Another Time (Guardians of Now Book 1)

by Donna Steele

  “They didn’t teach a class on this at MIT.”

  “Pity. Maybe they should get her on the staff.”

  “I think you scored points just now.” Dusty helped himself to the vegetables.

  “We’ll see. I don’t blame her. This isn’t our home. We all but invaded her this morning.”

  “Where you proceeded to help two young residents of this town.”

  “Which may not matter as much to her as my lack of decorum,” Dee countered.

  “That’s her problem. Damn, this is good chicken.”

  Dee relaxed and began her own meal. Clearly Dusty took the situation better than she had managed. That medical journal really threw her.

  Nope, waking up had truly faded as a hope.

  They’d finished their meal, and after a look of pure horror from Mrs. Masters when Dee forgot and again attempted to help clear the table, Dee and Dusty retired to the medical office. She showed him the journal, but before they had any time to discuss anything, a knock at the front door interrupted them. Millie and Daphne had returned with a bundle of clothing.

  “You didn’t have to rush this. I can’t believe you did all of this so quickly.” Dee explored the collection.

  “This was no problem. My husband bought me a sewing machine about a year ago. Took no time at all.”

  “Daphne,” Dee glanced over at her, “you didn’t use your hand, did you?”

  “No, ma’am. Ma wouldn’t even let me do any of the simple stitching. I’m not as good as she is anyway.”

  “You will be with practice,” Millie assured her daughter. “For today, I made sure she followed your orders and kept her hand still.”

  “May I examine it again?”

  “Of course.” Daphne extended her hand to Dee. Without taking off the bandage, Dee pressed the fingers and nodded in relief to see the blood flow was fine and there had been no seepage onto the cloth.

  “This is already healing. I’ll change the dressing tomorrow. You listen to your mother. All women are doctors of one degree or another, and know how to look after things.” Dee winked at a startled Millie, whose lips curved up in a conspiratorial smile.

  “We need to be headed home. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Millie nodded to Dusty who’d kept quiet, and led Daphne out.

  Exhaustion immediately overcame Dee. No sleep last night and tons of adrenaline today had sapped her endurance. Depression also threatened to wrap around her. Could she believe Dusty’s theory?

  Time travel.

  Dee turned silently and left Dusty and Mrs. Masters in the foyer as she headed upstairs.

  A minute later, Dee glanced up, startled, when the door opened and Dusty entered the bedroom. She automatically closed the blouse she had been unbuttoning. “What are you doing?”

  He waved vaguely at the bed. “Uh, sleep?”

  “In here?”

  “Where else, with Old Lady Masters nosing around? What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? Are you kidding? I’m trapped in a damn nightmare where I can’t wake up, and I’m in eighteen fucking ninety-one!”

  “Tsk, language, wife.”

  “I’m not your wife!” Dee hissed. “I’m your pick-up, your one-night stand—”

  “Hold it.” He glanced at to the door as if to ensure privacy. “You are not a one-night stand. You never were. We were supposed to meet in that bar. Think about it. We both show up in a place neither of us has ever been in before, and you’re there after working on drunk kids in the ER? A bar’s the last place you would normally head.”

  “How do you think you know anything about me?”

  “I . . . I just do. We’re supposed to be here. Together.”

  Dee sank onto the bed at those words, feeling as though all the steam had leaked out of her. He thought their meeting was destiny? She wasn’t sure she believed in fate or things like that.

  “Dee, you feel it, don’t you?” Dusty pressed. “That connection?”

  “I don’t know what I feel. But I know I’m not supposed to be in 1891.”

  “Okay, I don’t have that part worked out—”

  “Oh, really? And how do you plan to work ‘that part’ out?”

  “I didn’t cause this, Dee. Neither of us did. There’s no way anything we did would cause this.”

  She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I’m not angry with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. I do agree neither of us caused this, whatever’s truly happening.” She felt the bed dip as he sat beside her.

