That Certain Spark (19 page)

Anguish twisted within him.
Some of that fire is my fault. Because she’s different, I first didn’t support her. Remaining silent is just as wrong as to do the wrong deed. It’s impossible to remain neutral in the face of prejudice or cruelty, and that’s truly what it boils down to. I’m just as wrong as those men who don’t want a woman doctor and refuse to sign up on her list of patients. Even worse because I didn’t think. I purposefully didn’t see or hear anything. She knew I wasn’t walking with Christ and still befriended me, yet I never once considered that I would be an unsuitable mate because I was a prodigal son. Lord, never let me forget that loving Taylor means embracing all she isn’t, just as it means accepting her for all she is.

“Well . . .” Enoch’s voice broke into his thoughts. “What do you think?”

“I want Taylor to have the pick of the litter.”

“In the long run, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for her to have a dog. Until things simmer down, I want to hire you to guard my sister.”

“No need. I’m going to marry her.”

Christmas fell on a Sunday, and it was the most beautiful Christmas Enoch had ever seen. He set Heidi down on the church steps. “Wait inside for Mommy and me.” He walked back over to the boardwalk in front of the boardinghouse and held out his arms. “Here we go.”

Mercy looked over at him. “I feel ridiculous.”

“Feel cherished.” He swept her up. “There’s no way I’m having any wife I love walk through the mud to church.”

“And how many wives do you have?”

He laughed. “One is plenty enough, ma’am.”

“Good. You just keep it that way.”

“Feeling sassy today, are you?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“How sassy are you feeling?”

“Well, it all depends.”

“Sassy enough for a kiss out here in the middle of the street?”

She thought for a minute, and he paused. “No.” She smiled. “But sassy enough for a kiss right before we hit the church steps.”

He laughed. “Yes, I guess this is a good Christmas after all.”

Once he got there, he claimed his kiss and went up the steps.

“Daddy, I saw you and Mama kiss.”

“Yes, you’ve seen us do that a few times now, haven’t you?”

“Aren’t you ’posed to wait till you’re at the front of the church to do that?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I love kissing your mommy anytime.”

Heidi tilted her head to the side and studied him. “Should I give you a kiss now?”

“That’s a great idea.” He knelt down. She gave him a peck on the cheek, and he returned it. “Ah, that was a wonderful Christmas kiss. Thank you very much.”

They walked down the aisle and sat in their pew. He knew his sister would be joining them soon.

Stomping sounded. Footsteps time and time again could be heard outside the church as people knocked the mud off their boots. Laughter filled the foyer. Folks kept coming in. Hearty shouts of “Merry Christmas” were exchanged over and over again.

In walked Piet. In walked Karl.
That clod forgot my sister! On Christmas Sunday of all days!
Hands fisting, Enoch leaned over and whispered, “I’m going to get my sister.” He started to ease to the edge of the pew.

But just then, Karl reached back and tugged on something. “Are you going to talk all day, or are you going to sit in church? It’s ready to start.”

“I’m sorry, Karl,” Taylor said. “I just wanted to see the baby.”

Karl turned and looked at the newest Bolington baby. “Ah, it is a beautiful baby, Mrs. Bolington.” Mrs. Bolington beamed. Enoch had told Mercy about Karl’s courting plans the night before, so they’d allowed others to take seats on their pew. Taylor’s eyes widened when she saw she’d been ousted.

“We have many visitors today.” Karl gently tugged her. “Come, there’s room here for the three of us.” He made sure that Taylor sat between him and his brother, the two of them forming sentinels on either side of her, insulating her from the ill will of some of the group.

Enoch looked down. His hands were still fisted. Mercy reached over, smoothed her hand over his fist, and stroked it a couple of times. “God’s will, will always have its way.”

Enoch thought about those wise words.
God’s will, will always have its way
. It was true. He had to have faith. Whatever God wanted would occur. No matter what differences Enoch tried to make, none of this fell within his control. In the end, it came down to one verse.
“The fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.”
He needed to be praying—fervently and more that acceptance and peace would fill the congregation and Taylor’s practice would flourish.

Parson Bradle read the Christmas story from Luke, and they sang carols. The music rose to the rafters and reverberated in the cold air. It was beautiful. Afterward, congregants wished each other a merry Christmas and walked on out to their horses, wagons, and buggies again.

