Handful Of Flowers

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “Hello, Madeline.”

  Madeline tilted her head back and measured how tall he was, then burst into noisy tears. The baby in Marie’s arms started crying, too.

  “Look what you’ve done. It’s worse now,” Marie snapped at her mother-in-law.

  “I was just trying to help!”

  “Let’s all settle down.” Doc scooped the baby from his mother. “I need it quiet in here so I can determine where the constriction is.”

  “It’s never quiet around here,” Davy muttered.

  Teddy’s blue-tinged lips sent Polly into motion. “Violet, you hold Eddy. I need to get some medicine into Teddy.”

  “What are you giving him?” the doctor demanded.

  Polly resisted the temptation to simply state, “An elixir.” Instead, she listed the contents of the herbal combination. It was the first medicine Mama Lovejoy ever gave her, and just the scent of it brought back memories. If Doc dared to say one bad thing about it, he’d regret it.

  He gave her a stern look. “I prefer to treat this with camphor inhalation.”

  “Camphor’s what I use on the baby, too. The older ones have runny noses and watery eyes, so they need more than just that.” She waved toward her satchel on the table. “I’ve got a tin of camphorated salve in there.”

  “I brought some, thank you.”

  So much for trying to cooperate. Polly spooned elixir into Teddy and put him on the settee. Maddy clung to her like a limpet.

  “My turn.”

  “Go ahead.” Doc’s begrudging tone made it clear he was making the best of a bad situation. His look told her she was the bad situation.

  Whatever he thought, however he acted—that wasn’t important. The patient always came first. Polly clung to that precept and concentrated on the children. She gave Marie a reassuring smile. “Dressing the children in these flannel vests was a good idea.”

  “I sewed them for the children,” Violet boasted.

  Polly nodded sagely as she rubbed her hand up and down Maddy’s back to calm her cry so she’d be able to swallow the medication. “I’m low on red flannel, Violet. Do you have any left over?”

  “I’ll go check.” Violet bustled out of the room.

  Doc opened his bag and took out a hornlike wooden stethoscope. Pressing it to the baby’s back, he closed his eyes and listened.

  He closes his eyes—just as I do. The realization irritated Polly. Why did something that minor make a difference? But it did. She’d discovered shutting her eyes helped her concentrate more fully on the sounds.

  Polly turned away and picked up a clean spoon. She set Maddy on the table, measured out the elixir, and coaxed the little girl to take it.

  Sticking two fingers in the air, Maddy bargained, “Two spoons and no stinky.”

  Polly tucked Maddy’s braids behind her. “One spoon of the medicine is just right for a girl your size.”

  Maddy’s wheeze accelerated. “No stinky!”

  They’d been through this on other occasions. Maddy hated the onion and mustard poultices. Polly didn’t fault her for it—though effective, they reeked. She’d anticipated this. “I brought something special, Maddy. Could you please open my satchel?”

  With tears in her eyes and her lower lip protruding, Maddy fumbled with the clasp. When she opened it, Polly urged, “Look inside.”

  Maddy’s eyes grew huge. She yanked out the surprise. “Dolly!”

  “A special dolly.” Polly had asked Laurel to embroider a face and hair on pink flannel. It buttoned onto a triangular red flannel “dress” with little hands and feet sticking off it. “This silly dolly likes to eat smelly onions and mustard! We’re going to fill her tummy with them, then you get to hug her close.”

  While Maddy played with the doll, and Teddy and Eddy held mice Polly had made from a handkerchief, she chopped onions and started butter melting to make poultices. In no time at all, she wrapped the poultices in Violet’s red flannel. After having done this so many times, she automatically made a fourth one.

  Doc swiped the teakettle from the stove and thumped it down on the corner of the table. It made considerable racket, and he mumbled an apology. Camphor fumes radiated from the baby in his other arm. “Mrs. Greene, why don’t you sit beneath a steam tent here with the baby?”

  When both of the Mrs. Greenes moved toward him, Polly grabbed Violet. “Could you please refill the reservoir on the stove and fill a pot to boil? We’ll need to steam all the children.”

