Between Two Worlds (12 page)

“He and the boys were out hunting rabbit at dawn. When they first
got home, Frank told me he thought he’d been bit, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t
complain until he started talking about having blurred vision. Then I checked
his leg and noticed the wound. The skin was turning, and he got a headache and
couldn’t breathe.”

“He also puked on the way here,” the younger boy offered.

Gabriel nodded, and the man began to groan louder and clutch at
his stomach.

“Here you go, Doc,” Frank, Jr. said, rushing back into the exam
room with the dead snake dangling from his hand.

“Thank you, Frankie. Grab a knife out of the drawer and cut out
the fleshy part of the tail. You can work on the floor over there in the corner.”

“Yes, sir.” The older boy did as he was told, making quick work of
slicing and gutting the snake.

“Delaney. Can you bring me that pitcher of water please?”

“Sure.” Her boot heels tapped like shots from a gun as she crossed
the plank floor. She grabbed the pitcher by its handle and rushed to Gabriel’s
side. He dropped some herbs into a cup and asked her to fill it with the water.
She poured and he stirred the mixture with a spoon, and then she returned the
pitcher to the table and went back to her spot, out of the way.

“Alma, lift Frank’s head and make him drink this. It’s essence of
peppermint. It’ll help with the nausea.”

Delaney watched in awe as Gabriel opened various jars and bottles
and began tossing ingredients into a tall beaker. He explained step-by-step
what he was doing in a calm soothing voice. He had a wonderful bedside manner.
It was a stressful situation, yet he was doing all he could to comfort the
family. “The antidote for snakebite is a drink comprised of vinegar, salt,
alum, tobacco juice, brandy and gunpowder.”

Delaney gulped at the mention of the last ingredient. Gabriel
mixed the potion thoroughly and glanced at her. She smiled, wanting him to know
she was supportive and interested in what he was doing.

“Frankie, bring me that snake flesh.”

The boy gathered up the flesh he’d cut out of the body of the
snake and placed it in the doctor’s hands.

“I’ll now apply this fleshy part of the tail to the wound in order
to draw out the poison.” The room was as quiet as a pin as he gently patted the
snake meat around the infected area of the man’s calf and wrapped it loosely
with a piece of cloth. “Delaney, could you please go into that back room and bring
out a blanket. You’ll see a stack on the chair next to the bed.”

She opened the door and entered a bedroom. She knew immediately
that the space was his private living quarters. The room was sparsely furnished
with only a bed, one chair, a small table, a lamp, a wooden bookcase, and a
chest. She spotted the blankets on the chair where he said they’d be and
grabbed one up. After closing the door behind her, she handed him the blanket
and he nodded thanks.

“Frank needs to lie flat, but I’m going to raise his feet up and
cover him with this blanket so he doesn’t go into shock.” Gabriel placed a
block of wood under the man’s feet and then told Frank, Jr. to get some chairs
for his family from the waiting room.

“Is Pa going to be all right?” the boy asked. Delaney thought he
looked too solemn for a child, like he’d already lived a hard life. Losing his
father would make him the man of the house, and he barely looked fourteen.

“Time will tell, son,” Gabriel answered.

Frankie gathered some chairs from the parlor and arranged them
around the exam table. The kids sat down, prepared to sit out a vigil with their
pa.

“Alma,” Gabriel said, “you’ve got to make Frank drink this
concoction. The whole thing, until every last drop is gone. Even if he spits it
up. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Doc Whitman.” She took the beaker from him and gently pried
her husband’s lips apart and forced him to drink one sip at a time. The two
young girls had finally stopped crying and were quietly observing their ma with
wet eyes. One girl held her father’s hand and mumbled a prayer. The younger boy
sat mute, white as a sheet.

Gabriel signaled for Delaney to follow him out of the room. She
trailed him into the parlor and whispered, “Do you think he’s going to live?”

