He smiled. “Exactly.”
Tucker was making headway on a roast beef sandwich when Brodie sat down to consume his meal.
Between mouthfuls his brother mumbled, “Do you think Pa’s ever gonna be back to his old self again?”
“With the proper care, I see no reason he shouldn’t make a complete recovery,” he said before biting into his sandwich.
“Complete enough to get back to his practice?”
He swallowed hard. “He won’t ever have to take on such an immense load again, Tucker, because Cassia and I will be doing most of the work.”
“Did Cassia agree to that?” Tucker wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin.
Brodie placed his sandwich on the plate and reached for his napkin. “I assume that’s the reason she returned to Eagle’s Landing in the first place…to help Papa with his practice.”
Tucker arched a brow. “Well, maybe now you shouldn’t assume anything for Cassia.”
He frowned. “And would that be because you waltzed back into town?”
Tucker’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t waltz anywhere. I answered a family call.” He leaned forward in his seat. “But now that I am here, I see no reason why I can’t…”
“Complicate Cassia’s life,” he interrupted.
Tucker’s voice rose. “How about maybe enhancing it?”
“More like destroying it,” Brodie snapped loudly.
“Well, that’s only your version,” Tucker bellowed.
“Saints preserve us,” his mother gasped from the doorway. “What in God’s name has gotten into the pair o’ ye sittin’ here shoutin’ at each other and bickerin’ like little children, when yer Papa’s tryin’ to get some rest.”
Shame hit him square between the eyes. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Same for me, Ma,” Tucker said.
She moved closer to the table and pointed a scolding finger at them. “I’ll not be havin’ either o’ ye upsettin’ yer father. His recovery is o’ the most importance, do ye two hear me?”
They answered, “Yes” simultaneously.
“Ye might be too big now to be taken over me knee for a paddlin’,” she pointed out firmly. “But I can kick ye out o’ me home.”
The thought of his mother administering such a punishment heated his face. Those times hurt his pride—the humiliation great, even though he was a small boy.
“And I’ll not hesitate one moment to be doin’ just that if I hear any more o’ this sort o’ nonsense.” With hands on hips, she concluded, “Do I make meself clear?”
“Yes,” they responded in unison again.
A knock at the back door ended the scolding. When answered, John Tyler Boyd, the brother of one of his patients, stood on the stoop. The young man, a tall, thin-framed fellow about sixteen, with a mop of pale, yellow hair and a pimpled complexion, politely removed his sweat-stained hat before stating his business. “Sorry, ma’am, to be botherin’ ya, seein’ as though ya just got home from the hospital with Doc Sean and all.”
“Nay a problem, Mr. Boyd,” Sadie reassured the man, gesturing him inside. “What has you comin’ our way this afternoon?”
John Tyler’s gaze fixed on Brodie. “I’m meanin’ to fetch Doc Brodie, here. Nurse Holmes sent me.”
Brodie stood, knowing Cassia would have never sent for him unless she was in dire need of his help. “What’s wrong, John Tyler?”
“It’s my sister, Alma Lee. She’s havin’ a heap of trouble birthin’ her babe.” John Tyler wiped the sweat forming on his brow with the back of a hand. “Nurse Holmes is with her—my ma too—both have been with Alma Lee since early this mornin’. There’s been a lot of screamin’ and cryin’ from the bedroom, but still no baby’s come. Nurse Holmes’s pretty troubled and thought ya all would be back from Willow Creek by now, so she asked me to fetch ya.” John Tyler frowned. “Said to tell ya she’s sorry to be botherin’ ya all, especially today, but…”
“No. No, it’s not a bother,” he interjected. “Nurse Holmes’s was right in calling for me.”
Sadie brought a hand to her heart. “Saints preserve us. If I’m rememberin’ right, Alma Lee’s not due to birth that babe for another two months or so.”
“Yup, you’d be thinkin’ right on that account, ma’am,” John Tyler agreed. “But she’s havin’ the pains, been in pain all night. So early this mornin’ Ma told me to fetch Nurse Holmes since she heard Doc Brodie weren’t gonna be around today.”
