by Rita Hestand
“Help you? Where's your husband?” he inquired, slipping his spectacles on his nose as though it were first things first.
“That isn't important.” When the doctor stared, she went on, “Look, doc, I don't know how to say this without sounding crazy, but I was raped.”
“Raped?” The old man took his glasses off and studied her for a long moment. She wasn't at all sure he believed her. If she were in his shoes, she probably wouldn't either.
“You heard me, raped, by the most miserable piece of trash in the county. He came upon my ranch one night. He'd been drinking. I tried to get him to leave, but he threatened me with a gun and hit me, knocking me out. So I wasn't actually awake when it happened. He beat me and left me for dead. Only I didn't die…wish that I had.” Her voice held tears she kept in check. Hysteria was right around the corner.
The doctor scratched his chin, as though studying what she said and wondering if it was true. He got up and moved around the room distractedly. “So…what do you want with me?”
“I want to be rid of this child…” she answered incredulously.
The doctor flopped down in his office chair as though he could no longer stand, as though she had shocked him so badly he had to sit. Then, after a long moment, his face screwed up into a decided frown as she leaned against the arm of another chair and waited for his answer. The look on his face was unrelenting.
“How do I know that's what happened?” He eyed her suspiciously. “You waltz in here, a complete stranger, and say something so heinous. I don't recall seeing you about.” The doctor fumbled with some papers on his desk, as though suddenly very busy.
“Of course you haven't, doc. I'm from Round Rock area. Besides…what do you think happened? What difference does it make? Even if you don't believe me, I want to be rid of this baby,” she wailed miserably. “I can't have his child…he's such a no-good, a piece of white trash. I won't have his child. And if he finds out I'm with child…there's no telling what he'd do.”
“What about your folks? Could they take the child in?” he asked, looking over his glasses at her.
She hung her head at first, then shook it vehemently. “My folks are dead. There's no one. And I won't have this child. Can't you give me something? Something to make me…you know?” Her voice rose in desperation.
“Now listen here.” The doctor threw back his shoulders with an indignant stare, his voice striking just the perfect tone to her arguments. “I'm a country doctor. I don't have any fancy medicines to try on you, and I wouldn't anyway. Why that would be this side of murder. It would be murder. A doctor can't do these kinds of things and call himself a doctor. No, I can't do this for you. I’m sorry. You'll have to find someone else or some other way.”
“Sorry? That's not good enough, doc.” Her own prickly determination made her draw breath. She silently wished it was dark so she could hide her humiliation. But it was her cross to bear. She didn't like or want to approach this doctor, a stranger, and tell him everything. She didn't want to get rid of the child this way, but there were no choices. Why couldn't he understand? She had to make him see how desperate she really was. “Oh please, you've got to help me. You're my last chance. I hate to beg…but please, you've got to help me. Don't you see? Can't you understand?” Her tears streamed down her face now as she tried to make him understand her plight. “I was raped. I was a virgin, doc. No one had ever touched me, doc. No one. Now I come here and you tell me you can't do anything after I confided in you. I told you the truth. Now you are throwing murder at me as though I'm the guilty one. I'm the victim here.” Her tears spoke of her honesty as she fought her own demons. She thought surely a doctor would understand. “I'm the one defiled. It's the Devil's child, don't you see? You've got to give me something,” she cried aloud.
“There's no such thing as a Devil's child.” The doctor hung his head, and his deep set eyes seemed to be searching his own soul. As though he needed her to suddenly understand his position. “Child…” He shook his head with indignation and shame for them both. “I understand your plight.” He searched for the right words; his understanding voice belied his own emotions in the matter. “I've seen a few in the same situation in my lifetime, believe me. Age alone will do that. And I'm sorry you have no kin to turn to.” His voice was gentle, tender, caring, but firm. “But what you're wanting is beyond my capabilities.”
“How can you say that? You are a doctor!” she cried out with disbelief. “I've read up on it. They have some kind of medicine that can make a woman…”
“Yeah,” he sighed wiping his mouth as though he had spit out acid words. His expression was one of deep sorrow, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “They can also kill you. I've seen it happen. First time I've been able to speak of it in a long while, but I've seen what that stuff does.” He stared at her for a long while. Then he explained carefully. “First the woman cramps, badly, so bad she curls up into a ball and wails to die.” He seemed to watch her expression as he spoke. “Then she vomits, so much so you'd think she'd bring the child up that way. Then she burns and feels her insides turn to fire. And sometimes…well…sometimes she dies, too.”
“I'll take my chances. Give it to me,” she insisted, pulling her gun from inside her shirt as though that action alone would make him comply.
He looked stunned at first, and then with iron patience, he shook his head yet again. As though he couldn't believe what she was asking or doing. The doctor looked at her with a serious concern, his own stubborn determination fighting hers. “I won't. I can't.”
“Then I'll find it myself. It has to be here,” she cried, pushing the revolver till it opened his cabinet. Rummaging through his medicine cabinet, she didn't find anything that looked like it might help. She was clueless as to what she needed. Oh, she knew a few of the names of the herbs and things, but there was nothing like that in these cabinets.
