Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice (4 page)

“Ruby Mae,” Miss Alice directed, “run on over to my cabin and fetch my medical bag, will you?”

In the upstairs hallway, Miss Alice pulled Christy aside while David helped the doctor into bed.

“I'm going to need you to help get that bullet out of the doctor,” Miss Alice whispered. “Without my right hand, I'm not much of a surgeon.”

“Me?” Christy cried in horror. “Help with . . . But I don't know the first thing about surgery—”

“How about during your journey here, when the doctor had to do that operation on Bob Allen? You helped him then, didn't you?” Miss Alice patted her on the arm. “That makes you more experienced than either David or Ruby Mae. And they're the only other two possibilities.”

“But I can't—”

“Don't worry, dear. I'll help you through it. And the Lord will guide your hands.”

Reluctantly, Christy followed Miss Alice into the bedroom. At the sight of the broadening stain across the doctor's shirt, her stomach did a sharp somersault. Somewhere beneath that shirt was a bullet—a bullet that Miss Alice expected her to remove. She felt her knees buckle under her, and she reached for a chair.

“Better keep an eye on that girl,” the doctor joked. “She's turning the nicest shade of green you ever did see.”

“I'm fine,” Christy said through clenched teeth.

“What would you call that, Preacher?” the doctor continued, determined to seem unconcerned. “Spring green? Or maybe it's more of an emerald green—”

“I'm
fine
,” Christy repeated more firmly.

Miss Alice helped the doctor remove his shirt. His broad chest was smeared with blood. Carefully she felt the area of the wound.

“Watch your poking,” the doctor muttered, wincing.

He felt the wound himself, grimacing as his fingers ran over the bullet. “Not so deep at all,” he pronounced. “No fractures. A little messy, but no problem to remove.”

Ruby Mae clumped up the stairs and rushed into the bedroom, carrying Miss Alice's bag. Following close behind was Miss Ida, David's prudish and fussy older sister.

“Oh my goodness!” Ida cried. “I was just putting the finishing touches on Miss Alice's cake when I heard the ruckus up here. What on earth happened? Look at this mess!”

“Moonshine and guns,” David said darkly. “They don't mix.”

“You can just bring that bag to me, Ruby Mae,” the doctor instructed. She set it next to him and he began digging through its contents. “Miss Ida, we could use some boiling water and fresh towels,” Miss Alice said.

“Of course,” Miss Ida said. “Will he be all right?”

“I expect so. The doctor's pretty tough,” Miss Alice said with a forced smile.

The doctor removed a scalpel and a pair of forceps from Miss Alice's bag. “Just what exactly is it you're preparing to do, Neil?” Miss Alice asked.

“I'm going to remove the bullet, of course,” he said.

“Lordamercy!” Ruby Mae cried. “He's the bravest man what ever lived, I reckon!”

“There's a fine line between bravery and foolishness, Ruby Mae,” said Miss Alice. Turning to the doctor, she said curtly, “As I recall, you're left-handed, are you not, Neil?”

“That I am.” He dug through her bag, muttering to himself. “Where do you keep your needles and suturing thread, anyway?” “And,” Miss Alice continued, pulling the bag away from him, “isn't that bullet in your
left
shoulder?”

Doctor MacNeill looked up at Miss Alice. His expression was a mixture of pain, amusement, and annoyance. “I see what you're getting at, Miss Alice. But you and I are the only medical practitioners for a hundred miles or more, and, nothing personal, but I'd rather go at this bullet myself than have you try to remove it with that sprained hand of yours.” He gave her a wry look and retorted, “As I recall, you're right-handed, are you not? And isn't that your right hand in a sling?” He sat up a little straighter, wincing at the pain. “So it looks like I'm elected.”

Miss Alice shook her head. “Christy will do the surgery.”

“Christy!” the doctor cried. “Not likely! Just look at her! She's the color of a green apple! And you expect me to let her pull a bullet out of my own flesh?”

“We have no choice,” Miss Alice said.

“Believe me, I would rather
not
have to play doctor,” Christy said. “But—”

“You!
You'd
rather not? How do you think
I
feel about it?” the doctor cried. “You're a teacher, not a doctor.”