  Polly caught the silvery glint in Dr. Walcott’s gray eyes and didn’t know how to read it. Was he angry she interfered, or was he glad she’d just averted another squabble? The hot poultices wouldn’t allow her time to ruminate over that. She handed one to Davy. “If you’ll pop this under Teddy’s vest, I’ll get Eddy.”

  “I’ll examine Eddy first.” Doc’s declaration came in a rare silence among all the children’s coughs.

  Unwilling to argue, Polly simply grabbed a poultice and wiggled her forefinger to beckon Maddy.

  “Is that for my dolly?”

  “Sure is. See how it makes her tummy all happy and full?” Polly stuffed the poultice inside. “You need to cuddle the dolly and make her feel at home.”

  The doll worked. Maddy gleefully allowed the reeking poultice to rest against her chest. She wrapped her arms around it. “Rocky-bye, baby,” she crooned to the doll.

  “Yes, that would be wonderful. You go ahead and sit in the rocking chair. I’ll cover you and the dolly with your favorite blanket.”

  Doc opened his jar of camphorated salve. Polly cleared her throat. “Teddy can inhale that, but he breaks out in a rash if you put it on him.”

  “Now there’s a fact,” Davy agreed. “Gets the same rash from playing with cats, too.”

  Doc capped his jar. “Croupy children are more prone to such sensitivities. We’ll steam treat him. The eucalyptus I’m smelling in here ought to serve.”

  The children all started to breathe better. The harsh coughs softened and lessened. Marie reappeared from beneath the towel with the baby fast asleep. Polly took the two unused poultices and put them in the warming section of the stove. Marie winked at her, signaling she’d seen where they were and would use them if necessary.

  Polly took the poultice out of the dolly and let Maddy continue to hold it while Teddy and Eddy still clung to their little hanky mice. Mama Lovejoy had done that, too—given Polly and her little sister something soft to hold and love when they were sick and scared. From the day Polly had received her own healing satchel, she’d made it a habit to include handkerchiefs or bandanas so she could create instant “loveys” for her young patients.

  “Davy, if you warm their bed, we’ll bathe them—”

  “You’re not tubbing croupy children!” Doc glowered at Polly.

  “The water’s warm,” Polly reasoned. “The room’s warm. The bed will be warm. They won’t chill, and it gets the fragrance off of them. Besides, a little extra steam would probably be a good idea.”

  “I’m all stinky.” Maddy wrinkled her nose.

  Doc leaned down and cajoled, “You don’t want your dolly to catch a chill, do you?”

  “The water’s not cold.” Maddy gave him an angelic smile. “Dolly won’t get her hair wet.”

  Doc threw back his head and laughed. He tugged on one of Maddy’s braids. “You’re a charming little minx.” He looked to Marie. “If you heat the towels in the oven so we keep the children warm afterward, I’ll approve of a quick steam bath.”

  Polly drew a little flowered dimity “sack” from her satchel. “This is your dolly’s dress for when she feels all better. Mama or Grandma will wash the other one.”

  “How clever!” Marie happily unbuttoned the red poultice.

  “Good thing,” Violet muttered. “I didn’t want that thing reeking up my bed.”

  “I thought that Maddy and the boys all slept together.” Polly frowned.

  “It’s too crowded.” Marie lifted her chin. “But someone”—she cast a
dark look at her mother-in-law—“keeps tucking them back in the same bed.”

  “When did you start this new arrangement?” Doc strode toward the small, rumpled bed in the corner.

  “A week or so ago.” Davy’s voice held a weariness that made it clear he’d been stuck in the middle of another ongoing battle.

  Doc pushed aside the quilt and sheet, then shoved one pillow toward the foot of the bed. As he reached for the next one, Polly groaned. “Don’t tell me that’s a down pillow.”

  “It is.” Doc held it up and scowled.

  “Polly told us not to have feather pillows.” Marie gave her mother-in-law a look that would scald water.

  “I concur.” Facing Violet, Doc dropped the pillow and folded his arms in an unmistakably stubborn stance. “You asked me to come treat the children. I will not be responsible for patients when they or their families fail to follow explicit instructions. This was dangerous. It’s no wonder the children are in distress.”

