Second, she had no equipment, and no money to purchase any.
Third was probably the most difficult obstacle of all. Everyone she talked with had a major attitude problem toward the idea of a woman being a doctor.
It galled Paige, but women were very much second-class citizens in this era. She was beginning to doubt that anyone in Battleford, male or female, would consider a woman doctor capable of treating them for so much as an ingrown toenail.
Well, she'd have to find some other way of earning a living, but it drove her nuts to have the expertise and training she had and not be able to use it. The thought of trying to find a job as a clerk or a housemaid—the only two jobs apparently open to women—depressed her, and she put it off from one day to the next.
The problem of employment became an obsession and she couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned until long past midnight and then was wide-awake again at dawn.
Early one morning, unable to stand the confines of her room, she washed and dressed and crept down the stairs and out the back door. She walked to the river, following a faint path through the rough grass. She sat on a smooth stone and watched the sun come up over the eastern horizon, and after a while she made her way back to town.
It was still very early, but the town was slowly coming to life, smoke puffing out of chimneys as breakfasts were cooked, tousled figures slipping in and out of outhouses, roosters crowing in backyard coops.
Paige strolled down the street, enjoying the cool morning air. There were already a few Indians gathered around the Hudson's Bay Company store, waiting for it to open, and a heavy wagon pulled by two spirited horses was rumbling toward her down the wide street.
A small boy, five or six years old, was playing with a puppy in front of a log house.
Paige smiled at him as she passed. "Hi."
"Hi," he repeated the greeting and grinned back at her. The puppy slid out of his grasp and raced toward Paige.
She bent over to catch the little animal but he veered off at the last moment into the roadway, and in a split second the quiet morning erupted into confusion.
The boy shouted, "Pal, come back here!"
The puppy ignored him, barking and darting this way and that, directly in the path of the approaching horses and the loaded wagon. The horses shied and reared.
"Pal, here Pal—"
"No, no, don't go after him!" Paige lunged for the child, but he was already dashing after his dog. Harnesses jangled, the horses snorted and threw themselves in the air, and the dog yelped in pain as a hoof caught him and tossed him high in the air.
"Pal, Pal!" the child screamed. He was directly under the horses' hooves. The driver cursed and hollered a warning, struggling to control his animals. One of the horses' hooves struck the boy's arm, and he screamed again, writhing in a twisted heap in the dust of the roadway.
Paige was already on her knees beside him as two men came bursting from nearby houses to grab the horses' bridles and move them away from the scene. The wagon had overturned, spilling sacks of grain everywhere. Some of the sacks burst and the golden contents oozed into the dirt The puppy lay dead in the midst of the grain.
The boy was unconscious. With swift and gentle fingers, Paige examined him, checking his pulse, trying to determine whether or not there might be severe internal bleeding. The worst visible injury was what looked to be a compound fracture of the lower right arm. The arm was bent at a grotesque angle and the bone was protruding. Blood was pouring from the wound in a steady stream.
"I need a towel," Paige hollered. "Somebody get me a clean towel, fast."
Someone dashed into a house and came back with one, and Paige pressed and held it directly on the wound to stanch the bleeding.
"Billy, oh Jesus, what's happened to my Billy?" A thin young woman in a stained blue dress came running down the street, shrieking and throwing herself down by the child, pressing her hand over her mouth when she saw the blood and the open wound.
"You're his mother?" Paige had her fingers on the boy's pulse again. It was rapid and weak. Shock was taking its toll.
The woman was becoming hysterical now, screaming and wringing her hands. "He's gonna die, ohmigod, Billy's gonna die—"
"Stop that noise, there's no time for that now," Paige snapped at her in a fierce tone that immediately brought the shrieks to a halt. "I'm a doctor and Billy's going to be fine as long as you do as I say."
The woman gulped and stared at Paige with wide, frightened, tear soaked eyes. "What? Anything, just tell me what to do."
