Hearts Aglow (11 page)

She elbowed him just enough to get his attention and make him laugh. “I’m surprised you aren’t more worried about the judging to come. I’m the one who will make the final decision on the pies.

What if I’m swept off my feet by some wondrous creation?”

“What if I entered a pie?” she asked, brow raised slightly.

He looked at her and grinned. “Did you?”

Deborah shook her head. “No, but I might have.”

“You’d be more inclined to enter your thoughts on curing quinsy.” He stepped back a pace. “I must compliment you on your gown, Miss Vandermark.”

She had hoped he might find the yellow crepe de Chine appealing. Her mother had worked hard to help her fashion it into a stylish gown that flattered her dark hair and eyes.

“I’m also quite glad you chose to leave off the elaborate bustles that so many find popular.” He motioned his head toward the Perkins sisters, who happened to be strolling by.

“If you put them back to back, you could serve dinner atop their backsides,” Christopher whispered against her ear.

Deborah shivered at the warmth of his breath on her neck. She giggled to conceal the effect, but found it impossible to speak. Christopher, however, seemed to have little trouble.

“Women and their contraptions shall always amaze me. I find a well-fitted corset to be advantageous to a woman’s health, but bustles and the like are quite useless and sometimes downright dangerous.”

“I find it rather amazing that we are standing here in broad daylight discussing women’s undergarments,” Deborah said, looking up at him.

Christopher’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Would you rather I wait until the dark of night?”

“Sir, you are positively scandalous.”

He laughed. “Not at all. We are both interested in the medical well-being of women, are we not? Perhaps your delicate sensibilities are too fragile for a career in medicine.”

She smiled. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have agreed to court a physician. They seem to easily forget their manners.” She started to walk away, but Christopher quickly pulled her in line with him.

“Oh no, you don’t. I won’t have you slip away from me that easily. Now come along. I want to watch the game.”

He led her to one of the wooden benches that had been positioned for viewing the game. Deborah saw the pastor speaking to a collection of Negro players. The men were smiling and nodding at the minister. On the opposite side of the field, the white players stood with expressions that seemed mostly dubious. Deborah hoped her brother Rob would help keep the situation under control. He was to play second baseman, so he would be right in the middle of everything.

As the townsfolk assembled near the diamond, those of African ancestry took their place on the left side of the diamond toward third base, while the whites gathered more center and to the right. Pastor Shattuck climbed onto one of the benches and held up his hands. “Folks, it’s time we got this game started. Let us have a word of prayer on this, our day of celebration.”

A hush fell over the crowd. “Father, we commit this day to you. As we celebrate our independence, we recall that true liberty is found in Christ alone. May we, the people of Perkinsville, be mindful of your generosity to us and extend compassion and consideration to each person gathered here today. Amen.”

He looked out across the flock of people, then turned to the players. “Let’s commence the game!”

Cheers erupted from both sides, and Christopher settled in beside Deborah. “This should prove interesting.”

“I was thinking much the same,” Deborah replied.

The game started without conflict. Pastor Shattuck drew the two teams together. “For the sake of the day, we shall call this team the Perkinsville Razorbacks, as they have called themselves in the past.” He nodded toward the captain of the white players. “And the other team will be called the Perkinsville Sawyers, since many of these men cut for a living.”

“The Razorbacks will take their place in the field,” Pastor Shattuck announced. “Sawyers – you’re up to bat.”

Deborah recognized the first player. “That’s Abraham Garby,” she told Christopher. “He works for us.”

One of the many Foster cousins stepped to the mound to pitch. He threw the first ball, which was immediately declared a strike by the officiating umpire Mr. Huebner. As the local schoolmaster, Curtis Huebner had called many a ball game in the past.

The next pitch split the air with a loud crack as Abraham sent the ball slicing out across the open field. He ran for first base, then rounded second for third before the ball was retrieved. Picking up speed, Abraham slid into third while those gathered nearby cheered.

Deborah clapped, as did several of the other people around her, but most of the white people remained silent. The next two players were quickly struck out, but the third man managed to drive the ball into right field, allowing Abraham to reach home plate. The Sawyers were on the board.

For the next six innings, things went well, but when the seventh found the score tied four to four, conflict began to stir. Name calling, at first jovial and teasing, became more meanspirited and derogatory. Pastor Shattuck asked the men to put aside such comments, but the truce didn’t last for long. Then when the teams changed places in the bottom of the inning and the Razorbacks stepped to the plate, a disaster struck on the first pitch. The ball slammed into the shoulder of John Stevens and knocked him to the ground. Although John did not see it as a personal attack, others on the team were livid and rushed to the pitcher’s mound to see their form of justice done.

In turn, many of the Sawyers players came forward to assist their comrade and soon fists were swinging. Deborah watched in horror as Pastor Shattuck tried in vain to calm the men. It wasn’t until Zed Perkins fired a shotgun in the air that some semblance of order settled upon them once again. By then, no one felt much like continuing the game.

“It’s very nearly time for the dinner bell,” Mr. Perkins announced. “I’d suggest we call this game a tie and begin eatin’.”

Murmurs coursed throughout the crowd and a general consensus of approval was evident. The men separated hesitantly, each going to their assigned team places.

“I think I should see to the Sawyers and their wounds,” Christopher told her as he got to his feet. “A couple of those men look to have taken the worst of it to their faces.”

“Can I be of any assistance?” she asked.

He looked at her sadly. “It wouldn’t be acceptable, Deborah. Why don’t you go save us a place to enjoy our meal?” He gave her a weak smile before heading off.

