But I have to do the right thing.
“A handful of flowers and a few medical instruments amount to medieval medicine.” Eric looked at Daniel. “In the past, you didn’t have anything more than that. I don’t doubt that your wife and daughter did the best they could with what they had. It’s just that the time has come for change. Medical science has made astonishing discoveries and advances. We’ve abandoned treatments that were once standard and turned to superior methods in their place.”
“Seems to me, folks can decide who they want to give them care,” Daniel said in an all too reasonable tone. His hand slid over Lovejoy’s in a move that said he’d far rather entrust his life to her care than any doctor’s.
“They can’t make wise decisions when they still think the world is flat, because Polly and Lovejoy navigate by the same principles that were used centuries ago!”
“The world is round, Doc. Ain’t nobody gonna fall off.” Lovejoy gave him an earnest look. “But you got my solemn promise that iff’n I got me a patient who’s close to the edge, I’ll send ’em yore way.”
She tried to rise, but her husband had to assist her. Pain flickered across her face, and Eric wanted to offer his help—but knew it would be ill-advised at the moment. Lovejoy gave him a long look. “Now that we’ve got things settled, I’m taking my girl home.”
Polly rose, but she didn’t do so with her usual grace. The way she’d spoken so little and used muted tones suddenly took on a completely different significance. When she instinctively averted her face from a stream of sunlight, Eric gritted his teeth and demanded of Daniel in a low tone, “Why did you bring your daughter if she’s fighting a migraine?”
“The family respected her choice. Fools that we were, we hoped this meeting would resolve the strain so she could rest.”
Gideon’s brow furrowed. “Polly, go on out with your mama. We’ll be on momentarily.”
Lovejoy reached up and pulled Polly’s head onto her shoulder. Polly tenderly wrapped her arm about her mother’s waist and stroked a few times before bracing Lovejoy’s back. Slowly, silently, they shuffled from the room. The sight of them wrenched Eric’s heart—mother and daughter both in pain, each trying to be mindful of the other’s infirmity. More than ever, he wanted to relieve them of trying to care for the people of Reliable. They had their hands full with one another.
Mrs. Abrams toddled out behind mother and daughter, fussing over them.
Once they were out of earshot, Eric appealed to Daniel to be reasonable. “They’re struggling.”
“They’re just having a bad day,” the pastor said.
Eric shook his head. “The problem’s existed a long time. It’s why your township advertised for a physician. I’ll relieve them of the burdens of caring for the town. In the end, we all have to admit that it’s the best thing for them as well as for the folks of Reliable.”
Daniel’s feet widened in an aggressive stance. “I give folks the benefit of the doubt. There was a time I wouldn’t have, but Lovejoy changed that about me. Right about now, Doc, you’re skating on mighty thin ice. We want you here. We need you here. But I won’t stand for you insulting my wife and daughter.”
“I meant no offense. It is a matter of patients deserving the best of care. I truly regret the fact that such a concern casts a shadow on them. They’ve given their best; it’s just not good enough anymore.”
“There’s a line between confidence and pride, Doc.” Gideon strode toward the door. “You just crossed it.”
The Chances all left then, and the pastor walked Eric out to the hitching post. “Thanks for trying, Pastor.” Eric swung up into the saddle.
“It’ll take awhile, but I believe you’ll all iron this out.”
Eric looked down and nodded. “In medicine, that’s called tincture of time, but I’m not sure that’s all it’ll take in this situation.”
“Have faith. In my profession, I’ve seen God work miracles.”
“Well, Pastor, I’ll gladly treat you for free if you develop knee problems from kneeling and seeking heavenly intervention.”
Fourteen
“Miss Chance.”
At the sound of Doc’s voice, Polly’s three cousins immediately spun in a swirl of their Sunday-best dresses. She hesitated.
“Now I suppose that was predictable.” The doctor’s tone held wry amusement.
Ashamed of her attitude toward him, Polly turned.
