The Song Weaver

by BJ Hoff

She was watching him. “Your shirt, Mr. MacAuley. Here, let me help you.”

  Matthew fumbled at the buttons. “I’ll do it.” Ach, this is mortifying.

  Yet when the shirt was off and she began to work on his arm, something about her quick, precise touch wasn’t nearly as awkward as he’d expected. It was a lot like having Doc Woodbridge work on him. Except that Dr. Gordon didn’t pinch or press as hard as the company doctor. Matthew always had thought Lebreen Woodbridge enjoyed his work a bit too much.

  “We’re in luck, Mr. MacAuley. It’s only your upper arm that’s affected.”

  What is this “we” business? There is nothing wrong with her arm, after all. And didn’t he already know it was his upper arm where the bone had broke? He knew more about broken bones than he’d like to, and that was the truth.

  “You won’t need a cast. I’ll just splint it, and you can use a sling.”

  “No cast?”

  Did the woman really know what she was doing? Doc Woodbridge always used a cast with broken bones.

  He didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved. “Then I can work.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Well, no. Not for a few weeks. You’ll have to give the bone time to heal.”

  “A few weeks? I can’t lay off for weeks!”

  She flipped a strand of spiraling silver hair out of her face. Matthew had never known a woman—especially one her age—to wear her hair hanging in such a way. How could she see what she was doing? Besides, it wasn’t seemly. Not at all.

  Of course, the doctor didn’t have a husband. Or did she? He wondered if there was or had ever been a Mister Gordon. Probably not. What self-respecting man would marry himself to a woman who spent her days gallivanting around the countryside delivering babies and working on half-dressed men? He couldn’t think of a man in Skingle Creek who would put up with that kind of brass.

  “I have to work,” he said flatly. “There’s no way I can lay off for any length of time. I have a family to feed.”

  She was doing something across the room at a counter, her back turned toward him. “You won’t do your family any favors by making yourself worse. I expect you’re right-handed? I can tell you that if you want the full use of your arm back, you have to let it heal before you go back to work.”

  Before Matthew could manage a sharp retort, she said, “You’ve had your back broken too, haven’t you? And your shoulder? Kate mentioned it to me.”

  She calls my wife Kate, not Mrs. MacAuley. When did the two of them get so chummy?

  He swallowed. He knew when. Still, he didn’t like it. Not that her impudence was likely to rub off on Kate. Kate was a lady. She knew how to behave.

  “Aye, I’ve had some breaks,” he said sullenly.

  “And your knee as well?”

  “That too. Doc Woodbridge said it was crushed pretty bad.”

  “I expect you live with a fair share of pain, given all that.”

  Oh, I have some pain, all right. That I do. Matthew said nothing.

  She came back to him, continuing to talk as she worked. To Matthew’s surprise, it was over within minutes—and with an unexpected minimum of pain.

  “I’ll send some pain medicine home with you. You’ll probably need it, at least for the next couple of days. And have Kate help you put ice on the break every few hours,” she said. “Keep the sling in place the rest of the time.”

  “I’ll need you to sign me off,” Matthew said, bearing more humiliation as she helped him on with his shirt. “But not for weeks, mind. A couple of days only.”

  She straightened, her expression stern. “Mr. MacAuley, a couple of days won’t do. Besides, just how do you plan to work with a broken arm?”

  Matthew started to lift his shoulder, but winced with the movement.

  The doctor’s expression softened a little, which for some unaccountable reason irritated Matthew.

  “I know you have to work, Mr. MacAuley. I understand. But—”

  “No offense, ma’am, but I doubt that.”

  She frowned.

  “I doubt that you understand.”

  She studied him for a long moment. “I might understand more than you think I do.”

  Still perched on the end of the examining table, Matthew thought about that. “Why do you do it?”

  His question seemed to puzzle her.

  “Are jobs that scarce for lady doctors?”

  To Matthew’s surprise, she laughed. “Well, I’ll be honest, Mr. MacAuley, we can’t go pulling them off trees.”

