“What? It could be what?” she asked urgently.
George wished that her husband would return. He felt that he should know about this.
“Please tell me before Carlton comes back.”
“It may be quite benign. It could be a growth on the womb called a fibroid, or a cyst coming from an ovary. But it is also possible that it could be a malignant tumor.”
Esme Levine gasped and slumped backwards against the bank of pillows. “What can be done, Doctor?”
“Esme, I might be able to do an operation called a hysterectomy, that involves opening your abdomen and removing the tumor and probably most of your womb as well. It would be a difficult and dangerous operation and I would need at least another doctor to help me.”
Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “I had always hoped to have children. That is, until…until…”
“What has happened, Esme? I and others had always assumed that you and Carlton were just having trouble starting a family.”
“We’ve been having troubles, since he started…” She had been looking down at her hands, but now she looked at him and wiped her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it. It would be …it would be disloyal.”
Suddenly, she grabbed her abdomen and her face creased in pain. “Is…is this causing the pain.”
“I think so. I think it is twisting on itself. When that happens it cuts off its own blood supply and causes spasms.”
He could see that she was going to vomit and managed to get a bowl for her just in time.
“If we are going to do this operation, it will have to be soon, Esme. We can’t delay, in case it is malignant.”
She accepted the towel that he offered her to dab her mouth. “I need to think about it, Doctor Goodfellow. It’s not an easy thing to understand. I don’t want you to say anything to Carlton. Can you just give me something to stop being sick and help the pain?”
“He should know, Esme.”
Her eyes were dry now and in her steely look he recognized a firm resolve.
“It is my body, Doctor, and that is my decision.”
George stood up. “Well, I wish I understood, but my Hippocratic Oath doesn’t allow me to go against your wishes.”
The outside door opened and closed and moments later Carlton Levine came in. His face looked hopeful.
“Well, George, will she be all right?”
Esme interrupted. “Everything will be just fine, Carlton. It will just take a few days and Doctor Goodfellow is going to give me some medicine to ease this pain.” She forced a smile. “That’s right, isn’t it, Doctor.”
George was reluctant to tell a lie, but neither was he prepared to break his Hippocratic Oath and divulge anything against her wishes. “Yes, I’m going to my office to make up some medicine right away. And I’ll keep an eye on Esme over the next few days.”
At least I’m not telling a lie there, he thought to himself.
Carlton looked relieved. “Excellent. Then I’ll come back with you and wait while you make the medicine up. I have to get my lovely wife on her feet again.”
George nodded as he packed his medical bag. He needed to know what Esme Levine was keeping from him. Then maybe he could get her to see reason about having surgery.
Back in the dispensing room at George's office Carlton watched the doctor as he expertly prepared two bottles of medicine. One he labeled Bismuthi Subcarbonas and the other Laudanum et Asafoetidae.
“I want you to give her the Bismuthi Subcarbonas in a little milk every two hours. The doses are on the label, and then give the Laudanum et Asafoetidaeone teaspoonful every four hours. The first will ease the nausea and the second will kill the pain. Don’t give too much of the Laudanum mixture or else the Asafetida in it will make the nausea worse.”
“Medicine is a fine balancing art, isn’t it, George,” Carlton said admiringly. “It amazes me the way you can keep all of those medicine formulae in your head. And this place is as good a laboratory as they have at the assayer’s office.”
George slapped his friend on the back. “Well, let’s hope it does its job. You start giving that to Esme and I’ll drop by and see her tomorrow.”
It was only when the schoolteacher had gone that George realized how hungry he felt.
Stella had laid out a light snack of sandwiches and cake for him and Edith was already sitting at the table when he came in.
“Thank goodness you’re back,” Stella said. “There’s bad news. A telegram just arrived from Tucson for you and I opened it. You’re going to have to eat your supper quick.”