Doc smiled—an easygoing, lopsided grin that made him look downright neighborly. “At least the Chances only had a handful of girls instead of a bumper crop of them like they do boys. If I called Mr. Chance, I’d be mobbed.”
“Doctor,” April cooed, “the Chances and MacPhersons have given leave for people in Reliable to call us by our Christian names. With such large families, going by our surname becomes confusing.”
Polly watched as Kate reached back and pinched April’s arm to hush her. Reasoning with April hadn’t done any good, because she considered the doctor to be exceedingly handsome and imminently eligible. If she didn’t stop acting like a henwit, she’d embarrass herself and the doctor.
“Very well.” Dr. Walcott focused in on Polly. “Miss Polly, I’d like a word with you.”
“We’re in charge of Sunday school today, Doctor.”
“All of you? How is it that all the Chance gals are doing the Sunday school together? I thought you usually split up two by two.”
“Like the creatures on Noah’s ark?” Kate teased.
Doc chortled. Polly wished he hadn’t. At the moment, she didn’t want to like him, and he was being impossibly charming.
“I’ve noticed the parishioners all take turns.” He drew closer. “Why don’t I come along?”
“Do you like children?” If April perked up anymore, she’d be on tiptoe.
“Definitely.” Doc deftly stepped to Polly’s side. “What is today’s lesson for Sunday school?”
“Ephesians 4:32.” Polly felt more than a slight twinge when she answered the question. “Be ye kind one to another. . .”
“Tenderhearted,” the doctor joined in, “forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.” He spoke the words softly, solemnly. Polly couldn’t interpret the look in his eyes.
Soon they sat in a big circle out on the grass. Kate led the singing, and Polly couldn’t help enjoying the doctor’s bass voice amid the childish sopranos.
April read the Bible verse; then Laurel gave a short lesson.
“Why don’t we take time to share how someone was kind to us this week?” Polly’s suggestion resulted in a sea of waving hands. “Birdie, hand me Judy, and you share; then you may pick whose turn it is next.”
Birdie handed over the soggy toddler, then popped to her feet and yanked a small tin item from around her neck. “Pa bought me a chewin’ gum locket at White’s.”
“And she shart the gum with me. ’Twas hardly e’en chewed yet!”
Birdie scowled at her sister. “I didn’t pick you to share next, Vinetta.”
“How wonderful that she couldn’t wait to tell us all what a grand sister you are,” Polly said.
“You are a grand sister, Birdella. Iff’n God let me pick a sister, I’d pick you.”
“Now that showed tenderheartedness, just as today’s verse said.” Doc gave the sisters an approving nod. His quick thinking impressed Polly. He’d managed to praise the children and keep their focus on the lesson.
“Let’s have Octavius take a turn,” Vinetta suggested, and Birdella nodded.
Doc followed Polly over to a table, where she started to change Judy’s diaper. Her cousins hated that task, so she handled it as a matter of course. They’d continue to monitor the children.
Doc leaned against the table and fleetingly touched the puffed sleeve of Judy’s little dress. He said quietly, “Is there something special about gold and the MacPhersons? It’s the only color I see them in.”
Polly smiled. “The MacPhersons hail from Hawks Fall and
Salt Lick Holler, where they could barely eke out a living.”
“I recall you saying Lovejoy brought the women out for arranged marriages.”
Polly nodded. “Uncle Obie wanted his children to know they weren’t growing up poor, so he bought a whole bolt of fabric. By using flour and feed sacks for collars, bodices, and pockets, my aunts managed to dress the entire clan, but then they realized they’d have a problem with hand-me-downs if they changed color.”
“Why?”
“The younger children would be dressed in golden yellow, and the older ones would be in other colors—so the littler ones would always feel as if they were left out of getting anything new.”
“That could pose a problem.”
Polly nodded. “Hezzy thinks gold looks fine with Lois and Eunice’s red hair, so the family decided they’d stick with gold. That way, they look like a family, and hand-me-downs aren’t apparent. The manager at the feed store is smart enough to always have a selection of yellow-toned bags just for them.” She shot Doc an amused look. “I’m so accustomed to the gold, I forgot about it until you just pointed it out!”
