Her Healing Ways

by Lyn Cote

  Mercy didn’t, couldn’t pause in her surgery. “I’m very sorry, but I must ask thee to step away. I am at a very delicate part of the operation and cannot allow any distractions.” From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed an older man.

  “You stop that right now. I’ll take over. I’m a qualified physician. No nurse is up to this kind of surgery.”

  “I, too, am a qualified physician,” Mercy said, keeping her main focus on the operation.

  He grabbed her arm.

  Wild outrage shot through Mercy. Digger’s life hung in the balance. “Get this man off me!” she called out. “He’s keeping me from my work! Digger could die!”

  A number of women hurried over. “Let go of Dr. Mercy. She’s right in the middle—”

  Hot words boiled out of the man, and he did not release Mercy’s arm.

  So Mercy did something she had never done before. She kicked the man’s shin as hard as she could and swung her hip at him, knocking him off balance. Releasing his grip, he fell, shouting a curse.

  Hot anger bubbling, Mercy continued suturing. She heard the door open and Ellen’s voice.

  Pastor Willis hurried over and helped the man up, but guided him away from Mercy. “Who are you, sir?”

  “I am Dr. Gideon Drinkwater. I practice medicine in Boise. The sheriff got a telegraph about the mine cave-in and I came to treat the injured. What do you mean by letting a woman perform surgery?”

  “Dr. Gabriel is a qualified physician—”

  “She’s lying,” the man objected. “There is no such thing as a qualified female doctor. No medical college admits them.”

  “I’ve seen her diploma from the Female College of Medicine in Pennsylvania. She helped end our recent cholera epidemic. And by the way,” Pastor Willis added in a stern tone, “we telegraphed Boise for help with the cholera, but no doctor came that time.”

  Mercy had forgotten that. She wondered what excuse this doctor would use for not coming to help then.

  “There is no cure for cholera,” the doctor grumbled. “I thought my efforts would be wasted here.”

  “Well, thanks be to God, our Dr. Gabriel didn’t take that attitude,” Pastor Willis said. “We only lost some seventy souls when we might have lost nearly half our population.”

  “That is neither here nor there,” Dr. Drinkwater said, sounding cross. “You can’t let a woman practice medicine here. I won’t stand for it.”

  Mercy tried to ignore her irritation, tried to block out the man’s blustering words. Her hands needed to remain steady.

  “Why do you have to stand for anything?” Ellen’s clear voice rang out. “Dr. Mercy is taking care of things. You’re not needed here.”

  Not needed? Mercy realized that she must intervene. She steadied herself, dampening her buzzing exasperation with the man. “Thank thee for thy support, Ellen, but this is only the first wave of survivors. We don’t know how many patients will be needing medical help. Dr. Drinkwater, why doesn’t thee observe me and see if I am equal to the task?”

  “I will do nothing of the sort,” he snapped. “I will not lower myself to work alongside a female who is posing as a physician. Either this woman goes, or I go.”

  “Well, go then,” Ellen said. “We know what Dr. Mercy can do. We don’t know how good a doctor you are.”

  Dr. Drinkwater sputtered and marched out.

  Troubled, Mercy concentrated on doing the rest of the operation without being distracted. She sent a prayer for wisdom heavenward and went on with her intricate work.

  Having two doctors would certainly increase the injured miners’ chances for survival. If she stood down and let this doctor have his way, they’d be down to one doctor again. Both of them were needed. Would prejudice against her cost lives?

  When Mercy had finished the surgery and washed up, she walked outside. Weariness had invaded her very flesh. Her back ached; her feet were wooden from standing so long while operating. And now she must contend with the same old hostility. How could she convince this doctor that they needed to work together?

  After the storm, the air was cool and clear, the wind gentle. Nearby, under an oak tree whose leaves were turning bronze, the doctor and the pastor were sitting on chairs, talking. Now she saw that the doctor must be in his later middle years with a pronounced paunch, the Boise doctor had salt-and-pepper hair and an ill-natured expression. Mercy prayed silently as she approached the two. “Now I am free to talk.”

