by Easy Jackson
Granger had been looking at them in consternation, but he responded without hesitation. “Take him around to the sleeping porch in the back. He’ll be more comfortable in the small bed there.”
“He’s a Mexican,” the scar-faced man said.
Granger repeated they were to take him to the back. Tennie followed, helping to prepare the bed while the men carried a small, dark, unconscious man onto the porch.
“Tennie,” Granger said, “Bring some hot water, soap, and clean towels from the kitchen. There should be some hot ashes left, but you may have to stoke the fire.”
She nodded, finding everything as he said.
Carrying basins of hot water, she placed them on a small table next to the iron bedstead. With a start of surprise, she saw Granger had scalpel and forceps laid out among other tools. He rolled up his sleeves, and as he washed his hands and arms, he saw her glance at the scalpel.
“I was a surgeon during the war,” he explained. “When I came home, I didn’t have the stomach for it anymore.”
She nodded. “I’ve never seen anyone wash their hands before working on a patient.”
“It’s something I experimented with during the war and had good results . . . although I was never able to convince my colleagues of it. Stand nearby and hand me whatever I ask you for.”
“What do you need us to do?” the man with the scarred lips asked.
“You hold his arms down, putting your knee on his chest.” Granger turned to the larger man. “You do the same thing with his legs. Put your knee across his legs. I don’t want him moving.”
Tennie watched while he worked the shaft of the arrow in a gentle back-and-forth motion.
“It just might be far enough away from the intestines not to have punctured anything, and at the same time, not be stuck in a bone. There doesn’t appear to be internal bleeding,” he muttered.
His narrow fingers went down the shaft and probed the wound, while the patient gave a faint groan. Granger removed his fingers, instructing Tennie to wipe the blood from them. She complied, and he selected a wicked-looking knife, making the wound larger in one swift motion. Placing the knife on the table, he picked up another with a wire loop and worked it downward, wrapping it around the arrowhead. With great care, he brought it out, placing it on the table. He straightened and breathed heavily. “Tennie, hand me a clean towel, please.”
Tennie gave him one, and taking another, she helped him wipe the blood and clean around the wound.
“He’s a lucky man,” Granger told the two men. “The arrow appears to have missed the organs. Who is the woman he is calling for? Rosita something?”
“Poco’s been calling the name of every señorita between here and Mexico since he got shot,” Wash Jones said.
“Where was that?” Granger asked.
“Near the Brazos. We went to Fort Griffin, but they, along with the camp doctor, were on patrol. Somebody told us there was a doctor in Ring Bit.”
Granger concentrated on his patient, but gave Tennie a brief glance. “You are a good nurse.”
“I helped my mother during the war,” Tennie said. “My father was in the Alabama Brigade. He made it through the war, but he and my mother died of yellow fever soon afterward. I was sent to an orphanage.” She stopped, not knowing why she had said so much.
Granger again glanced at her. “An orphanage? Was it bad?”
“Yes.”
Granger looked back to his patient, but Tennie thought for some reason her answer had come as a relief to him.
“I’m leaving the wound open to drain,” he said when he finished. “There weren’t any major arteries cut, and I think he is in more danger of developing an infection than he is of bleeding to death. We’ll keep it covered and change the dressings several times a day, though, to see how it’s doing.”
“Much obliged,” Wash Jones said.
Dusk settled, and he and Ben McNally walked off the porch into the growing darkness. Granger sank down in a chair next to the ill man’s side. He appeared exhausted.
“Would you like me to prepare supper?” Tennie asked.
He nodded. “Just bring us all plates of something,” he said, his breath coming out shallow and uneven. “I can’t face sitting at the table just now.”
Tennie nodded. Taking the bloody towels with her, she went into the kitchen and lit the lanterns. Someone had taken the trouble to stock the pantry, and she wondered if it had been done in preparation for her arrival. Disposing of the towels in a bucket of water to soak, she fried the ever-present salt pork and made biscuits and gravy. There was water and coffee, but the milk was canned.
She did as Granger had instructed and made three trips into the darkening evening carrying plates of food along with cups of water and coffee. The men gave polite thanks. The boys said nothing, but the food disappeared. Badger held his plate up and licked it. In a little while, she gathered the dishes and washed them.