“Lordamercy,” Ruby Mae said in a loud whisper, “this is even more excitin' than the race!”

“Behave, Neil,” Miss Alice chided. “You're acting like a child. You and I both know there's often not much more to surgery than being a good tailor.”

The doctor grabbed Miss Alice's hand. “Please,” he said. “Have mercy. I beg of you. I've heard about Christy's seamstress efforts. Granny O'Teale said her quilting skills leave a lot to be desired.”

“I'm a fine seamstress!” Christy cried indignantly.

“Actually, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae interjected, “those buttons you done sewed on Mountie O'Teale's coat a while back fell off. Remember how you had to stitch 'em all on again?”

“Oh, wonderful.” The doctor covered his eyes with his right hand, groaning.

Miss Ida reappeared with a pile of towels. She had torn them into strips to use for bandages. “The water's boiling,” she announced.

“Good,” Christy said, taking the towels. “Let's get these instruments sterilized so we can get this over with.” She looked at Miss Alice. “Right?”

“Exactly,” Miss Alice said.

Miss Ida gasped. She gazed at Miss Alice's arm in its sling, then at the doctor's wound. “Oh, my,” she whispered. “What is the world coming to when Christy Huddleston is our only medical hope?”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence, Miss Ida,” Christy said with a sigh.

Miss Ida patted the doctor's forearm gently.

When everything was ready at last, Christy washed her hands thoroughly in a basin, then positioned herself in a chair beside the doctor's bed. Miss Alice stood behind her, observing and instructing. David and Ruby Mae watched from a distance.

“First, you'll need to cleanse the area of the wound,” Miss Alice instructed.

Christy bit her lip. Her stomach felt queasy. Her hands were shaking.

She met the doctor's eyes. He was smiling at her weakly, looking at her with that way he had when she was certain he was reading her mind.

“You'll do fine,” the doctor said gently.

Christy took a deep, steadying breath. “I hope so.”

“You did fine when you helped me with Bob Allen,” the doctor reminded her. “You're stronger than you think, Christy Huddleston. I only hope I am, too.”

Christy cast him a grateful smile. “I'll do my best.”

When Christy had cleaned the wound, Miss Alice leaned close to examine it. “You're going to need to make a small incision to reach the slug,” she said. “Pick up the scalpel.”

Christy picked up the sharp blade. She forced her hand to stop trembling.

“Hold the scalpel firmly in your right hand while you feel the position of the bullet with your left,” Miss Alice instructed. “Then draw a small line, maybe a half an inch from the point of entry, with the scalpel. Press firmly.”

“But not
too
firmly,” the doctor added with a reassuring smile.

Christy closed her eyes.
Please, Lord,
she prayed silently,
give me the strength to meet this challenge.

“It helps,” the doctor suggested, “if you open your eyes.”

“I was praying for assistance,” Christy explained.

“Wonderful,” the doctor moaned.

Steadying her shaking hands, Christy did as Miss Alice instructed. Suddenly the joking mood vanished. Everyone was silent. She could feel the doctor go rigid as she pressed the scalpel down.

“Fine, fine,” Miss Alice said.

Christy lifted the scalpel and looked over at the doctor. His eyes were closed, the muscles of his handsome face tight as he grimaced against the pain.

“This ain't turnin' out nearly like I thought,” Ruby Mae whispered, rushing from the room.

“I'll go see if Ruby Mae's all right,” David offered quickly.

As David darted toward the door, Christy noticed that he looked a little green himself.

“Now, wipe away that blood,” Miss Alice said.

Christy did as she was instructed. To her relief, the queasiness had passed. Now she just wanted to finish the operation as quickly as possible to spare the doctor any more pain.

“Take that small pair of forceps and, using your other hand, locate the bullet. You may need to poke around a little.” Miss Alice placed a cool cloth over the doctor's forehead. “You doing all right, Neil? I would offer you some ether, but I know you'd never take it.”

“Oh, no,” he said through gritted teeth. “Go to sleep while Christy is carving me like a Thanksgiving turkey? Not likely.”