George picked up the small yellow envelope where she had placed it by his place setting. He opened it and read:
Come at once. Hurry. Doctor Handy shot by Frank Heney in Tucson. The rail yard is sending an extra to Benson for you. Get there quickly.
Dr. Michael Spencer
“Damn!” he cursed as he folded it and put it in a pocket.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Edith asked. Looking up at him in amazement, for he never swore in front of her.
“My friend Dr. Handy has been shot. I’ll have to go to Tucson and see him.”
“Can I come, too, Daddy? I like Doctor Handy.”
George shook his head. “No, Edith, my dear. I’m going to have to get to Benson as fast as I can. I’ll have to go on El Rosillo.”
Stella was standing shaking her head. “And we were just talking about Doctor Handy and those poisonous creatures today. I said it was an omen. A bad omen.”
Chapter 4
HASTE
El Rosillo was a fine horse and George Goodfellow was used to riding long distances to see patients. Ordinarily he would go by horse and buggy, using Lucy-May, his other horse, but when he needed to travel fast he opted for the horse that had been given to him by the Mexican president Porfirio Diaz. He loaded up his specially designed G W Elliott saddlebags, which had compartments for his portable carbolic spray, his surgical instruments, chloroform, suture materials, diagnostic equipment and medicines, as well as room for shaving tackle and a change of clothes, and as usual when he was travelling alone, he carried a Navy Colt revolver and a Winchester in the scabbard.
El Rosillo covered the ground from Tombstone to Benson as quickly as George considered it safe to do so. He had no wish to exhaust the animal, nor to strand himself on the open trail miles from anywhere.
At the depot he found that a Southern Pacific engine was steamed up and ready for him. It consisted only of the engine, coal bin and a caboose.
A group of men were huddled around the platform waiting for him.
A thin man dressed in a conductor’s uniform detached himself from the group.
“Doctor Goodfellow, I’m Joe Scott and I’d like to welcome you aboard this extra. The Company has impressed on us that we are to get you to Tucson in all haste. Will you join me in the caboose? I can make you as comfortable as possible.”
“I thank you, Joe, but I’ve been sitting in a saddle for too long and I need to stretch my legs.”
He dismounted and pulled off his saddlebags.
“We’ll see to your horse, Doctor,” a man wearing an eyeshade and gartered sleeves said. “Meanwhile, here’s a telegram for you.”
George read it. It was another from Dr Michael Spencer.
Dr. Handy slipping away. Shot in the abdomen at 3 o’clock. Any instructions?
“Damn!” he cursed as he folded it and stuffed it in a pocket with the other telegram.
“Any message, Doctor?” the telegrapher asked.
“Yes. Say: Give no water and start praying. If he’s failing, then operate!”
As the telegrapher headed off to send the message George handed his saddlebag to the brakeman, who had introduced himself as Sandy Reynolds. “Don’t jostle that any,” he instructed. “There are precious bottles in there.”
The conductor held his hand out in the direction of the caboose. “There’s plenty room to stretch your legs in the caboose, Doctor Goodfellow.”
“No, I’ll ride up in the cab,” George said. “I need to get to Tucson as quick as we can and I’d like to see how we’re going. Speed is of the essence and a man’s life is hanging in the balance here.”
Two grinning faces looked down at him as he climbed the step up to the cab.
“I’m Grover Brown, the engineer, and this is Jim Moody the fireman. We’ll do our best to get you to Tucson as fast as possible, Doctor Goodfellow. We both know Doctor Handy.”
The shorter of the two men nodded effusively. “And we’ve both heard of you, Doc. If anyone can help him it’s you.”
“Well, let's get going boys. Literally every minute counts.”
As the extra hurtled along George smoked his pipe and quizzed Grover Brown about the operation of the engine. Every now and then he pulled out his hunter watch and stared at it as if wishing to speed up the process. His conversation grew increasingly terse.
“I need you to get this engine going much faster, boys,” he said as they approached Mescal.
“I’m going as fast as I can coax her, Doctor,” replied Grover Brown.
