That Certain Spark

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “I lied. You’re not getting married today,” Taylor told her brother without looking up from the exam table as he came into the surgery. Metal found metal. “There.” She slid the long-handled tweezers in next to the probe and removed the bullet.

  “With my help, we’ll get this done in no time.” Enoch sounded determined. “What happened?”

  “Equal parts stupidity and spirits.”

  “Heard a bunch of knotheads traded lead at the Nugget,” Velma said as she entered the house. “Reckon we’re gonna have to patch you boys up outta the goodness of our hearts because you’re just too plain stupid to stay out of trouble.”

  The man waiting for the doctor looked a bit embarrassed.

  “It’s a crying shame, too. Doc Enoch here’s getting hitched and invited the whole town to the shindig. Only he’s not having a bunch of soused cowboys ruinin’ his weddin’ day.” Velma tsked. “Think of all the good food and dancing you boys cut yourselves out of.”

  Widow O’Toole descended the stairs. “The ones who have to stay are already in bed. Velma can bandage that one up, and I’ll stay and clean up the mess. You two go on to the wedding!”

  Enoch and Taylor ran to the church. Karl was pacing away from them, then turned and rushed toward her. “I’ll seat you. Everyone is waiting.”

  “No. That won’t be necessary,” Taylor said as she clasped hands with Enoch.

  Looking grim, Karl said nothing. He stepped out of the way, and Mrs. Cutter started plinking on the piano. Taylor looked at her brother. “Here goes nothing.”

  “No. Here goes something.”

  They got to the front of the church, and Taylor stood beside her brother as any best man would. A minute later, Karl was standing beside her. He gave her an odd look and jerked his head toward the pews. She ignored him.

  With flowers being scarce and having had no time in advance to ship any in, Heidi came down the aisle sprinkling leaves along the way. Sydney Creighton waddled in, looking as radiant as any expectant mother could. Big Tim escorted her, then sat on the front pew once they reached the altar. As Mrs. Cutter started banging “Wedding March” with more gusto than skill, Mr. Michaelson escorted Mercy down the aisle. Enoch sucked in a deep breath. Taylor wondered if he even recognized his bride was wearing their mother’s gown.

  “Go sit down,” Karl murmured. “You don’t belong here.”

  Irksome man. What was he doing, butting in to her family’s business? Taylor figured she’d tell him and get rid of him. “I’m a best man.”

  “Yes, you are a Bestman, but today, Mercy becomes a Bestman, too, and she is the woman who belongs by Enoch’s side.”

  Tim tromped up and stood by Sydney. In a loud whisper he said, “If Enoch gets two people to stand up with him, then Mercy gets a pair, too.”

  Taylor caught the look her brother and his bride exchanged. As long as they were amused, that was all that mattered. She reached out and took hold of Heidi’s hand, then lifted her up a step so she could see better.

  The wedding proceeded according to the Book of Common Prayer and the couple exchanged vows. Hope and Annie sang a duet Taylor hadn’t ever heard. As Parson Bradle said the closing prayer, Heidi started getting antsy, then exclaimed in a loud whisper, “I’m bleeding!”

  Taylor bent down. “You’ve lost a tooth!” Reaching for her chatelaine, Taylor realized she didn’t have it on.

  Enoch took the handkerchief from his pocket, squatted down, and rolled it up. “Here. Bite on this.” He kissed Heidi’s forehead and rose.

  Her eyes widened. “Daddy’s married to me! He kissed me!”

  “I’m proud to be your daddy,” Enoch said as he stroked her cheek.

  The pastor cleared his throat. “You may now kiss your bride.”

  Enoch did so with great exuberance. At that moment, Taylor knew she’d never regret coming to Texas.

  “You’ll have plenty to eat, ja?”

  “Ja!” Piet nodded appreciatively. “Go now. Do not delay.”

  Karl didn’t need his brother to urge him. He’d been champing at the bit to get over to the surgery for the past half hour. With folks still dropping things off and milling around, it hadn’t been necessary. But now that everyone was gone—well, it was different.