Returning to the porch, she saw Granger had placed a chair beside his and indicated he wanted her to sit next to him. “You are not only a good nurse, Tennie, but a good cook. Did you do that at the orphanage?”
“Yes,” she answered. “The food was terrible there, full of weevils and maggots, but sometimes they would hire me out to work in the big houses. The former slaves who worked there showed me what to do with better food.”
He nodded. “Sometimes the neighbors get together, and we butcher a beef. All of us take some home, taking turns with the best cuts. I haven’t felt like participating much lately.”
She nodded and listened as he talked about coming to Ring Bit and the changes the war wrought. He wound down, and at the end, asked what brought her to Ring Bit as a mail-order bride. “You are too beautiful to have escaped a hundred proposals, Tennie, regardless of the shortage of men in the South.”
“I thought I was signing up to be a missionary,” Tennie said, feeling her face turn red.
“What?” Granger asked in surprise.
“It’s such a long and embarrassing story.”
When Granger did not reply, but sat waiting, Tennie found herself confessing everything.
“One day the matron at the orphanage called me into her office. A man was there who said he was my uncle, and he had come to take me home with him. I tried to tell the matron he wasn’t my uncle, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She said I had to leave.” Tennie’s voice rose, almost in hysteria, and she had to calm herself before continuing.
“The man forced me to go with him to a saloon, where he threw me in a room upstairs. Chains were on the bedstead. He said I was worth a lot of money to him, and if I didn’t cooperate, he would chain me to the bed. As soon as he left, I jimmied the window and jumped out, running until I saw a church. I saw some men with the minister, loading up their things. They said, ‘Have you come to apply? We are leaving tomorrow at first light.’ I told them yes. I thought they were missionaries. They showed me your picture and asked if you were all right, and I said yes again because I thought you were to be my boss at the mission. The minister even put in a good word for me. We had traveled two weeks before I found out I was to be a mail-order bride, not a missionary. Everyone laughed at me. They couldn’t believe I had made such a stupid mistake.”
Tennie leaned closer to him. “I didn’t want to marry someone I’d never met. I waited until there was a full moon. I took some food I’d hoarded, and I was going to leave, but then I looked up in the hills, and I saw a line of Indian warriors in the moonlight. I gave the alarm, and we were attacked. The men managed to repulse them, but they kidnapped one of the women. The next day, we found her. She’d . . . she’d . . .” Tennie couldn’t repeat the horror she had seen. “Mr. Payton told me I’d never survive by myself, that I should just come here and do what I had signed up to do.” Tennie stopped. She didn’t want to tell him Mr. Payton almost had to twist her arm in Ring Bit, too.
“Tennie, Tennie,” Granger said, smiling at her in sympathy. “Poor little Tennie.” He rubbed her b
ack and squeezed her shoulder. “I have a confession to make, too. I only wanted a wife to look after my sons. My health has been so bad, I haven’t corrected them as I should, and they’ve grown up half-wild. If I died, no one here would want them. When I saw you, I thought my plan had been for nothing. But then you said you grew up in an orphanage, and you know what it’s like. Would you promise me, Tennie, if I die, you would take care of my sons? That you would see they didn’t get split up and sent to an orphanage? Please?”
He caressed her cheek with one hand, and Tennie found herself nodding her head. “I have to tell you something else, Tennie. I’ve had another spell with my heart since I sent for you, and I doubt I will ever be able to be a true husband to you. Do you understand?”
Tennie nodded again, and he smiled. “Your eyes are so enchanting. You look like a beautiful little doe. Would you sit on my lap and let me hold you close for a little while?”
Tennie realized she wanted nothing more than to be comforted by him. She moved into his lap and lay her head on his shoulder, allowing him to caress her and kiss her hair. The thought crossed her mind they could be seen and heard by the others, but she was so grateful for Granger’s kindness, she did not care.
She looked up into his face, seeing him smile and close his eyes. Many seconds passed before she realized his heart had stopped beating. Not knowing what to do, she stood up. The only name she could think of was Wash, so she said, “Mr. Wash. Mr. Wash, would you come here, please?”