  “I think this is happening. And I’m still glad I’m not alone here.”

  With a sigh, she looked up, meeting his eyes.

  Dusty indicated the bundle he’d carried upstairs. “Do I at least get a fashion show?”

  “No. You might spy an ankle and lose complete control.”

  He offered a leering grin, and though she tried, she couldn’t suppress an answering smile. What was it about this man?

  “Come on, wife. I know you’re tired.”

  At those words weariness overtook her, and Dee allowed him to pull her to her feet to finish unbuttoning her blouse.

  Dusty started to strip, then stopped, wide-eyed. “I wasn’t exactly planning to jump you, but we don’t have any protection.”

  “Good Lord. I wonder what they use for condoms in this era. I’ve never investigated the history of . . . At least we don’t have to worry about pregnancy.”

  “We don’t?”

  “No, I had my shot last week. It should last for three months.” She studied him. “We’ll be home by then, won’t we?”

  “Count on it. And for the record, I’m clean.”

  “Me too.”

  “Get in bed. You’re exhausted.”

  Last night, in his arms, had been the best sex she’d ever experienced. More than sex, she had a connection with this man and she desperately needed him again. “Not that exhausted.”

  Nude, they climbed onto the feather mattress and made slow, delicious love. Maybe they didn’t “know” each other, yet Dee felt a rightness to being together with him, and their bodies fit perfectly with one another.

  She drifted off feeling safer in Dusty’s arms than at any time since they had arrived here.

  Chapter 11

  Noises from downstairs roused her and Dee became aware of Dusty half covering her with his body, dead to the world. As she tried to process everything, a knock sounded on the door. Before she could react, the entry swung open.

  Should have locked the damned thing.

  From the glow of the lamp, Dee caught Mrs. Masters’ expression at finding the two of them intertwined and completely naked on the bed. Well, what the hell was the woman supposed to expect when she barged in their bedroom, unannounced? They were supposed to be married.

  Dee scrambled for the sheet, disturbing Dusty who nuzzled her neck.

  “Not now,” she hissed as Mrs. Masters stood in the doorway, observing the whole thing. She obviously wasn’t too embarrassed to turn away or swoon. Of course, gazing at Dusty’s body should rivet any woman, even someone like Mrs. Masters.

  “I’m sorry to disturb your . . . rest, but there’s an emergency downstairs. Miss Everett, the schoolteacher, was just brought in.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right down.” Mrs. Masters still took a moment before shutting the door. When she did, Dee leapt to her feet.

  “What?” Wide-awake, Dusty sat up.

  “There’s an emergency. Go back to sleep. But you better barricade the door first, because Miz Masters seemed quite interested in checking you out a moment ago.”

  “I thought she was looking at you.” He’d already grabbed his clothes.

  Rather than even attempt the current fa
shion, Dee slipped into her jeans and T-shirt. She’d cover her outfit with one of Dr. Tillman’s lab coats when she got downstairs.

  Several strangers had taken a stance in the foyer, including two men holding a makeshift stretcher where a woman who had to be Miss Everett lay moaning.

  “In here.” Dee led them into the examination room and they placed the woman as gently as possible on the table. An older woman had also followed them in.

  “She’s been poorly since before school started up. She got very bad tonight. Are you really a doctor?”

  “Yes, I’m really a doctor.” Shit, how many times had she repeated those words? “Now if you could all step outside, I’ll examine my patient.” Only Dusty and the woman stayed, though the men glanced at the older woman before following Dee’s instructions.

  “The boys told me their teacher was sick again, when we went out to the car this afternoon,” Dusty murmured.

  The woman scanned him critically. “I’m Miz Haas. I run the boardinghouse over on Sycamore Street. Miss Everett has lived there for two years. She’s a darling girl. Can you help her?”

  “I’m going to try. Can you help me get these clothes off her?”

  “Isn’t he going to leave?”

  “I don’t have a trained nurse here. My husband—” Those words became easier to say with each rendition. “—is a scientist.”

