Handful Of Flowers

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “And you aren’t?” April half-shouted.

  Polly held up a hand. “Whoa. We’re all together here in this cabin. Remember our motto? ‘God help us all.’ I won’t stand for squabbles. We’re here to love and care for one another.”

  April’s chin shook. “Sorry.”

  Laurel came over and settled her hand on April’s arm. “I’m not setting my cap for the doctor. Don’t think I’m trying to steal your man.” Laurel sighed. “Truly, April, I’m eighteen and barely old enough myself, but I couldn’t abide marrying a doctor.”

  “She couldn’t wash the blood from his sleeves,” Polly said succinctly. She then turned and glowered. “Kathryn Anne, don’t you dare.” In the midst of the conversation, Kate tried to wiggle into her dress without wearing her stays. Kate made a face, but she reached for the garment she hated.

  “Let’s go get breakfast,” April muttered.

  “I thought maybe I’d try Mrs. Dorsey’s casserole recipe for lunch today,” Laurel said as she headed toward the door. She waited until Kate was decent before opening it. “I want to perfect it for the next church supper. After all, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  “Then I’m going to be a spinster,” Polly said as she tugged Kate along. At the moment, being a spinster didn’t seem like such a dreadful fate. Trying to keep track of her cousins and sidetrack their wild plans had become a nonstop job. But a husband like that tall, handsome, growly voiced Doctor Walcott would make handling children more than worthwhile.

  ❧

  Eric wiped the last dot of lather from his face, then cleaned his razor. A knock sounded.

  “Breakfast in five minutes, Doctor.”

  “Thank you.” He shrugged into his shirt and inhaled deeply to detect what the boardinghouse featured for breakfast. His cabin with the downstairs office wasn’t available until the end of the month. Until then, he’d stay here. His bag and a crate of essential medicaments lay against the far wall, and it was awkward not to have an examining room. It’s just temporary. I chose to arrive early.

  What an arrival. He’d no more than stepped foot into the mercantile when a young man barreled through the door, shouting about a woman in labor and needing an ax. Eric mounted up and rode along to the MacPhersons. He’d returned late last evening and hadn’t met any townsfolk yet. How many of Reliable township’s inhabitants were hillbillies? Would they all cling to the misguided ways and silly notions he’d seen Polly employ yesterday?

  The advertisement he’d responded to stated the town was a “thriving place near a metropolis.” Well, San Francisco was a day away, but Eric wondered if their concept of thriving matched Polly’s notion of medicine.

  He didn’t smell any particular aroma until he opened his door. “Mmm. Coffee.”

  A man exiting the room next to his chuckled. “Makes waking up worth it. I’m Bob Timpton.” They shook hands.

  “Eric Walcott.”

  As they tromped downstairs, Bob said, “No one was expecting you here yet.”

  “It took less time than expected to close matters back East.” They sat at the table and waited until a gentleman at the head of the table said grace. As soon as folks started passing the platters and bowls, Eric asked, “Any recommendations on where I can buy a decent horse?”

  “Chance Ranch,” someone across the table and another two seats down said in unison.

  “Fine horseflesh,” Bob attested. “They’ll give you a fair price. Livery can board your mount.”

  The owner of the boardinghouse leaned over his shoulder to fill his mug. “Dr. Walcott, I’m sure you aimed to pay a professional visit to the Chances, anyway.”

  “Is someone ill?”

  “No, no.” She continued to round the table, filling cups. “Lovejoy and Polly Chance live there. I’m sure you’ll all be working together.”

  “Polly?” The bacon scraped his throat as he swallowed it too quickly. “She’s not a MacPherson?”

  “She’s a Chance. They’re loosely related. Not even kissing cousins.” Last cup filled, the woman whisked off to the kitchen.

  “So Polly wasn’t merely helping out her aunt yesterday.” Coffee churning in his stomach, Eric tried to digest this news. He didn’t have to coax Polly into stepping aside to treat her family; he had to completely take away the business she and her mother ran. Quite literally, only God knew what they’d done to patients in the name of medicine. This was going to take finesse. Tact. Prayer. But Eric knew then and there he couldn’t sit back and permit backwoods myths and folklore to be the basis for curing people in the modern age.

