NoRegretsColeNC (2 page)

Hattie
raced forward, knelt beside Willie, and bent her ear close to his mouth. A
slight breath touched her cheek. “He’s alive.” Her heart beat a frantic rhythm.
She placed a hand at his neck but couldn’t be sure whether or not she felt a
pulse. “I’ll get Dr. Kellerman.”

In the
midst of the noise, confusion, and clucking hens, Sheriff Bryant appeared. His
call for order quieted the crowd, but the fowl paid him no mind. “Shoo those
chickens away and get a cart over here. We’re going to need a couple strong men
to move him.” He gestured toward Willie.

“Don’t
know why you’re bothering.” A broad-shouldered farmer stepped forward, glanced
down at the stricken young man, and shook his head. “Fellow probably ain’t
going to make
it,
and no great loss if he don’t. I
reckon he’s better off dead.”

“Miss
Richards.” The sheriff held a hand out toward Hattie,
then
helped her to her feet when she grasped hold of it. “Go on. Tell Abner we’ve
got a serious injury here. Better tell him to set up his operating table.”

Hattie
gulped and looked once more at Willie. She’d never seen so much blood before,
and now, somehow it was covering her, too. Praying her legs wouldn’t give out
before she reached Dr. Kellerman, she broke into a run. Behind her, grudging
voices grumbled and complained.

Shocked
by their callous remarks, she fought back tears and wondered how people could
be so cruel. She didn’t much like him either, but she’d do her best to save
him. Drunk or not, Willie Morse didn’t deserve to die.

* * * *

The
procession bearing Willie’s near-lifeless body—and followed by a few straggling
Rhode Island Reds—reached Dr. Kellerman’s hospital only moments after Hattie’s
frantic arrival. She’d blurted out news of the accident, recited as many
details as she could recall, and already the physician had set to work
preparing his operating table.

“Where
is Mrs. Kellerman?” Hattie pressed her hands to her aching sides, struggling to
catch her breath. “If you’ll tell me where she is…”

The man
shook his head. “No time for that. She’s off visiting the grandchildren.” His
attention turned then to the open doorway and the injured man. “What happened
to him?” he asked as he began his examination.

“Damned
fool stepped right out in front of Jed’s wagon. Lucky he didn’t get himself
killed.”

“Maybe
that’s what he was trying to do.” Abner let out a long breath. “Get him on the
table. I’ll do what I can for him.” But instead, his eyes focused on Hattie.
“Wash up, Miss Richards. I’ll need your assistance.”

“I
can’t help you.” Her heart pounded. “I haven’t been properly trained for
surgery yet.” Pushing her way toward the door, she drew in a deep breath. The
noise and confusion assailed her, making her dizzy. “I’ll go for your wife,
sir, she’ll be able—”

“I’ve
told you, there isn’t time enough. Now, listen to what I say, and do exactly as
I tell you.”

“Yes,
sir.”
One
hand on the door, Hattie froze. Slowly, she turned, her gaze falling upon the
operating table where Willie lay, barely conscious. “He will live, won’t he?”

“Can’t
say whether he will or won’t.”

After
motioning for the crowd—and the chickens—to step back, Dr. Kellerman closed the
door. He worked quickly, moving about the small room, unrolling bandages, and
gathering bottles of dark glass, the contents of which were a mystery to
Hattie. He laid out an array of gleaming metal instruments.

“I told
you to wash your hands.”

“Yes,
sir.”
She
watched as he poured hot water over his own hands and scrubbed with a thick bar
of lye soap. When he stepped away from the sink, she followed the same
procedure.

In one
of his first teaching sessions, he’d stressed the importance of cleanliness in
the medical practice. Many doctors scoffed at the idea of unseen germs causing
infections or disease, but Dr. Kellerman believed strongly in the theory and
was certain he’d someday be proved correct.

“We’ll
have to use ether.” The doctor’s eyes studied her closely. “It’s safe when used
properly but can kill if too much is administered. Don’t question what I tell
you, Miss Richards.
Do as I say, and do it without
hesitation.”
His expression softened. “You’ll be all right.”

“Yes,
of course.” Although she couldn’t recall a time when she’d ever been so
nervous, she resolved at once to do whatever was asked of her. A life was at
stake.

