Sawbones

by Melissa Lenhardt

  “Don’t tell me you buy the Eastern idea of the ‘noble savage,’” Foster sneered.

  “There is nothing noble in what they do. But, I also know the white man has broken every treaty we have ever signed. With every instance of Indian savagery, the Army retaliates with their own.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The Army does not always limit its attacks to warriors,” Ezra said. “Villages full of women and children have been destroyed.”

  “Is that true, Lieutenant Colonel?” I asked.

  “Dr. Kline makes it sound like we’re murdering them. This is war and they are the enemy. I would think you, of all people, would understand, Miss Elliston.”

  “Women and children didn’t attack my wagon train.”

  “The children you are so protective of will grow up to be warriors,” Foster said.

  “As much as I want those responsible to pay for what they did, I would not want women and children murdered in retaliation.”

  “It is up to the officers to control their men,” Kindle said. “Too often, they’re not up to the task. Too often, they are the ones who need to be controlled.”

  “You sound as if you speak from experience, Uncle,” Beau Kindle said.

  Kindle glared at his nephew. Had Beau forgotten Kindle’s threat at the massacre site? I wonder if Kindle would follow through on his threat to send Beau to Saint Louis. “You cannot serve in the Army for as long as I and not witness bad decisions as well as good. Attacking the food supply is a good one. By all means, eradicate the buffalo. Kill the Indian’s horses. Those are much more humane solutions than human extermination. With the new quicker and cheaper hide-tanning process, there is plenty of money for Eastern businessmen to make on the buffalo hides.”

  “We have returned to my original point, greed,” I said.

  “I believe the original point was convincing you to settle in Jacksboro, but the conversation has taken such a crooked course I’m not entirely sure,” Edna Carter said, to general laughter.

  “I am sure Dr. Welch is capable of handling the ills and births of Jacksboro,” Foster said.

  “You haven’t heard?” Edna said.

  “Heard what?”

  “Welch is dead.” A chorus of exclamations rang out around the table. “Yes, found this morning in the alley behind a saloon.”

  “Died of drunkenness, no doubt,” Harriet said.

  “He was stinking drunk,” Stephen said. “But, drink is not what killed him. He was beat to death with a cane. Killer left the cane buried in his skull.”

  Except for Edna, Alice, and myself, the women around the table gasped.

  “Sir!” Foster said. “Watch your language. There are women present.”

  Strong, a gleam in his eyes, looked down the table to Kindle. “Captain, I hope your cane isn’t missing.”

  Kindle stared in the middle distance, his face white. Harriet put her hand on Kindle’s arm. “Captain, you’re pale. Do you feel ill?”

  “I am fine, thank you.”

  “Yes, but where is your cane?” Strong teased.

  Kindle reached down to the floor and lifted the cane I had given him.

  Edna was not to be distracted from her goal by an indignant lieutenant colonel, a pale captain, or a teasing lieutenant. “So you see, Dr. Elliston, your services are desperately needed.”

  “I appreciate your efforts. Indeed, your attentions will make me quite vain.” I glanced at Kindle, who was again staring off in a distracted manner. “However, it has been arranged for me to accompany a wagon train to Fort Sill in two days. Thank you, though. It is nice to be wanted.”

  “You’ll be missed,” Harriet said, inclining her head. I almost believed her.

  “How gracious of you to say so.”

  The remainder of dinner was uneventful, as if everyone hoped polite discourse could alleviate the tension from the disagreement and the news of Welch’s death. A dessert of wild blackberry cobbler with a flaky crust, the one course not limited by the inhospitable nature of the plains, mollified Foster. I feigned attentiveness and responded sufficiently well when asked a direct question that my reticence was not unduly noticed. Only Alice Strong and Kindle exceeded my level of taciturnity. As the forced chatter swirled around me, I remembered the conversation I had overheard between Welch and Franklin and wondered who the unnamed “he” they referred to was. Was Welch’s death somehow connected to that conversation, and as a result, to the graft going on at the fort? Or was it connected somehow to Henry Pope and the bloody Wanted poster I’d received days earlier? Or both? I wiped the corners of my mouth and idly surveyed the table, studiously avoiding Harriet and Kindle’s vicinity, while wondering what kind of man was capable of cold-blooded murder.

  * * *

  When we rose to depart, Kindle and Harriet made their way toward me. My breath caught at the hunger in Kindle’s eyes. I knew precisely what he wanted and also knew if left alone with him, he would have it with very little effort on his part.

  Harriet threaded her arm through mine and said, “Remember, you promised to share a sherry with me after the dinner.”

  I knew I’d done no such thing, but readily acquiesced. I couldn’t imagine a safer refuge from Kindle’s desire than Harriet’s parlor. I tore my eyes away from Kindle and focused on Harriet. She glanced between us with a knowing expression. I imagined the first thing out of her mouth when we were alone would be, “You are a very poor liar.”

  “Let me know when you are ready to return to the hotel,” Kindle said.

  “I’ll take care of getting her home safely, don’t you worry,” Harriet said. I almost hugged her in relief.

  Kindle’s expression cleared and he bowed his head. “Dinner was superb, Harriet. Good night.”

