Jolt

by Jodi Bowersox

  "Mrs. Dickson, that cough doesn't sound good. Have you seen a doctor?"

  She shook her head and tried to speak in between coughs. "No, I haven't found the time." She lifted up a bottle she'd picked up from the shelf nearby. "I'm getting supplies for my mama's cough remedy, though. I'll be right as rain by tomorrow."

  Tate knew that a mixture of laudanum and olive oil might give her a bit of relief, but from the sound of her cough, he suspected something more serious. "I'm on my way to see about a railroad accident, but I would advise you to call another doctor as soon as you get home. That cough is nothing to put off."

  He turned to leave but remembered the mention of Seth Dickson's name by his early morning patient. He debated for a moment then went on. If the woman knows nothing about her, it will just raise suspicions in her mind. He climbed aboard his buggy and gave the reins a snap. And what this town doesn't need is more unsubstantiated rumors.

  He couldn't help but wonder about Miss Torres's bruises, however, and he regretted giving her permission to leave before he returned to discover more about her situation. He knew that many men considered themselves the master of their domains, and they remained so by any means necessary, but he had not been raised that way. His father had always stressed that women were a gift to men and should be treated as such. "Any man who would raise his hand to a woman is not a man" was heard often in the Cavanaugh household.

  He considered his own "gift," and his brows grew together at the thought that Augusta would leap on any excuse to back out of a social obligation. Is it really so hard to put on a smiling face for a few hours now and then and be sociable?

  He had hoped that the smaller social circles of Manitou Springs would be less daunting and would draw Augusta out, and although she had fewer bouts of melancholy since leaving Denver, she was by no means cured. He sighed. I imagine she will work herself into either an anxiety attack or a completely despondent state before the Harrison gathering tomorrow evening.

  As he headed out of town, breathing in the fresh spring air, he urged Maisy to a trot, wondering if he should buy Augusta a new dress for the occasion as an incentive to keep their commitment. Or maybe some perfume.

  ***

  Lalita had spent the day getting to know a younger Nellie and Tate's moody wife. She had helped Augusta hang the laundered clothes on the line and played a mini game of hide and seek with Nellie among the hanging sheets and dresses. Augusta had started to slide into a funk shortly after and had gone to lie down.

  When she hadn't reappeared by the time Lalita's stomach started to growl, she and her four-year-old companion had gone into the kitchen to investigate the possibilities for a meal. There, she found what remained of the roast in the ice box and half a loaf of bread. She made them both a sandwich and wished for fries and ranch dressing to go with it. She settled for apple slices.

  She entertained the youngster for most of the evening and was beginning to wonder if Augusta was ever going to come down, when she had a disquieting thought: Maybe this is the day. Racing up the stairs, she checked the bathroom, but found it empty. Moving down the hall to what Mrs. Kettler always referred to as "Augusta's room," she found the woman sitting in a small upholstered chair, staring out the window. The same chair that Lalita had sat in to stitch the buttons on her new dress just a week ago.

  Lalita put a hand to her racing heart. "Augusta, aren't you hungry? Nellie and I had a sandwich; I'd be glad to make you one too."

  The woman slowly brought her attention to Lalita, and it was if she were looking at a completely different person than she had eaten lunch with. "How do you do it, Lalita?"

  Lalita stepped on into the room. "How do I do what?"

  "You've lost everything, and you've just jumped into something completely new—completely unexpected, and you just… just deal with it."

  Lalita walked to the bed and sat on the edge. "If you could do anything, what would you do, Augusta?"

  She turned to look back out the window. "I'd go home."

  "Home? Denver or somewhere else?"

  She gave a little laugh. "Somewhere else."

  Lalita reached out a hand to her knee. "And what would you do there?"

  Augusta straightened and lifted her chin. "Reign."

  Lalita paused, wondering if she heard correctly. Then she heard the sprinkles on the roof. "Ah, well, that will settle the dust."

  Augusta's chin fell toward her chest, and Lalita leaned to see her face. Her eyes were closed. "So… how about that sandwich?"

  ***

  Tate tiptoed up the stairs, exhausted, around eleven o'clock.