  Violet burst into tears, snatched the pillow, and stuffed it in the fireplace. “I never meant to hurt them. I love my grandbabies. Truly, I do!”

  “ ’Course you love us,” Maddy said as she wound her arms around Violet’s legs. She stood on tiptoe and whispered loudly, “Don’t be mad at me, Gramma. I’ll sleep with you now.”

  “Madeline Marie Dorsey.” Davy’s voice took on an ominous tone. “Have you been—”

  “She just missed Teddy and Eddy.” Violet petted Maddy’s hair. “When she’s a little older, she’ll want to sleep in my big bed.”

  Marie collapsed into the rocking chair. “You mean—”

  “I think the children will be fine once you square them away in bed,” Doc cut in. He looked at Polly. “Surely you won’t be going back to the ranch tonight.”

  Normally, she spent the night here in the rocking chair, minding the children when they took ill. She clasped her satchel shut. “Actually, Mrs. White’s been terribly lonely. I think I’ll keep her company tonight.”

  After saying their good-byes, Doc swept Polly out of there fast as could be. As they walked toward the mercantile, he cleared his throat. “I’ve found children who rash and wheeze are more sensitive to apprehensions and nervousness within the home.”

  Polly didn’t abide gossip, but she conversed with Mama about cases. It made sense she and Doc would also discuss situations. She chose her words carefully. “Perhaps this will be an opportunity for them to. . .um. . .clear the air. It would be nice for everyone to breathe a little easier.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for warning me about applying camphor on that little boy.”

  Polly stopped. “You and I might not see eye to eye, but I promise you, I always put my patients first.”

  Doc studied her in silence. He gave no reply and started walking again. Silence hovered between them as he saw her to Mrs. White’s. Polly thanked him for walking her in the dark, then slipped inside.

  “My, my. The doctor taking you on a walk,” Mrs. White cooed once the door shut.

  Polly gave her a stern look. “We were treating patients. There was nothing in the least bit personal about him seeing me safely to your door.”

  “Oh. Well.” Mrs. White’s starry eyes made it clear she didn’t believe Polly for one second. She headed upstairs. “Come on. I’ll brew a pot of tea. Could you please close the windows? It’s getting nippy.”

  Polly made it upstairs and put down her satchel. Drawing back the edge of a drapery so she could reach the window more easily, she spied the doctor down the street. He was talking to one of the soiled doves on the corner by the Nugget.

  Twelve

  House call on David Greene family. Baby’s distress from croup alleviated with camphorated rub and steam tent. Other three children suffering from respiratory affliction. Eddy inhaled camphor; reportedly allergic to contact of same. Teddy and Maddy treated by lay healer with elixir of unsubstantiated contents, mustard and onion poultices, and steam bath. Feather pillow and family strain exacerbating the children’s health.

  Eric waited for the ink to dry, then turned to the next page and dipped his pen in the inkwell. Kitty recovering from her ordeal. Still anemic. Recommended she ingest liver thrice weekly and take to sipping beef broth.

  Again, he allowed time for the ink to dry, then locked up his book. Hungry, he headed toward his kitchen shelves. Underwood’s deviled ham spread on a handful of Dr. Graham’s crackers would provide him with a pleasant snack as he studied the porcupine needles under his microscope.

  Indeed, his shelves boasted the finest in healthy fare. An abysmal cook, he normally depended on the local diner. Physicians didn’t have the luxury of living by a clock, though. That being the case, Eric made it a habit to keep modern, convenient foodstuffs in his kitchen. Quaker Oats, Joseph Campbell’s beefsteak tomato in a can, Libby’s Vegetables. . .yes, he’d managed to make do on many occasions.

  The next morning, he set oats boiling. Eric rather liked his morning schedule—he’d awaken, use water from the reservoir to start breakfast, then do calisthenics. He’d wash and shave, then dish up the oatmeal. Allowing the oatmeal to cool slightly, he’d finish dressing. A bowl of oatmeal, a piece of fruit, then quiet time with the Lord. By seven fifteen, he’d take a morning constitutional, then return and see patients.

