Handful Of Flowers

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  Uncle Gideon stood at a table and clapped his hands once. Everyone fell silent for the prayer. “Our Lord of abundance and grace, we give thanks for Your providence. Bless and keep us as we seek to do Your will, and we ask a special touch of healing for our Lovejoy. Amen.”

  ❧

  Every second or third day for the next two weeks, Dr. Walcott came out to check on Mama, go on a gathering walk with Polly, and sit beside her at the lunch table. Mama’s improvement pleased them all, and Polly looked forward to his visits.

  They wandered along the back path toward a stand of trees. Polly gently tugged on Doc’s shirtsleeve. “Beware of that plant hanging off the far tree. It’s poison oak.”

  “It doesn’t look like any poison oak I’ve ever seen. Are you sure?”

  “Aunt Miriam found out the hard way.” Polly stood on tiptoe to peel off a little bark from a neighboring tree.

  “What is that for?”

  “Kate wants to tan a little leather. This’ll do the trick, and if she adds a little iron salt, the leather will go black.” She stuffed the bark into her gathering bag. “But don’t tell Uncle Titus. She’s making him a belt as a surprise for his birthday.”

  “Why doesn’t she just buy stain?”

  “Then he’d find out about it. With such a big family, it’s hard to keep secrets. We help one another out.”

  He peeled off more bark. “How much do you need?”

  “Just a little more.” . . .Of the bark. But a lot more of you.

  ❧

  Eric thoroughly enjoyed Polly’s companionship. Such a bright woman! Clever, cheerful, hardworking. He’d never met anyone with such a capacity to love. Her family, neighbors, folks in town—even the animals on the ranch—they all adored her.

  And I do, too. Eric halted midmotion at that realization. He’d told himself he was interested in Polly because of her abilities, her knowledge, even her slightly quirky ways. But the truth stared back at him. He’d come to make peace with her and explore her knowledge of plants, but somewhere on one of their walks, she’d gathered his heart just as surely as anything else she collected.

  Seventeen

  Lovejoy’s back improved almost daily. In a matter of another week or so, she wouldn’t require traction at all. Eric had been collecting botanical specimens with Polly out of interest—but that interest was every bit as much personal as it was scientific. The time had come to test the waters to see if she returned any feelings for him. He’d couch it carefully in such a way that they’d still be able to bump into one another if she tactfully indicated her affections lay elsewhere.

  He’d never seen her walking or riding with anyone. She never sat at church with a young man or appeared at the mercantile with anyone other than family—unless he counted the MacPherson boys, and they were distant kin. The fact that no man had yet managed to capture her heart both puzzled and pleased Eric. Lord willing, he’d be that man.

  I’ll offer to bring my microscope and equipment here to Chance Ranch. Flushed with excitement over that idea, he said, “I’ve been conducting experiments on the plants you and I have been gathering together. Perhaps I could do some of the experiments here at your ranch as the season starts to change. The last few days, you’ve mentioned autumn harvesting will begin. Maybe I could accompany you, and then we could prepare powders and slides.”

  “Aunt Delilah doodles with her colored pencils every chance she has. If you’d like, she’d probably illustrate your notes.”

  “Great!” Delilah’s talent would be an asset, but she also stuck close to her smaller son and the house. That meant her sketching wouldn’t involve her tagging along while he conducted his wooing. He still remembered how the Chances sent a few of the younger boys along on Caleb’s picnic as chaperones. A few times, April or Kate had come along on the gathering walks, but neither seemed especially thrilled with all of the botanical conversation. Thereafter, they found excuses not to tag along—which pleased Eric to no end.

  Heading back toward the ranch house, feeling confident in all he and Polly had accomplished, Eric continued, “I’d like to work with you more, train you with some of my things.”

  “Like the special Johnson & Johnson plaster?”

  “Yes. . .” He paused, then dared to push on, “and like childbirth.” If you become my wife, we’ll tend women together.

  Polly stopped and gave him an entertained look. “In eighteen years, Mama’s lost only two women in this township within the first ten days of their deliveries. Can you boast the same statistic?”