  “Where’s Elizabeth?”

  Beginning to strip the young woman, Dee asked, “Who’s Elizabeth?”

  “Doc Tillman’s nurse.”

  “I haven’t met her. I arrived this morning.”

  “I’m sure Miz Masters has sent for her by now.”

  “I hope so.” Her attention fully on her patient, Dee palpated her abdomen. Then she pressed the edge of her hand into the woman’s right side. When she pulled it back, Dusty rushed in to keep the woman from falling off the table as she cried out in pain.

  “Appendicitis?” he asked.

  Dee nodded. “I need to get it out now. You say this is not the first attack?”

  “No ma’am, but this is the worst one so far,” Mrs. Haas verified.

  Dee looked into her patient’s pain-filled face. “Don’t you worry.” She turned toward Mrs. Haas. “What’s her first name?”

  “Constance Everett, I call her Connie.”

  “Don’t you worry, Connie. I’m an experienced doctor and I’m going to take care of you. Do you understand?”

  The woman, glassy eyed, nodded.

  “Can you be my anesthetist?” Dee asked Dusty.

  Dusty’s eyes widened. “What would I have to do?”

  “I’m going to have to put her out while I do the surgery. You’ll need to keep a close eye on her pulse and breathing. I’ll be right here.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Thank you. I’ll scrub up. Where’s my bag?”

  He pointed to the corner and she nodded, grabbing the bag and wrenching it open. She snatched out hand sanitizer and rubber gloves, then poured some alcohol into a shallow basin. She laid the surgical instruments into the alcohol and found clean linens to drape over Connie. She’d need to adjust the lighting as well, and keep the heat of the lamps from the ether.

  Damn the complications! How the hell did people survive in these times?

  “You don’t have to stay, Miz Haas.”

  The older woman stiffened her spine. “You might need some more help.”

  “Thank you. Here, wipe this all over your hands, especially under the nails and between the fingers.”

  The woman’s hands appeared clean. She was the proprietor of a boardinghouse, so she must have standards. In any case she would only be touching the handles of the instruments.

  Dee pulled Dusty aside. “I’m going to use the ether rather than the chloroform. It’s less toxic, but I still want you to keep a close eye on her breathing. You need to open a window for circulation to keep the rest of us from going under.”

  Which would bring in bugs, no doubt. When were screens invented?

  She couldn’t worry about that now. With a deep breath, Dee turned to her patient. “I’m going to relax you, Connie. You’ll feel better when you wake up, I promise.”

  Wide, frightened eyes glittering with pain dominated Connie’s face, but she nodded. Dee smiled reassuringly and placed the smaller of the ether caps available over Connie’s mouth and nose.

  “Start with two drops for now,” she instructed Dusty. “I want to see how she responds.” Dee pulled a surgical mask from her bag and smoothed it in place as they observed the young woman relax. “That’s good, breathe normally. Everything will be all right.”

  Trial and error, for surgery! Even appalled, Dee knew her time was short. She’d have a better chance at resuscitation than peritonitis.

  When Connie did not respond to a needle prick, Dee began her incision. This was her field of expertise. The surgical area was swabbed with alcohol. Nothing stronger resided in her current medical arsenal. If she and Dusty remained here and she continued her practice, she would do her best to modernize things. For now she had to use the materials available.

  Mrs. Haas didn’t swoon. In fact she seemed fascinated, quickly responding to Dee’s request for lighting changes. Dusty never glanced at the surgery itself, concentrating on the pulse and breathing of their patient.

  Dee had lifted the swollen appendix from her patient when the door opened. A small gasp, then a flurry of activity, which Dee ignored, came from the entry.

  “I’m Elizabeth Gray, Doc Tillman’s nurse,” a voice declared behind Dee.

  “Pleased to meet you. Scrub up and we’ll close.” Dee didn’t bother to look at the woman, checking the offending appendix to ensure no rupture had occurred. With a sigh of relief, she laid the bloated item in the basin Mrs. Haas held out.

