A Touch of Flame

by Jo Goodman

  “You do rule.” She started to go but he stopped her. “The baby?”

  Ridley cast her eyes downward. She shook her head. “She lost it sometime last night.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She looked up, met his startling clear blue eyes. “I’m not certain that’s the right response. She didn’t want the child. I think she would have asked me to abort the fetus if I discovered she hadn’t done so spontaneously. It never came to that.”

  Ben nodded. He wanted to ask what she would have done if Lily had put the request to her, but understood it was neither the time nor the place. He thought he should probably ask and answer the same question for himself before he heard Ridley’s response.

  “How can she stay with him?” Ben asked quietly as they made their return to the kitchen.

  Resigned to the truth, Ridley’s answer was also a mere whisper. “How can she not?”

  Ridley had not inquired about the location of Mary Cherry’s home in proximity to the Salts. She was prepared to wait as long as she had to for Ben to return, and he also had Jeremiah’s collection of bottles to take to his office. The first half hour was spent cleaning up breakfast detritus, which included removing porridge from Lizzie’s fine hair. Following that, she unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves and applied herself to scrubbing blood from the cloths she’d used to attend to Lily. She hung the cloths over the line out back and then climbed the stairs a second time to check on her patient. Lily was sleeping comfortably. Most important to Ridley was that she showed no sign of a fever.

  The children were playing a game with dice, a ball, and no discernable rules in the front room. Ridley joined them on the floor and lost with alarming regularity, which delighted them and satisfied her. It was in the middle of the fifth round that Ben reappeared. Ridley scrambled to her feet and brushed off her skirt.

  “We didn’t hear you,” she said, patting down her hair. The children had quieted upon seeing Ben, and Ridley thought her voice seemed unusually loud.

  “We could hear you.” He stepped aside and made room for his companion to come abreast of him in the archway. When she came out from behind him, he made quick work of the introductions. The children were all well acquainted with Mary Cherry, and they hopped to their feet—Ham dancing on tiptoes—to happily greet her.

  Ridley had no difficulty understanding how Mary Cherry had so effectively been swallowed by Ben’s shadow. If Ridley was being generous, Mrs. Cherry stood no taller than four and a half feet. She was a study in geometric shapes from her triangular face with its high, broad brow and sharply pointed chin. A second triangle could be drawn from her shoulders to her waist and a third from her waist to the spreading hem of her gown. Her features were tightly drawn, emphasizing careworn lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth and the permanent vertical crease between her eyebrows. She was graying at the temples and all along the center part of her otherwise black hair. There were wiry silver threads in her eyebrows, but her lashes were long and dark as onyx.

  Ridley stepped forward and held out her hand. “I am very glad to make your acquaintance.” When Mary ignored the overture, Ridley merely shrugged and let her hand fall back to her side. “Dr. Dunlop had a good many things to say about how you managed his house and his practice.”

  Mary Cherry snorted. “Managed his life is more like it.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “And he had mostly nothing to say about you. Now why do you suppose that was?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “There’s tomfoolery going on. That’s what I think. Tomfoolery.” She pointed to Ridley’s medical bag. “You think that means something to me? It doesn’t. I’m here because Ben asked me, Lily needs me, the children want me, and you’re paying me a week’s wages for a couple or three days of work.”

  Ridley inhaled a calming breath and released it slowly. She stood still for Mary Cherry’s narrow-eyed assessment for a ten count and then told her in precise and chilly accents how things would be. Minutes later, she was sailing out the door that the sheriff held open for her.

  Ben caught up to her quickly, touched her elbow to slow her down. “I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to get the best of Mary Cherry before, not like you just did. She was gaping at you and then her mouth snapped shut. I heard her teeth click.”

  Ridley shoved her bag at him. “Hold this.” She rolled down her sleeves, smoothed them, and buttoned the cuffs. Taking back the bag, she resumed her brisk pace until they reached the main street on the other side of Jeremiah Salt’s forge. “Where are we going?”

