Wanted: Medicine Man (Silverpines Book 5)

by Christine Sterling

  “Where is that?”

  “The small town in Pennsylvania? East Falls, near Philadelphia.” She put Kijab on the ground and allowed him to walk while she held his hand. “I’m looking for a temporary nanny for this little one. So, we are going to Victoria Davenport's house, who has graciously said she would watch him while I tend to patients. Her husband was killed, and she refuses to come out of her home. She doesn't even go to the mercantile anymore.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “About a week after the disaster.”

  “That is more than just grieving.”

  “Yes, it is. When you have your heart torn out and cannot be with the one you are supposed to be connected to, it is more than just grieving.”

  “Have you addressed it with her?”

  “Why? She is safe, I check on her daily. When she is ready she will discuss it. Until then, she knows where I am and that I care for her.”

  “You are different than any other woman I've ever met, Hattie.”

  “Not many Indians out East?” Hattie smiled.

  “Not at Boston General.”

  “Well, I am actually half-Indian. My father was the Shaman, or Medicine Man from the Omaha tribe in Northeast Nebraska. He met and married my mother who was a missionary in the nearby town. I like to think that it was a romantic type of love, but I’m sure that it was more like she was captured by the tribe. Neither side approved of them marrying, but I do know that she loved him greatly. And I was his, Shiézhidázi.”

  “Shiézhidázi?” Robert allowed the syllables to roll over his tongue.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Literally, it means not childlike. But I think the term you would recognize is old soul. My grandfather said I was going to be reborn in this life from all the knowledge I kept acquiring.”

  “Reborn as in reincarnated?”

  “No, not that. I don’t believe in reincarnation as some tribes do. I am not quite sure what he means yet.”

  “Were you raised with the tribe?”

  “Until I was 8. My father died in a hunting accident and my mother died shortly there afterwards. I was convinced it was a broken heart, but it was tuberculosis. There wasn’t a healer in the village at that time, and none of the white doctors would treat a woman who was married to an Indian.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I stayed with my elder grandfather until a new group of missionaries came through. I was fortunate enough to go with them when they left.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “We travelled quite a bit. The Richards adopted eight children! Eight, can you image that?”

  “So, you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Oh, no sisters. Just brothers. Seven of them.”

  “Oh my. Are your adoptive parents still living?”

  “Momma is. Poppa, no. My adoptive parents were devoted to each other. When Poppa Richards, became ill, Momma spent every waking moment taking care of him. She wouldn’t allow anyone to help. I was going to quit school and come home to take care of him, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Sent my brother to make sure I continued my studies. After he died, she didn’t recover. She is now in an asylum on the East Coast.”

  “And that is why you are doing your best to help these women whose husbands were hurt.”

  “Yes. “

  “Even if they don't appreciate anything you do.”

  “Yes. I don't want anyone to have to go through losing their true love. I believe that with God’s love any heart can be healed.”

  “What about you, Hattie?”

  “I don't know what you mean?”

  “Your husband. Did you lose him? Have you had time to grieve?”

  “No, Robert. There is no one for me. I will never allow myself to fall in love with anyone.”

  “But what about your son? You mean you weren't with his...”

  “Oh, look, here we are. Go on, Kijab, you run ahead now,” she said putting the child down. He ran up the path to the door and knocked on it. When it opened he threw himself into the arms of the petite woman. “Vic-ta,” he called her. Victoria gave him a kiss on the head before ushering him inside.

  “Good morning, Hattie,” she called. “Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

  “Not this morning, unfortunately. How about I stop by this afternoon and we can have a chat and game of Hearts? I’ll also bring your order from the shop when I return.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Who is that with you?” Victoria asked, pointing at Hattie's companion.

  “Oh, forgive me. Mrs. Victoria Davenport, let me introduce Dr. Robert Childs. He's from Boston.”

  “What brings you to Silverpines, Dr. Childs?”

  Before he could answer, Hattie interrupted. “I sent a request for one of the universities to send me a student physician. I guess it went all the way to Boston and lucky me, instead of a student I get a real doctor. “

  “But Hattie, you are...” Victoria started.

  “Hattie,” Robert began at the same time.

  “Well, we need to be off now. I'll check in with you later today.” She gave a little wave and started down the path, not inviting further conversation.

  Victoria started to cry and retreated into her house, dabbing her eyes with her apron.

  “You should try to get her to open up when you see her this afternoon,” Robert said, shaking his head at the distress Victoria was experiencing.

  Hattie ignored him. “The saloon is just a bit away. We will be there shortly.”

  “Hattie,” Robert insisted, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. “I am trying to tell you something.”

  “What?” She sounded exasperated, pulling her arm from his reach and continuing walking towards the saloon. Perhaps she did need to rest more.

  “I am not who you think I am.”

  Hattie stopped at his declaration, looking at Robert and tilting her head to one side. “Are you a doctor?”

  Robert nodded. “I would never lie to you.”

  “Then that is all I need to know.”

  Chapter 3

  The smell of decaying flesh, dirty linens and bedpans was overwhelming. Robert had never experienced such an assault on his senses as now.

