by Donna Steele
“Could we get in? Doctor Stevens might need some of his instruments.”
“I don’t know if . . .”
“Daphne’s your daughter?” Dusty interrupted.
“Yes.”
“Sir, we need to get her over there.”
“I can’t let some woman doctor—”
“Do you have a choice right now? Where’s his house?” Dusty let his voice become more insistent.
Caleb studied his daughter, who looked much calmer. The competent way Dee handled the matter must have reassured him too. He mused on the matter a moment, then faced Dusty. “Come on, Miz Masters is probably there, cleaning the place for a new tenant.”
With a nod, Dusty turned to Dee. “We’re going to take Daphne over to Doc Tillman’s home, where his medical office is.” He stared into Dee’s eyes with a silent, urgent request to please go along.
“All right.” When had she learned his expressions so well? He wasn’t going to push his luck by asking that out loud. Holding Daphne’s hand, Dee guided her to the front of the store.
Dusty saw Dee focus on the outfit Daphne wore. She’d apparently been concentrating on the injury. Her eyes rounded, flickering to Dusty. He gave her an infinitesimal shake of his head. Thankfully she kept quiet, following Caleb with Dusty bringing up the rear.
~ ~ ~
Dee kept a tight press on the cloth she’d wrapped over Daphne’s hand, furtively glancing around. This was no movie set. Maybe a reenactment? No, even that wouldn’t be so completely authentic. Daphne’s clothing wasn’t something kept in a closet and pulled out for special shows. The skirt and blouse ensemble was well worn, the fabric soft from many washings.
The girl had been slicing meat, with no modern equipment boasting safety requirements in sight. She’d been wielding a knife, wearing no food prep gloves, and only paper for packaging, not a bit of modern wrapping material anywhere. The counter hadn’t looked all that sterile, either.
What small glance she’d gotten of the wooden chopping block had shown gouges from innumerable knives. And no refrigeration unit, though ice floated in a tray. Meat and chicken lay side by side on the rough counter.
Everyone they passed on the street dressed similarly to Caleb and Daphne, and all turned to stare. There was more traffic since they’d arrived, wagons and carriages, pulled by horses. She hadn’t seen or heard a car since they’d walked out of the field.
What the hell is going on here?
Dusty had spoken with this girl’s father but Dee hadn’t been able to pay attention to the conversation. With Daphne at the point of hyperventilation from fear and pain, Dee’s sole focus remained on her patient.
She was certain Dusty knew something, but there had been no time or privacy to ask. The injury shouldn’t be severe, but the lack of a medical facility troubled her. No one had considered calling 911.
Dusty still had his phone on him. Hers remained in her purse, yet he hadn’t used either one. Reenactments would have medical personnel nearby, even an ambulance. None had been summoned. She hoped this Dr. Tillman had what she needed.
~ ~ ~
There were more people in the street now and Dusty noticed some staring, aghast, at Dee’s jeans. There was nothing he could do about it, and she looked damned good in them in his opinion.
Caleb grabbed a man about his own age who’d been walking by. “Keep an eye on the store, would you, Franklin? Daphne’s been hurt.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.”
Caleb led them at a quick pace to a grand house, large and perfectly maintained, a couple of blocks away. Painted white, it boasted a wide front porch where four matching white rocking chairs rested invitingly. Wide glass panels graced each side of the double front doors.
Once they reached the front yard, it surprised Dusty to see Caleb open the door on the right and walk in without knocking. The entry hadn’t been locked. An oversized foyer with a dark polished wooden floor and a few small tables greeted them.
“Is anyone home? Miz Masters? Are you here?” Caleb called into the silence.
“Mister Douglas? What’s wrong?” An older woman with steel gray hair in a severe bun hurried to meet them.
“Daphne cut herself. This woman says she can fix it up, but she needs to use Doc Tillman’s things.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mrs. Masters demurred.