  “That’s the reason you came here then, to Skingle Creek? Because it was all you could find?”

  She still looked amused. With a shake of her head, she replied, “No. I came here to get out of the city. And I wanted a private practice I could actually call my own. In Philadelphia I was subject to the whims of a few good old boys who allowed me only conditional hospital privileges.”

  She paused and then went on. “I was very proud when I was younger. Too proud. I thought I was such a fine physician I could overcome the best the male doctors had to offer. But I had to eat too, and for a long time the only patients who came my way were indigents. I helped as many as I could, but eventually I ran out of money.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am, but you’ve picked a poor place to eke out a living. This is a dirt-poor town as it is. And miners are never going to take kindly to a woman tending to them. They’re proud men.”

  “Yes, I’ve caught on to that,” she said, her tone dry. “Let me be blunt, Mr. MacAuley. You might say I’m an independent sort. I wanted the freedom to practice medicine my way. When my husband died, I had no ties to the city, so I opted for a new start. It was time.”

  So she had been married. Matthew felt a bit sheepish at his earlier supposition that a woman like herself couldn’t get a man. Yet some perverse streak turned his sheepishness to petulance. Her reasons seemed sound enough, but shouldn’t she limit her doctoring to women?

  “I have no illusions that the men will line up to fill my patient list. But not everyone in the county is male. I believe, in time, at least some of their wives and daughters will find their way to my door.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it, ma’am,” he said, his voice sounding more gruff than he’d intended. “The Company deducts from our wages to take care of our doctor bills, and everyone’s used to Doc Woodbridge—though in truth, I don’t hold him in such high regard.”

  She took her time answering. “Think about this. You know how awkward you feel, being a man and having to subject yourself to a woman doctor? Just having me set a broken bone was difficult for you. Well, what do you think it’s like for a woman who has to depend on a man for all of her medical care—even her most intimate care? Do you know what often happens? Women simply don’t see a doctor at all unless it’s a matter of life or death, and sometimes not even then.”

  Matthew had no comeback for that. She had a valid point, and he knew it. More than once Kate had waited out a problem rather than subject herself to Lebreen Woodbridge. And Eva Grace had also been dead-set against going to Woodbridge.

  “I’m a good doctor, Mr. MacAuley. If the people around here will give me a chance, I can help them. And I can help you if you’ll let me.”

  Matthew shot her a look.

  Saying nothing, she turned and went to the counter, opened a long, wide drawer beneath and pulled out an odd-looking contraption. She brought it back to him. “I believe this will help your back if you’ll wear it.”

  Matthew didn’t know what to make of the thing she was holding up in front of him. It looked…well, it looked just a little like a corset.

  “It’s a back brace,” she told him. “I’ve seen the way you walk, and if I’m not mistaken, you’re in constant pain. This will support your back, which will ease the pain. I wish you’d try it. Just wear it through the day, not at night. Oh, and one more thing.”

  Again she crossed the room, this time opening a door to the cabinet above the counter. When she c
ame back to him, she had something in her hand that looked like a long, stiff sock, but with clamps on it. “Slip this over your knee when you’re working or when you’re going to be walking any distance. Use the clamps to secure it and keep it tight. It will help brace your knee and keep it straight.”

  “I don’t have time to bother with such contraptions. Besides, I’m not in that bad of shape. Doc Woodbridge gives me medicine for the pain when I need it.”

  Something flared in her eyes. “What kind of medicine?”

  “Well, I don’t know what it is,” Matthew grumbled. “Just pain powders.”

  “Does it help?”

  Matthew didn’t answer right away, but the bullish expression on the woman’s face plainly said she was waiting for a reply.

  “I only take it at night.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because it makes me too tired and sluggish to work, that’s why! A miner can’t be crawling around underground without all his wits.”

  Faith, and wasn’t she a harridan!

  “It’s laudanum, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know exactly what it is. It might be that, aye. Are you done with me?”