She
listened with care as instructions were given.

“Sponge.
Towel.”
She recited the words aloud as she gathered the items together. Hattie glanced
at her mentor and nodded.
“Three inches from the nostrils.
Thirty seconds.” Miraculously, her hands obeyed each command. As she repeated
the words and phrases, her voice seemed to come from somewhere far away, as
though her mind was no longer in her body, as though
she
were no longer there. Shy, insecure Hattie Mae Richards had
somehow disappeared to be replaced by a calm, strong-willed young woman of
courage and duty.

Dr.
Kellerman took his place and set to work. His gnarled fingers reached from one
instrument to the next, flying quickly and efficiently.

“Clamps.”

“Yes,
sir.
Clamps.”

Hattie’s
hands moved swiftly, too, doing the doctor’s bidding.
Sutures,
gauze, another drop of ether.
She questioned nothing and did as she was
told.

At
last, the surgery was finished.

“Is it
over, sir? Is that all you need from me?” Hattie looked up, grateful to have
made it through the ordeal. When Dr. Kellerman nodded, a gasp of air rushed
from her lungs. Her body began to shake from tip to toe. Bursting into tears,
she fled from the room.

She had
done it, yes, but she wasn’t sure she could ever do it again.

Thoughts
flooded her brain. Each time she closed her eyes she saw the image of the
skillful physician cleaning the wound, cutting into Willie’s flesh and
repairing the torn, jagged edges. She saw the blood again. She saw the twitch
of Willie’s eyelids as he succumbed to the vapors and slipped into a deep, deep
sleep.

Had he
felt anything?
Surely not.
The thought brought a bit
of comfort.

An hour
later, Hattie Mae sat alone on the porch that wrapped around the hospital—an
old two-story residence purchased and refurbished by Abner and Charlotte
Kellerman. From the outside it appeared a cheerful, inviting residence. On the
inside, the hushed atmosphere and the pungent smell of antiseptic and various
medications made its true function immediately apparent. It was the first—and
only—hospital in the town of Sunset.

After
all the hubbub of the awful accident, the afternoon seemed oddly quiet. Most
folks were probably gathering around either the Red Mule saloon or Taylor’s
Mercantile to talk about the day’s events. A few of them, she guessed, would
probably be betting on the outcome, taking odds as to whether or not young Mr.
Morse would survive.

Hattie’s
hands still trembled. She sucked in great gulps of air in an attempt to calm
herself. Somehow, she’d done it all correctly, had kept her head, choked back
the fear building inside of her, and she’d performed a valuable service, but
Lord knew, she hoped she never had to do it again. She had no desire to be a
surgical assistant. Her role was supposed to be that of a kind and gentle
caretaker, an angel of mercy who could soothe a fevered brow, smile away aches
and pains, and attend to the comforts of the ill.

The
door opened. Hattie glanced over her shoulder, smiling as the doctor stepped
out onto the porch to join her. He still wore his blood-stained jacket. The
sight of it made her wince.

“He’s
sleeping quite soundly.” Dr. Kellerman nodded his head in the general direction
of the room where Willie lay. He placed a hand on Hattie’s shoulder. “You did
well, Miss Richards. If he pulls through, he’ll have you to thank for helping
save his life.”

“I only
did what you asked.” She cocked her head. “You said
if
he pulls through…” Hesitant to speak her thoughts, she bit her
lip. “He might still die. That’s what you’re saying.”

“We do
our best, but a lot depends upon the patient. I’m not sure this fellow’s got
the will to live.” He hesitated, as if he were chewing on his thoughts. “The
next few days will tell the tale. The wound itself could have been worse. He’s
a lucky man. There wasn’t any damage to the artery, and miraculously, no broken
bones. There’s still danger of infection, though.”

“Will
he be in much pain?”

“Most
likely.”

“Am I
to give him laudanum?”

“Only
in small
doses,
and only if the pain is unbearable.”

“How
long will he require care?”

“He’ll
need someone to sit with him for the next twenty-four hours. He’ll probably be
here several weeks.” He got to his feet. “I’ll send word to his mother in Denver.
As far as I know, Willie’s got no place of his own to stay.”

“I’ve
heard he’s been sleeping at the livery most nights.” Hattie thought again of
Willie’s privileged background as the son of a federal judge. Truly sad to see
how low he’d fallen.