"We have to move him out of the street. We need a stretcher and it'll take too long to get him to the hospital at the fort—" Paige looked around, trying to think. Her own heart was hammering as though it were about to burst. She couldn't exactly have someone call 911.
"You," she called to a man hovering nearby. "Bring a plank, a flat piece of wood big enough to hold this child. And—what's your name?" Paige touched the mother's arm.
"Mary Wiggens, miss." Her lips were white rimmed and trembling.
"Mary, I'm Dr. Paige Randolph. Be strong, now, Mary, I can't have you fainting on me. I want you to go and get me a clean blanket, and then clear off a table in your house to lay Billy on. Put it by a window where there's good light. And put pots of water on to boil."
But even if the boy were safely indoors, Paige realized she could do nothing without instruments. She caught sight of one of the young men who'd restrained the horses. "Hey, you. Hurry up to the fort, please, tell Dr. Baldwin what's happened and bring him back as fast as you can. Tell him to bring his instruments, bandages, antiseptic, and an anesthetic. We'll be in that house." She indicated where the boy lived. "Can you remember all that?"
"Yes, ma'am." He raced over to the Hudson's Bay Company store, leaped on one of the horses tied to the hitching rail, and thundered off in the direction of the fort.
Paige directed the men who brought the makeshift stretcher, making certain that Billy's arm was immobilized so no further damage would result from moving him. The direct pressure had stanched the flow of blood, and the boy regained consciousness, crying and struggling against the pain as she settled him on a clean sheet on the blanket padded table in his mother's kitchen.
"Easy there, fellow, easy now, we're going to get you all fixed up...." Paige kept up a soothing patter, but it was all she could do to stop her hands from trembling. She couldn't do a damn thing for this kid because she didn't have one scrap of equipment.
Damn you, Dr. Baldwin, get a move on. . . .
"Hello, Miss Randolph." The deep, drawling baritone acted like a tranquilizer on her nerves, and she was able to turn calmly toward Baldwin when he came in the back door.
He was wearing his scarlet tunic, but it had been thrown on hastily over a collarless white shirt. Instead of the small round pillbox that the other Mounties wore, he had on a wide brimmed brown felt hat. He swept it off and shrugged out of his tunic, rolling the sleeves of his shirt above his elbows.
"Well, you young rascal, what have you been up to, hmmm?"
The man had presence. The small room seemed full of him as he bent over Billy, examining the wound with gentle fingers, and the terrified child quieted, reassured by his manner.
Baldwin hadn't washed before examining the wound, Paige realized in horror.
"There's hot water and soap over there by the washstand, doctor, and clean towels," she told him in a level voice. "The pans on the stove are also boiling; we can use them to sterilize your instruments. What do you use as a disinfectant? I'll see to them while you're scrubbing." He gave her a measuring look, and for a moment she thought he was about to challenge her. But all he said was, "There's carbolic in the bag. Use that, Miss Randolph."
He turned to the washbasin and lathered his hands, and Paige unpacked his medical bag and lowered the supplies she thought they'd need into the boiling water. The instruments were recognizable to her, but so antiquated she felt they belonged in a museum.
In a low tone, she detailed what she felt the boy's
injuries were. "Without an X ray, though, there's no way of telling what internal injuries he might have."
He was drying his hands and he gave her a narrow eyed look.
"X ray? And what exactly is an X ray, Miss Randolph?" With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Paige realized X rays hadn't been discovered yet. Flustered, she stammered, "I'll explain later."
She'd better find out exactly what the going treatment was before she put her foot in it again. Meeting his cool gray eyes, she said, "What procedure do you suggest we follow in repairing Billy's arm, Doctor Baldwin?"
He gave her that assessing look again, but when he began to speak, it was obvious he'd had a great deal of experience with fractures of all types—certainly more than she'd had in OBGYN, that was for sure. But apart from a few technicalities, it was pretty much what she'd have done by herself. The only major, and to Paige, distressing difference was sterile procedure.