Deborah frowned and let out a heavy sigh. Would this town ever see it as acceptable for a young, single woman doctor to tend a man – even in the open company of others?

“Why am I bothering to learn how to heal folks if they’ll never accept help from me?” she muttered under her breath. Thankfully no one seemed to notice. The last thing she wanted was to stir up yet another controversy for the day.

C
HAPTER 9

“Don’t need you,” a bloodied black man told Christopher. “Ain’t needin’ no white man’s he’p.”

“I’m a doctor. Your lip looks like it could use a stitch or two.” The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’ need your he’p – just like I said.”

Another man nodded. “We got womenfolk what can fix us up.”

Christopher looked around the group of injured men. “And that’s how all of you feel?”

“Tha’s the way it be for all of us.”

The statement was matter-of-fact, and none of the other men so much as met Christopher’s gaze. One by one, they turned and walked away until only Abraham Garby remained. He finally looked up and shook his head.

“Sorry, Doc. Iffen we ain’t careful, there’ll be more trouble than this. Best you go back to your folks and we go back to ours.” He turned and walked to where he’d left his hat. Picking it up, he knocked it against his leg and kept moving.

Christopher wanted to go after the men, but he knew it would do no good. There was too much anger on both sides of this situation. He blew out a heavy breath and shrugged. If they didn’t want his help, he couldn’t win their trust by forcing it upon them.

The aroma of roasted meat filled the air and drew his attention.

Christopher marveled at the long line of makeshift tables laden with food. This was his first time to celebrate Texas Independence Day.

“Doc, if you’re lookin’ for my sister, she’s over yonder,” Rob declared and pointed toward a stand of trees.

“Thanks.” Christopher started to head in that direction, but Rob stopped him.

“Was anyone badly hurt?”

“I don’t really know. No one would let me tend them.”

Rob shook his head. “I don’t rightly know what got into folks.

Seems to me it was just an accident.”

“I think we can agree on that much,” Christopher replied, “but apparently they can’t. Sometimes I think people are just looking for an excuse to fight.”

“Folks in these parts have plenty of excuses – leastwise, that’s what it seems to me.” Rob shrugged. “Guess it will always be that way.”

“It shouldn’t have to be.” Christopher felt a heavy resignation wash over him. “But I suppose – at least for now – it will be.”

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do by standin’ here talkin’ about it,” Rob added. “If we don’t get in line, we’ll miss the white bread.”

Christopher thought it ironic that even the color of the bread was of importance at this gathering. He understood that flour-based bread wasn’t seen as often as corn bread, but another color-based preference was more than he wanted to face.

He found Deborah sitting alone and looking rather forlorn. This town wasn’t interested in a woman doctor, but it was even less willing to accept an unmarried white woman working on the wounds of black men.

“Want some company?”

She looked up and studied him for a moment. “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

“I know.” He crouched down beside her. “They didn’t want my help any more than they would have taken yours.”

“Truly? But why?”

“Because I’m white.”

“But you’ve helped them before.”

Christopher looked out toward the muddy creek. There was only a minimal amount of water within its banks. They could certainly use some rain. He felt Deborah reach out to touch his hand. He turned back to see her worried expression.

“Will it always be like this?”

“So long as good men allow this to be the acceptable manner of behavior.” He shook his head. “But let’s try to put it aside. Today’s for celebrating, right?”

She nodded. “But it doesn’t seem folks truly understand. Texas was different back then, Mama says. Before the war, they didn’t seem half so worried about the color of a person’s skin. Before Texas became its own country, the Mexican government respected men of all colors. Seems we’ve lost something in our liberty.”

Christopher stood and helped Deborah to her feet. “Hopefully we’ll get it back,” he said, escorting her to the food.

“Come on, you two,” Lizzie said as she and G.W. neared the food tables. “I can hardly wait to try a little of everything.”

Deborah laughed. “You’d be hard-pressed to sample it all.

Mother said there were over two hundred dishes.”

“Oh my.” Lizzie looked to G.W. “I don’t suppose I can.”

“Well, I sure intend to give it my best,” G.W. said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Deborah added. She looked to Christopher. “Lizzie’s been a bit queasy of late.”

“I thought it would be behind me by now, but in some ways it seems worse.”

“For how long?” Christopher asked.

Lizzie considered the question for a moment. “Probably the better part of the last month. Seems to strike without warning at most any time of the day or night. I’ve always had trouble with nausea since I learned I was in a family way, but it seems that lately I have more trouble than ever.”

Christopher thought for a moment. “Any other problems?”

Deborah looked at him oddly. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

Now Lizzie and G.W. looked alarmed. Christopher put up his hand. “Don’t make more out of this than needs to be. I’m just trying to be thorough.”

“I’m tired all the time, but you told me I would be,” she replied with a smile.

“I’d like to examine you tomorrow,” Christopher said immediately, holding up his hands. “Not because I think anything is wrong. Come with Deborah to the office, and I’ll see if I can’t find something for the nausea.”

Lizzie and G.W. seemed to calm and exchanged a smile. “She’ll be there,” G.W. told Christopher. “I’ll bring them both myself.”

Christopher nodded. “Then we’ll discuss this more at that time.”

As G.W. and Lizzie strolled toward the food, Deborah tugged on Christopher’s arm. “Do you think there’s a problem?”

He chuckled. “You are definitely one for speaking your mind – still, it would serve you well not to say the first thing that comes into your head. Especially when standing right in front of a patient.”

“Well, there’s no patient standing here now. What is it you suspect?”