Dee chose to ignore the housekeeper’s objections, leading Daphne to a room in the front of the house with “Medical Office” painted on the door in neat black letters.
“Now just you wait a minute.” Mrs. Masters took off after Dee, but Dusty again stepped in the way.
“Please let her treat the cut on the girl’s hand, ma’am. Everything will be okay.”
Mrs. Masters’ eyes now ran over him and Dusty realized he was dressed as strangely as Dee to these people. Maybe not as blatant as slacks on a woman, yet his crisp white shirt and tie with a Windsor knot was definitely out of place.
Mrs. Masters’ black, high-collared dress, with its long sleeves, had to be warm in this weather. The garment nearly brushed the floor, with a touch of black lace at the throat its only decoration. Dusty could see black lace-up shoes beneath the heavy skirt when she took a step.
Were they truly in eighteen hundred and ninety-one? How the hell could any of this be real? Was this happening, or was he lying in a coma from the accident? No, he could smell Daphne’s blood. Dust from the unpaved road outside still coated his shoes and clogged his nostrils.
Dee and Daphne had disappeared into the office, so Dusty followed them, keeping the other two at bay.
Dee stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the examining room. “Dusty?”
He peeked inside. The room was decent-sized, with windows on two sides to let in the maximum light, but the examination table was merely that; a table. The white painted cabinet doors had plain glass fronts showing materials Dusty didn’t recognize, and a Franklin stove stood to one side, the chimney pipe running up and out the side of the house.
“Tell me what you need and I’ll search for it.” Trying to convey a warning for her to keep quiet obviously didn’t sit well with her, though she complied.
“I’ll look. You hold her hand still. Keep the compress tight. I need to find alcohol, a needle and—”
Mrs. Masters burst out, “You have no business in Doctor Tillman’s things.”
“Can you sew a cut like this?” Dee didn’t bother to acknowledge the woman as she opened drawers and cabinets.
“Mister Douglas will have to take her up to Old Town.”
“She needs treatment now.” Dee must have found something she needed because she straightened and returned to Dusty’s side. Grasping Daphne’s hand, Dee quickly cleaned the wound, murmuring constantly to the girl to keep her calm.
She glanced at Dusty as she finished. “The doctor has material for stitches but no numbing agents.”
“Could you put her to sleep?”
“For stitches?” Dee went quiet for a moment. “I guess . . . Mr. Douglas, does Daphne have any breathing problems?”
“No, she’s healthy as a horse. Why?”
“Ether? A few drops should work.” Dee appeared to be talking to herself. “No, I don’t want to put her to sleep to stitch this wound. Maybe laudanum. Miz Masters, did Doctor Tillman keep laudanum here?”
Dusty couldn’t help noticing Dee had drawled the ‘Miz’ out, same as Caleb had done. Good idea. When in Rome, talk like the natives.
“I’m not about to help you work on this child. She needs a real doctor.”
Dusty attempted corralling his temper. “Doc—Doctor Stevens is a real doctor. We’re trying to save the use of this girl’s hand. Are you going to help us or do I start searching?”
Mrs. Masters drew
herself up to her full height, ready to stare him down. Caleb spoke first, addressing Dee directly. “Can you really fix her?”
“Yes, sir. I can, but I need to get started,” Dee answered quietly.
“Miz Masters, please.” Caleb added his plea.
With a huff and glare for everyone in the room, the older woman stomped to a locked cabinet and drew a long chain from around her neck. Several keys dangled from it. As she pulled out a substantial bottle of liquid, Dee noted the old-fashioned ether mask.
“If we’re here for any length of time, some of this stuff might come in handy,” she whispered to Dusty.
“Yeah, it’s like an interactive museum,” he muttered.
Dee turned to Daphne. “Have you ever had laudanum, Daphne?” she asked, her voice low and calm.
“No, ma’am.”