“Just give me a moment to get my bag.” He raced to the table by the door where he kept his medical gear.
“I’ll hitch the horse to the wagon,” Tucker offered. And then turning to John Tyler he said, “Did you walk here?”
“No sir,” the younger man said. “I rode Nurse Holmes’s bicycle so’s I’d get here faster which is much quicker than tryin’ to saddle the horse or takin’ the time to hitch him to the wagon.”
“Come with me to the barn, and bring the bike with you. I’ll put it in the back of the wagon, and you can catch a ride back to your place with Brodie,” Tucker suggested.
John Tyler inclined his head politely. “Much obliged.”
As soon as they left the room, his mother neared him, “Brodie, ye must try with everythin’ possible to save Alma Lee Sloane’s babe.”
He sighed heavily. “I try to save everyone in my care, Mama.”
“Nay, ’tis not what I meant,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Alma Lee’s been through a lot in the past two years with her father dyin’ o’ the cancer and then losing her husband, Vincent Sloane, in a loggin’ accident not even a year later. This babe is all Alma Lee has left o’ Vincent. ’Twas only a few months after he was killed the poor girl found out she was carryin’. If this babe is lost too…”
“All will be well.” He placed a reassuring hand on his mother’s arm. “I will do everything possible to save them both, Mama.” He kissed her briefly on the forehead and headed for the back door.
But before he closed the door behind him, he heard his mother say, “God be with ye, son. God be with ye all.”
Chapter Eighteen
When Brodie halted the wagon in front of the Boyd’s modest, two-story and wood-framed home, Trudy Boyd and her youngest daughter, Ruth Ann, waited on the front porch. With her semi-graying hair pulled back into a sloppy braid that hung down her back, Trudy, a thin wisp of a woman, paced nervously, wringing her hands in front of her. Ruth Ann, no more than twelve, sat on a wicker chair watching her mother as closely as a cat would watch a mouse. Her long, pale curls fell in disarray around a thin, somber face. As Brodie made his way up the stairs to meet her, the elder woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“Thank God ya finally got here.” She led him to the door. “It ain’t like Nurse Holmes ain’t done her best to help Alma Lee,” she went on. “Just somethin’ ain’t right.”
Placing a hand on Trudy’s trembling arm, he spoke calmly. “I’m going to do my best to help your daughter and her baby.”
She nodded, then turned to John Tyler and Ruth Ann. “You two youngin’s stay put, and I’ll come fetch ya after the baby’s born.” Once inside she ushered him up the stairs. “The room to the left is mine, but Alma Lee’s room’s the first door to the right. My poor girl came back after bein’ up north with her husband and seein’ him pass from a loggin’ accident. Now she’s sleepin’ once again in her old room.”
He halted Trudy at the bedroom door. “I want you to go downstairs and make yourself a cup of tea. Sit with John Tyler and Ruth Ann, and wait for me to call you.”
“Oh, no, Doc. I need to be with my girl,” Trudy protested.
“It’s best for Alma Lee not to see you so upset,” he said softly. “Let me and Nurse Holmes take care of her.”
Reluctantly Trudy nodded. “I reckon I could use a cup of tea,” she whispered, then added, “Probably wouldn’t hurt none to make the youngins a bite of lunch as well.”
He forced a smile. “That sounds like a good idea.”
The ro
om he entered was small and hot, despite the two windows opened wide for air. He had to crouch down, after passing through the door so his head wouldn’t hit the slant of the ceiling. The room was sparsely furnished with just a small bed to one corner, a night table beside the bed, a three-drawer dresser in another corner, and a baby’s cradle beside a rocking chair. A small set of shelves was stocked with baby items—diapers, blankets, booties, and the like, as well as a white teddy bear with a gold ribbon tied around its neck. As he neared the bed, he passed a heap of soiled linens lying on the floor, and the stench of sweat and urine filled his nostrils.