  “We both know I haven’t practiced for eighteen years, Polly. I do have modern scientific techniques.” Though confident in his own medical ability, his assurance of Polly’s faith in his talent flagged. Perhaps she wasn’t attracted to him, either. He’d come too far to back out, though. “The pastor’s wife is due any day now, and—”

  “She’s been clear about her desires, Doctor. Mama and I will be attending her.”

  “Your mother oughtn’t do that. It’s too hard for her yet. I thought you and I—”

  Polly’s eyes widened. “How could you suggest that? Mrs. Abrams already told you how she feels. I’m not going to plow over her feelings.”

  “She’s older—far older—than most first-time mothers. Complications are more common in such circumstances.” He could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. Eric heaved a sigh. “Then promise me two things, Polly: that you’ll summon me if there are any problems whatsoever, and that you’ll use my ergot.”

  “You insisted on your ergot at Beulah’s delivery, too. Why?”

  “Because. . .” He looked at Polly and hated to crush her confidence, but the folklore she used was still dangerous. He needed to convince her to use sound medicinals, even if he couldn’t win her heart. “Because ergot is scientifically proven to prevent postpartum hemorrhage. The rust scrapings and rye whiskey you use are hazardous to the patient.”

  “Rust scrapings and rye whiskey,” Polly echoed. Her blue eyes grew huge, and her mouth dropped open. Laughter bubbled out of her. “Rust scrapings and rye whiskey? Oh, Doctor. The whiskey on the table was to sterilize it. By the time I arrived, Eunice was ready to deliver. I didn’t have time to do a lye soap scrub. As for rust—you misunderstood. We have Hattie send us scrapings of rusty rye.”

  “And my ergot is from rye,” he said. He chortled in disbelief and relief.

  “Oh, my.” She laughed merrily. “Between that and the ax at a birthing, no wonder you felt Mama and I were quacks!”

  “When I was just five, my mother died in childbirth, Polly. It’s one of the reasons I became a physician. Attending Reliable’s women during that dangerous time is important—for them and to me.”

  Polly looked him in the eye and slowly shook her head. “I love delivering babies and helping the mamas, too, but that’s not the issue. The fact is, women have the right to decide who’s going to help them. I’m not going to sway a woman to come see me if she seeks you out; you oughtn’t do the reverse.”

  Stubborn woman. Eric looked at her in silence.

  “You suggested partnering. If a woman wants the both of us there, I’m fine with that. Mama always said another pair of skilled hands isn’t ever wasted.”

  Eric couldn’t deny that fact. Nonetheless, he didn’t want Polly carrying on the misguided notion that she could cure the collective ills of Reliable’s citizens. “As I mentioned, it would be a good thing for me to train you in modern medical practices.”

  “The traction you set up for Mama works beautifully. Those kinds of things fascinate me. I’d enjoy learning whatever you’re willing to teach me.”

  “Good.” Maybe things could work out, after all. Why does she have to be so confusing?

  She slanted him a look. “I’m willing to assist you, too—in regular cases, emergencies, and during surgical procedures. Please feel free to send for me.”

  He studied her. Something about the attentiveness in her posture—the slight forward tilt of her head and the ever-so-
subtle narrowing of her eyes—made him take notice. “Are you referring to a specific case, Polly?”

  “Might be.”

  Eric frowned.

  She shifted subtly. If it weren’t for the way her skirt scuffed a tiny mark in the earth, he would have missed it entirely. “Oh, dear.” She winced. “This is difficult. With Mama, I’m free to discuss the neighbors to whom we render care. On the other hand, it’s not right for me to reveal things to you about them. I’m afraid it’s going to be problematic.”

  “There are bound to be difficulties. You and I agree on something, though: The patient’s welfare is always foremost.”

  Her eyes pled with him for confirmation. “I referred someone to you yesterday.”

  “Is that so? No one’s sent for me or come to the clinic.” The pleasure that she’d sent a case to him couldn’t offset the concern he felt. Polly still felt competent treating simple cases; this one must be exceptionally involved or difficult.

  Polly started toward the barnyard. Eric strode alongside her, matching her rapid pace. The resolute set of her jaw warned him something was wrong. “What is it?”