  Times were changing. These people would, too—even if he had to nudge them. It was his duty, because he’d taken an oath. Nothing—and no one—would stop Eric Walcott from keeping that pledge. Not even some pretty little wheat-haired, wide-eyed, whiskey-dispensing girl.

  ❧

  “Oh. Look at him!” April whispered to Polly at the water pump.

  Polly cast a glance over her shoulder, then straightened up. “Hello, Doctor!”

  “Hello.” He cast a keen glance toward the main house, and for good cause. Perry kept letting out bloodcurdling screams. “Is everything okay?”

  “Mama’s fixing up Perry,” Polly said. “He took a fall.”

  “I see.” The doctor scanned toward the barn. “Are your men around?”

  “Which ones?” April hefted a bucket.

  Doc Walcott dismounted from a sorry-looking old nag. “Whoever is in charge of the horses.”

  “Uncle Gideon’s in the main house.” Polly lifted another bucket. “This way, please.”

  The doctor silently took both buckets from the girls and followed. Polly appreciated his manners. He’d not made a big deal out of helping with such an ordinary task, but simple things like that tattled about a man’s character.

  April scurried ahead and flung open the door. “We have a caller. It’s the doctor.”

  “I don’t want the doctor,” Perry cried. “I want Auntie Lovejoy!”

  Polly turned to the doctor. “Please don’t take offense. Perry’s a tad riled.”

  The doctor set down the buckets just inside the door and headed toward the noise. “What seems to be the problem?”

  Mama turned to him, but she also held Perry’s hand. “Nothing a few stitches won’t solve. This little feller took a leap into the hayloft and didn’t aim true.”

  Uncle Gideon held Perry on his lap and kept the towel wrapped about him so he couldn’t squirm much. “Look at what Laurel has, Perry. You get to pick whatever color stitches you want.”

  Laurel held out a fistful of silk embroidery floss. “I brought lots of colors so you could choose whatever you like best.”

  “What are you putting on him?” Doctor Walcott’s eyes narrowed as he watched Mama.

  “Toothache plant.” Mama stopped pressing ice to the gash and started to rub the flower against the edges. When Perry whimpered, she said in a loud whisper, “You’re brave as a buccaneer, so I’m a-thinkin’ mayhap black’s the color for you.”

  “Ben had black.” Even though Perry’s lower lip trembled, it now stuck out in a pout. “It looked like a big, fat woolly worm.”

  “Iff’n I make the X to mark the spot dead center, we’ll all know ’tis like a treasure map.”

  Polly watched as Mama finished applying the toothache plant. The ice began numbing the cut; toothache would finish numbing it and act as an antiseptic. With so many children around, the family had the whole technique down to an art by now. Polly or Mama numbed and treated the wound while another adult kept hold of the child and others distracted him. Polly headed for the stove and brought over a pot of boiling water.

  “I wanna treasure map,” Perry sniffled.

  “I’ll make a fine one. No fair lookin’ ’til I’m done, though. It’s the rule.”

  Uncle Gideon pulled the towel tighter to hold his nephew immobile and cupped his hand around Perry’s head. “Close your eyes. Kate will tell you a story, so you
listen real good.”

  Kate started in with a swashbuckling story as Mama threaded the needle and dipped it and the floss into the boiling water. Doc Walcott hovered close. Though Polly would normally assist, she could tell the doctor itched to help out. All in all, it was probably a good idea for him to see up close just how skilled Mama was. That way, when he did surgery, he’d have the assurance that capable assistants were on hand. Polly took him over to the washstand. “If you scrub, you can clip for Mama.”

  He scrubbed thoroughly but with almost blinding speed, then went back to assist. His brows rose as he realized Mama was already half done with the sutures, but he picked up the scissors and started clipping the thread after the knot so Mama could continue on with the next stitch. He stepped back when it was all done.

  “And so he sailed off toward the sunset,” Kate finished.

  Perry sniffled. “Can I look now?”

  “Shore ’nuff cain,” Mama said. “Lookie there at yore treasure map. ’Tis a cryin’ shame to have to cover it up with a bandage, but we’ll have to.”