“Or
sleeping it off in the back room at the Red Mule.”
Dr. Kellerman wore a woeful
expression. “That’s what drink does to a man.”

Hattie
wondered again at the circumstances behind Willie’s wretched existence. His
father had been accused of some wrong-doing, she recalled, but she didn’t know
the particulars. None of her business, she told herself, biting her lip to keep
from blurting out her questions.

When
Dr. Kellerman cleared his throat, she looked up at him.
“Yes,
sir?”
She knew the sound always presaged something of importance.

“Seems
today turned out to be a test for you, Miss Richards. You rose to the occasion.
Nursing is a profession that requires a number of different skills, not the
least of which is the ability to follow directions. You did well.”

“Thank you,
sir.”

“Have
you ever considered attending a nursing college?”

She
shook her head. “I don’t have the resources. Besides, I’m quite happy here, Dr.
Kellerman.”

“I’m
pleased to have you, Hattie.”

She
basked in the warmth of his words. How good it felt to be accepted, to feel as
though she had finally found a place where she belonged. Even more, to have
found a role in life which she could perhaps fulfill. Of course, she could not
truly take any credit.

If she
could provide comfort to the sick or soothe a hurting soul, it was only because
the Lord had seen fit to give her the gifts of compassion and caring. She
prayed she might use her gifts well.

Chapter Two

Damn
it, he was alive. He knew because he hurt.
All over.
Everywhere.

For a
long time, Willie lay still, his eyes closed, terrified at what he might
discover if he attempted to move. While he
seemed
to be all in one piece, he couldn’t be sure of it. He’d heard stories of men
who’d lost limbs in the war yet who still felt their missing arm or leg.
Phantom limbs, they were called. For all he knew, he might be a cripple now, a
man with no future ahead of him, confined to live out his days in pain,
suffering, and pity.

He
stiffened. Wasn’t that the life he already lived?

His
eyes remained closed, shutting out the light of the day, and shutting out all
the awful truths he wasn’t willing to face. It was only when darkness descended
upon him that he stirred in the bed. He moved his fingers first, and then his
wrists, his forearms, his upper arms.

As full
consciousness returned, pain shrieked through his body, no longer a dull,
throbbing ache, but an agonizing fire that burned so hot he wondered if maybe
he had died and gone straight to hell after all.

His
eyes stung, and a groan crept from his throat. He fought to remain strong.
Despite his efforts, one tear slid down his swollen cheek. Another followed.

Yes, he
was very much alive. His body hurt and his soul ached. Lying in the darkness,
he cried for all the things he should have been, for all the things he should
have done, and for all the faults he could never overcome.

When he
heard shuffling, scraping noises near the bed and realized he was not alone,
Willie tried to muffle his sobs.
Only women—and the weakest
of men—shed tears.
Although it required great effort, he managed to lift
one arm and drag it across his face in an attempt to wipe the wetness from his
eyes.

“Mr.
Morse? Are you awake now?”

The
voice seemed to come from far, far away, yet Willie could sense the young
woman’s presence at his bedside. She couldn’t have been more than a foot from
him. Slowly, he opened his eyes, curious about the voice. It was gentle. It was
quiet. It was oddly familiar.

In the
darkness, he could see nothing more than a vague, but shapely outline.

“Do I
know you?” he asked, letting his eyes close once more. “I’ve heard your voice
before.”

“I’m
Hattie Mae Richards. I’ll be caring for you while you’re here.” A sudden intake
of breath followed her words. “You do know where you are, don’t you, Mr. Morse?
You’re in the hospital. You were involved in an accident. Do you remember?”

He
nodded, but in the darkness she probably couldn’t see the slight movement of
his head.

“I’ll
get Dr. Kellerman now. He asked me to summon him once you’d regained full
consciousness.”

A
rustle of skirts and petticoats swished across the floor, accompanied by soft,
delicate footfalls. Hattie Mae Richards moved through the room like an ethereal
spirit. In some mysterious way, her presence seemed to wrap itself about him,
comforting him, giving him a feeling of true peacefulness. He’d never known the
feeling before.

When
the young woman opened the door, a gleam of lamplight from the corridor cut
through the darkness. The knife of reality sliced into his brain. Fear pounded
through his body.