  “Hold on,” said Ben, standing his ground. “Who got the better of whom back there? I thought it was you with the upper hand, but I’m wondering now if that’s true.”

  Ridley pressed her lips together. Her fingers tightened on her bag. “I don’t like losing my temper. I allowed her to do that to me.”

  Ben cocked his head to one side and rubbed behind his right ear. “That was you losing your temper?”

  “Do you doubt it?”

  “I guess not, if you say so. You never raised your voice.”

  Ridley cast her eyes heavenward, shook her head.

  “You were frosty, though. That was interesting. I’m more accustomed to hot tempers.”

  She sighed. “Please, can we go on?”

  “Of course.” He pointed up the street. “Hank Ketchum’s livery is about the only business behind us. Depot’s back that way, but you’ve already seen the stationmaster, so I thought we’d work our way north toward the Butterworth and come back around past the milliner’s, Maxwell Wayne’s bakery, and Hennepin’s mercantile. The more proprietors you meet, the faster word will get around that you’re here and prepared to see patients.”

  “All right.” She began walking, this time with less measured steps.

  “Do you have any objections to going inside the Songbird?”

  “That’s the saloon, isn’t it?” When he nodded, she said, “I don’t have any moral objections if that’s what you’re asking, but even that encounter with Mrs. Cherry does not tempt me to have a drink this early. Truth be told, seeing Mr. Salt’s bottles lined up on the kitchen table has made me consider whether I will ever want a drink again. I was glad when you took them with you.”

  “They’re lined up on my desk now. Hitch is guarding them. Jeremiah doesn’t know they’re there yet. That’s a conversation for later today. The reason I want to take you to the Songbird is because the owner was in to see me yesterday. Buzz’s big toe is the size of a sizzling sausage ready to burst its casing, and he was inquiring about the arrival of the doctor. The Songbird is also the hub for a lot of the town gossip, though there won’t be a man there who will admit it. Sound interesting to you?”

  Ridley admitted that it did. “Buzz?” she asked.

  “Buzz Winegarten. The way I understand is that he poked a hive when he was a kid, the bees swarmed, and he’s been Buzz ever since.”

  “Did my godfather treat him?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure Buzz ever took his advice for more than a few days at a time. You’ll find that happens around here.”

  “It happens everywhere. Frost Falls couldn’t possibly be the exception. Pain prompts people to do something. They follow the instructions until the pain’s gone and then they gradually go back on their promises to themselves, to their doctor, and to the Almighty.”

  Ben chuckled. “Sounds about right.” He pointed to the canted sign above the saloon. “That’s the Songbird. Won’t be many inside at this hour. Buzz said his nephew is working the bar, but Buzz is probably sitting nearby keeping an eye on the money.”

  Buzz was indeed situated as Ben described. His chair was turned at a right angle to the table so he could not only see the transactions at the bar but also elevate his gouty foot on the seat of another chair. He looked up when the doors swung open and m
omentarily let in a shaft of sunlight. He was already grimacing so tightly that Ridley couldn’t say if he actually squinted. There was no doubt in her mind that he was in an enormous amount of pain.

  Ridley made out the presence of three customers in the dimly lit saloon, one standing at the bar with a boot resting on the brass rail, and two others sharing a table near the staircase. There was also a young man behind the bar wiping a glass with a damp towel. He set down the glass and tossed the towel over his shoulder. She thought he was following her progress as she wended her way between and around the tables but came to the amusing realization that it was Ben that he was eyeing.

  The man standing at the bar and the pair sharing the table all grunted some sort of greeting. Buzz’s nephew had nothing to say and looked as if he wished himself somewhere else.

  “I brought the doc,” Ben said when they reached Buzz’s table.

  “Yeah?” Buzz looked away from Ben and right through Ridley. “Where you keeping him, then?”

  Ben pulled a chair away from the table, spun it around, and sat. “Your eyesight’s no better than a mole’s. You need to get out more, Buzz. You’re staring at her. This is Dr. E. Ridley Woodhouse.”