“The hell you are,” George said. “Now step back and let me in there.” With which he pulled the startled engineer back and took his place. “This throttle can open up a whole lot more,” he said as he opened it up to its limit.
The engine responded and soon they were accelerating on the downward tracks towards Tucson.
“Just keep stoking and we’ll get there fine and dandy,” cried the doctor, his eyes seeming to blaze.
The next twenty miles were covered in as many minutes, causing Joe Scott the conductor and Sandy Reynolds the brakeman in the caboose much anxiety.
“You’re going to need to put on the brakes a mite, Sandy,” Joe said. “This patch is getting too dangerous at this speed. What in thunder is Grover playing at?”
“It isn’t him at the throttle,” said Sandy. “It’s Doc Goodfellow.”
“That’s even worse. He’s no engineer. I’m putting on the handbrake now.”
But when he pulled the handbrake all that happened was that the wheels let out an enormous squeal, like a dozen animals in pain.
“Darn it, Joe. You’re the conductor and I’m the brakeman. You can’t do that. You don’t know about braking, just like the doc don’t know about driving.”
“I’ve got to. At this speed we’re all going to get to the next life ten years early instead of making Tucson ten minutes faster.”
“Let it go, Joe. The wheels will just lock and at this speed there’ll be nothing holding us on the track. That’s the surest way to get this train to crash.”
In the cab Dr. Goodfellow had demanded Grover and Jim explain what the squealing noise was.
‘That’ll be Joe and Sandy applying the handbrake. They think we’re going too fast, too.”
Goodfellow’s jaw lifted belligerently and the engineer expected to hear a stream of invective. But the squealing stopped and the engine carried on unimpeded, picking up speed again.
When they finally arrived at Tucson at 8:15 pm everyone was amazed to discover that they had covered the 46 mile journey in record time.
“Thank you, gentlemen, I appreciate the effort you took to get me here as quickly as possible.”
George took his G W Elliott saddlebags and went straight for the buggy that was ready and waiting to take him to Dr. Handy’s house. He was quite happy for Grover Brown to bask in the glory and claim the record time.
* * *
It was exactly 8:30 pm by the time George arrived at Dr. John C. Handy’s house. He had been there many times, for he and Dr. Handy had much in common. Dr. Handy was nine years older than George and in a way had been something of a mentor to him when he first came to Arizona. The two men were both considered to have bullish natures and yet both had been more than moderately successful.
Both of them had been contract surgeons in their early careers and both had fiery tempers that had caused them trouble at times in their lives. In Handy’s case, however, that anger had been either directed at or caused by the women that he had gotten close to.
George had heard about Handy’s early life from colleagues. He had been the contract surgeon at US Army Camp Thomas, where he married a young Apache woman. He had been besotted by her, but when the post trader started paying her undue attentions, they had a disagreement and Handy killed him. He was arrested, of course, but acquitted of all charges. Unfortunately, it soured his relationship with his wife and they were summarily divorced.
But then when he moved to Tucson in 1871 and set up his shingle, he remarried a young woman called Mary Page. His treatment of her, by all accounts, was brutal and included chaining her to her bed for days at a time and feeding her morphine until she became dependent upon both the drug and him as a supplier of it!
George knew that Handy had a roving eye despite his marriage. And yet he was professionally well respected as the attending physician at St Mary’s Hospital as well as having the busiest private practice in Tucson. Not only that, but in 1886 he was appointed as the first Chancellor of the University of Arizona. Yet there again his temper betrayed him and after arguments with the university board he was removed from office after a mere six months.
As he knocked on the door George wondered whether that temper of Handy’s had something to do with the shooting.
The door was opened and a man of similar age to George, with a handlebar mustache and receding hair admitted him.
“Ah, George, thank heavens you have arrived,” said Dr. Hiram Fenner. “Michael Spencer and John Green are in the parlor. We’ve been taking it in turns to keep an eye on the patient.”