  Walking up to the front door felt odd, but it was only right. He did so and knocked. Dr. Bestman opened it almost immediately. “Karl! What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong is that you open the door, and you don’t know who is there.”

  “Doctors often treat strangers. What do you need?”

  He pushed his way in, took off his coat, and hung it on the hall tree. “I need to talk sense into you. You have men here still?”

  “I have patients.”

  “Men. The patients are men—ones who got drunk and violent today. Safety and decency dictate that you not be alone with men.” He looked around. “Where are they?”

  “In the patient room, upstairs.”

  “Woman—they could kill you in your sleep.”

  “Impossible.” She smiled. “I never did put talcum powder in the cracks of the floor, so it still creaks, and my door locks. Furthermore, Karl, they’re not in the pink of health.”

  “You know nothing about men. I’ll pump some water and carry it upstairs. You will stay down here.”

  As he topped off their water glasses, Karl noticed all of the patients were fast asleep; but what difference did that make? They could awaken at any time. Every last one of them was a troublemaker. That did it. No matter what she said, he was staying until these three were long gone.

  He found Taylor in her surgery, intently looking at something. Karl peered over her shoulder. “That is not right.”

  She let out a breathless shriek and whirled around. “What are you doing there?”

  “Looking at that mess, same as you were.”

  Smashing into the drawer backward so it would slam shut, she pretended to give a careless shrug. “One of the men who had too much to drink probably got into things while we were treating one of his buddies.”

  “Now. They are all leaving now.”

  “I haven’t discharged them.”

  “Yet.” Harsh as could be, the word curled in the back of his throat. He set her off to the side and yanked open the drawer. “You have surgical instruments in here, ja? Many sharp ones, for to cut. Three men, they are dangerous, and you have weapons on hand for them to take and use. And then you think you would be safe all alone at night? Nee.”

  “It could be a child’s prank, too.”

  Karl snorted. “A childish prank, perhaps. More likely a dangerous one. Men who like to scare women—they are men who go on to find scaring them is not sufficient. Cruelty is that way. Darkness always grows darker.”

  She shook her head—an adamant move. “You’re not going to scare me, Karl. It was probably just what I hypothesized: the work of a drunken fool. If not, it was a stupid stunt, nothing more. I refuse to let my mind be taken captive by your wild imaginings.”

  He stepped back. Had he overreacted? The jumble of instruments and soiled cloths in the drawer was at complete odds to the pristine order she maintained. But a drunken fool might well have fumbled and done something idiotic like that. The woman’s living all by herself—undoubtedly for the very first time in her life, and here I am, scaring her.

  “Get rid of the men.” He almost purred the words. “Because then we can eat the food from the wedding. Until they’re gone, you don’t want to get out the food—they’ll eat it all!”

  “I ate enough to last me for a month of Sundays. Since they’re all asleep, you don’t have to worry about their discovering I have food on the premises. Go ahead and help yourself . . . but then you need to leave.”

  “I’m not leaving. By those very stairs. That’s where I’m staying tonight.”

  “So you’re staying upstairs and you’ll mind them tonight?”

  He gave her an irritated look. “I have no skills with sick people. You will sleep in the
parlor. I brought down a blanket for you. For the night, I will sit in a chair to ensure that all will be well. It is not right for you to be alone in the house with men.” She ought to appreciate that. None of the chairs in this place look very comfortable.

  “Your logic is faulty. You’re a man.”

  Standing with arms akimbo, he glowered at her. “Everyone knows my character. They know I would not act in an untoward manner.” Even if the doctor is a woman. A young woman. A pretty young woman. He ran a hand through his hair. I can keep an eye on things. If those men so much as let a shadow fall outside the door of that room . . .

  “This situation has to be accepted,” she said. “It’s not going to change.”

  Intentionally misunderstanding her, he bobbed his head. “I agree. You must accept that this cannot be permitted. It puts you in danger.”

  “I sat at your bedside all through the night after your surgery. Tremendously high fevers and high-risk wounds require vigilant care.”

  He didn’t want to know she’d been by his bedside all night. The feelings that stirred up were ones he didn’t want to untangle and examine.