  Ridley set her bag on the table. “Just Dr. Woodhouse,” she said. “Your sheriff takes peculiar pleasure in making my name sound more pretentious than it is. May I examine your foot?”

  Buzz actually shrank back and howled as pain radiated from his big toe all the way up to his knee. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow and across the crown of his bald head. She hadn’t touched him.

  Ridley lifted a chair and carefully set it down close to Buzz’s aching foot. She was aware the vibration of setting down the chair too hard could give rise to another wave of near unendurable pain. She sat, looked him straight in the eye, and asked again, “May I look at your foot?”

  He remained wary. “I don’t like it.”

  “I understand.” Her gaze did not waver. This was a standoff that she invariably won. It only remained to be seen how long it would take him to realize it.

  “Aww, hell,” said Buzz after a long minute of contemplating his choices. “Go on with you, then. But I’m warning you; I’m making no allowances for your tender sensibilities. You’re gonna hear words.”

  “Words are fine, Mr. Winegarten, but I promise I’ll try to be gentle anyway.”

  “Yeah? You sure you’re a doctor? Dunlop never cared. Damn near took my toe off with his yanking and squeezing.”

  Ridley ignored that. She gently began removing the compress from around Buzz’s sockless foot. He winced and moaned, but he didn’t curse. She winced a little herself when she saw how tightly the skin was stretched around his toe. It was swollen on all sides, the color leaning unnaturally toward a deep shade of purple. There was tissue damage and the skin was flaking and peeling. She asked Ben for a small bucket, clean cloths, cold water, and alcohol.

  Ben did not have to leave his chair. He looked over at the bar, crooked a finger at Buzz’s nephew, and had everything delivered to the table.

  “Why is that boy afraid of you?” she asked Ben.

  “Lincoln? He’s not afraid of me.”

  Buzz said, “He’s afraid of me. Thinks I might have him arrested. And I will, too, if I catch him putting money in his pockets that I didn’t give him.”

  “Has that happened?”

  “Not yet, but I have my suspicions. His father is a thief—that’s my brother-in-law—and my sister has the sense of my big toe, so there’s good reason to suppose the boy’s gonna turn out like a bent nail. I’ve alerted Ben, just as a precaution, and Lincoln knows what I did and that I got my eye on him.”

  “It seems as if you have it all thought out.”

  “Can’t own an establishment like the Songbird and run it successfully without keeping an eye open. Two eyes. Have to stay sharp and watchful. That’s the trick.”

  “I’m certain it is.”

  Ben’s laughter came from deep in his throat.

  Buzz turned his head. “What’s so funny?”

  “You are. She’s cut away that ugly strip of dead skin, swabbed the toe with your whiskey, and is about to prepare a new compress, and you, Mr. Eagle-Eye, haven’t seen fit to notice.”

  “Which was the point,” Ridley said dryly. “Did you have to laugh?”

  Ben raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  Sighing, Ridley riffled through the towels she was given, found a thin one, and tore it in half lengthwise. She dipped both halves in the cold water and wrung them out. From her bag she took a packet of salicylate powder and spread the grains carefully over the center of one cloth strip. She covered the grains with the second strip and then gently applied the compress to Buzz’s toe, placing the medicinal center against the most swollen and discolored area.

  There was no point in asking him questions now. Her patient was too aware of what she was doing to be diverted. As tender as her ministrations were, she glimpsed tears in the man’s eyes that came too fast and frequently to be called back. When she was done, she cupped the heel of his foot in her palm and lifted it another inch while she examined the area with the ball of her thumb.

  “Is there a pillow, a cushion, something like that around here?” she asked, glancing over to the bar.

  “Got another stack of towels here,” Lincoln said. He reached under the bar and lifted them.

  When he simply stood there holding the towels, Buzz said, “Well, bring them here, boy.” To Ridley and Ben, he said, “What did I tell you? A bent nail.”