  “I suppose that partnership’s going to be trial by fire.” She dropped the gathering sack onto a table and called, “Hey, in the barn!”

  Someone stuck out his head. Eric thought it might be Tanner.

  “Saddle up Blossom right away!”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “The Big G.” Polly looked at Eric. “I’ll grab my satchel. Did you bring your doctor’s bag?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She headed into her parents’ cabin. Eric stood in the doorway and overheard her whisper, “Mama, I’m taking Doc over to the Big G. Mr. Garcia didn’t go get checked.”

  “Mmm. Best you shake a leg. I didn’t like the way he looked.”

  Polly headed into the odd closetlike place. Eric invited himself to go see what she was gathering from the shelves.

  To his surprise, the shelves weren’t dusty—they were all painted a grayish brown. The jars, jugs, and bottles were all sparkling clean and bore labels. Sure, bunches of leaves and roots hanging from pegs pounded into the roof looked strange. He suspected there was some order or method to the arrangement, but this wasn’t the time to ascertain those details.

  “What are you getting?”

  “Essentials. If it’s what I think it is, we’ll take him to your office for surgery; if it’s worsened, you might have to operate at his place.” Metal pieces chinked together as she lifted a tightly wrapped towel and stuffed it into her satchel. “I’ll bring my instruments just in case.”

  “Fine.” He grabbed a bar of lye soap.

  She took a bottle of carbolic acid and the accompanying mister, a container of tincture of iodine, then one last bottle and slipped them all into her satchel.

  He couldn’t believe what he’d seen on the label. “You have ether?”

  “Yes.” Right beside where that bottle had rested on the shelf sat paper-and-cotton cones in which to drip the ether. That surprised him; most often, folks saturated a sponge with it, but many didn’t awaken after the surgery because the anesthesia went too deep.

  “A doctor in San Francisco trained Mama and me about it. He suggested the cone because he’s seen too many people harmed with an ether sponge.”

  “Polly, why don’t you tell me what you’ve diagnosed?”

  She stopped for a moment and gave him a grave look. “I suspect appendicitis.”

  Grabbing her wrist in one hand and the satchel in the other, he plowed toward the door. His voice vibrated with concern and supplication as he prayed, “God help us all.”

  Eighteen

  The sickly sweet smell of ether lingered in the kitchen as Polly carefully washed the instruments. As Doc came back into the room, she asked, “How is he?”

  “I got him settled in bed. Pulse is strong, breathing is steady. He’s in God’s hands now.”

  Polly nodded. When they’d arrived, they’d found Mr. Garcia in his stable. He lay doubled up beside his saddle, barely conscious. Doc hefted him, carried him into the two-room shack, and gave the shambled place a look of despair.

  Polly hastily swept everything off the table, and in a moment of tension, Doc still managed some mirth. “No time for a lye scrub. Do you think he has any of that medicinal whiskey for sterilizing the table?”

  Polly located a bottle and doused the table thoroughly, and that was where they operated. The water in the stove reservoir was still scalding, so she’d been able to give the instruments a cursory dip for better sterility. They’d worked furiously but well together. Polly paused from washing those instruments now, glanced up at the doctor, and nodded. “Yes, it’s up to the Lord now.”

  He watched her as she washed the handles of a pair of hemostats. Suddenly, Polly felt unaccountably shy. She concentrated on making sure the little metal ridges on the other end of the instrument came sparkling clean.

  “You did the right thing, Polly. If we hadn’t arrived when we did, that appendix would have ruptured and Mr. Garcia would have died. It would have been a lonely, painful death.”

  She nodded. “Healing is a matter of asking God’s guidance and doing your best. I’m glad you were here. I couldn’t have operated.”

  “We work exceptionally well together.” Doc dipped each of the just-washed instruments into boiling water, then set them on a clean towel. “I’m not sure what’s yours and what’s mine.”

  Polly stared at the shiny collection of scissors, probes, retractors, hemostats, scalpels, and needles. “Yours are the experienced ones. Most of mine don’t see much use. Other than births and doing sutures, I don’t even take them from their sterile wraps.”

