That Certain Spark (22 page)

“My decision stands.”

“It’s not your decision to make, Enoch. Mercy is my patient. When she asks me—and she will—I’m not going to lie.”

“So then you lied when you told me you love her . . .” He couldn’t force himself to add
and me
. He knew better. Taylor and he shared a bond that was unmistakable, undeniable. But he couldn’t reconcile how pitiless his twin planned to be toward his bride.

“Go home, Enoch. Spend time with your daughter. She’s hardly seen you these last three days. Get some sleep.” Taylor turned and started out the door.

“I’m not leaving my wife.”

“Velma’s coming in to sit with her. You can go on home.” Taylor descended the stairs without looking back.

Enoch felt the distance between them grow wider with each step. The day of the surgery, the aftereffects of the chloroform had kept Mercy asleep most of the time. Taylor hadn’t skimped on dosing her with laudanum the second day or yesterday, either. Drifting on the cloud of medication, Mercy hadn’t been aware of much more than someone being nearby to give her something to sip or turn her when she woke. Today would be nothing short of hell. Used for even modestly long periods, laudanum could cause addiction, so the blessed relief it had brought these last few days now had to be taken away. Taylor had spoken with him about it a few times, preparing him—and he’d agreed, the medical part of him saying all the right words. Deep inside, he railed at the thought of his wife hurting. The only thing Taylor could offer was acetylsalicylic acid—nothing more than a chemical name for willow bark scrapings that was suitable for headache relief.

Velma was coming. Plainspoken Velma would state facts without considering the consequences if he wasn’t there to stop her. Sure of that, Enoch strode back to Mercy’s side. He ought to do something—anything—to help her, yet he was powerless.

A tap sounded at the back door. “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”

Giggles twinkled up the staircase. “Yoo-hoo!” Heidi copied.

For the briefest instant, delight filled him. Next came the crashing realization that he had to protect Heidi from the harsh realities every bit as much as he needed to spare Mercy.

“Hope! Heidi!” Taylor sounded genuinely surprised and pleased.

“Auntie Taylor!”

“Shh, dear. Bethany is resting,” Taylor said. They had moved Bethany temporarily into the kitchen so the surgery would be free for Mercy’s operation. And apparently Bethany enjoyed being in the midst of the action.

“I brung a chicken, only I decided to do a swap. Heidi, you be a good helper and put this basket on the table there.”

“Okay.”

Enoch walked into the kitchen in time to see his little girl stand on tiptoe, seeing to the chore. The minute she spied him, she shrieked, “Daddy!” and sprang into his arms.

The way her little arms and legs wound around him and she clung to him like a little monkey never failed to delight him. He held her close and dipped his head to press a kiss on her rumpled hair. “Ahhh. Here’s my girl.”

“I heard tell your missus is under the weather, so’s I went to the mercantile. Millie and me, we haggled.”

“They fighted, Daddy. ’Bout wanting me.”

“Because we both love you,” Hope said. “The Clarks have had you for a few days, so now you’re gonna have a fun time playin’ with my Emmy-Lou. But to make ’em feel a little better, I gave them the chickens I usually get from Dr. Bestman. And y’all can enjoy the soup I made for the next few days. Since they was your chickens to begin with, the swap was fair all around.” Hope beamed.

Heidi squirmed. “I wanna see Mama.”

Enoch pressed his forehead to hers. “She’s sleeping.”

“I could give her sleepytime night-night kisses like you and Mommy give me,” she whispered.

“Okay,” Enoch agreed and swung her around and onto his back. “You have to stay quiet, though. Mama needs her rest so she can get better. Just a few quick kisses, and that’s all.”

In the end, it was ridiculously simple. Heidi gave her mama a dozen sloppy little kisses, and Mercy roused just enough to call her by name and say, “I love you.” Reassured everything was fine, Heidi waved as she rode away with Hope.

Enoch waved until she was out of sight, then turned to his sister. “What did you tell Hope?”

“You know my ethics and oath. I don’t discuss my patients.”

“Good.”

“Velma, however, is a professional associate. Though she doesn’t have formal training, she’s proven herself skilled and capable of giving care and rendering simple treatments.”

Disbelief flooded him. Enoch knew most physicians stepped back and had someone else treat a family member—but not when the substitute was nothing more than a ranch cook! He gritted his teeth. “Velma—is—not—treating—my—wife.”

“No, she’s not. But she needs to be informed of the diagnosis and extent of the surgery since she will be sitting with her. If the pillows aren’t positioned with exacting care, Mercy’s arm will swell more. Pain inevitably results from such swelling, and we both want to spare her as much as possible.”

A ruckus sounded out on the porch. “Doc! Herman got hisself shot.”

Taylor whirled away. A second later, he heard her order, “Remove his shirt and have him sit on my examination table.”

“Don’t want you. Want Doc Enoch.”

Another man tacked on, “He’s not over at his barn.”