“No,
don’t go.” Willie’s words shot out, taking with them the last of his strength.
He sank down deeper into the bed, closed his eyes again, and wondered whether
he would live or die.

Which
would be worse? He couldn’t be sure. Death would be easier, but he suspected
God might keep him alive just to punish him for all his sins.

The
dark-haired nurse returned to Willie’s bedside. She placed a hand on his brow.

“Dear
me, I’m not handling my duties very well, am I? I should have checked earlier
for signs of ague.” Her voice, though still pleasant to hear, sounded
apprehensive. As before, it also sounded oddly familiar.

When
Willie opened his eyes, he turned to gaze at the girl’s face. Now that she
stood close, and with the golden light illuminating the room, he could see her
clearly. He remembered when and where he’d seen her before.

“You
were at the mercantile.”

“Hush,
no need to talk. It’s important you save your breath.”

“You
called me pitiful.”

A sigh
rushed from her delicate pink lips. “Indeed. In fact, I called you
plumb
pitiful. I was wrong to speak so
uncharitably toward you. You have my apology.”

Her
hand still rested on his brow. When she drew back and stepped away from the
bed, Willie regretted the loss of her touch.

“You
don’t have to be sorry for what you said. You’re right. I’m plumb pitiful.”

“You’re
also running a fever. I need to get Dr. Kellerman.” She whooshed away from his
bedside, her footsteps quick and determined. When she reached the doorway this
time, she didn’t stop. She didn’t turn, she didn’t look back.

Willie’s
pleas for her to stay hung in the air like an unanswered prayer.

* * *
*

As the
night wore on, he drifted in and out of consciousness. At times his head
cleared. At others, he slipped deep into confusion. An orchestra of noise
vibrated around him. Heavy, percussive footsteps beat a frantic rhythm at his
bedside, and a shrill female voice rose up wailing a lamentation that would
have made Job weep.

His
brain wasn’t working right. Willie tried to sort through the chaotic images of
long-robed Biblical figures superimposed over musical performers. Instruments
floated through his mind, turning to shining medical implements whose purpose
he couldn’t fathom—and probably wouldn’t want to know.

Words
hovered in the air. He reached up and tried to catch one but it slipped from
his grasp.

“Keep
his hands down, Charlotte. You’ll have to restrain him.”

“I’m
doing the best I can.”

More
words flew past him.
Ague, a fancy word for fever.
Sodium.
Salicylates.
Medicinal
extracts. Willie struggled to follow as the words sailed through his brain. He
couldn’t keep up with them.

Two
distinct voices bantered over him, one deep and masculine, the other that same
harsh woman’s voice he’d picked up before. But no soft, sweet, quiet voice that
might belong to a dark-haired beauty with the gentle touch of an angel.

Willie
struggled to sit up but couldn’t. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

“Calm
down.” Heavy hands pressed against his chest. “Be still, Willie. We’re going to
help you.” Long, gnarled fingers moved quickly, stripping away his night
clothes.

“Get
away from me, you witch!” He broke free from her, flailing an arm in the air.
“Leave me alone.”

“Abner,
help me. He’s more than I can handle.”

Between
them—gradually, Willie realized the people accosting him were actually Dr.
Kellerman and his wife—they finally managed to subdue him once more. Charlotte
stripped him down, bathed him with a sponge dipped in tepid water, and the
doctor pried open his jaws to force some bitter-tasting concoction down his
throat.

When he
shivered, they wrapped him in flannel and covered him with blankets. Slowly,
his mind cleared again. He opened first one eye, then both. The worn-looking
couple stood beside his bed, shaking their heads at him.

“You’re
damned lucky to be alive,” Abner Kellerman informed him.

“I
didn’t ask you to save my life.”

“Don’t
make me regret doing it.” The doctor glanced toward his wife. “We’ve done all
we can for now. He’s fully covered. Nothing’s exposed.” His gaze swept over
Willie to affirm his words. “Tell Hattie to come back in. She’ll sit with him
tonight.”

Hattie.

Her
name alone soothed Willie’s soul. Gone were the garish dreams, the nightmare of
confusion. The aching in his body dulled to
a weariness
and as the dark-haired girl settled into a chair beside him, Willie closed his
eyes. He was at peace once more.