Carefully, Christy eased the forceps closer to the bullet. With each fraction of an inch, she could feel the doctor's pain as if it were her own. Once, he groaned out loud.

“I'm hurting you,” Christy wailed desperately.

“No,” the doctor said. “Keep going. You're almost there. You're doing fine.”

Christy searched Miss Alice's face. “I can't do this, Miss Alice.”

“Of course you can,” she encouraged.

Again Christy struggled to find the bullet. Once she managed to get the ends around the slug, but when she tried to pull, the forceps came free. She did not let herself look at the doctor's face. She couldn't bear it. But she could see his chest rising and falling quickly, and she could see his fists, balled tightly.

“I can't seem to reach it,” Christy said after another unsuccessful try.

“Yes, you can,” the doctor said. She could hear the pain in his voice. “You can do anything you set your mind to, Christy.”

Again Christy tried. This time, when she reached the bullet, she tightened her grip on the forceps. She held tight to the bullet. It came free at last.

She stared at the big, twisted piece of bloody lead. Her fingers were trembling again. Just a few inches more and it might have struck the doctor's heart. This bullet was a symbol of all that was wrong and dangerous and evil in these beautiful mountains.

She let the slug drop into a basin.

“Fine job,” Miss Alice said, squeezing Christy's shoulders.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” the doctor said weakly.

Christy let herself meet his eyes. She saw terrible pain there, but a half-smile was still waiting for her. He touched her arm with his hand. “I knew you you could do it.”

“Now, let's get that incision sutured up,” Miss Alice said.

The doctor sighed. “Was that really true, about Mountie's buttons?”

Christy smiled. “Yes,” she admitted. “But I've been taking quilting lessons from some local women since then. I've improved, really I have.”

“Oh, well,” the doctor said with another sigh. “At least it will make an interesting scar.”

Four

H
ow are you feeling?” Christy asked the next morning as she carried a breakfast tray into the doctor's room.

“Like someone shot me in the shoulder.” The doctor sat up slowly, groaning. His hair was mussed, and there were dark circles under his eyes. A fresh white bandage covered much of his shoulder. His arm was in a sling.

“You look terrible,” Christy said, placing the tray on his lap. She plumped his pillows.

“Talk to my surgeon. She's the one responsible,” the doctor said as he took a sip of coffee.

“Actually, Miss Alice told me she already examined your stitches this morning, and she said they looked beautiful.”

“Well, they're holding so far, which is more than we can say for Mountie O'Teale's buttons,” the doctor teased. He lifted the napkin covering a bowl of oatmeal and frowned.

“What exactly is this?” he demanded.

“Miss Ida made you oatmeal. Ruby Mae helped. She put a little molasses and cinnamon in it for flavor.”

The doctor took one bite, then rolled his eyes. He set the tray aside. “I think it's time for me to be heading on home, where I can make my own breakfast. Something that doesn't involve Ruby Mae's special flavor.”

“You'll do no such thing,” Christy said firmly, pushing him back against the pillow.

He winced. “Watch it. Your bedside manner needs a little work.”

“Sorry,” Christy apologized. “But Miss Alice said you've got a low fever. You need to stay here until we're sure you're healing properly.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he chided Christy.

“I'm just quoting Miss Alice,” Christy said defensively. She handed him the tray, and he took it reluctantly. “She also told me that doctors make terrible patients.”

“She's right about that, I'll wager.”

Christy put her hand on the doctor's forehead. “You do feel a little warm.”

He reached up and held her hand. His own was large and strong and warm to the touch.

“I want to thank you for what you did yesterday,” he said. “I know how hard it was for you. And despite my teasing, I knew you would do a first-rate job. And that you did.” Then he added with a chuckle, “Far better than I would have done, trying to stand in as a teacher to that huge class of rambunctious children you teach.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Christy said, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze. Just then, David knocked on the door and peered inside. At the sight of Christy and the doctor holding hands, he stammered, “Maybe . . . should I come back?”

“No, come on in, David,” Christy said quickly, withdrawing her hand.