Alma Lee, garbed in nothing but a nightgown rolled up to beneath her breasts, was lying on her side. Her knees were curled to her swollen belly, and she faced the wall. Cassia, kneeling beside the bed, spoke softly to the patient while rubbing her back. Again, as he’d done so many times before, he revered Cassia for the deep and thorough care she gave her patients. Admiration and respect for the beautiful and intelligent woman assisting him daily surfaced stronger and stronger as time went on. And her kindness didn’t end with each call but carried over into the patient’s lives—spilling over into Cassia’s private time. He’d heard of the trips twice a week to Ned and Olivia Beachum’s home, carrying with her clothing in need of mending and alterations so Olivia could make an income beyond what Ned brought to the table. Cassia’s efforts brought Olivia customers as far away as Willow Creek, and their standard of living within the few weeks had greatly improved.
When Cassia spotted him, she stood. “Dr. Brodie’s here, Alma Lee.”
Alma Lee cried out to Cassia, turning slightly to reach for her hand. “Please, don’t leave me.”
“I’ll only be a moment,” Cassia reassured her, bending to cover Alma Lee’s bared bottom with the nightgown. “I just want to fill Dr. Brodie in on your condition.” She motioned for him to step outside of the room.
“How far apart are her contractions?”
Cassia’s blonde curls were in disarray across her forehead, and with a trembling hand she pushed them aside, biting her bottom lip. “I’ve never seen anything like this, like what Alma’s going through.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
Cassia sighed exasperated. “After all the pain…the pushing…still nothing is happening.”
His frowned deepened. “What did you discover with an internal?”
“Nothing—there’s nothing there—no fetus,” she whispered.
He searched her face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, Alma Lee Sloane has no baby inside of her,” Cassia said. “That’s why I sent for you.”
“Sounds like a case of pseudocyesis.” He placed his bag on the floor and combed his fingers through his hair.
She arched a brow. “False pregnancy?”
“Yes, also known as phantom or hysterical pregnancy,” he said. “A patient with pseudocyesis has the appearance, signs, and symptoms related to pregnancy—interruption of the menstrual cycle, swollen belly, enlarged and tender breasts, and changes in the nipples, possible milk production, and nausea. Even signs of preeclampsia or constipation can occur,” he explained. “Are you familiar with the syndrome?”
“I’ve heard of such cases but never cared for a patient experiencing the problem.”
“I’m not surprised. Phantom pregnancy is extremely rare.”
Frowning, she glanced at Alma’s bedroom door. “What could cause such symptoms, and why would this happen to Alma Lee?”
“In some cases causes for the condition can be a tumor, the inability to conceive, multiple miscarriages, or the loss of a child.”
“But Alma Lee hasn’t experienced any of those things,” she pointed out.
“And still another cause is a manifestation of psychosis—the simple wish to be pregnant. A dissociative disorder, whereby the mental state becomes irrational, yet the rest of the patient’s thinking remain intact.”
“I don’t understand. Why would Alma Lee think she was pregnant when she wasn’t?”
“She recently lost her husband, didn’t she?”
“Yes, in a logging accident up north, a little over seven months ago. And it was just after Vincent’s death Alma Lee found out she was pregnant.”
“Alma Lee wished she was pregnant,” he corrected.
She frowned again. “Why would she wish to be pregnant when she wasn’t?”
“It was the only way to keep a tangible hold onto her husband.” He sighed heavily. “I saw such a case only one other time while in Boston, the wife of a Washington diplomat. The pressure to give her husband an heir brought upon phantom pregnancy. She went into labor while in Boston but…”
“She wasn’t really in labor,” she interrupted, “because there was no baby.”
“Exactly,” he whispered.
“Oh, Brodie,” she gasped. “This baby means everything to Alma Lee. The poor girl’s lost so much already. What will she do if there’s no child for her to hold…for her to go on for?”
Reaching for his bag, he moved toward the bedroom door. “Let’s hope I’m wrong.”
Alma Lee had rolled fully onto her back, her long, pale-yellow tresses fanning out over the pillow. Her nightgown, cocooning her enlarged abdomen, twisted around her thighs. Brodie couldn’t help but think how young she looked. What was she, maybe eighteen the most? Cassia was right; Alma Lee Sloane was just a girl. Too young to have all this pain and sorrow running through her body, desperate—through this baby—to keep the love she felt for her man alive. Suddenly, at twenty-nine, he felt so old. Literally he was witnessing a child having a baby. Pity for the young woman swelled his heart as he once again approached the bed.