  It had been a long drive up into the mountains to reach the site of the blasting accident. Thankfully, he hadn't been the only doctor called, or he'd be there yet. Several had lost their lives and many would have weeks of recovery due to one man's careless cigar stub.

  As he neared his bedroom, he was surprised to hear humming coming from the bathroom across the hall. It's rather late for a bath, Augusta.

  She usually liked to hear about his time away from the house, even though she often seemed averse to venturing out herself. He knocked lightly. "Augusta, I'm home. Do you want me to wait up for you?"

  The humming stopped abruptly, but she didn't answer. "Augusta?"

  A moment later the door opened, and he found himself staring into the dark brown eyes of the mysterious Miss Torres in one of his wife's wrappers. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't expect… Do you still feel dizzy?"

  She shook her head, and the layers of her hair, cut uncharacteristically short for a woman, bounced with the motion. "No, can I talk to you a minute?" She looked down the hall and lowered her voice to a whisper. "In private?"

  Tate nodded and waved her back down the hall to the stairs, wondering if he might learn the reason for her bruises. When they arrived in the exam room, however, the topic on her mind seemed to be his wife.

  "Doc, you need to lighten up a bit on Augusta and these social engagements she hates so much."

  Tate couldn't hide his surprise. "Have you become her confidant in less than a day?" He crossed his arms. "We can discuss my marriage when you explain your bruises."

  She held up her wrists, letting the sleeves slide down. "These? Sure." She told him a story of a man, an assumed marriage, and a robbery with such speed it made his head spin. Then she went on to tell of his wife's proposition. "So your wife kind of hired me to help her around the house. If you don't want to pay me, that's fine. Room and board will be enough for now."

  He stared at her blankly, wondering how a story she was too choked up about this morning to speak of at all, could come tumbling out of her mouth now with all the emotion of reading a shopping list. Maybe I'm just too tired for this conversation.

  She continued to look at him with anticipation. "What do you think, Doc?"

  He walked to the stool by the bed and sat, rubbing his fingers back and forth over his forehead a few times. "I imagine it's a good idea. She does seem to struggle with… life." He searched her eyes. "And if she asked you herself, she must trust you." Maybe this is the answer to Augusta's melancholy—a female companion. He straightened. "I'll pay you $3.00 a week plus room and board." He suddenly had an idea. "And if you accompany us to social engagements, I'll give you $1.00 bonus once a month."

  He thought he was being quite generous, but the woman's brow knitted. "But the society parties are the very thing she hates, Tate—I mean, Doc. You're better off just letting her off the hook there. Believe me, in a year, you won't even care."

  Tate found himself feeling nettled. "Miss Torres, I appreciate the fact that you have made friends with my wife, but if you are to be my employee, I will thank you to keep your opinions about how I handle my family to yourself."

  He watched the woman in front of him close down—from the narrowing of her eyes to the pursing of her lips. "Fine, but you may live to regret it, Dr. Cavanaugh." She spat out his name like it left a bad taste in her mouth. Spinning abruptly, she headed for the door.
>
  Tate sat a moment, his tired brain rehashing his conversation with the woman who was now heading up his stairs. Unable to put the pieces of the puzzle together, he dragged his weary body after her and went to bed.

  Chapter 35

  Even though Lalita had shared quite a few breakfasts with Tate and Nellie, never had she shared one that included Augusta, and the prospect of them all sitting around the table like one big happy family made her stomach turn over. She flipped the sausage patties in the skillet. Happy is probably an overstatement. She looked over to where Augusta sat in the chair by the door in another drab outfit, staring out the window. She's even lower than yesterday.

  She knew from a quite audible early morning spat between Augusta and Tate that he had all but forced her up and out of bed this morning. Her complaints of a headache were met with derision instead of the compassion that Lalita had come to associate with the doctor.

  Lalita had hurriedly dressed and had breakfast mostly prepared by the time Augusta had dragged into the kitchen. She had acknowledged Lalita's presence as though it were an everyday occurrence to see her there, before sitting without another word to watch the birds at her feeder.

  Lalita wished she knew how to help the woman, but at the moment she was trying to keep pancakes from burning on the temperamental stove.