  The little boy inspected the gash. “That’s a map?”

  “Here.” Doc Walcott dipped the blunt end of a probe into a bottle of iodine. He painted along the suture line, then drew another streak perpendicular to the sutures. “We don’t want anyone but our crew to know you have the treasure map, so here’s what we’re going to do. . . . North, south, east, and west. See? We made it a compass.” He drew an odd shape around the boy’s arm. It didn’t escape Polly’s notice that he managed to trace over the deeper scratches. “That’s Hazard Island.”

  “Is it, Auntie Lovejoy?” Perry asked.

  “Niver seen better.” Mama smiled.

  “Do I gotta have a bandage?”

  “Absolutely.” Doc Walcott smiled. “I’ll put it on.”

  Perry stared at the doctor, then slowly shook his head. “Auntie Lovejoy and Polly take care of us when we get sick or hurted.”

  “I see.” Doc nodded sagely. “Well, I came to see about buying a horse, so I’m glad the trip was still useful.”

  “We got lotta horses.”

  “Good.” Doc smiled at Uncle Gideon. “Word has it you sell the best horses around.”

  “Daddy, he needs a horse badly,” April said. She managed to sidle next to the doctor. “You should see what he rode in on!”

  “My grandfather’s horse isn’t suited to this terrain. I hadn’t realized there’d be such heavy riding, and she’s too old. I’d like to turn her out to pasture. She served well, but the time has come to move ahead.” Doc’s explanation showed sense and compassion. Both fine qualities.

  “What do you have in mind?” Uncle Gideon waited until Mama finished tying the bandage; then he ruffled Perry’s hair and set him down. “We’ve horses aplenty.”

  “If possible, I’d like to get a young, even-tempered mount and pay lodging for the old mare to live out her days here.”

  “That must be hard to do,” April cooed.

  Polly wondered what had come over her cousin. Then again, she didn’t. April was trying to flirt, and she was making a ninny of herself.

  Doc shrugged. “Things serve a purpose. In life, new things come along. No reason not to trade up to something better.”

  Polly got a funny sensation in the pit of her stomach as he spoke. Then again, it might not be the words he used. Sometimes when she had a headache brewing, she got that same sick feeling. As soon as the men went outside to look at horses, Polly slipped away and took some feverfew, then returned to the kitchen and started making sandwiches. Soon the happy chatter around her made her wince. Pain streaked from her right temple to behind her ear. Within minutes, she set aside the knife and whispered to Mama, “I’m going to go lie down.”

  Mama frowned. “Yore pale as a new moon. You getting a sick headache again?”

  “I took some feverfew.”

  “Aww, my Pollywog.” Mama slid an arm around her waist and guided her toward the door. “Jest close yore eyes and cover them. Sun’s bright as cain be. I’ll lead you.”

  Polly stumbled along, and seconds later Mama stopped.

  “Not again.” Uncle Titus spoke in a low whisper. “C’mere.” He lifted Polly and carried her to her cabin.

  Four

  Eric exited the barn and surveyed the layout of the ranch. Several cabins formed three sides of a rectangle. Lush gardens abounded, and half a dozen picnic tables took up part of the yard. Clearly, several branches of the family tree still lived and worked together here.

  Movement off to one side captured his attention. A dark-haired man carried Polly into a cabin. Her head rested on his shoulder—a rather romantic scene, especially at midday in the middle of a big family barnyard.

  Maybe I haven’t quite gotten things straight. Maybe she’s married to one of these men. Good. She’ll be too wrapped up in family matters to tromp around and play doctor much longer.

  He tried to convince himself of that. After all, he’d just seen Lovejoy Chance rub a fresh flower all over a gaping wound. If it didn’t fester, it would be due only to heavenly intervention and the iodine Eric had painted on after the sutures. These people were practicing medieval medicine in the modern age.

  “Your saddle and tack look to be in good shape,” Gideon said.

  “Yes, they are. I’ll just switch it over to that gelding.”

  “One of the boys’ll do it after lunch.” Gideon headed toward the picnic tables in the yard. “Come have a seat. We eat lunch in shifts. That way, work doesn’t have to grind to a halt.”