* * *
*

As the
first rays of sunlight crept through the curtained window, Hattie twisted her
hands in her lap and fought back nausea. Maybe it came from the pervasive odor
of antiseptic that clung to the walls, or maybe the stuffiness of the air and
the gentle warmth from the corner
stove
brought the
sickness on.

Actually,
she could blame neither.

Throughout
the long night, as she sat beside Willie’s bed, listening to his restless
breaths, and now and then checking his temperature, she’d given her life a lot
of thought. Despite Dr. Kellerman’s encouraging words, and despite her own
desire to help others, the events of the previous day had shaken Hattie to the
core.

Even
the simple task of sitting up with her patient left her weak and worried.
Time to face the inevitable truth.
She wasn’t strong enough
for this job.
She lacked the emotional strength and the
stoicism Dr. Kellerman often spoke of, nor did she possess courage and
fortitude enough to smile in the face of adversity.

She’d
come to Sunset believing nursing would be so easy. Little had she known how
difficult the task would
be.

Letting
go of a sigh, Hattie closed her eyes, leaned back in the chair, and wondered
how anyone could bear to give bad news. Earlier, Dr. Kellerman had briefed her
on Willie’s condition. The fever meant his body wasn’t healing. Infection might
have set in. Willie could still lose his leg.

The
very thought of seeing a person’s limb amputated sent Hattie reeling from the
chair, desperate to reach the chamber pot in the corner before she retched all
over the floor.

Heaven
help her, she couldn’t do this job.

She
grabbed the chamber pot just in time.

“Miss
Richards?”

At
first she thought she imagined the feeble voice coming from the bed. When
Willie called her name a second time, she clanged the lid shut on the porcelain
pot and wiped a hand across her mouth.

“Yes,
I’m here.” She choked back another wave of nausea.

“I
can’t see you. Where are you?” The words sounded as desperate as Hattie felt.

“I’m
right here, Mr. Morse.”

“Are
you all right?”

She
closed her eyes, struggled to regain her composure, and then with what she
hoped to be a bright smile beaming from her face, she opened her eyes again and
marched directly toward the bed.

“Yes,
of course. I’m fine. You’re the one who’s ailing, sir.” She added a cheery lilt
to her voice.

“You
were sick. I heard you.”

Hattie’s
laugh sounded thin and tinny to her ears. She shook her head. “Why, it must
have been your imagination, Mr. Morse. I’m perfectly fine, and I’m here to take
care of you. We’ll have you up and about as quickly as possible.”

Dear Lord, it’s not right to
lie. I can’t do this.

She
turned away, knowing her face would reveal all her doubts, every misgiving.
Most likely Willie Morse could guess the seriousness of his condition by the
grim expression her attempt at a smile couldn’t hide.

“So,
I’m going to live, after all?”

“Oh,
yes, of course.” She spoke more confidently now. Fevers could kill, but if
worst came to worst, Dr. Kellerman would step in at once to do whatever he
must. He wouldn’t hesitate to take the young man’s leg in order to save his
life. Hattie’s stomach churned again. She hurried to the bed and tucked the
covers snugly around Willie. “You’ll be jumping up out of that bed in no time,
doing a jig or two.”

His
eyes glistened. “No, I won’t. Don’t lie to me, Miss Richards. I know I don’t
deserve much, but I’d rather have the bitter truth than a lot of sugar-coated
lies.”

She
swallowed, suddenly unable to get out a word. When she finally managed to
speak, it was only to say, “I’ll call Dr. Kellerman.”

“No, I
want to hear it from you.”

“I’m
not a physician. I’m not qualified—”

“You’re
a nurse.”

“Not quite.
I’m only in training.” She turned toward the door again.

Willie’s
hand clamped over her wrist, refusing to let her leave. “That doesn’t matter.
You’re here, and I need to know the truth. I’m going to live, you say, but what
sort of life will I have? Will I be able to walk again? Will I be able to ride?
Will I be able to lead a regular life?”

“No one
can say for certain.” Hattie reached out to stroke Willie’s brow. His grip on
her arm loosened, and her own nerves eased, as well. In some odd way, comforting
him brought reassurance to her. Speaking the truth brought a sense of peace.