  Nellie wandered in with her dress unbuttoned halfway down the back, her hair looking like she'd just rolled out of bed, and Lalita sent her toward Augusta. "Good morning, Nellie. Go ask your mama to button you up."

  Nellie walked dutifully to her mother and turned around, and Augusta pulled her view from the window to accomplish the task, although at a snail's pace. When she was finished, she ran a hand over Nellie's hair a few times before looking once again out the window.

  As Lalita piled the pancakes on a platter, she decided to try an experiment. "Augusta, I talked to your husband last night, and he agreed to pay me to help out around the house. I'd thought to assist you with your bath and preparations for this evening's party, but he had such a strenuous day yesterday that he said he would like to just stay home and spend the evening with you and Nellie."

  Augusta looked to her surprised. "He said that?"

  Lalita vacillated for a few seconds before nodding. She hoped she could get him to say that, but she hadn't had a chance for the actual conversation yet.

  The change in Augusta wasn't exactly dramatic, but she did rise and walk to the stove to transfer the sausages to the plate that Lalita had gotten out for that purpose, then followed her to the dining room with Nellie on her heels.

  Tate was sitting at the table already reading the newspaper, but with the ladies' entrance into the room, he laid it aside and rose. He held a chair for Nellie and Augusta in turn, and Lalita waited to see if he'd do the same for her, or if she was expected to eat somewhere else. Augusta cleared up any confusion when she motioned for her to take the seat beside her.

  Tate stepped in like the proper Victorian gentleman that he was, and Lalita couldn't help but smile wistfully remembering how that very proper gentleman had locked the carriage house door and necked with her in the buggy. She felt a blush rush to her cheeks and quickly bowed her head for the morning prayer. Tate blessed the food, but Lalita was praying fervently that he would not bring up the evening party before she had a chance to talk to him again.

  While they ate, Tate gave them an overview of the railroad accident, and Lalita was surprised when Augusta participated in the conversation, expressing her concern over those injured and worse. "Was there anyone we know among the dead?" Augusta asked lifting her coffee cup to her lips.

  Tate shook his head as he chewed and swallowed. "No, although Charlie Haynes got hit with some flying debris that grazed his skull. He's a very lucky man. Another inch, and he'd be on the deceased list."

  "Bryant Dickson wasn't up there, was he? The rumor mill says that he had a falling out with Seth and left the saddlery to work on the railroad."

  Tate shook his head again. "I didn't see him among those injured, but that doesn't mean he wasn't there."

  "Bryant Dickson?" Lalita inquired. "I didn't know there was a Bryant."

  "He's the eldest of the Dickson boys," Augusta supplied. "Very headstrong. He and his father butt heads quite a bit."

  Tate helped himself to another pancake and drizzled on Lalita's creamy home-made syrup. "Speaking of the Dickson's, I saw the Mrs. in the pharmacy yesterday, and she sounded just awful." Lalita raised her head, her pulse kicking up a notch. Tate continued. "She had a terrible cough. If I hadn't had an emergency to attend to, I would have insisted on an exam right then and there."

  Goosebumps rose up on Lalita's arms. "Did you see her when you got back?"

  "It was quite late when I got back, as you well know, Miss Torres." He lifted his cup from the saucer. "I told her to call one of the other doctors in town."

  Lalita persisted. "Do you think she did that?"

  Tate stared at her. "I'm sure I have no idea." He finished the last bite of his pancake and pushed away from the table. "If you will excuse me, ladies, I have some bookwork to see to while the phone isn't ringing."

  Lalita knew that Tate needed to see Mrs. Dickson sooner rather than when it would be too late to help her. She rose and blocked his way into his office. "Why don't you just give her a call, Doc? Just a friendly checking-on-you kind of call to see if she actually did as you suggested."

  Tate cocked his head at her. "Do you have some connection to the Dickson's? It seems unlikely that you are related."

  She knew he was referring to her Native American features. She couldn't resist a jibe. "I'm not related, but looks can be deceiving, can't they, Doc?"

  He paused and licked his lips, accepting the challenge in her eyes with his own. "To be sure," he said quietly. "I am more than willing to help anyone who asks," he said as he made to step around her, "but they have to ask."