“I don’t know. I’ve done all I can. He’s in God’s hands now.”

“And his wife’s,” she reminded. “How long before you might see improvement?”

“A couple of hours. I wish Alma had brought him in sooner, but
these western men are independent and hard headed. They’d just as soon die as
ask for help.”

“I was very impressed with the way you took control of the
situation. You knew exactly what Frank needed. Your calm demeanor helped those
children feel less frightened. Alma, too. I never dreamed gunpowder could be
used that way,” she added.

Gabriel leveled a gaze at her. “What are you really thinking? Tell
me the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can just imagine what ran through your mind when you saw me mix
brandy and tobacco juice and gunpowder together. You probably thought I was
going to blow the clinic up. It must seem like a bunch of voodoo to you.” The
corners of his mouth drooped, making him appear so serious.  Of course, Frank’s
situation
was
serious.

“No. It doesn’t,” she fibbed.

“You can’t fool me, Delaney. I don’t know you well, but I can see
you’re not a good liar.”

She hung her head, feeling for him.

“It’s all we know,” he continued. “The field of medicine is still
in its infancy. I’m constantly reading articles and studying new techniques and
trying to learn, but… How do physicians handle snakebites in the future?” His
eyes grew bright with sudden curiosity.

She thought a moment. “I believe they give the victim a drug. As I
understand it, it’s an antidote to snake venom. Sometimes a person needs
several vials of the stuff, but it usually does the trick if they get to the
hospital in time.”

She could see the wheels spinning in his head. She wanted to
assure him that he’d done all he could for his patient, given his 1888
knowledge and experience. “You’re a talented and caring physician, Gabriel. I
have a good feeling the man will live.”

“I hope so. It would be difficult for Alma to be on her own with
the four kids. The boys would have to take on the responsibilities of the farm.
And it’s very tough to eke out a living in this hostile desert environment.” He
rubbed his hands together. “I’d better get back in there and check Frank’s vital
signs. Are you still going to go see Donovan?”

“Yes. But I can wait, if you need me.”

“You go on. I’ve done all I can, for now.”

“All right. We’ll catch up later.”

“I certainly hope so. Thank you for helping out, Delaney.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“Yes, you did. Another pair of hands comes in handy in an
emergency such as this.”

“I was glad to help, Gabriel. I’ll let you get back to your
patient now. I’ll see you later.”

When she turned to leave, he added, “Don’t go anywhere without
saying goodbye.”

She smiled. “I won’t. That’s a promise.” After closing the door
behind her, she stepped into the warm sunshine. People were coming and going
next door at the café. “Ready or not, Donovan McKinney,” she warned aloud.
“Here I come, and I’m going to get some answers from you if I have to dig them
out with one of your forks.”

Ten

The first face Delaney saw when she stepped into the café was
Warren Hooper’s. When his lard neck rotated and their eyes met, she’d never
before felt such pure evil emanate from a human. He sat with another man who looked
equally menacing. A shudder registered throughout her body. Turning away
quickly, she caught the attention of the one waitress, an African-American
woman who wore a plastered smile as she rushed back and forth pouring coffee and
balancing plates on her arms.

“Do you want a table, miss?” she asked Delaney, nodding toward an empty
one in the corner.

“No, but can you tell me if Donovan’s in right now?”

“He was here earlier, but I saw him leave about fifteen minutes
ago.”

“Shoot. Do you happen to know where he was headed?”

“Sorry, I don’t. You never know where that man is half the time.
His name’s on this place, but the cook and I run it. Do you want some coffee?”
She held up the pot.

“No thanks. If Mr. McKinney should come back anytime soon, could
you please tell him Delaney Marshall was here to see him?”

“Sure will.” A customer yelled for more coffee just then, and the waitress
hollered back, “Keep your britches on!” before dashing off in that direction.