  The man he’d seen carrying Polly just moments before approached them. Up close, he looked far older. That could be good—he’ll have a stabilizing influence on Polly.

  “Doc, Lovejoy asked if you could take a peek at Polly.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. My niece gets these rip-roarin’ headaches. Come on of a sudden and lie her low for days.”

  “I see.” Eric headed toward the cabin into which he’d seen the man carry Polly. Headaches were symptoms of several maladies, but from what the man just described, Polly probably suffered from migraines. Unfortunately, modern science hadn’t yet found the cure for that dreadful malady.

  Concerned for her, Eric almost reached the small porch before the words sank in. That man had called Polly his niece. They weren’t lovebirds—they were just close kin. If I want to see her married off, then why am I not sad at that news?

  Eric didn’t dwell on that question. For now, he had a patient to treat. The second he stepped foot on the porch, the door opened and someone grabbed him and yanked him inside. The door whispered shut.

  By way of excuse for the abrupt action, Lovejoy murmured, “Light troubles her.”

  He nodded as his eyes adjusted to the dim cabin. The place definitely belonged to women. It smelled of flowers and held white-painted furniture. A loft increased the space significantly, but his eyes narrowed as he realized no stairs led up to it. Surely no one in the clutches of a migraine ought to be climbing the slender ladder propped against the rail. Spotting something in the corner, Eric headed there.

  “I made her a pallet.” Lovejoy brushed past him and knelt. Stroking the cloth over Polly’s forehead, she whispered, “Honey, Doc’s here to see you.”

  Other than the fact that the corners of her mouth tightened, Polly gave no response. She made for a huddled ball of misery.

  Eric knelt down and began by pushing a hairpin from the pillow. Pesky, stupid things. If she had any more hiding in that bun she wore at her crown, they’d skewer her. Cradling the nape of her neck in one hand, he reached under her head and searched for more of the offending items. Masses of soft curls filled his hand.

  “Thankee.” Lovejoy took the pins from him. “I hadn’t got ’round to that yet.”

  “Which side hurts?” he whispered.

  Polly’s lips moved silently. Right.

  He turned her head that way. It seemed paradoxical that the pressure in the head caused this agony,
but contact lessened the pain for many.

  “Light and sound are troubling you. Are you nauseated?”

  Yes, she mouthed.

  Silently, he performed an examination. Pain darkened the blue of her eyes when he checked her pupils. He ruled out this being a sinus headache or allergy attack. Her hands shook and were cold when he checked her grip and pulse.

  “She took feverfew,” Lovejoy said.

  “Good.” That fact surprised him. He’d have prescribed that selfsame remedy. “How long ago?”

  “ ’Bout fifteen minutes or so. Often as not, it doesn’t make a difference.”

  “Exceptionally strong coffee sometimes works.”

  “No,” Polly moaned.

  From the sick way she swallowed, Eric surmised Polly had tried coffee to cure the headache before and hadn’t managed to keep it down. “Laudanum.” He doubted it would do more than help her sleep through the pain, but that would count as a blessing.

  “Makes her sick as cain be.” Lovejoy shook her head. “Niver give her that stuff. It makes things worse ’stead of better.”

  Eric filed that piece of information away in the back of his mind. Those facts mattered, and he figured he’d treat Polly for various reasons in the coming years. In the past, he knew some doctors who carried their bags no matter where they went. He’d considered it overkill. Now he rethought his stance as he hit the end of his possible treatments. Careful to pitch his voice low, he asked Lovejoy, “Do you have oil of peppermint?”

  “Shorely do.” She slipped off.

  Eric folded the cold compress and replaced it over Polly’s eyes. Just yesterday, she’d been a tigress. Now she’d become helpless as a kitten. The tigress would inevitably cause him many annoyances, but he’d rather have her back.

  Lovejoy handed him a small glass jar. “Niver used this for the headache. Hit’s good for stomach ailments.” Other than her colorfully archaic hill-country words, she spoke much like Polly. Their tone carried confidence and comfort. Last evening, after Eunice had fallen asleep, Polly’s volume dropped to this same hushed whisper that barely stirred the air.