  Both men stood until she sank down on a third chair. Then Dr. Drinkwater snapped, “Did the poor man survive your butchery then?”

  Mercy looked him in the eye. “I assisted in thousands of amputations while nursing during the war.”

  “I’ll probably have to fix what you have botched.”

  Mercy merely stared at the man. Indeed, she was too tired to argue. Crows cawed in the distance. The sound mimicked the doctor’s tone and voice. Ellen joined the threesome.

  Finally, taking a deep breath, Mercy looked once again into the doctor’s hostile gaze. “Gideon Drinkwater, I am a free woman and a qualified physician.”

  Drinkwater cut in, speaking to Pastor Willis. “I won’t practice medicine here if—”

  “Neither of us knows how many injured there may be,” Mercy interrupted. “If thee goes, I will continue trying to save as many lives as I can. But I believe that there will be more injured than one doctor can successfully treat alone. Will thee let men die because thee disapproves of me?”

  “Let’s have no more time-wasting discussion,” Ellen said, attempting to soothe tempers. “We need two doctors and we now have two hospitals. The church at the other end of town is ready for you, Dr. Drinkwater. You won’t even need to see Dr. Gabriel.”

  “Excellent!” Pastor Willis beamed at her. “Just the solution we need. Thank you, Mrs. Dunfield. I’ll walk the doctor to the church.” The pastor turned to the obviously aggravated man. “Let’s be going then. We don’t have time to waste.”

  Gideon Drinkwater rose and gave Mercy a scathing look. “This is not over, madam.” He turned and marched away.

  “Good riddance,” Ellen whispered when the men were out of hearing distance.

  Mercy just sank back farther in her chair. She believed Gideon Drinkwater’s threat. He would do what he could to make matters even harder for her than they were. But she wouldn’t think about that now. “Ellen, how are things at the mine?”

  “They’re working their way through the rock that sealed off the original cave-in. They’re making good…progress.” Ellen’s voice broke on the final word.

  Mercy gripped the woman’s hand. “I am praying that thy good husband will be restored to thee.”

  Ellen nodded, holding back her tears.

  After dark, Lon shuffled as quietly as possible into the dimly lit church hospital where he’d been told Mercy was treating patients. The smell of carbolic acid hung in the air. The work at the mine was done. All around him, people had rejoiced that every miner, living or dead, had been found and brought out. For him, there was no joy and no going back to the saloon tonight to celebrate. The cave-in, the storm and the avalanche had sucked him dry. He should have just gone back to his cot in the saloon and picked up the thread of his normal life there, continuing with his plan to leave Idaho Bend behind.

  But, try as he might, he had been unable to stop himself from seeking out Mercy. Before he could speak her name, she was there in front of him. Her flaxen hair glimmered in the low candle and lamplight.

  “Thee needs some nourishment and rest.” Just as she had the first day they met, when she’d served him coffee, Mercy tended him now. She took him firmly by the arm and led him to the front of the church hospital where the pulpit had been pushed to one side. Tall shadows danced on the walls. She opened the back door and said in a low voice, “Lon Mackey is here. Will thee bring him a bowl of stew and coffee, please?”

  He wished she didn’t always do that, try to take care of him. “I hear you have competition,” Lon said gruffly
.

  Mercy led him to a chair and pushed him gently into it. “A very opinionated man, unfortunately.” She sounded only mildly interested. “I just finished treating my last patient. Soon I will be checking on all here again. Since you have come, it must mean…” She fell silent and touched his arm.

  Her words caused him physical pain. He rubbed the back of his neck and forced his lungs to inflate. “About two hours ago, we broke through the final barrier and all the injured…and deceased have been removed from the mine.” The memory of the crushed and broken bodies that had been tenderly carried out knotted around his lungs. Tears hovered just below the surface.

  I shouldn’t have come here—come to her. But he had been unable to stop himself. The desire to be in this woman’s consoling presence had been undeniable, uncontainable. He bent his head over his folded hands. She took his hand and held it. He didn’t pull away. Couldn’t.

  Then Mercy cleared her throat. “Thee took the remaining injured to the other church then?”