Old Mrs. Whitsley leaned heavily on her cane and beamed at him. “Got us a mighty nice Sunday. Times were, everyone came to church. It’s not that way anymore, but today most everyone showed up.”

“Yes, ma’am. It seems everyone in the township came to worship. There are a few I’ve met only once, if at all.”

Mercy leaned on his other arm. “Several of these people only see one another on Christmas and Easter.” Exuberant greetings and hearty laughs supported her assertion. Greetings were exchanged, embraces held. Laughter bubbled up all around them. Kids ran about, playing tag. It didn’t matter that the ground was damp, that little boys jumped in puddles and little girls screamed because the mud landed on their pretty dresses. Everyone was just delighted that it was Christmas Sunday.

Heidi tugged on Mercy’s hand. “Can I go play?”

“Go ahead and have a good time,” Enoch told her.

They exchanged a few more comments with Mrs. Whitsley and then the old woman toddled off.

Suddenly a girl’s high-pitched scream rent the air and a horse and wagon whizzed past.

Eighteen

H
eidi!” Enoch and Mercy croaked her name in unison.

“She’s right here.” Hope’s reassurance freed him to help and not feel he was abandoning his wife in a time of need.

Enoch saw his sister start darting across the churchyard. “Move for the doctor!” Karl mowed a path for her at an impasse and lifted her directly over Mrs. Richardson’s swooning form.

Enoch cut across the other direction and met her where Bethany Richardson lay in the mud. The little girl’s leg was skewed at an awkward angle, but Taylor only gave that a passing glance. Immediately she put her hand on Bethany’s chest to make sure she was still breathing. It rose and it fell three times before Taylor nodded.

“She’s breathing well.” Taylor then inspected the little girl’s head. Swiftly, deftly, her hands moved. “She didn’t get kicked in the head.” She checked Bethany’s eyes. “Pupils are equal and constrict to light.”

“Her leg’s busted. What’re you doing looking at her head and in her eyes?” Mr. Smith said. “Dumb woman don’t even know what end to look at.”

Karl growled, “That’s enough out of you.”

Somebody else stepped forward. “He’s got a right to speak his piece.”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Yeah,” others chimed in.

Taylor ignored them all. She lightly assessed Bethany’s little chest, checking her ribs, then ran her hands down both arms, hands, and fingers, taking swift, careful inventory.

Mrs. Richardson screamed, “My little girl. My little girl. My little girl.” Enoch caught her right before she grabbed her daughter.

“What are you doin’ stopping her? Let her go. That’s her child.”

Enoch didn’t release her until Karl brought Mr. Richardson over from beside Bethany. Enoch handed Mrs. Richardson to her husband. “If your daughter’s pelvis is injured and she’s moved right now, it might cause her grave damage. She can’t be shifted whatsoever until my sister makes sure everything else is all right.”

Some of those who were disbelieving a few minutes before suddenly didn’t seem quite so sure of themselves. Enoch went to kneel across from Taylor as her hands efficiently mapped out her patient’s hip bones. “What do you need?”

“Stay right where you are,” she murmured. Taylor opened up the leather purse hanging from the chatelaine at her waist. From it she pulled some gauze in which she hid a small vial with a dropper. She didn’t want people to know that she had narcotics in her chatelaine. Such knowledge could be dangerous, because if someone were desperate for the drug, they might rob her. Taylor didn’t so much worry for her own welfare, which terrified Enoch, but she fretted because she knew the contents of the vial were sufficient for several doses. If someone were to ingest all of it at once, it could cause cessation of breathing. Enoch said nothing.

“What’s she doing?”

“What’s that for?”

Enoch wedged open Bethany’s mouth, and Taylor quickly administered just two little drops under the child’s tongue. Karl saw what was happening, but Enoch trusted that he’d say nothing.

Quickly, Taylor put the vial back into her chatelaine. She stroked the little girl’s throat to get her to swallow. “Mr. Richardson, I’ve given your daughter some medication. This will help her swallow it. She’ll still awaken when we move her, but I want her to have something already working to alleviate the pain.”

Some of the drug probably got absorbed beneath the tongue—a trick their father had taught them long ago. The remainder would be absorbed more slowly in the stomach, but that meant smoother, longer relief from the pain.

The little girl groaned.

Taylor finally looked up. “Please step back. None of us wants Bethany to be frightened.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Bradle agreed. “Let’s all give her a little air.”