“I need to examine you, Alma Lee,” he said softly, as not to frighten her any more than she already appeared. “Would you allow me to look?”
Alma Lee bit her bottom lip and nodded, tears pooling in the large, blue eyes that seemed to plead for his help. Pulling her nightgown to her waist, she braced the bottom of her feet against the mattress and spread her legs.
Cassia, the compassionate, caring, and loving human she was, knelt again, this time at the head of the bed, and caressed Alma’s face. “Take a deep breath, Alma Lee, and relax your body.”
Brodie’s examination proved his false pregnancy theory correct, conveying the diagnoses to Cassia with a quick nod. She blinked back the tears forming in her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Should I fetch Trudy?” she whispered.
He nodded again. “But tell her to come upstairs alone.” It was best for Alma Lee to have her mother present when he broke the tragic news.
It was almost twilight before he and Cassia left the Boyd residence. Alma Lee went into uncontrollable hysterics upon learning there would be no baby…that there was never a baby. Her uncontainable grief later consumed the entire family, and he and Cassia tried desperately to console them all. In the end, after Alma Lee realized her symptoms of pregnancy were just manifestations of her mind, she became totally undone by messing herself and the bed with vomit and urine.
Brodie took John Tyler downstairs with him, embarrassed for Alma Lee that her sixteen-year-old brother should witness the horrible ordeal of her anguish. Cassia, Trudy, and Ruth Ann bathed Alma Lee and cleaned up the room. Then he gave her something to make her sleep until morning.
“Trudy, your daughter has experienced extreme physical and mental trauma,” he explained. “It’s a great possibility she’ll need more than a medical doctor, but also to speak with a psychologist.”
“You mean one of those head doctors?” Trudy wiped her red-swollen eyes with a handkerchief.
“Yes, I fear her mental state will be sorely compromised in the days to come,” he said. “She’ll need someone to talk to, to help her adjust.”
Trudy wrung her handkerchief in trembling hands. “Well, I reckon that’s what she’s got a mother for. I don’t plan on leavin’ her side ’til she gets past this whole nightmare.”
“The truth of
the matter is, Alma Lee may not fully come out of this—not without professional care. And every moment she’s left untreated, she could become a danger to herself,” he explained.
Trudy raised a defiant chin. “Ain’t no way a child of mine’s gonna be put into one of them there nut houses,” she snapped. “I’ve heard what happens in those places—how they tie people up, operate on their heads, leave them naked and dirty.” She folded her arms in front of her. “No. Not my girl. We Boyds take care of our own.”
Both John Tyler and Ruth Ann nodded in agreement to their mother’s statement. It was then Trudy made her way to the front door and opened it wide. “I thank ya kindly for the help ya gave Alma Lee, Doc Brodie, but now I reckon its best ya both leave us to our sorrows so’s we can get through this as a family.”
He inclined his head politely. “Very well, but I’d like to stop by in a few days, just to see how all of you are doing.”
“Ain’t no reason to be concerned for my sake, or the youngins,” Trudy boasted.
“Then for Alma Lee’s sake,” he countered.
“Seems like my girl’s taken a shine to Nurse Holmes.” Trudy pointed to Cassia. “I’ll allow her to come back, but just her.”
“Very well.” Turning to Cassia, he motioned for her to precede him out the door, as they took their leave.
Cassia sat silently on the way back home, her back ridged, hands clasped in her lap, and eyes straight ahead. Her professional conduct and emotional restraint in such an instance had his admiration for her rising to a new level. Not once did she falter in her duties as a medical caregiver, keeping her wits about her even in the throes of witnessing a complete and utter human breakdown. But now her silence concerned him.
“Are you all right, Cassia?”
Keeping her eyes ahead she whispered, “What happened to the Washington diplomat’s wife?”
He swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” he lied, casting a quick eye in her direction.
She met his glance. “Did she hurt herself, like you warned Trudy Alma Lee might do?”
“Cassia, please… I don’t think…”
“Tell me what happened to her, Brodie.”
The Last Bloom Page 14