  Ridley wanted to laugh but she didn’t dare. Jostling Buzz’s leg at this point was tantamount to jostling a bottle of nitroglycerine. He’d feel the explosion all the way to the top of his head. “Ease the towels under where I’m holding him,” she said when Lincoln arrived.

  Ben got up. “I’ll do it.” He took the towels and settled them where Ridley directed and then watched her ease her palm from under Buzz’s heel so it could rest on the stack.

  Buzz sank his teeth into his lower lip but didn’t cry out.

  Ridley sat back, poured some whiskey over her hands, and shook them dry. When Buzz stretched his arm for the bottle, she pushed it out of his reach. “Oh, no. I believe you know better. What did Doc tell you about your condition?”

  Buzz’s fingers scrabbled against the tabletop. The movement did not bring the bottle a whit closer. “Damn.” His shoulder slumped but very slowly. “I want to hear what you have to say first. Maybe Doc’s advice was old-timey medicine.”

  “I doubt it, but if it was, it’s because gout is an old-timey problem.” She heard Ben snicker, but he quickly caught himself and cleared his throat. “Its exact cause is not clear, but we know many of the things that exacerbate the condition.”

  Buzz frowned deeply. “Exasperate?”

  “Exacerbate. It means worsen or intensify. Exasperate is what you’re trying to do to me.”

  Ben said, “Don’t fool with the doc, Buzz. I witnessed her turning Mary Cherry into stone this morning and have no reason to think she won’t do the same to you.”

  Buzz regarded Ridley with new interest. “Is that true?”

  Ridley stood and picked up her bag. “No alcohol. Beer is alcohol, Mr. Winegarten. You need to drink plenty of water but not tea or coffee.”

  “Christ,” he said under his breath.

  “I imagine your diet is rich in red meat, this being cattle country, but you should eat it sparingly or not at all. Rich foods, pies, custards, and the like should similarly be avoided.”

  “What the hell am I supposed to eat?”

  “For now, vegetables and fruits as you get them, eggs, chicken, some breads. How long do your symptoms usually last?”

  “A few days. Once, two weeks.”

  “Hmm. I don’t doubt you wanted the doctor to amputate your leg.”

  “I
just about asked him to.”

  “Well, I won’t do it, so my advice is that you follow the regimen. I can’t promise that you won’t have another attack, but you may be able to prevent their frequency and duration. I’ll visit you tomorrow.” She slid the packet of salicylate powder toward him. You saw how I prepared the compress. You do the same every six hours. It probably wouldn’t hurt to find someone other than your nephew to help. Keep the foot elevated. Don’t walk around even if you think you can. Do you live upstairs?”

  He nodded.

  “Then you get a couple of your best customers to carry you up there, and you should do it before they’ve had too much to drink. I’m not coming back this evening to repair a broken head.” She drew back her shoulders, nodded once to punctuate her instructions, and turned on her heel. “We should go, Sheriff.”

  Ben rose, spun his chair around to face the table, but waited until Ridley was through the doors before he turned to go. He grinned at Buzz as the man sat gaping at Ridley’s back. “Turned you right to stone,” he said quietly. “Damned if she didn’t.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ridley wrote out her order for Mickey Mangold in neat script and blew gently on the ink until it was dry. Mr. Mangold would wonder why she needed the teas, salves, and elixirs when she had so few patients to attend, but he was too polite to ask and she would not offer the information. It was her habit to keep her bag stocked with the common items she might need and a few of the rarely used medicines as well, but she had also been studying her medical chemistry texts and been experimenting with the properties of certain medicines, especially the elixirs in which trace amounts of additives like mercury, copper, iron, and lead were suspended in alcohol, camphor, and castor oil. There was hardly any of it, in her opinion, that wasn’t snake oil, and it probably would kill the snake that took it. She had spoken to the druggist about the salesmen who came through Frost Falls with their little tent shows and suitcases filled with product. Mr. Mangold did not have the same visceral reaction to these men that she did and did not see the harm in allowing them to ply their trade.