  “The last two living, one of them was Dunfield.”

  “I’m so glad James Dunfield came out alive,” she said, sounding more worried than relieved.

  Maybe they should have brought Dunfield here to her, instead of the Boise doctor, but they had been told there was no more room. He couldn’t stop the old feelings of loss and failure that the past hours had reignited. He’d done his best but, as always, it wasn’t enough. Why hadn’t he just stayed at the saloon? Why couldn’t he have just been another rescue worker? Why did people turn to him? A bleak silence stretched between them.

  The back door opened and he dropped her hand. He recognized the pastor’s petite wife and thanked her for the large bowl of stew and mug of coffee she’d brought him. “After this,” the woman said in a stern, motherly tone, “you should get some sleep. You look played out.”

  “I am. Thank you, ma’am.”

  “They tell me you’re a gambler. And that after the avalanche, your quick action saved lives. I think your talents would be better used in a different line of work.” With that admonition, she turned and went back outside to the detached kitchen.

  Mercy had the nerve to chuckle softly. “She has a point.”

  Their levity fired his anger. “I told you I like living a free life—”

  “Lon Mackey, thee may fool others, though in light of the past day, I doubt it. Thee didn’t demand the lead in the rescuing effort, but thee was there. And everyone turned to thee without thee saying a word. Leadership is a quality that some are born with. Thee was born for command.”

  He couldn’t curse in her presence though he sorely wanted to. “I don’t want to lead. I just want to be left alone.”

  Mercy merely shook her head at him. “Eat thy food and then it will be time to rest.”

  He began spooning up the venison stew. It tasted better than he’d expected and he resented that. He didn’t deserve good stew and comfort. Men had died.

  At least the Quaker let him eat in silence. He hoped she would fall asleep where she sat and then he could just slip away. Why did I come here? She can’t do anything for me, for the way I feel.

  “Why aren’t you resting?” he asked, unable to hold back the words, letting his ill grace be heard.

  Mercy looked up. “I am going to. Indigo fell sound asleep when she sat down over there.” Mercy gestured to the shadows near the far wall. “When she wakes, I’ll lie down and sleep.”

  “And if someone’s wound reopens, you’ll just tell him you need your rest so they should stop bleeding, right?” he growled, scraping up the last of the stew.

  She said nothing, making him feel like a scoundrel. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. He’d spoken the truth about this woman. Mercy Gabriel couldn’t help herself. She was impelled to help sometimes thankless people. For some reason, that made him angry. He set the empty bowl on the floor and began sipping the strong, hot coffee.

  “Lon Mackey, thee has carried a heavy load and not just yesterday and today,” she said at last. “I don’t blame thee for seeking some ease, some pleasure. When I think of the war, I wonder how I survived it. How any of us survived it.”

  She passed a hand over her forehead as if she had a headache. “I often wonder if the men who framed our Constitution to continue the practice of slavery would have changed their minds if they had known what it would cost their grandchildren in human suffering.”

  “I’m not in the mood for a philosophical discussion,” he said, hating the disdain in his harsh voice. He drained the last of his coffee and set the cup by the bowl on the floor.

  “It is not thy fault that all the miners were not saved, Lon.” Mercy’s rich, low voice flowed over him. But it didn’t soothe him; it raised his hackles.

  “Thee did thy best, and some lived who would have died if thee hadn’t stepped in to lead.”

  “I don’t care!” He said the words with a force that surprised even him. He jumped to his feet, suddenly enraged.

  “Thee does care. That’s why thee is so angry.”

  He had to stop her words, make her stop prying up the scab that covered unhealed wounds.

  “Lon, thee is a good—”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her. This halted her words, but it also unleashed something within him. She was so very soft, so womanly in his arms. The sensation was intoxicating. How long had it been since he’d held a woman close and kissed her?

  Mercy’s gasp of surprise died on Lon Mackey’s lips. No man had ever touched her like this. No man had ever kissed her. Sensations she’d never experienced rushed through her, overpowering, uplifting, breathtaking.