The little girl groaned louder, then cried, “Mama—”

Mrs. Richardson knelt in the mud. “Oh, my little girl. My poor little girl.”

Bethany’s eyes opened. “Mama.” Her arms came up to her mother.

“Her arms are working.” Taylor touched Mrs. Richardson’s shoulder. “Have her move her left leg, but not her right.” Mrs. Richardson was too upset to give the command. Mr. Richardson tried to kneel down, but tears clouded his eyes. Taylor pulled one of the little girl’s arms from around her mother’s neck. “Bethany, I need you to listen to me. One of your legs hurts. It has an owie. This other one here, the one that I have my hand on, I’m rubbing it right now. I want you to take that knee and bring it up for me. Just lift it up just a tiny bit.”

She sobbed, “I don’t want to.”

“Just a tiny bit, sweetheart.”

“My leg hurts.”

Enoch got down. “Just a little. Come on, just a little bit. Heidi would do it.” When Bethany opened her eyes wider he repeated, “Heidi would do it.” Heidi would do it.”

Bethany lifted that leg a few inches.

“Excellent!” Relief rang in Taylor’s voice. “Heidi couldn’t have done it any better.”

Two men carried Bethany over to the surgery, then stepped out to allow the women to go in and help undress and clean her up. Enoch knew Taylor wished she could keep a select few there to help, but no woman was willing to be left out.

Mercy went home and got one of Heidi’s little nightdresses. “I thought she could use this,” she said as she took it on in.

Heidi came over and held Enoch’s hand. “Daddy, is Bethy gonna be okay?”

“We’ll wait and see, sweetheart. Her leg got broken, but your auntie can make it better.”

“Okay, Daddy.” With all the assurance in the world that her auntie could make it better, Heidi skipped off.

A few short minutes later, the door opened again. Taylor stood in the aperture, and women lined up along the far wall of the surgery. The variety of expressions warned Enoch that the situation was still volatile. Taylor nodded toward Bethany’s father. “Mr. Richardson, we need to discuss the treatment for your daughter.”

“Yes.”

“Pa, what she says—do it,” Linette Richardson said. “I trust her. She knows what she’s doing. Pa, we need to do it for Bethany.”

“Linette, you pipe down. This isn’t your decision.”

“And it’s not yours, either, Daisy Smith,” Linette shot back.

Daisy sucked in a deep breath. “That’s no way to talk to your elders.”

“You have no right to speak, Daisy,” Velma snapped. “You were giving your opinion a minute ago, but Bethany’s not your daughter. At least Linette waited until her little sis fell asleep before she spoke her piece.”

“What we’re going to do,” Taylor said in a carefully modulated tone, “is have everyone leave with the exception of the Richardson family.”

“No cause for that.” Cutter planted his feet. “This surgery belongs to the town. We all care about the girl and have—”

“—made wise provision in your deal, Mayor Cutter,” Taylor broke in smoothly, yet forcefully. “You yourself said the fathers were to make the decisions regarding their children’s care. It’s been that way throughout history, and you judiciously set that same guideline for Gooding. This decision is the Richardsons’, and theirs alone. The rest of you need to leave now.”

People started to shuffle out. Mr. Richardson cleared his throat. “Mercy, I’d be obliged if you’d stay. Not that I don’t value the doctor’s judgment, but you’ve got yourself a little girl, and since my wife’s a bit on the emotional side here, I’d like a mother’s opinion. Doc Enoch, you’ve got some medical knowledge, too. I know this here’s your sister, but I’m expecting you wouldn’t side with her just because of that. So let’s hear what’s to be said.”

Taylor nodded. She went over to the table and checked to see if Bethany was sleeping before she gestured. “What’s happened is that both of your daughter’s bones have been broken in two places—here and here. As you can see, these bones in the lower leg are very fragile and thin, especially in a small girl. If I try to put very much traction on them, they’re not going to mend properly. The leg will break, because the traction will pull it sideways. Though it would eventually mend, it won’t knit together correctly. The best way to set a fracture like this so it does align and mend straight is to have Bethany lie on the table here at the surgery for a couple weeks.

I’ll affix long, flat cloth strips going down her leg and have a rope dangling from the strips with an iron hanging from it.”

“An iron?” Mr. Richardson sounded incredulous.

“Yes, an ordinary iron.” Taylor’s voice remained factual.