  “Take the braces, Mr. MacAuley,” she said quietly. “At least try them. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for your wife. She worries about you.”

  Now that was too much. She was overstepping her place. Matthew didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent.

  The doctor regarded him with a look that made him think she had something more to say. And so she did. “I wish you’d take the pain medicine I’m going to give you instead of the laudanum. You’re not as likely to become dependent on it. And Mr. MacAuley? If you’re concerned about paying me, you needn’t be. You don’t owe me anything for today.”

  It struck Matthew then that part of his resentment toward the woman might not be due entirely to her boldness. It might also have to do with the fact that they still owed her for taking care of Eva Grace. He was paying her, a bit at a time, but they were still in debt to her for more. But Evie had wanted her, so they’d gone along with her wishes. And now he’d be owing this woman for who knew how long a time.

  “You’ll be paid,” he muttered. “It might take me a spell though.”

  “I said it’s not necessary—”

  “I pay my own way.”

  Again she studied him. “Yes, I know you do.” She paused. “Well, you’re set to go then,” she said, her tone brisk. “I’ll just write a note for you.”

  When she returned with a slip of paper, she handed it to him with a smile. “I expect Dr. Woodbridge will be back before you need to be seen again. But in case he’s not, I hope you—or your family—will feel free to get in touch if necessary. And you do need to let me—or Dr. Woodbridge—check your arm in about ten days.”

  He stood and she continued to face him. “I’ll make you a deal, Mr. MacAuley.”

  Matthew eyed her, suspicion adding to his aggravation. “What kind of a deal?”

  “You wear the back brace and the knee support for six weeks. If they don’t help, give them back and I’ll not say a word. And I’ll wipe the bill you’re so intent on paying off my books. But if they do help, you’ll put in a good word for me with some of the men and their families. Let them know they can trust me. Especially,” she added with a faint smile, “the women.”

  Matthew gave her a long, hard look. Without a word he reached behind him to retrieve the contraptions she’d left on the examining table.

  “I’ll think on it, ma’am,” he said, crossing to the door.

  “Mr. MacAuley?”

  Matthew stopped and turned. “Aye?”

  “Please don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ ”

  Again Matthew turned, making a supreme effort not to drag his bad leg as he started for the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Changes of the Heart

  The innocent and the beautiful

  Have no enemy but time.

  W.B. Yeats

  It was hard to watch a man like her husband suffer idleness. Matthew had never known the meaning of the word except for those times when he’d been injured. Even then he’d always done his best to keep busy.

  Kate had always counted herself blessed to be the wife of a man who hadn’t a slothful bone in his body. All she had to do was look about her home, which at one time had been a typical coal company camp house, and she was reminded to give thanks for her man.

  While other less fortunate families shivered and grew ill through the raw winters, Matthew saw to it that their hastily, inexpensively built house was insulated with weather boarding. The only drafts in the MacAuley house rose from the thin floors, which even Matthew hadn’t been able to do much about. The windows were few and poorly fitted, but he filled the cracks with putty each year. In the worst of winters he tacked cardboard or oilcloth over them to keep in as much heat as possible. Knotholes and cracks were filled nearly as soon as they appeared, and Kate prided herself on being married to one of the few men in Skingle Creek who allowed not a single leak in the roof to go unattended longer than necessary.

  Thanks to Matthew, their home was warmer and dryer than most. Indeed, Kate was convinced that her husband’s industriousness was one of the primary reasons their children stayed as healthy as they did, even in the harshest of weather. Her husband was the kind of man who brooked no laziness, not from himself or from his family. So finding himself in a position where he was useless at the mine and could do only minor chores about the house gnawed at him like a starving wolf.

  The only thing that helped take some of the bite out of this particular turn of idleness was the fact that he still had the use of one good arm—and the presence of wee Gracie. As the only one of their grandchildren they’d ever had close by, and because of the loss of Eva Grace, the baby was doubly dear to them.