  “You got her here in time.” Dee spared a smile for Mrs. Haas. Her mask covered her mouth, but Mrs. Haas must have seen the approval in her eyes, for she heaved her own sigh of relief.

  Then Elizabeth stepped up and Mrs. Haas moved out of the way with what seemed to be mild regret. Dee took her time now to ensure the stitches would result in a neat scar. Elizabeth had produced catgut thread for the stitches and her competence added a layer of calm over the room.

  “Okay, Dusty. Don’t give her any more. We’re nearly done and I don’t want her under any longer than I can help.” Dee finished the stitching, and again overlaid the wound with a thick spreading of honey before applying the dressing. To be safe, she also gave Connie an injection from the small supply of penicillin in her emergency bag.

  From the corner of her eye, Dee watched Elizabeth’s brow arch, then she nodded to herself. But the nurse kept quiet.

  “How long was she under?” Dee asked Dusty.

  He glanced at his watch. “Twelve minutes. You work fast.”

  Dee stretched her neck and carefully peeled off her gloves. They would have to be sterilized and reused. She didn’t have many in her bag.

  “She’s waking up,” Elizabeth announced.

  “Good. We can move her to the recovery room in a few minutes. I want to make sure she’s not nauseated from the ether. We don’t want her popping any stitches.”

  “Miz Masters told me a woman doctor was in here operating. I wasn’t sure I believed her.”

  “Do you now?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I do. I have a lot of questions.”

  “We’ll get to them,” Dee promised before she turned to her patient. “Connie? Can you hear me? I want you to take nice, slow breaths.” She took the young woman’s hand in hers. “If you can understand me, squeeze my hand.”

  After a faint squeeze of her fingers, Dee relaxed. “Good girl. They got you here in time and I was able to remove your appendix. You need to rest and recuperate.”<
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  Connie’s eyelids fluttered and she slipped into sleep, her breathing slow and deep. Normal.

  “Should we move her, Doctor?”

  “Not yet. She’s fine there for now so I can keep an eye on her.”

  As Elizabeth began cleaning the instruments, Dee added, “Go ahead and sterilize these in the alcohol. I want to wrap them after you’ve finished to keep them out of the air as much as possible.”

  Dee sensed Dusty moving behind her, and she moaned softly as he massaged her shoulders and down her back. “You were incredible,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Oh yeah? You should see me walk the high wire.” Surgery she could do. Being in the wrong century threw her. Not to mention three emergency procedures since she’d arrived. Damn.

  “I believe you could.” He nipped her earlobe and she chuckled.

  “Guess I’d better face the audience.”

  “You don’t have to,” Dusty assured her.

  Dee shook her head and stepped out into the foyer. The two men who had carried Connie in were waiting, along with several other people Dee hadn’t seen before. Mrs. Haas must have been regaling them with details of the surgery, relishing her role in the rendition of what sounded like a gory tale.

  They all stopped and stared at her as she joined them. More than one examined the exposed denim visible beneath her lab coat.

  “I believe Miss Everett is going to be fine. I want to keep her here for a few days. We’ll have her up and walking some tomorrow.”

  Those words drew a gasp from nearly everyone in the assemblage.

  “Up and walking? But you did surgery,” someone in the little group protested.

  “Yes. The longer a person stays in bed following surgery, the longer their recovery. Moving around keeps the chance of pneumonia and blood clots down.”

  “I’ve never heard of such—”

  “Woman doctor—”

  “Strange notions—”

  Dee let them talk. Connie was her patient and she knew better than these people how to treat her. There was no penicillin currently on the market, if memory served. Lister and Pasteur were alive, though commercial use of their common products would come later. What was used now? Sulfur? She needed to check Dr. Tillman’s notes. Could she grow her own penicillin? She only had the one vial in her bag. How many other things had she always taken for granted? When had Joseph Lister done his work?