  Lon pulled her tighter, and she reveled in the contact with his firm chest. The strong arms wrapped around her gave her a sense of sanctuary she’d never known. So this was what the poets wrote of…

  Suddenly, Lon thrust her from him and rushed down the center aisle and out the front double doors. Mercy stood, blinking in stunned silence, and then she sank into her chair. The quiet of the church hospital was disturbed by a loud moan. Mercy rose and went to Pierre, who was writhing in his sleep.

  She touched her wrist to his forehead. Just a slight fever. She sank to her knees on the hard floor beside him and prayed that he would regain consciousness.

  As she prayed, Lon’s kiss kept intruding on her thoughts. She remembered everything—the strength of his arms, the stubble on his chin rubbing her face, his lips moving on hers. She tried to block it out, but couldn’t.

  Why did he kiss me? She had done nothing but try to encourage him to accept who he was. Was that so hard for him to do? Then her conscience pinched her. She was not always up to carrying on her work, either.

  After the cholera epidemic, hadn’t she spent a gloomy time in the back room of the mining office, trying to hide from who she was? And after the horrible words had been soaped onto Jacob Tarver’s window, hadn’t she been tempted to withdraw again? Forgive me, Lord. I’m not invincible, either.

  “Both Lon and I have been called to step out from the crowd,” she murmured aloud in the darkened church, “called to carry more responsibility than most.” She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. She slid down to lie on the floor, too exhausted to move.

  “It’s hard, Father,” she whispered, gazing up at the dark ceiling. “How can I help Lon heal and be the man—the leader—you created him to be?”

  Mercy woke, the floor hard beneath her. All was quiet. She felt a few moments of disorientation. Where was she? Then she recognized the sound of Indigo’s footsteps as she moved through the aisles, checking on her patients.

  The memory of Lon’s kiss assaulted her senses, bringing her fully awake. She couldn’t deny the kiss’s effect on her. But had he simply done it to stop her words? She had made him angry with the truth, she was certain of that. But though she knew little of kissing, Lon had not appeared untouched by the kiss, either. Intuitively, she realized he would not have kissed her only to silence her. He never did anything from casual m
otives.

  What if Lon kissed her again? What if he never kissed her again? The second question caused her the more powerful reaction. She realized she wanted Lon to kiss her again. But kissing Lon Mackey didn’t mesh with her calling. Hers was a lonely path. Now she truly experienced a loneliness she had never anticipated. She had put her hand to the scalpel and now couldn’t turn back. No man, not even Lon, would want a wife who was a doctor. Who could argue with that truth?

  Two days later, holding her gray wool shawl tight around her, Mercy stood on the church steps. She watched another funeral procession make its solemn way to the town cemetery. These processions took place every morning and afternoon. The mortician and the town pastors were busy all day and each evening, preparing the dead and comforting the mourning. Mercy’s heart went out to the widows and orphans who walked behind the wagon bearing their loved ones. As the flag-draped bier passed, she bowed her head in respect.

  When she looked up, she saw two men approaching. Gideon Drinkwater, fire in his eyes, and behind him, Lon. She drew herself up and called upon God for strength and wisdom for the coming battle. “Good day, Gideon Drinkwater.” She smiled.

  “I have never approved of Quakers,” he snapped. “Letting women think they are the equal of men is a dangerous idea. Now, I’ve done all I can for the patients sent to me first. I’m going to check on your patients and do what I can for them—”

  “I am afraid that I cannot allow thee to do that.” She had prepared for this. Usually Quakers did not believe in arguing with others, preferring to turn the other cheek. However, Mercy had decided that to permit this man to treat her patients would be to admit she was not a qualified physician and his equal. More importantly, since she had been told by the relatives of patients that this doctor did not practice sanitary medicine, he could actually do harm to her patients.

  “Thee knows that no doctor presumes to encroach on the patients of another.”

  The man made a scornful sound and tried to push past her.

  Lon hurried forward. “Stop that.”

  Gideon thrust her aside. Mercy lost her footing and fell. She gasped. Lon shouted in disapproval as people rushed forward. Lon jerked the doctor around and put up his fists as if challenging him to a fight. Women helped Mercy to her feet.