  Finally they experienced first-hand the joy of being grandparents. Although he liked to tease Kate that she would spoil their infant granddaughter, to Kate’s way of thinking Matthew was doing a far more thorough job of it than she ever could.

  Early Friday afternoon, a few days after the explosion at the mine, she stood at the doorway of the front room, watching her husband with Gracie. Matthew was entirely unaware of her scrutiny as he cradled the babe in the crook of his good arm, bracing her bottle with his broken one as he fed her. Every now and again Gracie would stop tugging at the nipple and simply go still, studying him as if she found him the most intriguing sight ever. As for Matthew, he wore a smile that could crack his face in half.

  Next week things would go back to a more normal routine again. Judson Tallman, the mine superintendent, had assigned Matthew to the temporary job of cleaning and counting tools and equipment, as well as other tasks he could perform with one good arm. At least it would keep some pay coming in, if not as much as he made working the coal.

  Savoring the sweetness of this moment, Kate watched them for a long time. It was a bittersweet scene, one that reminded her of the days of Eva Grace’s infancy. Her eyes stung with the memory. Gracie’s golden hair, Matthew’s tenderness as he studied her—it didn’t seem that long ago that he had held their firstborn daughter just like this. Now it was the daughter of their firstborn who captured his attention.

  Matthew had never been a man to shirk his role in caring for their babes, as was the case with some of the other husbands in town. He had seemed to enjoy tending to the children when they were tiny, even changing their diapers when necessary.

  Kate had watched him with Eva Grace often enough to realize that he treasured those intimate hours with his tiny daughter. Indeed, the children’s infant years were the only time he allowed himself to be softhearted and playful with them. As they grew older, he gradually turned most of their care over to Kate. Once they were of school age, he found it difficult to be easy with them, to be…soft with them. Consequently, she used to worry that the girls and Ray might grow up without knowing how much their father really loved them
.

  Somehow, though, they knew. Even Ray, despite his tendency to test his father’s patience in the worst way, seemed to know he was loved—and loved deeply. Kate had seen it every now and then in the expression that would cross the boy’s face when Matthew paid him an unexpected bit of praise for a job well done or slung an arm around his shoulder as they headed off to the woods on a hunting expedition.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t enjoy it so much, but she loved having Matthew at home. Not only was he company for her, but she felt…safer. What with Richard Barlow’s threat to claim Gracie constantly hanging over them and the fear that he might show up at any time, she scarcely drew a deep breath these days. But with Matthew in the house, she didn’t worry quite as much. Even with a broken arm and a lame leg, he was a stronger, brawnier man than most. Eva Grace’s awful husband would find himself faced with a formidable opponent should he try to take wee Gracie away from them.

  As if sensing her scrutiny, Matthew turned to look. “Does she always take it all?” he asked, indicating the empty bottle.

  “She does,” Kate said, walking over to the rocking chair to stand beside them. “Indeed, there are times when I believe she’d actually take another if I’d give it to her.”

  Matthew turned back to the baby. “No wonder you’re such a pudding of a girl.”

  “And didn’t you always say there would be no skinny babes at the MacAuley house?”

  He chuckled. “I did, didn’t I? Well, there’s no worry about that with this one.” He studied the babe in his arms, who regarded him right back just as intently. “She’s a pretty wee thing, isn’t she?”

  “Like her mother,” Kate said, thinking back to a different time.

  “Aye, like her mother,” Matthew said softly, and Kate knew that he too was remembering.

  Jonathan loved his work. He was altogether convinced that the teaching profession brought him more fulfillment, a greater sense of accomplishment, and a more contented life than world renown or great riches ever could have. Nevertheless, he was glad it was Friday.

  That hadn’t always been the case. Before he and Maggie were married, he’d often dreaded the final school day of the week. In fact, some weekends he’d actually suffered a mild case of depression. Coming home to an empty house at the end of the week had been a source of discontent and restlessness. Those Fridays when he was without plans for dinner with friends or a social event at the church, he’d had to fight against an encroaching loneliness.