“Okay.” She located a spoon and held a dose to Daphne’s lips. “I want you to take a sip of this. The laudanum will relax you, and make it easier for me to work on your hand. It doesn’t taste good, but it will help. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded hesitantly, apprehension still uppermost in her eyes. “May I have some water?”
Caleb nodded and hurried out, returning quickly with a half-filled glass.
While Dusty kept a wary eye on Mrs. Masters, Daphne swallowed a small amount of laudanum and grimaced as Dee assembled the rest of what she needed.
“The medicine will take a bit of time to work,” she said to Dusty. “Can you—” She nodded toward Caleb and Mrs. Masters.
“Sure.” Dusty approached the two. “Why don’t we step outside, keep the germs low.”
“Who do you think you are—” the woman began, but Dusty was a large enough figure that he could maneuver them both out of the room.
He shut the door behind him, then addressed them firmly. “Doctor Stevens is a very good doctor. If we could all calm down, please. Is there anyone you need to contact? Daphne’s mother?”
“Oh, yes. I need to run get Millie. Miz Masters?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She glared at Dusty.
“Caleb, go get your wife. Miz Masters and I will stay here and keep an eye on things.”
Mrs. Masters’ lips had pulled into a thin white line in her face. If her bun were scraped back any tighter, Dusty would worry about brain damage.
Caleb took off at a run to collect his wife as Mrs. Masters spun toward Dusty. “I do not want that type of woman in this house.”
“What type of woman would that be?” Despite himself, Dusty found himself curious.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You saw her. Dressed in britches, and tight ones. Doctor Tillman demanded a certain level of decency in his practice and he—”
“Isn’t here.” Dusty finished for her. “I realize you don’t know us and therefore don’t trust us. I understand, and I wish our meeting could have been different. However, the young woman’s hand was badly injured. Dee—Doctor Stevens—can take care of such a wound.”
“Is she some sort of witch woman?”
Lord, this bitch got on his last nerve and he had only just met her. “She is a trained and licensed physician. She was too intelligent to be kept out of medical school, despite her sex.”
The older woman actually gasped at his casual use of the word. Dusty winced. Maybe he should have used ‘gender.’ This was no way to win the woman over.
“I apologize. But Daphne needed a doctor immediately and Dee is one of the best.”
Mrs. Masters sniffed, though she no longer attempted to storm the medical office in order to throw them all out.
“Maybe we could get some tea or something to help calm Daphne when this is over?”
“I suppose that would be best.” Her eyes narrowed again. “And where will you be?”
“I’ll go see if the doctor needs any help.”
“Are you a doctor as well?”
“Not a medical doctor. I suppose you would call me a scientist.”
Again that sniff but after another slight hesitation, the woman stalked to the back of the house. Dusty let himself into the office.
Dee didn’t glance up, but her shoulders relaxed some. He sensed his mood rising again from their proximity. He’d bet she did, too. With all the turmoil going on and seeing these strange people, he’d been ignoring the sensation.
“Almost finished,” Dee whispered. “She dozed off. I’m glad I didn’t give her more of the laudanum. Could you hold her still for me?”
He moved quickly to do her bidding, turning his head away from the actual procedure. This was not his forte and he’d be damned if he’d pass out in front of Dee. She didn’t much notice, concentrating on her work.
“Okay.” She straightened and stretched her back before reaching for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and applying a liberal dose to the wound. “Where is ‘Miz’ Masters?” She accompanied the salutation with an eye-roll that made him grin.
“Making tea, I believe.” His voice dropped. “I think we’d better keep speaking like the local gentry as much as we can, okay?”
Dee sighed. “Well, whatever I called the old girl, she wouldn’t give me the time of day. Do you think you could beg some honey from her?”
“Honey?”
She nodded and he left the room. He returned quickly with a large honey jar and a spoon. Dee dribbled some over the wound, then began wrapping the hand in strips of linen. “Now.” She stared him straight in the eye. “What the bloody hell is going on? Is this some sort of reenactment, like Old Williamsburg?”