  Today he’d taken his bag along on his walk with the intent of checking in on the Greene children. Polly was slipping out of the cottage as he arrived. He inclined his head. “Miss Chance.”

  “Good morning, Doctor.” Her smile could have coaxed out the sun. “The children are ever so much better.”

  “Wonderful.” He still planned to check in on them himself.

  She stepped to the side, pulled a knife from a leather sheath at her waist, and proceeded to neatly slice several leaves from a plant. The scent of mint filled the air.

  “What are those for?”

  Tucking the leaves into the pocket of her apron, she shrugged.

  “You just chop up leaves for the sake of it?”

  She concentrated on fastidiously wiping her knife on a strip of cotton cloth she’d produced from a different pocket. “I didn’t chop them up. I merely harvested them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.” She slid the knife back into the sheath and looked at him. “It’s wise to take advantage of the supplies God sets before us.”

  “And what will you use that for—or should I ask whom?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Can’t,” he gritted, “or won’t?”

  Polly’s face puckered in frustration. “Both. I don’t discuss the persons or maladies I treat because patients deserve privacy.”

  “Under other circumstances, that would be admirable, but I’ve already pointed out this cannot continue. Interactions are known to occur between different medications. If you give someone an herbal remedy before or after I prescribe something, it could be disastrous.”

  “Then you have two choices: you can either ask the patient, or you can tell me whom you treat and why.”

  “We both know I’d not break my patients’ confidentiality.” He glowered at her.

  “Then you’ll simply have to make it a point to question your patients about what remedies they’ve attempted before seeing you.” She gave him an innocent smile. “I always do. It’s astonishing what they’ll try before seeking competent assistance.” With that galling comment, she pivoted and let herself back into the cottage. “David, the doctor’s come.”

  Well, at least she hadn’t left him standing out there. Eric stepped up to the threshold. “Good morning. I came to see how the children are.”

  “Everyone’s just fine,” David said.

  Eric would have been delighted with that news if it hadn’t been for Polly and Violet standing over by the stove, whispering as Marie lifted the lid of a teapot that let out an unmistakably herbal aroma.

  ❧

  “Nothing,” Mama Lovejoy said as she lifted her face to the sky, “showers a body with joy better tha
n the rays of the sun.”

  Polly laughed. “Mama, you said that selfsame thing about last week’s rain.”

  “I reckon I might have, but that’s no matter. Joy’s a fleeting thing—you gotta snatch it up with both hands every chance you get.”

  They dismounted and put their gathering bags on one of the picnic tables out in the yard. Mama said she’d spotted flowering currant over on the border of the Dorseys’ when she’d gone to pay a visit to Beulah. Though Mama still liked to walk and gather each morning, Polly suggested they ride over and collect some of the shallow roots in order to preserve the integrity of the plants they had in their own patch. If they cut into their patch, the supply wouldn’t flourish or be available in an emergency.

  “Need some help?” Kate and April traipsed over. Kate pulled string from her pocket. “I figured you’d want to hang leaves to dry.”

  “Surely do.” Mama started separating things from her bag—roots at one end of the table, leaves toward Kate, and strig heavy with black currants in the middle.

  “Oh, black currants!” April perked up. “You know how I love black currant jam!”

  Polly and Mama exchanged a fleeting glance. They’d actually collected the fruit in order to extract the juice to use as a diuretic. Then again, they’d decided to go gather more in a day or two. By boiling down the juice, a special sugar called rob could be extracted—and nothing worked better on sore throats. Polly winked at Mama.

  “April,” Mama said as she held up some of the currants, “my mouth starts to waterin’ jest at the thought of the jelly you and yore mama’re gonna make of these.”

  “I’ll go get a bowl.”

  Laurel joined them. “For being so pretty, why do those have to smell so awful?” She handled the currants by the strigs and avoided the leaves.

  “You like horses and cattle, and they smell pretty bad, too,” April teased as she set a huge red glass bowl on the table.

  “I keep my distance from the cattle and ride in a buggy or buckboard whenever I can,” Laurel answered with a giggle.

  “Dear Lord above made us all different,” Mama said. “Yet look how we live in harmony.”