  Hattie, however, seemed unphased. She checked on the first few patients and started around the room greeting each patient, checking their wounds and softly asking questions before moving onto the next one. Robert remembered the tin of salve Hattie had provided and rubbed a bit under each nostril. He massaged the extra on his finger into his mustache in hopes that it would keep the odor at bay a little longer.

  He watched Hattie continue to make her way around the room until he saw a woman approaching her. This woman was quite handsome with ivory skin and deep brown hair swept up into a chignon. Robert couldn't determine her age, as she appeared timeless with perfect skin, not a blemish to be seen.

  Hattie continued her discussion with the woman and pointed to areas around the room. She stopped on Robert and waved him over.

  “Dr. Childs, this is Flora Adams. She owns the saloon. These are her girls helping as nurses right now.”

  “You're a Madame?” Robert asked incredulously.

  “I prefer the term business woman, if you please.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Adams. I've never seen an arrangement such as this. Or a saloon owned by a woman.”

  “And with any luck you will never see an arrangement like this again.” Turning her attention back to Hattie, she said, “The whiskey we have left is on the counter. There isn't any more. We have gone through everything and can't get more until the shipments resume. There are a few bottles of gin left. I can have one of the girls bring it up shortly.

  “Thank you, Flora. Who is most critical right now?”

  “Check with Lacy Lou. She's been down here most of the night. I don't think she has slept in two days, poor child. She has been working herself to the bone. A natural at nursing, that one.” Flora pointed t
o the far side of the saloon.

  “Thank you. Have you seen Diamond? I need these sheets cut up into bandages.”

  Flora raised her eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Instead she yelled to a woman who came over and took the basket from Hattie and retreated to the far corner of the saloon where a single table still stood.

  Robert and Hattie found Lacy Lou sitting on the floor next to a cot. She held the hand of a man who appeared asleep. She quietly whispered to him between sniffles. Robert recognized the words that she was speaking over the man on the cot. “Though I walk through the Valley of Death...” Robert silently repeated the prayer. Finally, the rise and fall of the patient's chest stopped. Lacy Lou gave a low “Amen” and looked up.

  “He was one of my best customers,” she said, wiping her eyes. “This bed is free now. I'll go let Marty know.”

  “I can do that. Someone should notify his family too. Let's get him out to be buried.”

  “Who was he?” Robert asked.

  “A lumberjack from Timber Town. He was crushed when a log rolled over him and there was too much damage to save him,” Hattie replied. “I'm going to go get someone to recover the body. Lacy Lou?”

  The young gal looked up. She couldn't be more than 19, but she appeared aged beyond her years. Her eyes were sunken in with dark circles beneath them. “Yes, Miss Hattie?”

  “You did a fine job, Lacy Lou. You should go rest for a bit.”

  “Oh no, Miss Hattie. These folks still need nursing. I couldn't leave them like this.”

  Robert piped up. “You would be better able to serve them if you are rested.”

  “He's right. How about I pick up here and I'll wake you in four hours?”

  Lacy Lou chewed her bottom lip, “I guess I could use the rest. Much appreciated, Miss Hattie. I was going to check on Little Joe over there. He had a rough night, coughing. Most of the rest are still the same as yesterday.” Lacy Lou departed, as Hattie turned to Robert.

  “I need to go get Marty, so he can remove the body. I'll wake up Lacy Lou in eight hours.”

  “But you said four.”

  “I know, but she needs the rest. We can make do, now that I have you to assist me.”

  “Where should I begin?”

  Hattie explained how the saloon was laid out as a triage center. That patients rotated from the far back, towards the front, where the front patients were those that required less care as they were healing and very soon on their way out the door.

  “How about I have you start in the back and you can get a feel for some of what we are dealing with. The goal is to get everyone out in the next few weeks, so Flora can have her saloon back. Whiskey is on the counter, use it sparingly it is all we have. Linens and bandages are in the basket on the counter. Fresh sheets are right next to it. If you change a bed, you can put the soiled ones over there.” Hattie pointed to a bin on the floor. “Tess will be by shortly to pick them up and wash them.”

  Robert's ears perked up. “Tess?”

  “Tess Daniels. Her father was the mortician, but he passed of a lung infection. She now takes in laundry to help support her and her mother. They don't need it, but honestly, I think it allows her to get out of the house. Her Momma can be a little, what's the word? Overbearing.”

  That confirmed Robert's impression from the letter he received.

  “Hattie,” Robert began. “I really think we should discuss...”

  “We need to get busy,” she interrupted gently. “You are going to find time goes by rather quickly here. We can talk later.”

  Robert nodded and picked up his bag before heading towards the back to the first patient.

  ***

  Hattie found Martin Gale, out front of the saloon sitting on a barrel drinking coffee. He was just shy of 16 years and stepped in as one of the few able-bodied men left. Marty, as he was called, took his role very seriously. He assisted Hattie by running errands, gathering supplies and tending to her horses in the livery stable. It allowed him to carve out a little bit of a living since his father had abandoned Marty and his Ma before Hattie ever arrived in Silverpines. His mother, Odessa, suffered from respiratory ailments over the winter so Marty was learning as much as he could from Hattie to take care of her during her recovery.