  Kindle moved to a clump of officers at the far end of the tent. It was on the tip of my tongue to thank Harriet for rescuing me when I realized what our tête-à-tête meant.

  We walked across the parade ground to her brother’s quarters. I stood in the middle of the parlor while Harriet lit lanterns. She replaced the glass over the final lantern and said with a wry smile, “You look as if you’re about to meet a firing squad.”

  “An apt description.”

  Harriet adjusted the lantern’s wick higher. The warm light illuminated her troubled expression. “Please, sit. I will pour the sherry.”

  Two wooden straight-back chairs sat at an angle before the fireplace. The lantern sat on a small table between them. The windows were open but offered little in the way of a breeze. It was only the first of June and the heat was oppressive. I couldn’t fathom what July or August would be like.

  Harriet handed me one of the small goblets of sherry and sat in the other chair. “It’s like a monk’s cell, isn’t it? To Ranald, material possessions are merely lodestones to haul across the country as he performs his duties. All of his possessions fit in one chest.” Harriet shook her head and sipped her drink.

  “You and your brother are close?”

  Harriet tilted her head. “He is a bachelor and I am a spinster. My other living brother is a naval officer and at sea most of the time. His family would take me in, but I don’t relish the role of spinster aunt stuck taking care of the children.”

  “You said living brother; did one die in the war?”

  “No. He survived the war to die in the Far East. He was a naval officer, as well. The Navy is in our family’s blood. Ranald rebelled and went into the Army. We aren’t here to talk about my life, though.”

  “I suppose not.” I sipped my drink and stared into the empty fireplace.

  Harriet placed her glass on the table between us. “I went to see Henry Pope today.”

  “How is he?”

  “In pain. Angry.”

  “Understandable.”

  “At you.”

  “Me?” My voice broke on the word. I cleared my throat. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Come now, Catherine.”

  I stood and went to th
e window that looked out over the plains. The stars were pinpricks in the coal black sky. “He told you.”

  “He cannot speak. He showed me a poster. It is not a very good likeness of you.”

  I closed my eyes and nodded. “So he had more than one.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  I turned to face Harriet. “Mr. Pope showed me the poster the day we met. I thought I’d convinced him that to print the story would bring bounty hunters down on Jacksboro. He wouldn’t get his story or the reward. I hoped to be gone before he got either. After Mr. Pope was beaten, someone sent me a poster covered in bloody fingerprints.”

  “You don’t think Henry—”

  “No. His attacker.”

  “But, why?”

  “I have no idea. If Pope’s attacker is a bounty hunter why not just claim me and take me back East? There was no cause to beat Henry Pope.”

  Harriet picked up her sherry and stared into the middle distance, lost in thought. We drank in silence.

  “Why haven’t you revealed who I am?”

  Harriet’s focus turned to me. She exhaled a small laugh. “You expected me to rush to the sheriff, no doubt.” When I didn’t reply she continued. “I know how the press is, how stories take on a life of their own, divorced from anything resembling the truth.” I suppose my skepticism showed on my face. “Have you heard of the Somers Affair?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “It haunted my father until the day he died.” Harriet waved it away. “It isn’t important. Tell me your account of what happened in New York.”

  “Do you have anything stronger than sherry?”

  “I do not.” She rose and smiled mischievously. “But, Ranald does.”

  I threw back the rest of my sherry, picked up Harriet’s glass, and took both to the kitchen. When I returned, she was pouring two stiff shots of whisky into tin cups. She handed me one, clinked her cup against mine, and said, “To the truth.”

  I nodded and drank. “It started in the early-morning hours of February ninth, after I left the resurrection man.”

  Harriet’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline and she leaned away from me. I chuckled. “You might want to sit down. It gets worse.”

  I was thankful I’d vented my feelings while telling Ezra. The last person I wanted to show weakness in front of was Harriet Mackenzie. She listened without interruption and was so quiet when I finished I thought she might have fallen asleep.

  “You treated William at Antietam?”

  Of all the things I told her, the aside about treating Kindle during the war was what stood out? “I did.”

  “Ranald was there. In the engineering corps.” She picked up her empty tin cup and stared into it with remorse. “He never spoke much about the war, but I gathered Antietam was more terrible than most.”

  “I think that could be said about every battle.”

  She nodded and looked up at me. “I wanted to nurse, during the war. But I was too young. I stayed home with my mother and two younger brothers and did what I could, which always felt like too little.”

  I thought of Harriet’s efficiency and empathy during the dysentery outbreak. “It was the Union’s loss. You would have been a tremendous nurse.”

  Her face relaxed into a pleased smile. “Thank you.” A rare moment of camaraderie passed between us, until her smile faded and she glanced back into her empty mug. “Are you in love with William?”

  “Are you?”

  She laughed, and I again noticed how beautiful it was. “No. Though I do esteem him more highly than most of Ranald’s officers. As does Ranald. William’s gone through much to get where he is. It would be a shame for the Army to lose him.”

  “I agree.” I straightened my shoulders, and despite the terror in the pit of my stomach, asked, “Are you going to turn me in?”