Of course they had no gowns or gloves, and her efforts with scrubbing and boiling instruments were little more than token attempts at avoiding infection.
The only anesthetic he had was chloroform. The method of administering it was simple. At Baldwin's instruction, Paige dripped it onto a pad held over Billy's nose. Well aware of the dangers of even modern anesthetic, this barbaric technique left her horrified, but again, there was no alternative.
Doing her best to seem both coolheaded and professional, Paige gave the anesthetic and helped tie off vessels. She worked with Baldwin setting the bone, impressed by his obvious experience at this procedure. She helped suture the wound closed, longing all the while for an antibiotic that would prevent the infection she felt was inevitable. Baldwin casually sprinkled his nasty carbolic over the wound.
She had to admire the dexterity and skill of his gentle, long-fingered hands, however. He was as adept and as caring as any doctor she'd ever met, and his surgical technique was impressive.
When the plaster was at last in place, they moved Billy, still anesthetized, to his tiny bedroom off the hall at the back of the house.
Baldwin gave Billy's mother instructions about his care, emphasizing the need for him to be kept quiet. Paige added strict instructions about absolute cleanliness in dealing with his injury.
Mary Wiggens thanked them both tearfully, offering coffee and breakfast, which they both refused.
"I'm living just down the street at Mrs. Leiberman's. I'll come by and check on Billy this afternoon, and if he gets feverish or seems confused when he wakes up, come and get me right away," Paige instructed.
Out on the street, she squinted up at the sky and realized that several hours must have gone by while they worked; the sun was high, the day already airless and hot.
She ought to be exhausted after the morning's work, but instead she felt exhilarated, as if using her skills as a doctor again had infused her with new energy.
"I owe you an apology, Dr. Randolph." Baldwin's deep drawl came from behind her, and she turned to face him, hardly able to believe he'd actually addressed her as Doctor.
"You are indeed a physician, and a very capable one at that," he admitted. "Where did you train?"
He sounded curious, but there was also a trace of respect in his tone that pleased her. After the way he'd treated her at the fort, a little respect was quite welcome.
"At the University of British Columbia. I'm a gynecologist."
He shook his head, a perplexed frown creasing his brow. "I'm not familiar with that university, nor with your specialty."
Probably because the university didn't yet exist, and neither did the term gynecologist. It was maddening, this whole ridiculous problem with time.
"How about you, Doctor?" she countered to deflect the awkwardness of again getting into a discussion of where and when she was from. "Where did you train?"
His gray eyes were remote. "University of South Carolina."
"Did you do a surgical residency?"
His glance flicked across her face and away, and his crooked smile was bitter. "I'm afraid my surgical residency was the war, Miss Randolph. There were adequate opportunities to practice surgery on the battlefield, I assure you."
She shook her head, perplexed. What war was he talking about? History was anything but her strong suit, and her mind went blank. "Sorry, you've lost me. What war?"
His eyebrows shot up and he said in his soft southern drawl, "The War Between the States, Dr. Randolph. Surely you've heard of it?"
Lord. He was talking about the American Civil War. Shock vibrated through her. She was actually standing here, talking to a man who'd been on the battlefields of the Civil War.
"But—wasn't that—it was quite a while ago, wasn't it?" She struggled for a date. "Eighteen sixty, about?"
"Sixty one to sixty five. Four endless years, Dr. Randolph."
"And were you—were you involved, that whole time? As a doctor, I mean?" Her curiosity overcame the animosity she felt toward him. She wondered again how old he was.
If he'd been old enough to take part in the Civil War, that would make him older than she'd estimated.
He seemed to choose his words with care when he answered her. His voice was devoid of inflection, as though he were reciting from a factual document.
"My father was a career officer in the Confederate army. He insisted I finish medical school when the war broke out. I graduated in the spring of sixty-three and volunteered immediately for active duty. I was involved, as you put it, from then until the end."
As if he'd guessed what she'd been thinking, he added, "I was twenty-four years old when it was finally over."