“An iron,” he repeated.

Taylor went to the kitchen, picked up one of the smaller irons, and brought it back. She held it in both hands, then set it down. Next she picked up Bethany’s healthy leg, closed her eyes and balanced it in her hands, as well. “They weigh about the same. Try for yourself.”

“I’m not good at small weights,” the farmer said. “Mama, you try.”

Mrs. Richardson tried, as well. “They’re close.”

“I don’t want to be wrong on this.” He looked at Taylor. “We have a boy in town whose leg is twisted. It got broken and the last doctor did a bad job when he mended it. That boy’s always gonna be lame, and I don’t want that for my daughter. Why would this work instead of making her leg turn out?”

“Because if I apply a heavier weight, her leg’s not strong enough to handle the burden. Let me have your arm.” Taylor patiently demonstrated with a heavier weight on his arm, and then a more temperate weight, showing how his hand would either stay straight up or turn to the side.

Richardson’s brows shot up. “It makes sense!” Then he shook his head. “No one else would think to use an iron, though.”

“The shape of something often doesn’t dictate whether it can serve the purpose.”

“Papa, do it,” Linette urged him. “I’ve seen what other things Dr. Bestman’s done. You know I’ve helped with a few small things in the office now and again. If Bethany has to remain here for a couple weeks, we wouldn’t want her to be alone. You and Mama have to be home with the others, but I could stay here with her.”

The Richardsons looked back at Taylor. She nodded. “Of course we would want her to be with Bethany.”

“Then go on ahead. Setting it’s going to hurt.” Mr. Richardson drew in a deep breath. “Linette, you take your mama on outside now.”

“Pa, I’ll stay and help Dr. Bestman. Mama’s going to need to lean on you.” Linette went to her sister’s side. “I’m going to be taking care of Beth, so I ought to see how everything’s rigged up from the start.”

“That would be wise.” Taylor motioned to her. “Loop your arms beneath Bethany’s and clasp your hands together over her heart. We’ll slide her up higher on the table. . . .”

They set the leg and put it in traction. As soon as they finished, Taylor ordered, “Go home to your wife and daughter, Enoch. It’s Christmas.” “We’ll bring Christmas supper over here.”

“Don’t.” She tilted her head toward Linette and Bethany. “Just soup and maybe a few cookies. Thanks for all your help.”

He shook his head. “You did this on your own.” Enoch turned to the Richardsons. “Don’t stay too long. Remember it’s Christmas, and you still have your other girls.”

Mr. Richardson smiled sadly. “It doesn’t feel like a very merry Christmas.”

Taylor looked at him. “It was the best Christmas of my life when I realized your daughter was breathing and could move everything.”

Finally. The Richardsons left, and Karl yanked on his coat. He didn’t really need it, but if things went the way he hoped they would, he’d be glad to have it in a short while. That morning he’d wanted to start off Taylor’s Christmas with the news of him reconciling with God. Piet had tagged along like a lost, starving puppy and wouldn’t give them a minute alone. The words that needed to be said were private. Now he’d go say them. He thought to sit out back to ensure their privacy.

“Karl!” She tipped her head to the side. “Are you worried about little Bethany?”

“I thought to come check on her and share some coffee with you.”

“I’ll get the coffee.” While he prayed over Bethany, Taylor took a pair of mugs out the front door. A smile kicked up the right corner of his mouth. Let others see him with her. They’d know soon enough that she was his woman. He accepted the coffee, but before taking a sip, Taylor looked at him. Fatigue painted her features, but she’d never looked more lovely to him. “I’m not sure whether Gooding T
h
C S is going to give me a chance to prove myself. The resistance shown to me as I rendered emergency care today was significant.”

“You’re here for a reason. God brought you here.”
To become my bride.

She set aside her coffee and turned toward him. “You’re an extraordinary friend. I recently came to a startling realization. It’s logical when I think of it, but—” Color filled her cheeks and she dipped her face.

On the pretext of warming her, he’d adjusted the collar of her pelisse in the recent past. Now he didn’t bother with subtlety. Sliding a hand along her jaw, he marveled. His rough, callused hand against the silk of her skin drove home the vast differences between them—differences like education, refinement, and wealth she never seemed to notice or care about. Desperate to know what she thought, he rasped, “What?”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way.”

Dread swamped him. He drew his hand away.