  Being beholden to anyone didn’t settle well. And to a woman? Especially for the kind of gentle care he now knew she gave? “Troublesome woman!”

  She had the nerve to let out a small laugh. “Maybe I’m not entirely different from other women after all. I understand men universally believe the women around them are troublesome, if not entirely impossible.”

  Exasperating. Her clever mind came up with fine humor, but at a time when he couldn’t possibly enjoy it. “I won’t be distracted from the topic by your humor. While your brother lived here it was marginally acceptable for you to have some kinds of male patients. Now it is out of the question.”

  “Karl, I don’t tell you how to run your smithy. Don’t tell me how to run my practice.”

  “You can’t run it if you’re dead.”

  “I can’t run it if my patients are dead, either. You forget, Karl, that I must make the most of every opportunity to prove my doctoring skill. Time is . . . well, three months isn’t long.”

  “Here we go.” Widow O’Toole bustled in through the kitchen door as though she’d been invited. “I thought we might need a few extra quilts tonight.”

  “That was most thoughtful of you, Eunice.” Taylor gave Karl a victorious smile.

  “Ja, it was. Here. I will claim this one. You ladies will downstairs remain while I go upstairs. If there is need, I’ll get the doctor.” Karl flashed a smirk at her and headed upstairs.

  Her voice trailed after him. “It’s too bad, since all the great food is down here.”

  His step barely hesitated. “I’ll make a tray for you, Karl,” the widow pledged, and he let loose a low chuckle of victory.

  Early the next morning Karl stretched the kinks out of his back and yanked on his boots. Delicious aromas lured him downstairs. It wouldn’t be long before he was waking up to decent breakfasts. Well, maybe not soon, but perhaps not all that long. What am I thinking? He shook his head. The doctor was interesting and intelligent and . . . very challenging to be around. Pretty. Definitely pretty. What did it matter that she was a doctor if she could still be a fine wife and a good cook and a loving mother? All of those things would make for a happy home. He needed to think more about it. Yes, he did need to think more about it.

  And goodness, she made sure his coffee cup stayed full of the best-tasting coffee he could remember drinking in ages. That should have made him deliriously happy—but she did the same for the three shamefaced, now-sober men at the breakfast table. Widow O’Toole was gone, but instead of serving leftover wedding dessert for breakfast, which didn’t sound like a bad idea to him because he knew the bachelors would have been satisfied with it, Dr. Bestman had gotten up early, made flapjacks, and put them in the warmer. All three of those idiots started making cow eyes at her. Karl herded them out before their plates were clean.

  He walked back in. “For being smart, that was about as boneheaded as you could have been. All these men want a woman who can cook. You should have scorched the coffee and burned the food!”

  “I’ll remember that the next time.”

  “There’s not going to be a next time!” Karl stomped out and slammed the door.

  The day kept building from that morning’s set-to. At school lunchtime, the teacher cut an apple and sliced her palm. Karl had been installing another coatrack at the school and told her the doc wouldn’t mind her bringing all the kids over to sit and watch her get stitched and bandaged up. As Taylor motioned for the kids to enter the surgery, Lloyd Smith remained in the doorway with some other students, hanging on to his siblings, his face pale. He whispered, “I’m sorry. Dad doesn’t . . .”

  The teacher smiled warmly at Taylor. “Don’t worry about me, Lloyd. The doctor is a woman, and so am I. Besides, I need someone to stitch this. I can’t do it myself.”

  He transferred his worried gaze toward Taylor. “Are you good at sewing?”

  “I’m better at sewing people than clothes.”

  “Wow!” one of the kids shouted. “A pirate bone man!”

  That did it. The younger ones broke free and ran inside to see the skeleton. Lloyd came in, but he was also the first one back out. Taylor finished with the teacher, and as the group left, Karl rode up in the buggy. “You need to tend to a couple of cowhands on Checkered Past. Don’t know exactly what the problem is.”

  Depending on who told the story, the fight had started over a deck of cards, some cigarettes, or a woman. As soon as she got there, Taylor knew she had a handful of fighters who’d been egged on by others. Karl bristled and tried to stand between her and the men. Tapping him on the back, she said, “If you’ll stand to the side, I’ll do what I must.”