  She exhaled and slumped slightly before rising and going to the desk in the corner. She opened the middle drawer, removed a piece of paper, and held it out to me. I didn’t need to look at it to know it was Pope’s Wanted poster. “I cannot promise Pope will not. I don’t know how many of these he had.”

  I took the poster and stared at Harriet, trying to understand who she was, what motivated her. As if sensing my confusion she took the poster from my hand and put the corner to the lantern’s flame. When it was sufficiently caught, she walked to the fireplace and threw it in. In silence, we watched it burn to ash.

  Harriet walked to the door. “I will have Foster’s orderly take you to the hotel. You are welcome to stay here, though I know you will not.”

  I stepped forward. “Harriet?”

  Her hand on the door latch, she looked over her shoulder at me.

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled and nodded and opened the door. I heard footsteps on the porch and Sergeant Washington appeared, his hat in hand. “Miss Mackenzie, ma’am. Captain Kindle ordered me to get the doc to her hotel.”

  Harriet stepped back and opened the door wider.

  I stopped in front of my hostess. “Thank you for the sherry.”

  She reached out as if to take my hands, but patted me on the forearm instead. “Thank you for sharing it with me. Sleep well, Laura.” Her expression closed off and she looked away.

  I followed Sergeant Washington to the wagon and let him help me up onto the seat. Before he alighted, Harriet called him back. She spoke to him briefly in a low voice. He nodded, and returned. The ride into town passed in silence. One not knowing what to say and the other worrying she’d not said enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  With the loss of Welch as town doctor a constant stream of patients called for me at the hotel desk, no doubt sent by Edna Carter. I arranged with the owner the use of a back room for the day so I could see the patients in a more appropriate setting than a bedroom. Alice Strong was my fifth patient and it was not even ten o’clock in the morning.

  “Why is Sergeant Washington sitting outside your door?”

  “He is waiting to take me back to the fort tonight.”

  Alice furrowed her brows, as if the explanation didn’t quite make sense, but didn’t push further. The explanation didn’t make sense, but it was easier to lie than to explain that Kindle felt it necessary to have a guard at my door. I could only imagine his reasoning had something to do with his brother since I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the night before.

  Alice avoided my gaze and looked around the tidy room. A wooden rectangular worktable absconded from the kitchen served as my examination table, much to the irritation of the cook. My depleted trunk of medicine stood open in the corner, my medical bag on a small table next to a chair. “Is this all of your things?”

  “My medical supplies, yes. My trunk of clothes is upstairs in a sorry state, I must admit. I was in the middle of packing when my first patient arrived. I was eager to leave the task. Maureen was always the packer.”

  “I heard the sutler looted your things,” Alice said.

  “Did you?” I said in some surprise.

  Alice gave me a bitter smile. “I hear a great many things people do not intend me to her.”

  “Are you an eavesdropper, Alice?”

  “On the contrary, I am more like a servant. I hear everything because no one sees me.”

  I opened my mouth to contradict her but stopped. I thought of the dinner the night before. Alice had sunk into the surroundings, unobtrusively, and been completely overlooked save the one question she asked. The conversation moved on without her and she was forgotten again. Because she was ugly, she was ignored, forgotten, and assumed to be stupid or lacking in enough assertiveness to be interesting. The anonymity of her appearance and docile nature placed her in a unique position to be abreast of information that would not be shared with beautiful women with sharp minds and eyes.

  “The sutler was generous enough to allow me to reclaim my things,” I said. “Since I’m not traveling by wagon and have no way to transport some of them, I sold them back to him. He robbed me bli
nd, but I did procure the materials for shelves for Corporal Martin in the hospital kitchen. He gave me a bottle of his sorghum syrup in gratitude. I’ve made a friend for life.”

  She smiled. “You leave tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes. I’m moving back to the fort for the night. It is more convenient since we leave so early.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “In the hospital. With the completion of the death room behind the hospital, there is a vacant room upstairs.” I chuckled at the expression on Alice’s face. “Yes, my sentiments as well. What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

  “I am better, thank you.”

  “If you aren’t ill, what can I do for you?”

  Alice cleared her throat and continued to look away. “I—” She stopped, struggling, her face reddening with embarrassment.

  I encouraged her to ask me whatever she wanted.

  “I would like your advice on marital relations,” she blurted. She sighed, relieved of her burden at last.

  Good heavens, I thought, with a fair amount of inward panic. “What kind of advice?” I said, in my most professional, calm voice.

  “I didn’t know what to expect in regards to marital relations and I am afraid my ignorance is why I am unable to get with child.”

  “Most women are ignorant, Alice,” I said. “Ignorance is not a detriment to getting with child, I assure you.”

  “Yes, of course. My barrenness must be caused by something I’m not doing.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “A year.”

  “A year is not so long.”

  “It’s an eternity!”

  I motioned to the one chair in the room. “Won’t you sit down?” I asked. “Have you regular abdominal pain?”

  “Only during my time.”

  “No other?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about during…relations?”

  “In my abdomen? No.”

  “It is painful other places?” She nodded. “Did you have any illness in childhood?”

  “No. I have always been healthy.”

  “Have you talked to another doctor about this?”