“I suppose I have no room to speak.” He glanced down at his chest and tacked on, “I always wear white shirts.”
Thankful they were keeping the conversation light, Polly smiled. “You mentioned that the day we worked on your office. My cousin Cole said he can’t decide whether you’re trying to look like a pastor or a penguin.”
“To whom does Cole belong?”
“Miriam and Gideon. It’s easy to tell by how the children are named.”
“Enlighten me.”
“The girls are named whatever the mother fancies, but the boys’ names are chosen by letter. Miriam and Gideon’s sons all have C names.”
“Caleb, Calvin, Cole. . .”
“Yes, and Cory and Craig are over by April. She’s their sister. Then the boys belonging to Alisa and Titus begin with T: Tobias, Tanner, Terrance, and Troy. Kate is their daughter.”
“So that leaves Delilah and Paul with the Ps,” he deduced. “I’ve met Parker and Perry.”
“Patrick, Paxton, and Packard are in the sanctuary.”
“And. . .” He thought for a moment. “Lauren is their daughter?”
“Laurel.” The fact that he hadn’t gotten Laurel’s name correct surprised Polly. Feminine and soft-spoken, she managed to catch the attention of every other man in the county.
“I suppose the MacPhersons all wearing gold is my only clue for them. It’ll probably take me months to sort out that clan.”
“Just listen for names. Tempy and Mike love to read, so their children have Greek or Roman names. Lois and Obie named all their tribe after the disciples—but they made allowances for Johnna, Jamie, and little Judy here.”
“Very clever.”
Polly then muffled a laugh. “If it’s an odd name, you can be certain the child is Eunice and Hezzy’s. We do our best to tag a nickname onto each of the children so they won’t be teased mercilessly.”
“Birdella is Birdie.” His brow rose in a silent invitation to provide more.
“Meldona is Melly. Register is Reggie. Benefit is Benny. . .” His gray eyes reflected growing astonishment as she mentioned each name. She let out a sigh, “No one’s come up with anything for poor Lastun.”
Doc’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Let me guess. That must have been the one before Elvera.”
Polly nodded. “Eunice declared he was the last one she’d have. I guess it’s proof God gets the final word on everything.”
“Indeed, He does.” He swiped Judy from her and obligingly made a funny face when the toddler poked him on the nose.
She washed up at the bucket, then helped Craig with the fastener on his overalls.
“Your father and Lovejoy didn’t have children?”
Polly willed him to understand. “She couldn’t have any of her own, but Lovejoy’s children are all around you. Her hands catch, soothe, and cherish them.”
He didn’t look away or pretend to misunderstand. Instead, the doctor gently shifted Judy to his other side, cupped her head to his shoulder, and swayed from side to side as if he’d fathered half a dozen children himself. His thumb absently played with a wispy auburn baby curl at Judy’s temple. “They’re blessed to have the love she gives.”
“Then why are you trying to stop her? Why are you trying to stop us?”
The corners of his mouth tightened, but he kept his voice gentle. “Polly, I couldn’t ever stop you from loving your family and neighbors. I’m just freeing you from the responsibility for their health so you can help them in a thousand other ways.”
Judy stuck her middle and fourth fingers into her mouth and started sucking on them. Her eyes drooped, and Doc cradled her as she fell asleep. He absently rubbed his jaw along her carroty curls, then said, “I heard back from the neurologist. Unfortunately, there’s no specific cure yet, but he suggested your headaches might be caused by something you ingest. The list he sent included red wine—”
“I don’t partake of alcohol.”
“So you’ve said. But I wondered about oranges. He mentioned with California shipping oranges back East in abundance, he’s noticing a connection there.”
“No, I love oranges.”
“Nuts?”
She shook her head.
“Aged cheese.” The doctor looked at her steadily.
Thunderstruck, Polly stared back at him. She enjoyed those other foods without any trouble, but. . . “Tempy’s cheese,” she said. “I love it. I never connected that, but before the last two—no, three—headaches, I’d eaten a wedge.”