  “Your plants are your tools.”

  His words left her feeling lightheaded with pleasure. Polly leaned against the sink. “Yes, they are.”

  Doc frowned, wrapped his hand around her elbow, and dragged her toward a chair. “Here. Sit down.” As soon as he’d deposited her in the seat, he opened the door and muttered to himself, “I was an idiot not to air out the room.”

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  He came over, tilted her face to his, and shook his head. “Ether is harsh. You’re—”

  “If you dare call me fragile, I might never forgive you.” Even though she didn’t feel weak, she didn’t mind his touch. It made her feel. . .cared for.

  His brows hiked upward, and he let out a short laugh. “The fresh air is giving you back your sass. As for you not forgiving me. . .” He stroked his thumb slowly across her jaw. “You don’t carry grudges. If you did, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

  “Why are you standing there?” Uncle Bryce’s voice made them both turn toward the door. A thunderous scowl darkened his face. “I thought somebody was supposed to be sick. And you”—he shook his forefinger at her—“Polly Chance, you know better. You’re not to go gallivanting off without one of us comin’ along.”

  “It was an emergency, and I was with Polly.” Doc stood beside her.

  Uncle Bryce didn’t respond verbally. He gave Polly a we’ll-talk-about-this-later look.

  “Mr. Garcia’s going to need help for a while here.” Polly tried to steer the conversation into safer territory. “Could you please go to the MacPhersons and see if they can spare Peter and Matt? I’ll ask Cal and Tanner to come, too.”

  “From the looks of things, it’ll take the four of them weeks to whip this place into shape.” Uncle Bryce folded his arms and continued to wear a stubborn expression. “You can tell plenty about a man from his animals. Garcia’s stable is full of beasts he’s ignored.”

  “He’s been sick, Uncle Bryce. Really sick.” She refused to divulge the nature of the malady, and her uncle knew better than to ask particulars, but Polly did impart, “We just operated. How about if you and I go water and feed those animals while Dr. Walcott checks in on Mr. Garcia?”

  “So you’re done here?”

  “Not yet.”

  “
I aim to toss you back on Blossom and send you home. Ain’t fittin’ for a young woman to be all on her own out in the wilds with two men.”

  Heat flashed from her bosom to her hairline. Polly wanted to let out a squawk of outrage. Uncle Bryce had no call to be embarrassing her like this. “Mama knew Dr. Walcott and I were paying a medical call. No one will give it another thought.”

  “Your mama couldn’t concoct a bad thought about anybody,” Uncle Bryce grumbled. “Don’t hold her up as a sample on how others think.”

  “More’s the pity,” the doctor said. “I’ve found Lovejoy to be a wonderful Christian example.”

  Uncle Bryce shook his finger at Doc. “An example. Yes, a Christian example. There you have it.” He paused a moment, then blurted out, “Actually, you don’t, and that’s the problem.”

  Doc’s lips parted. He waited a heartbeat, then asked solemnly, “Have I offended you or someone?”

  “You wander off, missy.” Uncle Bryce shot Polly a “mind-me” look.

  She lifted her chin. “The doctor asked a question. You made an accusation in front of me, and he deserves the opportunity to clear his name.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Uncle Bryce glowered at Dr. Walcott. “You’ve been to the Nugget.” He paused meaningfully and cast a quick glance at Polly. “Now you walk off, missy.”

  “There’s no need,” the doctor said.

  Uncle Bryce shook his head. “I tried to handle this best as I could. Neither of you is making it easy. Fact is, Doc, it’s known you’ve been upstairs at the Nugget.”

  “Yes, I have,” Doc said mildly. He looked from Polly to Uncle Bryce and back again. He didn’t sound in the least bit offended or defensive. “I treat anyone in need. Where they live or what they do for a living isn’t an issue for me.”

  “Folks get the wrong impression,” Uncle Bryce grumbled.

  “I suppose that could be true. But Jesus didn’t ask what people did for a living; He reached out and healed them. I won’t do any different. If folks make false judgments about me, that’s their business. I’m accountable to the Lord.”