He’d gaped at how she used the honey but figured it pointless to ask any questions regarding her treatment.
“I don’t think that’s what this is,” he finally replied. “I have a theory, but I need time to study what we’ve seen.”
Dee opened her mouth, probably to demand more information, when the door flew open and Caleb bustled in, along with a slight woman who looked like an older version of Daphne.
“Miz Douglas?” Dee held out her hand to shake, but the woman drew back into Caleb’s chest.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Doctor Stevens. Your daughter cut herself at the store. We brought her here to take care of the wound.”
“But Doc Tillman—”
“I stitched her hand. She’ll be fine. I’ve bandaged the wound. She needs to keep it dry and come in tomorrow to have the bandage changed. If she starts to run a fever or the hand swells, you need to bring her here immediately.”
Mrs. Douglas only gaped at her, so Dee turned to Caleb. “Do you understand?”
“Are you really a doctor?” Caleb asked yet again.
“I am. I don’t have my diploma with me but I assure you I have been through medical school and training. Daphne needs to keep her hand still for the rest of the day, and not wiggle her fingers or anything.”
Before either of the Douglases could answer, Mrs. Masters appeared at the door with a tray of tea fixings. Then the front door opened. Dusty stepped closer to Dee, ready to defend her if need be.
A rotund man in a rose-colored vest and dark coat bustled in as though he owned the place. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on? I’ve had three people come by the office to say there’s a disturbance.”
“Thank goodness you’re here, Mayor. I don’t know what’s happening. This strange man and woman burst in here to use Doctor Tillman’s supplies.” Mrs. Masters spoke first.
“Caleb?” The round man, nearly as wide as he was tall, turned to the only other male he recognized for confirmation. Dusty saw Dee close her eyes, shaking her head slightly.
Where the hell have we landed?
“These two were at the store when Daphne cut herself. This woman jumped right in and took charge of things. They asked about a doctor, so I t
old them about Doc Tillman.”
The mayor turned to confront Dusty. “Would you care to explain yourselves?”
God, the man was pompous. Dusty held his temper and gestured toward Dee. “Doc Stevens wanted to get the girl some care as soon as possible. Daphne’s wound bled quite heavily.” For whatever reason, no one here could believe a woman could hold such a position.
The mayor eyed him. “And you are?”
Dusty thought fast. “Dustin Stevens. And you, sir?”
Though the mayor’s eyes narrowed, he responded evenly enough. “I am Bartlett Pickerson, mayor of this fine community.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Dusty shook his hand. “My wife and I were traveling and had a mishap with our transportation. We walked into town and happened to be at the Mercantile when Mister Douglas’ daughter hurt herself.” He could feel Dee’s eyes on him. Thankfully she kept quiet.
“You are dressed highly inappropriately. Both of you.”
“We did not expect to have an accident and be on display in this manner.” Dusty didn’t back down and after a long moment the mayor gave him a curt nod.
They all jumped as the front door slammed open once again and three young boys rushed in. The smallest one held his arm close to his body. Tears tracked down his dirt-smeared cheeks, his face pale and drawn in pain. The tallest of the three blanched when he spotted the mayor standing there.
“What’s going on here?” the pompous mayor demanded, his eyes on the injured boy.
Chapter 7
Dee let the hubbub continue around her as she moved to the boy. As her fingers carefully probed his arm, she leaned down to whisper in the boy’s ear. “Let’s go in the examining room.”
He followed her, obviously fighting a losing battle to keep his lips from trembling.
Dusty had moved slightly to the side and everyone had unconsciously moved with him. No one paid any mind when she and the injured boy left them.
Dusty might disparage his social skills but he was a commanding figure, especially around these men. At nearly a head taller than Caleb and half again that over the fat little mayor, Dusty held their attention easily, whether deliberately or not. Dee suppressed a smile and turned to her second patient. Her first still dozed on the table.