The two doctors shook hands. George knew and liked Hiram Fenner, albeit he considered him an eccentric. He specialized in tubercular patients and was making a name for himself by treating them with juices of various vegetables. He was also famous in the region as the owner of the first steam-car, which he called his Locomobile, and which he had crashed into a giant saguaro on its maiden outing.
George followed him through to the parlor where two men were sitting smoking cigars. Neither seemed to be enjoying them.
“Ah, Goodfellow,” said a short man with a spade-like beard. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Goodfellow shook Dr. John Trail Green’s hand and nodded as the third man stood up and offered his hand. He was a tall clean-shaven man with wire-framed spectacles perched on a thin nose.
“We did as much as we dared,” said Dr. Michael Spencer, “but we fear it's not enough.”
“Sit down, George,” said Dr. Hiram Fenner. “A few more minutes won’t hurt and it’s as well if we filled you in on the background to this affair.”
George slumped into a chair and pulled out his pipe and started filling it from a battered leather pouch. “Some coffee and a bite to eat wouldn’t go amiss either, if that is possible, gentlemen. I've had a long horse ride and a longer, if exhilarating train journey.”
“I’ll get some bread and cheese,” said Dr. Green. “Handy’s wife isn’t here, which is half the problem as you’ll hear.”
“I heard that he’d filed for divorce,” George said, striking a light to his pipe and puffing blue smoke ceilingwards.
“As a matter of fact, it was his wife Mary who first of all filed for divorce,” said Hiram. “But she retracted it when John Handy put pressure on her. To tell you the truth, he also threatened to kill Judge Sloan and any lawyers who took on her case. Then he sent his children off to stay with his mother and his sister. You know what a temper he has.”
“Never been on the end of it myself,” George commented, “but I’ve heard.”
Hiram went on: “Well, then a couple of years ago he filed for divorce. The talk around town is that he wanted to be free to go off with a young woman called Pansy Smith. He got the court’s permission to take his young son into hospital care.”
Michael Spencer leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. “I’m afraid that Mary Handy had trouble getti
ng a lawyer to represent her, because John Handy successfully intimidated the legal profession in Tucson. Eventually she got Frank Heney to take her case on, but Handy threatened to kill him. He made it known to everyone that she was an opium fiend and an unfit mother and he laid it on thick that he was the long-suffering poor husband. But when Heney didn’t back down and then didn’t rise to Handy’s threats and attempts to goad him into a fight, he started to get really vindictive. Believe it or not but he actually tried to ride him down in his buggy. Anyway they went to trial and it dragged on and on for months, until he got custody of all of the children. Then he tried to have her thrown out of her house, saying that she had made it over to him. Again, Frank Heney acted for her. And again, Handy threatened to kill him. That was when Frank Heney started to carry a gun with him.”
Dr. Green returned with a tray with a plate of bread and cheese and a pot of coffee.
“Ah, food!” George exclaimed, leaning forward to help himself. “It sounds like something bad was bound to happen.”
“And it did,” sad Hiram. “At noon today Handy waylaid Heaney in the street, pushed him against a wall and struck him in the face. Heney pulled his gun and tried to back away, but Handy tried to take the gun off him. They grappled and by all accounts the gun just went off. Deputy Sheriff John Wiegle and a bunch of others managed to get the gun away. Somehow Handy managed to make his way to his office and Michael and I were called in.”
“Heney was arrested,” Dr. Green volunteered, “but it is likely he will get bail.”
Dr. Fenner went on:
“Michael and I examined John. The bullet had gone almost straight through his abdomen. He was in agony, of course. It was lodged close to his spine and we could see it bulging through the skin. So we managed to make an incision and remove it in his office. And then we brought him home, thinking he’d be more comfortable here.”
“Then we all examined him again and agreed with him that we should send for you,” added Michael Spencer. “He’s in a bad way, George.”
“Does he know that?” George asked.
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