“Which one is it?”
He shook his head again. He rolled his shoulders and got up to look in the cabinet, putting the small bottles back in a row as he had them. He continued, “I don't have any, not any longer. I'm trying to tell you…the last time I had it, the woman died. Don't you understand it? She died. I threw away what was left. I'll never use it again, no matter what the circumstances. I wouldn't have given it to her, but she was an old friend. She begged me for it. She had twelve kids. She wasn't even thirty years old. Her husband had gotten her in a way every year of her adult life. She was sick, sick of bearing children, caring for them and doing for him. They could barely support them all. He wouldn't leave her alone; he wanted more children. All to help run the farm…dern fool man wouldn't use withdrawal.”
Jodi looked at the old doctor for the first time with understanding. It had never dawned on her what a man like this might have seen and gone through. It saddened her, too. When she first walked into his office, she hadn't cared about what he looked like, or who he was, but now, while she listened to his heart, she saw the man. Sometimes seeing a person for what they were made you wake up. He was bent and slight of form, his hair was thinning, and he wore glasses. Not many men had glasses, but the doc had them. His face mirrored the agony of that story. He wasn't lying. Jodi felt a panic growing inside herself. She had to end this, here and now. She had to! But she knew from the look on his face, and the slump of his body, that this man would never give her anything.
“Then operate. Take the baby from me,” she cried to him.
“I can't do that.” He looked at her as though she'd lost her mind completely. “I took an oath to preserve life, not take it. God help us both. It's also against my religion and should be against yours,” he said in a finality she understood. “When was your last monthly?”
“Three and a half months ago,” she wailed miserably.
“Your monthly, is it regular? Can you depend on it?” He seemed almost anxious for her answer.
“Most of the time, but three months, doc, without a monthly.” She gestured and frowned at him.
&
nbsp; “Yes, then you probably are pregnant. Have you been sick?” He kept asking questions, as though to stall her next question.
“Almost every morning,” she replied.
“Have you had a quickening?”
“What's that?” she asked. Apprehension spread through her like wildfire.
“Has the baby moved inside you yet? Have you felt it?”
“No…” A growing uneasiness made her stare at the doctor.
“That is good news. There are laws about these things, you know. If you've had no quickening and you abort, then you are safe from the law, but once the child moves, then it is a living human, and against the law to abort it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, so give me something now…”
“Have you read up on it at all?” he questioned.
“I have….some. Got that fella Hall's book, The Mother's Own Book and Practical Guide to Health; Being a Collection of Necessary and Useful Information. Designed for Females Only. My cousin sent it all the way from New York.”
“There are some who know exactly what to give. Have you tried Black Cohosh, Rue, Tansy, any of those ingredients?”
“What I could get hold of. It wasn't easy. I didn't have any instructions on how much to take of it. Maybe I didn't take enough. I don't know. But it didn't do anything either except make me sick.”
“I see. Nothing happened at all?”
“Just really sick, doc.”
“You probably didn't take enough then. It must be steeped like tea, and sipped. No matters…tell me…did you douche? After it happened?” He seemed to grasp at every question, as though maybe together they could find an answer for her. Deep down, she knew the doctor wanted to help her, but he was more or less refusing because of his own religious conviction. She understood it, felt nearly the same, but she couldn't live with this pregnancy.
The very word made her turn red. How could she stand here talking to a complete stranger about such things? Even if he was a doctor, this was too personal.
“Look, doc, I was raped,” she cried. “You don't think I just laid there and let him, do you? I was beat up, doc. Left for dead. My foreman found me, took me to my bed and I laid there for days before I could raise myself up. I don't own a syringe and couldn't get into town to try and find one. I'd have been too embarrassed to ask the general store lady for one. My cousin is the only one I could turn to. I just got the book last month and I read every word of it. Although there were parts of it I truly didn't understand, there are those that can help. But how do I find them? Doc, I wasn't married and I figure only married women would have syringes. I confess, I knew very little about these things…before. But now, I've studied on it, and know what I should have done. It's too late for most of it. I need help…that's why I came here. You were my last hope.”
“Did you report this to the sheriff or marshal?” the doctor asked, putting his glasses back on and studying her face.
“Don't have one where I live. It isn't even a town really any more. The bank closed down, the mill run down. Besides, no one wants that job anyway.”
“So this fella got away with it?” He peered at her over his glasses.
“Yes, he got away with it, and has threatened to do it again. He has no idea that I'm in this way, doc. And I'm not about to be telling him. If he comes at me now, I'd not tell him. And if I had the advantage, I'd blow his sorry head off. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he could make a child.”
“No, I don't suppose you would.” He nodded, his voice indulging her. “It's advisable for you to keep a syringe on hand, especially if this man comes back. I'm going to give you one.” He fumbled in his cabinet for one, and then he started to hand it to her.
She really wished he wouldn't say that word. It sounded….vulgar. “I don't want it, doc. I am not planning on it happening again. I'll kill him first.”
“You got anyone to protect you?” He scratched his head.
She frowned. “Yeah, maybe…now.”