  “By standing here, I’m doing what I must.”

  “Nonsense. Watch.” She opened her medical bag and took out a pewter flask. “I’ll treat the wounded here. If anyone dares raise his voice, I’ll apply this to his scalp.”

  “What is it?” someone shouted.

  “Come read the label for yourself.”

  The cowboy got there and lifted the flask. “It’s a big word,” he mumbled.

  “It’s two small words put together.” Taylor took a few more things from her bag.

  “Rrrring. Ring. WWorrr-ummm. Ring worm. Ringworm.” He looked proud of himself as he announced it, then his features twisted in outrage. “Ringworm!”

  No one made a sound the entire time that she was treating the injured cowboys.

  As they left, she shot Karl a look. “I ought to pour this on your scalp.”

  “You would give me ringworm?”

  “That’s doubtful. This smells so atrocious, ringworm would run away. I put a ring of worms around it as I filled it with the most obnoxious fluid I could concoct, so the name is honest. Brawn is a fine thing, Karl, but since I lack it, I use my brains. You need to have faith that I can handle these situations.”

  “In this case, I admit things turned out well. It does not mean it would always be so. Why did you say you should pour this on my head?”

  Taylor slanted Karl an exasperated look. “I told you last night not to run my practice. Last night and at breakfast, you took it upon yourself to try to get rid of my patients. Then you invited the whole school to come in!”

  “Ja. This was fun!”

  “No, Karl. You know there are families where I see the mother, yet the father disapproves of women physicians. Children shouldn’t be put in the middle.”

  Karl scraped some mud off his boots. “Each day when I see my scar, I realize the same injury only three months earlier would have killed me. Doc Wicky would have cauterized my leg and left the metal inside. The children—if they see you doing the job with their own eyes, when they grow older, they will remember you are able. I wasn’t thinking of now. I was thinking of the future.”

  She inhaled slowly. Deeply. “Karl, that was the kindest, most hopeful thing I’ve heard si
nce I arrived in Gooding.”

  “Never mistake my misgivings about your profession—they aren’t regarding your abilities. The proof of your skill is undeniable. You should know I have put my name on your list.”

  Her heart did a little jig, but she knew he didn’t want her to make a fuss. “Thank you, Karl. I know that’s been a difficult decision for you.”

  “Ja, it has been. I fear because of the dangerous situations in which you put yourself. Just as I said your skill is undeniable, a man’s nature when he’s around a beautiful woman is also undeniable.” He paused and looked directly into her eyes, his gaze holding hers. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Immediately she turned away. Oh no. He didn’t. He can’t feel that way. “We’d better get going. We have to stop by the Richardson farm, and you don’t want to be stuck there at suppertime.”

  Almost two hours later, Dr. Bestman ordered, “Karl, stop the buggy.”

  “Why?” He gave her a piercing look as he tugged back on the reins. The last thing he wanted to do was turn around and go back to the Richardson farm. Mama Richardson had a to-do checklist for Marcella’s and Katherine’s wedding. Every bachelor around knew “Lasso groom for Linette” and “Change from double to triple wedding” topped that list. She’d just changed the date to Valentine’s Day, and everyone knew the reason was to allow more time to achieve that goal. He’d barely managed to haul Doc out of there before Mama Richardson had arranged an afternoon of charades and an evening of recitations.

  Lifting the earthenware lid to a crock in her lap, Dr. Bestman said, “I can’t wait any longer. I didn’t get any lunch. Did you?”

  “Does that ever matter?” Karl reached under the seat to get the forks and spoons they’d started carrying. “Skyler, down.” The collie hopped down and raced around.

  Taylor said grace. They’d started taking turns praying when they paused for one of these quick buggy picnics. Asking God to bless the food was straightforward enough—and that was all he did when it was his turn. On the other hand, the doctor took a few extra sentences to praise God, to thank Him, and to seek His guidance and wisdom. It wasn’t ever more than just a few lines—heartfelt words that indicated a connection with the Lord that Karl knew he himself lacked.