As Delaney started to leave, she could sense holes bored into her
back. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Hooper glaring at her and leaning
back in the chair, picking his teeth with a jack knife. His hand shot to his crotch
and a thin smile played across his lips.

He’s not going to intimidate me
.
Disgusted, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the café. Guffaws of
laughter erupted from his table, following her out the door. Once outside, she
took a deep breath and started in the direction of the Salt River. Maybe by some
miracle the bridge had magically reappeared overnight. If she was lucky, she
might even run into Donovan somewhere along the way.

Hoping to find the Irishman conducting business in one of the
shops, she stuck her head into several buildings along Washington Street. She
peeked into the bank, wandered around Hurley’s Market, and popped into the telegraph
company, asking people if they’d seen the redheaded man with the big mutton
chop sideburns. Surely he’d be easy to spy, even amongst a diverse population
such as 1888 Phoenix.

While observing the telegraph operator dispatch a message for a
cowboy, Delaney became transfixed by the taps of the machine. It reminded her
of Samuel McKinney and the way he’d tapped on the hood of his taxi. He’d told
her he’d been around these parts for many years.
Could he really be three
hundred years
old?
She chuckled out loud at the absurd notion.

“Do you need to send a message, ma’am?” wheezed the telegraph
operator. He had a face like a mule’s, with a square chin and large protruding
teeth. He sneezed and rubbed his dripping nose on his shirtsleeve.

“No. I was just watching. It’s fascinating seeing that old
fashioned machine do its thing.”

“Old fashioned? We just got this machine two months ago.”

“You think the telegraph machine is fascinating, ma’am?” chortled
the cowboy.

“Yeah. I’m surprised it’s still being used.” When the operator and
the cowboy exchanged quizzical glances, she mumbled, “darn,” and covered up her
slip by nonchalantly adding, “Wouldn’t you agree the telegraph is practically
obsolete now that Alexander Graham Bell has invented the telephone?”

The cowboy hitched up his pants. “Not everyone can afford a fancy
telephone, ma’am.”

Musing aloud about the strides that had been made in just over a
hundred years, she said, “I’ll bet your great, great, great grandson will be
rounding up cattle using a GPS system and talking on a cell phone while he’s
doing it.”

The cowboy rammed his hands into his back pockets, and his heavy
brows knitted together. “Pardon me, ma’am?”

“Never mind. Sorry to have interrupted you.” She lifted a hand and
waved goodbye, chuckling at her inside joke.

The cowboy raised his hat and winked. “Good day to you, ma’am.”

Having not seen Donovan, she crossed Washington Street and headed
straight out of town. Though she was looking forward to returning to the spot
where she’d crossed, she took her time and enjoyed the leisurely walk. It gave
her the opportunity to scrutinize the surrounding Phoenix area. She perused the
wide expanse of arid, rocky landscape and its variety of cacti and succulents.
“This area sure has changed in a hundred and twenty-four years,” she said
aloud. “Now it’s all concrete neighborhoods. Wouldn’t these folks be blown away
if they could see modern-day Phoenix?”

When she arrived at the grassy banks of the Salt River, she was
not surprised, but still disappointed. There was no bridge. The lush area by
the river was a stark contrast to the desert she’d just hiked across. She gazed
into the river. The water splashed over large smooth river rocks in whitecaps. The
churn of the clear water was enticing. Delaney pushed aside her skirt and sat
in the grass and pondered her situation. “How am I going to get back to where I
belong? I must find Donovan McKinney. I know he’s got the answer, and I plan to
get it out of him somehow.”

Closing her eyes, she wondered if her dad had tried to call her in
the past day or so. Since he’d remarried and he and his wife had moved to New
York, Delaney didn’t talk to him often, and saw him even less. She’d left a
message on his answering machine the day before the big pitch, just to let him
know about it. She hadn’t heard back that day or the morning of the pitch, but
maybe he’d tried to call since she’d left “on vacation.” With no cell phone
service available in 1888, there was no way of knowing.