  Lalita couldn't let him disappear into his office. "Tate, you have to go see her. If you don't, she'll die."

  At that, Augusta rose and came to her side while Tate narrowed his eyes at her. Lalita looked at the floor, realizing she had no idea how the story of Mrs. Dickson's death had played out. "Maybe it's already too late."

  She felt a finger lift her chin, and Tate looked into her eyes. "Are you feeling all right, Miss Torres. Perhaps you've pushed yourself too hard after your ordeal yesterday morning. I advise you to go have a rest."

  Lalita scowled. She was finding this earlier rendition of Tate to be quite annoying.

  Augusta put an arm around her and tried to lead her away from her husband, but Lalita knew what was at stake for all of them if Mrs. Dickson died. "No, I'm fine. This is really, really important!"

  Augusta was stronger than she looked. "Of course it is, dear, and we'll make sure someone checks on her, won't we Tate?" Lalita heard a grunt that could be either a denial or agreement behind her as Augusta practically drug her out into the hall. When she heard Tate's office door close, Augusta released her and put her finger to her lips. With a quick glance back to see that Nellie was still eating, she bent her head toward Lalita's. "You seem very sure that Mrs. Dickson is in dire need of a doctor," she whispered.

  "I am," Lalita affirmed. "I can't tell you how I know, but I do. If she doesn't receive care, she will die." She puffed out a breath. "Actually, she may die anyway, but we have to try."

  Augusta nodded as Nellie appeared in the doorway. Putting a hand on the back of Nellie's head and an arm around Lalita's waist, she moved them forward. "The dishes can wait. I believe we women should take a walk on this beautiful spring morning, don't you Lalita?"

  The women donned hats and headed out the door after Augusta wrote a quick note for Tate, leaving it among the dirty dishes on the table.

  Lalita felt a mixture of things as they stepped out onto the dirt street. She knew in her heart that this was the right thing to do. Her knowledge gave her the power to change things for the better for the Dicksons and the Cavanaughs.
/>   What it would mean for her own future was anybody's guess.

  ***

  Tate had worked in his office for only thirty minutes when the phone rang. Entering the dining room, he was surprised to see that the table had yet to be cleared. He listened for any activity in the house but heard nothing but the jangling phone.

  He grabbed up the receiver. "Dr. Tate Cavanaugh."

  "Tate, it's Augusta."

  Tate slid a hand into his pocket. "Augusta! Where—"

  "We're at the Dickson's, and Lalita's right. Mrs. Dickson's cough is quite bad, but she's still trying to do the laundry, and she says that she has not called a doctor."

  Tate was tempted to be annoyed that his wife had taken it upon herself to indulge her new friend's whims, but his medical training won over mere human emotion. "I'll be right there."

  ***

  Lalita paced nervously on the porch of the Dickson house waiting for Tate's assessment of Mrs. Dickson's health. Augusta and Nellie sat in the porch swing watching her. Finally Augusta spoke. "Mrs. Dickson acted like she had never met you, and yet you seem as worried for her health as if she were your own mother."

  Lalita stopped and forced herself to stand still by the railing. "I just hate to see anyone suffer."

  "I see." Augusta didn't seem convinced.

  Tate appeared at the door, talking with Seth as they both came out onto the porch. "Doc, I had no idea. I knew she'd been coughing, but I can sleep through anything, and she insisted that she was fine."

  "She may have been frightened of a tuberculosis diagnosis, Seth, and I don't believe that is the case here. Pneumonia can be just as serious, however, but thankfully, much has been discovered about the illness in recent years, and we have some new medicines to work with." Tate put a wider-brimmed hat on his head than Lalita was used to seeing him in, and she had a sudden flash of Doc Holiday in the movie Tombstone.

  The two men walked down the steps, and the women followed. "I gave her a dose, and I'll be back to check on her this afternoon. Make sure she rests while I'm gone." Tate lifted Nellie up into the buggy and gave a hand to Augusta and Lalita all the while continuing to talk. "Don't hesitate to call if you feel she is getting worse before I get back."