Rorey's Secret (13 page)

He didn’t even stop what he was doing. “I’m all right.”

The doctor reached forward and took the sanding board right out of his hands. “I already know you’re a brave young man. It doesn’t hurt to let me look.”

Not having much choice, Franky consented. The burn on his left hand wasn’t bad, but the doctor spent some time looking at the nail puncture. “You’re gonna have this infected if you don’t take care,” he said. “If you’ve got to work, it’ll have to be bandaged. Let me clean it out for you first.”

We went to the well. I got washcloths and a towel, and Dr. Hall cleaned him up and took a bottle of something called Landin’s Disinfectant and poured it over the puncture. I could see that the skin all around the wound was red. The doctor put Baxter’s Wound Cream on the burn and the puncture wound, and handed me the rest of the jar. Then he bandaged both hands. Franky wasn’t very happy with that, I could tell.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen any of you,” Dr. Hall remarked, looking into Franky’s face. “You the one had the broken leg some years back?”

“Yes, sir,” Franky acknowledged.

“Doing all right with it?”

Franky didn’t answer.

“He still has some limp,” I said gently, though I expected Franky probably would’ve preferred me to keep quiet.

“Well,” the doctor said with a sigh, addressing Franky as though he’d been the one to speak. “I hate to hear that. But it was a bad break, no question of that. I still wish your pa had let you stay in the hospital longer. Might have helped. Can’t say for sure now.” He glanced over at me. “Their mother’s been gone a long time now, hasn’t she?”

“Yes. Seven years.”

He nodded. “I’d appreciate it if you or Mrs. Pratt would see that Bert soaks his ankle. And this young man needs to keep the bandages on except for twice a day to put on some more of the ointment I’m leaving with you. In a couple of days you can leave the wounds open to the air a while. I’ll try to be back to take another look and see about Samuel then too.”

I thought he was finished, but he was still eyeing Franky pretty straight. He reached his hand up to touch Franky’s bruised cheek. “Did this happen fighting the fire too?”

“No, sir,” Franky answered. “That was earlier.”

“What happened?”

It took Franky a moment to answer. I knew he didn’t want to. “I was in a fight, sir.”

“Well, let’s hope you’ve managed to learn a lesson about that sort of thing. Put a cool cloth on it if it bothers you.”

I knew Dr. Hall would be going soon. He still had patients at the hospital in Mcleansboro. But he started back toward the house to see Samuel again first.

“Do you think we should bring him to your hospital?” I asked him, even though I knew what he’d already said.

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be doing much different for him than what you can do here. And I can’t say that he ought to be moved right now, Mrs. Wortham. Better him staying as still as possible. I’ll be out to check on him as much as I can or send Nurse McCulley.”

“But you said you could take X-ray pictures.”

“You’re right. We could. But with the head and the ribs, there’s not much we could do if we did see that they’re broken.”

“Should we have brought him last night?” I continued to question.

“Hard to know those things. But don’t worry. I’m thinking he’ll get along all right.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. I wasn’t even sure if I was hearing good news or bad. “But what if he does bleed or swell inside?” I asked him plainly, glad there were no children close enough to hear.

He stopped on the porch and turned to me with a sigh. “Mrs. Wortham, the best thing you can do is pray and believe for the best. We’ve got no cause to expect more problems.”

That should’ve been enough for me. In ordinary times, it would’ve been. But my heart was still racing along, afraid for the husband I loved more than life itself. “We weren’t expecting the problems we’ve already had,” I told him. “If he were to have trouble, I just want to know what we could do.”

He took a deep breath. I could tell he really didn’t want to say more. There was such softness in his eyes. “I’m not a surgeon, Mrs. Wortham. If he were to have complications, we could try to get him to one. But the best thing we can do is believe he won’t need more help. You know I’ll do everything I can. And I’ll move him if you want me to. But it would only make him uncomfortable.”

I stood on the porch step and took a deep breath, willing myself to do what he said and believe for the best. Why was I having such trouble with that?

“Please don’t worry. It’s a wonderful sign, him talking to us the way he did. There’s no reason to expect anything but a full recovery.”

He went walking on in, and I mustered myself to follow.