So he was—Paige added swiftly—42 now. Eight years older than she, give or take a few hundred years or so. She stared at him, aware once again of how attractive he was. He'd replaced his tunic and settled the broad brimmed hat on his head, and the hair that escaped from under it was golden in the sunshine.
The nurses at Grace would have labeled Dr. Baldwin a hunk.
"Here's your horse, sir." A boy of about 12 hurried up to them, holding a spirited horse by the reins. "I watered Major and gave him some hay over at the livery stable." The boy obviously hero worshiped the doctor.
"Thank you, Freddie." Baldwin smiled and gave Paige a formal little bow. He handed the boy a coin and tousled his hair, and then swung easily into the saddle. "I'm due back at the fort. Afternoon, Dr. Randolph, it's been a pleasure. I'm sure we'll meet soon again."
He nodded down at her, expertly turned the horse, and cantered off down the street.
As soon as he was out of her view, however, Myles Baldwin turned Major away from the route that would have led to the fort.
He urged the powerful animal into a furious gallop, tracing the river's path along the valley floor for a mile or so, and then urging the horse to climb the embankment.
They followed a faint trail that led across rolling hills in an easterly direction across the prairie, the ever present wind forcing Myles to tighten the cord on his hat and bend low over Major's back. He pushed himself and his mount at a pace that demanded absolute concentration, trying to outdistance the chaotic emotions that filled him, the memories that haunted him.
It didn't work; it never did. After a while he slowed, letting the animal choose its own gait, holding the reins loosely.
He couldn't outrun the past. He'd learned that long before.
Today, however, mixed in with his memories were new and disturbing images. Against the canvas of the endless prairie and the blue canopy of sky, he could see Paige Randolph as she'd looked that first moment he'd seen her at the hospital, her huge green eyes frightened and defiant, her outrageous hair curling like an aura around her head.
He saw her as she'd looked today, working beside him, her beautiful, high cheek boned face intent on their patient, her slender body brushing against him from time to time, rousing his desire, angering him because it took his attention from the task at hand.
Where in God’s name had she come from, this annoying, disturbing, mysterious woman? H
ow long would she stay in Battleford?
He hoped not long. She was headstrong and assured, outspoken in a way he wasn't accustomed to in a woman. There was the mystery surrounding her that puzzled him, the mystery of where she'd really come from, how she'd ended up as she had on the bare prairie. He'd called Cameron in and had him go over and over the details, but there seemed no rational explanation of how she'd come to be where the sergeant had found her.
Of course, her version of the incident was totally ridiculous.
Except that today's events had convinced him that she was a talented, highly trained doctor, and so that portion of her hysterical rambling the other night was the truth. She'd exhibited a knowledge and skill today that impressed him—several suggestions she'd made during the operation they'd performed had been brilliant, and one of the techniques she'd used during the surgery was unknown to him.
As to the rest of who and what she was—he shook his head. The story Paige Randolph told of coming from the future was, of course, preposterous.
Now and Then: Chapter Six
Major's steady gait and the hot, windy peace of the prairie afternoon eventually lulled him.
The gut wrenching pain that always gripped him when he thought about his home, his family, his former life, began to ease.
He'd imagined lately that he was beginning to forget; he'd fooled himself into believing that the memories were starting to fade.
He'd even begun to hope that somewhere in the future there might be a time when he could sleep through the night without jerking awake in a panic, heart pumping, body soaked with sweat, ears ringing with the screams of dying men...or, infinitely worse, the agonizing moans of a dying woman.
He ought to get back to the fort, he reminded himself. He had dozens of patients to attend to at the hospital, and the young constables assigned to him on ward duty weren't competent to deal with anything but the most superficial of problems. But he felt restless, reluctant to hurry back to the stuffy confines of the hospital ward, the demands of his patients.
His good friend, Dennis Quinlan, lived not many miles away. Myles hadn't seen Dennis or his wife for some time now.
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