“Well, then, let’s hope you have far fewer migraines now.” Instead of sounding smug as he might have, his tone carried sincerity. He turned when someone called for him. “Yes?”
Perry pointed at his arm. “I told ’em how you came to buy a horse, but you drew a pitcher on my owie ’cuz I got hurt.”
A girl giggled. “That’s a funny way to heal somebody.”
“It worked. I’m all better,” Perry insisted.
“And we praise God that you’re strong and healthy now.” Doc wandered around the edge of the clump of children. “Don’t you all think the way God makes us better is proof of His kindness?”
“Maybe forgiveness, too.” Perry’s face puckered. “I wasn’t ’posed to be jumpin’ outta the hayloft when I got hurt.”
“God doesn’t always heal us when we’re sick, but He is always faithful to forgive us.” Doc continued to hold Judy’s sleep-lax little body as he imparted those wise words. “We have to tell Him we’re sorry for the wrong things we’ve done. The Bible verse today talked about being kind, tenderhearted, and forgiving. God is all of those things. Because we are His children, we want to be like Him.”
“You’re not a children,” little Craig hollered.
“Sure I am.” Doc stood there, tall as Gulliver in the Land of Lilliput. “God is my Father. No matter how old I get, I’ll always be His child.”
“Like Mama is all growed up, but she’s Grampa’s little girl?”
“Exactly.”
Polly leaned against the small table and tried to clear her mind. Dr. Walcott confused and confounded her. He loved children, was called to heal, and seemed to be a strong believer—all things they held in common. They weren’t trivial things—they were soul-deep values. If it weren’t for his absurd notions about who could care for the sick, they’d undoubtedly get along very comfortably. She and her family had done everything they could to welcome him. Why couldn’t he get past his selfish pride and accept her help?
April came back toward Polly. From the awkward way she carried Lastun and crinkled her nose, Polly assumed he needed his diaper changed. April laid him on the table and whispered, “Dr. Walcott really does adore kids, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“He’ll make a good father,” April said in a dreamy tone.
“You’re too young,” Polly hissed.
“It’
s not like you want him for yourself,” April snapped back.
Polly didn’t respond. Then again, she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure whether it was the truth or a lie.
Fifteen
Eric straightened up from his microscope and reached for the mug. By habit, he raised it toward his mouth, but the pungent smell of vinegar caused him to set it back down. A cup of coffee would taste great, but he wanted to finish this experiment.
Deftly, he removed the porcupine needle from beneath the microscope. Indeed, the end bore nasty little barbs as Polly had told him it did. Each of the ten he’d inspected were the same in that regard—though they varied in thickness and length. He’d mixed vinegar and soda in the exact proportions Polly mentioned, and now he would dip three of the needles in it to see how they reacted. Three, he’d grind up and see if he could determine what minerals they were comprised of. The other four—well, they’d be interesting things to add to his collection of oddities.
Someone knocked on his screen.
“Come in.” He stopped dipping the quills and set them aside on the corner of a towel.
One of the workers from the feed store tromped in. “Doc, I’m just fine, other than, well. . .” He shifted from one foot to the other. “My guts are all bound up.”
Eric took him into the treatment room, asked several questions, palpated the man’s belly, and took down the jar of cascara sagrada to measure out a dose. “This ought to do the trick.”
“Oh, good.” His patient paid a nickel for the exam and medication, then wandered back out.
As Eric put the jar away, he mentally translated the Latin name. Cascara sagrada. Sacred bark. His hand stilled for a moment. Setting the jar farther back on the shelf, he stood eye-level to feverfew. Bark and flowers. Two of the common cures he dispensed were simply dried from nature and pulverized into a fine powder.
But I base my prescriptions on years of training, sound medical examinations, and scientific knowledge. Who knows what possesses Polly to dispense herbs or her mother to employ her odd treatments? Besides, my pharmaceuticals are of standardized strength and produced in a sterile environment.
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