Samuel was still awake. Dr. Hall applied a generous amount of the wound cream to a square of cotton, laid that against the back of Samuel’s head, and bandaged it in place. He did the same with his leg, telling me again that he thought it would do fine without stitches and that I’d done well with what I’d done before he got there. He said he’d leave a bottle of Chandler’s Aspirin Tablets along with the cream for the wounds, since I didn’t have any in the house. I helped him pull a wide cloth band underneath Samuel’s middle in order to wrap his ribs. Samuel was still hurting, I could tell, especially with the movement and the contact, but he didn’t say a word.

“Let your friends and family take care of the farm,” the doctor cautioned him. “I want you to stay in this bed.”

“How long?” There was a determination in Samuel when he asked it that I was glad to see. Of course, I didn’t want him in a hurry to get up, but I was glad he was thinking on it.

“A couple of days, for starters,” the doctor answered. “I’ll be back to see you, and we’ll talk about it then.”

Samuel looked at me.

“We’ll manage fine with you in bed,” I told him. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“All right,” he agreed.

“It was good of you, saving that boy,” the doctor said. He held out his hand, and Samuel shook it. “I’ve got other patients waiting.” He turned toward the door. I asked him what we owed him for his trouble.

“I’ll not be charging you in this,” he told me. “Looks like you folks have had more trouble than what it was to me coming out here. But next time, I might take a meal.”

“We could feed you now,” I offered.

“No. But thank you. I’ve got to get back.” He turned to go, and I followed. He stopped again by the back door.

“Mrs. Wortham, get some rest. Don’t be worrying, and don’t wear yourself down seeing to everybody else.”

“Yes,” I said simply.

“If Mr. Hammond has any questions about those boys of his, you just send him over to talk to me.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you again.”

“Three times a day change your husband’s bandages and put on more of the cream. At least twice for that bigger boy. More if he gets the bandages wet or dirty.” I nodded, and he smiled. “You did fine, Mrs. Wortham. You’d make a fine nurse. And a midwife. Could use more of those in these parts.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t say anything at all. I didn’t want anything more to do with midwifery. Or nursing injuries either.

He walked away and got in his old car. A 1910 Model A like we used to have back in Pennsylvania. Dr. Hall kept it shiny. I stood on the porch, watching him pull away down our long lane.
Thank you, God, that he came. Bless him.

“Mom?” Sarah called out to me. “I think Daddy’s gone to sleep again.”

For a moment, the words shook me, but I took a deep breath and decided not to fret. “It’s all right, honey. The doctor said he’d need a lot of rest.”

I thanked Barrett Post for doing the milking and asked him if there was any way he could bring me more ice. He looked so tired that I felt bad for asking. But he didn’t seem to mind. He carried the milk in for me and then he was gone.
Lord, bless him too.

Inside the house, Thelma was singing to the baby. I looked across the timber and wondered what was still going on over at the Hammonds’ that was keeping young Sam from coming back to his wife and newborn. I wondered if the fire had flared back up or if George had somehow gone to pieces over all they’d lost. He’d been doing better than before. Though times were still hard, at least the Hammonds had gotten so they were no worse off than the rest of the struggling folks in our area.

And now this.

I was about to go back in the house, but I saw Franky over at the well. He must not have known I was watching. He took a drink, and then slow and deliberate, he started pulling the bandage off his right hand.

“Franky!” I hollered immediately. “Leave that bandage be! You heard what the doctor said.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked up. I came closer. He was looking so awful with yesterday’s bruises on his tired face.

“I don’t wanna go ’round wrapped up like it’s real bad or somethin’, ’cause it ain’t,” he told me with determination.

“That’s good, Franky. I’m glad it’s not worse. But if we want it to heal up, we’d better do what we’re told, don’t you think?”

His silvery eyes were deep and solemn. “I don’t want nobody lookin’ at me an’ thinkin’ I’m wantin’ ’em to look.”

Such a notion would never have occurred to me. “Why would anybody do that? Franky, you can’t help it that you were hurt.”

He lowered his head. “Not everybody thinks like you.”

I hardly knew how to respond. “If anyone looks at you funny, they’ve got problems of their own that are not your concern. And it’s just for a couple of days. The doctor said you could give it open air then, and I think you should heed him. Please? To keep the medicine in and the dirt and sawdust out.”