“If this man comes back, you report it to the first lawman you see, do you understand? One must not let these kinds of things happen. I feel for you, girl, I do. But I can't help you. Your best bet is to find an old Indian woman around these parts. I hear tell they have something that might help. The Indians always have had something, but they don't go around sharing that information much. “
“An Indian?” she gasped. “Oh God, what next?”
“You say you aren't from around here. Then how'd you get here?”
“I'm movin' a herd of cattle through to Kansas.”
The doctor’s eyes widened. “You are on this drive, personally?”
“Yeah, why?” Her eyes rounded as if she had said something that might help him.
“The drive alone might do it. Horse riding isn't for ladies in a way, you know. It's quite possible that you could lose the baby naturally, on a horse.”
“Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll get throwed…” Her eyes became big pools of tears.
“Now see here, young lady, I'll have none of that talk. Why, you could find a man and marry and raise that child.”
“Look, doc, I came here to get rid of this kid. I've read about different kinds of mixtures working…”
“Sometimes. Not all the time. Are you willing to die trying?” he asked.
“Yes…I am.” Her voice held a desperation he seemed to recognize. His brows lifted, his frown slid slowly away, and tears were close to falling as he looked at her again.
“Well, I'm not…” He frowned at her, and stood staring for a long moment. “First of all, you have to have the right mixture of herbs. You make a boiling pot of water and pour it over them in a jar and set the jar up for a while. Then you sip it. You can sip it for 4 to 5 days if you want. It is best taken a little at a time. Otherwise you might cramp severely. Then you will start to bleed and abort the child, but only if you have the right mixture and take it correctly. It isn't to be gulped down at one sitting. And still it is only thirty percent to eighty percent effective. It can cause extreme nausea. And all this has to be done before the quickening.”
“I thought doctors were here to help people,” she sighed as her gun lowered and her head sank. The grief she was feeling seemed to spill forth.
“Help them live, not die…” he said lowly, almost in a whisper.
“Can't you see there's no love in me for this child? He's the Devil's work. Not mine.”
“The babe is an innocent,” the doctor scolded. “You have to make the choice…to love or not. At least you have that choice.” The doctor's voice was low and sullen, as though he couldn't quite understand her reasoning even though wanted to.
She raised the gun once more. “Take this baby from me.”
It was more a plea than a threat.
“You might as well shoot me. I won't do that.” He stood to look at her square in the eye. “It's against everything I stand for, and I cannot, and will not, do it. Even if I could as a doctor, my faith wouldn't allow it.”
“Then where can I find someone who will?” she shouted.
“God help you, I don't know. If you lived north, you might find someone, but not here. Not anywhere near here.” He sighed and turned around and walked out of the room as though he couldn't stomach another word of it.
Jodie watched him walk away and slowly lowered her gun. What had she done? She realized now how desperate she had become. How she must have sounded to the man. Never in all her life had she threatened anyone with a gun. Not until now.
Ashamed, she ran crying from his office. She ran to the field behind his office and threw up, then wiped her face with the back of hand and looked up into the sky. “I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…but what am I to do? If only you'd send me a sign, let me know what I'm to do? Surely you don't want me to have this child?”
Sometime later, she stood up again and went to get the rest of her supplies. She'd find someone else. She had to.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hunt entered the saloon with all
the caution of entering a rattlesnake den. Of all the saloons he'd been in lately, this one was the wildest yet. It was the same in every saloon, true, but this one was wide open to lawlessness. He suddenly felt as though he'd been in way too many. The last few saloons he'd been in were far from friendly and he figured this one wouldn't be different. Smoke filled the room and it took him a minute to adjust to it. He'd never taken up smokes except when he was bone tired, or stressed. But the smoke in the saloons seemed different. In here, you could hardly breathe. He sauntered up to the bar and ordered a cider, took it to a table, and sat down to relax for a few minutes. He watched the loud carryings on for a long while. He barely sipped the cider; he quickly remembered his promise to Jodi with a smile. He guessed others had told her he was some kind of drunk, or something. Poor Jodi, she didn't know him yet. He wasn't a drinking man, never had been.
The piano player was banging out a loud chorus, but no one seemed to be noticing. He suddenly wondered why he'd spent so much time in these places. It had absolutely no appeal for a sober man. A couple of cowboys had picked out a dancehall girl and were headed up stairs. Hunt thought about that for a long while. Right now, there was only one woman he might be interested in carrying to a bed, and although he'd married her, she wasn't willing.
Perhaps being married and responsible for a woman made him change in some ways. He wasn't sure he liked the change, but he wouldn't be making any moves upstairs either. His mind wandered to Jodi again. He wondered if she'd ever grow to trust him. But how could he expect her to? A whole town had condemned him.
Even though they hadn't consummated their marriage, he felt responsible for her, and the entire herd he was taking north. This job had awakened him from a depression he hadn't known existed. Why had he lived in that shed in such shame for so long? Even though he'd made mistakes in the past, he was better than that. He'd get those cattle to Kansas. But what would happen to Jodi then? Would she leave him and go back home? Did he want her to? It was a question he hadn't asked himself until now.