  “Good morning, Marty.” Hattie said, leaning up against the rail that surrounded the saloon's porch. Flora said she only put it in because it contained the drunks, so they wouldn't fall off the porch into the street.

  “Morning, Miss Hattie. It is turning out to be a beautiful morning.”

  “Yes, it is Marty. How's your Ma?”

  “She's better. Her cough appears less because of that tonic you gave her.”

  “I'm glad. Have her continue using it and if she needs more, stop by the apothecary. I'm there most afternoons. Mr. Harvey has died, and we need to move him to the undertakers. I'm going to have the Marshal inform his family, so they can make arrangements.”

  “Sounds 'bout right.” Marty drained the last of his coffee and put the cup on the barrel. “Let me grab the wheelbarrow and I'll be right there. I can let the Marshal know after I take him to the undertakers.” Hattie nodded as Marty hopped off the porch.

  He soon reappeared, pushing a wooden wheelbarrow that he navigated between the cots lining the floor. Hattie helped him lift the rotund Mr. Harvey into the wheelbarrow and sent him on his way to be buried. Hattie insisted on everyone being buried the same day they died. It wasn't always the wounds that killed people, it was the secondary infections that crept up during the healing process. She didn't want the bodies above ground where they could pose a risk to the rest of the town.

  Clive Adair spent his daytime hours digging holes so that as soon as someone expired they could be laid to rest. He spent his evening hours building plain pine caskets so that the deceased could be buried with the proper respect. No one knew where he came from and no one asked. He just appeared one day and kept to himself. He did the job that no one else wanted – digging graves and building caskets. Hattie hoped that soon those caskets could just stay where they were, lining the walls of his workshop.

  Hattie picked up the dirty sheets and was taking them back to the basket when she heard the sound of laughter. It was Robert laughing with Little Joe. Hattie felt the rush of pressure to her cheeks and her annoyance flared. Little Joe never laughed with her. In fact, none of the patients did. Why did they laugh so easily with a stranger, when she had been taking care of them around the clock for the past few weeks?

  Some were very appreciative of her assistance, and others were vocal in their dislike of being treated by an “Injun Doc”, much less a woman, but not one had ever laughed with her. The insults rolled off her back, but occasionally someone knew exactly how to use their verbal barb to inflict as much damage as possible. She realized that they were simply responding to what they knew. Either stories about the Indian people, or gossip from the likes of the old timers who didn't like change. She knew that quite a few of the stories came from Dr. Hamilton himself. He wasn't known to be above using a slur or two, especially after using chloroform.

  Hattie loved healing. She loved people. She loved the people of the town, especially how they came together after the disaster. She didn't love the ugly side of those she cared for. She recalled Dr. Hamilton's words that an Indian woman had no business taking care of or healing white folks. The town appeared to buy into his sentiments as the ugly words spread like a cancer throughout the mining and logging communities.

  After the disaster there were those that even accused her of causing the storms, due to her ties to the Great Father Sky. What they didn't realize is that although she still had some of her native traditions, she was raised Christian, just like the rest of them. So her Great Father Sky, was actually the Great Father in the Sky, the God of her Bible that laid next to her bed.

  The first few days after the disaster she would fall into bed crying. Partially from sheer exhaustion and partially from the town's treatment. There were a few tha
t came to her defense, but not too many. It would only be a matter of time before Robert's ear was turned. With that in mind she focused on watching him and prayed he was different, even if he was only to be here for a few weeks to help her through this recovery.

  Robert was understanding with each patient and spent time thoroughly listening during his examinations. He appeared to be a very experienced doctor. Much more than Hattie would have expected from a first or second year residency. Perhaps he was all the university had available. Either way she was grateful.

  Hattie got to work on the patients closest to the door, examining their wounds, which appeared to be healing nicely. Handing out salves and tinctures and writing a list of instructions for those that could go back home and continue care there.

  Before long, Hattie felt her tummy rumbling. It reminded her that she had skipped her morning break and hadn't eaten since the night before. Lunch should be arriving shortly, and Hattie was famished. Each of the eating establishments, plus several local families, assisted in the preparation of meals for the patients.

  Right on cue, the doors to the saloon opened and three ladies entered the saloon carrying the mid-day meal.

  Robert was furious. He wanted to lash out from the stories he was hearing as he moved from patient to patient. They either praised Hattie for helping after Doc Hamilton died, or they condemned her, not only for her limited medical knowledge, but for being a woman, not being fast enough in the crisis, being Indian, not having enough whiskey, giving too much whiskey to other patients, using unconventional methods, showing no emotion, showing too much emotion, the responses were all over the board. The Hattie-camp was very divisive. Either you accepted and appreciated her or hated her.

  The wound care was excellent. Most of these folks would recover. The ones that wouldn't had injuries that were so severe that they were just hanging on and Hattie was making their last days comfortable. Some were appreciative of the care, others were very angry and needed to lash out at someone.