He just stood looking down at his hands.

“For your right hand especially. It could get infected if you try to work without protecting it. And you need it getting well quickly, not getting worse.”

“All right.” He sighed, suddenly looking like he was carrying a new weight. “I’ll do what you say.”

I didn’t really understand what was bothering him about it. He headed back to the woodshop, and I turned to the house. Franky did a lot of thinking, I knew that. He was always turning things over in his mind. But I couldn’t remember him being sullen like this before or concerned about the way somebody looked at him or thought of him. Maybe it was because his father was blaming him for the fire.

Sarah was waiting for me when I got to the porch. “You think Franky could have done it?” she asked me.

“No,” I said immediately, not at all pleased to be hearing such nonsense again. “I don’t know what happened. But it wasn’t Franky. He would tell me if it was. You know that, don’t you, Sarah?”

Something in her eyes changed. Suddenly she looked scared. She glanced around quickly and then back at me but didn’t quite meet my eyes. “Mom—”

She was about to say something, but Georgie came running out of the house, waving a pancake in his little fist. I reached and grabbed him before he could go flying down the porch steps.

Delores was right behind him. “Come back here, you little hooligan!” she called to her grandson. “You’re supposed to be sittin’ an’ eatin’ that, not runnin’ out to play with the dog!”

“Whiskers like pannycake?” Georgie asked me. His grandmother whisked him out of my arms.

“You’re not gonna feed those fine pancakes to no dog! Now come back inside an’ finish your breakfast!”

I smiled, glad to see some of the shenanigans that were more common fare around here. But Sarah was looking pale.

“Somebody’s coming,” she said.

I hadn’t heard anyone, but she was right. Down the road, we could see a truck coming our way. It wasn’t long before I knew it was Richard Pratt’s, and I wished we could have gotten some word to him and Robert that they needn’t trouble Dr. Howell any further. I hated for the elderly gentleman to come all the way out here when Dr. Hall had already come and gone. But maybe they hadn’t found him. Maybe he was busy again this morning. I went out to meet them, to tell them right away that everything was all right. Sarah, Delores, and Georgie all followed me.

There was no other vehicle behind the boys. And I could soon tell that there was no one else with them in the truck. For a moment I considered the possibility that the two doctors might have talked by telephone before Dr. Hall ever left Mcleansboro. That way Dr. Howell would know he didn’t have to come out. But that wasn’t very likely.

Dr. Howell was just busy. Too busy for a man his age. He didn’t get around so well anymore. But he sure got called on a lot.

“Mom!” Robert yelled as they pulled in. “Was it Dr. Hall we saw?”

“Yes. He was just here.”

He looked so relieved. “What’d he say? Is Dad all right? We were thinking we’d have to go get him, but Richard thought that was him up at the turn—”

“Dr. Howell’s with someone else again then?” I asked, glad they hadn’t dragged him out here.

“No, Mom,” Robert said. And I knew by his eyes that something was wrong.

“He’s gone,” Richard said quietly.

“Gone where?” Delores asked. “If he ain’t with a patient . . .”

Both boys looked grim. Richard cleared his throat and tried to explain. “His neighbor told us he was over to the elder Mrs. Porter’s house last night to listen to her lungs, an’ he just collapsed on their porch. He was gone before they could do anythin’ at all. They think it was his heart jus’ givin’ up.”

Beside me, Sarah reached for my hand. “You mean . . . you mean Dr. Howell is dead?”

“I guess the Lord called him home,” Delores said with a sigh. “He certainly is deservin’ of his eternal rest.”

I was glad Delores was receiving the news so calmly. I was feeling a little unsteady. Why did bad things just keep piling on top of each other? Dr. Howell had been our friend ever since we came here, when he used to come and check on dear old Emma Graham. He’d been a blessing. I didn’t know what to say.

“Mom, how is Dad?” Robert persisted.

“Resting again,” I managed to tell him. “And Dr. Hall said we can expect him to be just fine.”

“We sent Charlie Hunter to tell the pastor what happened,” Richard told me. “He said Ben an’ Lizbeth was over to Mrs. Porter’s an’ he’ll go an’ tell them too.”