”
“Just tell me what to do.”
* * *
Day faded to night and back into day again, and Sumner had her training tested over and over—but never so much as with Jonah’s surgery. Just as she’d feared, the shards of wood had driven deep into his muscles and had required a scalpel to remove them—a fact which had turned out to be a blessing. If she hadn’t opened him up...
Arching her back, Sumner stood from the bedside of a miner with badly burned hands. The man was sleeping now—thanks to a precious dose of laudanum taken from her cache of supplies. At this rate, Sumner would run out of her supplies before she left Aspen Valley.
With the infirmary calmer than it had been the day before, and the patients well-supervised by her impromptu nurses, Sumner felt that she could check on Jonah once again. Entering the examining room where they’d kept him quarantined from the other patients, she glanced at Iona, who had been calmly sitting in Sumner’s rocking chair, which had been brought from the Dovecote for that purpose. She’d been knitting for most of the day and a pile of hats and scarves lay in a basket at her feet.
“I’m going to run out of wool soon,” the woman said. “Then what will I do with myself at the Dovecote?”
Her eyes twinkled, making it clear that she’d find something to occupy her time.
“There’s always Mr. Smalls’s angora goats.”
“Yes, but I suppose they’d object to being sheared in the dead of winter.”
On the examination table beside Iona lay Jonah, still lying on his stomach, his body swathed in blankets.
“How is he?”
“He’s holding his own,” Iona murmured. “His color is looking much better and he’s trying to rouse. He’s been mumbling in his sleep for the past quarter hour.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Sometimes, I think he’s trying to say your name.”
Sumner felt the warmth seeping up her cheeks, but Iona didn’t pay much attention. Instead, she stabbed her knitting needles into the ball of wool and she stood somewhat gingerly.
“These creaky old bones don’t take too well to the winter weather anymore,” she said. Then she gestured to the chair. “Why don’t you sit here for a spell? It sounds awfully quiet in the other room, and I’m sure someone will find you if they need your help. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’ll go get a bite to eat.”
“Of course, of course. Take as long as you need. Most of the other injured men are sleeping.” Sumner sank into the chair that Iona had just vacated. As soon as she settled into the rocker that Jonah had made for her, she offered a soft, slow sigh. She was glad to be off her feet. She hadn’t had time to sit for more than a moment or grab anything but a cup of tea since the alarm bells had sounded.
Iona spread a blanket over her lap. “You’ve been working nonstop and you need to keep your strength up. The brides and I can take charge for a
little while.” She gestured to Jonah. “In the meantime, I think you’re needed here.”
The woman’s smile was soft and knowing. After donning a cape and bonnet, she said, “I’ll bring you a tray when I come back. I don’t think you’ve eaten anything since the accident. You need some nourishment. Maybe a hot bowl of soup and some bread?”
“Thank you, Iona. That would be nice.”
Iona paused again at the door. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “You know, Mr. Batchwell had no cause to say those things to you—to any of us. He might not be willing to admit it, but this place is better off since we came, and most of that’s due to you. These men have been living in an emotional desert. They’re starving for something better. It just may take some time to get them to admit it.”
Sumner was so tired that she was barely able to summon a ghost of a smile. “Maybe. But somehow I think Mr. Batchwell likes the desert.”
Iona chuckled. “That may be...but soon enough, he’ll be outnumbered. Especially after all you’ve done for the miners the past few days.”
The door closed behind Iona with barely a snick from the lock. Even so, her words reverberated in the room. In her heart.
But finding a way to force Ezra Batchwell to honor her five-year contract as company doctor had faded in importance compared for her love for this man.
She reached out to touch his cheek with the back of her hand, and she was relieved to find that it had lost its clamminess. He had a fever, but a mild one—not unusual for someone who had suffered through an hour’s worth of surgery. The next few days would be critical. As with any procedure, infection would be her chief worry. He would need nourishment as soon as he’d completely roused from the effects of the ether. But he’d had some laudanum for the pain and his sleep was more natural than the last time she’d had a chance to check on him.