Enoch went to the doorway. “Get it through your thick heads. If you don’t have four feet or wings, I won’t treat you.” He pushed past three men and went up the stairs. His wife needed him.

But with three men smelling like a brewery down there, his sister could use his help, too. He didn’t even glance over at Herman. Digging a bullet out of him wouldn’t be easy. The man had to be as big around as he was tall.

A man’s first allegiance belonged to his wife, though. He went into the room and decided the pain medication was now working well enough to reposition Mercy. Drawing back the covers, Enoch took care not to let them brush against her chest.

Lord, let me have her for a long time. You gave me this love for Mercy, and I’m selfish enough to beg for years of it. Don’t take her from me. Please, God, don’t take her from me.

Moaning lightly as he finished tucking the last pillow into place, Mercy curled her fingers around his wrist, as if searching for him. “That’s right, sweet pea. I’m here.” Then just as quickly, her grasp loosened and her hand slipped away.

Lord, no. Please don’t let us be like that. Not just a momentary coming together and tearing apart.

“Wondered if you’d be up here.” Velma’s low voice took him by surprise. “That sis of yours has her hands full. A couple fools at the Nugget used each other for target practice.”

“Go on down, Velma. You’ll establish order in no time.”

Velma looked at Mercy, and then at the arrangement of the pillows. For an unguarded moment, shock widened her eyes, then she steeled herself with a deep breath. Hands rough and reddened from washing thousands of dishes petted back his wife’s hair, and Velma murmured softly, leaning down close to assess Mercy’s breathing and check her pulse. Not bothering to straighten up, Velma lifted the bedclothes a few scant inches.

Enoch encircled her wrist and tilted his head toward the door.

Velma settled the bedclothes back in place with great tenderness. Once she made it out into the hall, she grabbed both of his hands. “Just the left one?”

He nodded.

“Did your sis get it all? Cut it out and get an inch or so of healthy tissue all around just to be sure?”

Again, he nodded.

Velma let out a huge gust of air. “Good, then. I’ll be sure to let Mercy know that I’ll keep her secret. A woman’s got a right to her privacy. You get on down there now and knock a few heads together. If you don’t, folks are gonna think you staying up here all the time means something bad’s wrong.” She turned loose of his hands and started pushing him toward the stairs. “Up till now, they’ve chalked it up to you bein’ a doting groom.”

Enoch didn’t want to leave, but Velma’s comment carried some validity. She’d shown herself to be more capable than he’d imagined. More knowledgeable, too. He went on downstairs.

“Now see here, young woman,” the mayor blustered. “There are considerations.”

“Indeed there are. Your wound can wait. Mr. Clark’s cut is more serious.” Leaving Herman with his upper arm bandaged, she washed her hands.

“Orville Clark is white trash; I’m the mayor. That’s as serious as matters get.” Cutter yanked the towel from her and grabbed her wrist.

“Get your hand off her, Cutter,” Enoch snarled from the doorway.

Twenty-One

I
t took every last shred of self-control Enoch possessed to keep from launching across the room and throttling the idiot. “Don’t ever touch her again or you’ll suffer the most serious injury she’ll ever treat.”

Once freed, Taylor swept right past the mayor and over to a chair in the corner. Along the way, she grabbed a stack of towels. “Let’s see to you now,” she said to Orville Clark.

“Girlie, go have a tea party. I need a real doctor.”

“Mr. Clark, if you had bothered to read it, you would have seen that that’s my name on the medical diploma. As for tea—you might consider switching to it yourself. A drunken brawl and a broken bottle fight have left you in bad shape.” She took a pair of shears and whacked his sleeve.

“Hey! This is my last good shirt!”

“It can be mended.” Staunching the blood with a compress, Taylor picked up tweezers with her other hand.

“Since she’s busy, you’ll have to tend to me.” Mayor Cutter stuck out his hand toward Enoch, displaying a jagged cut. “I have more important things to do than sit here all day waiting while she digs bullets out of a man who cheats at poker and then wastes more of my time while she stitches up a swindler.”

“You have nothing more than a jagged surface cut, Mayor.” Taylor’s tone remained wry. “I daresay the alcohol in the bottle you broke causing the injury has sterilized it quite efficiently.”

Puffing up indignantly, the mayor hid his hand behind his back. “Who says that’s how I got hurt?”

“Maybe you ain’t so dumb after all, Doctor.” Orville Clark started chuffing air. “Holy cow, woman! What did you do?!”

“Having removed the glass, I obliterated any germs so you’d not suffer blood poisoning.” Taylor set down the steel flask of her special mixture of hydrogen peroxide and a few drops of iodine. The combination never failed to impress—it stung, bubbled, and left a rim of color that lingered for a few days as a reminder that care had been rendered.

“Least she’s smarter’n you, Mayor. She didn’t waste good whiskey on a wound.”

Mayor Cutter leaned closer and cast a glance at Taylor, then looked Enoch in the eye. “Treat my hand.” From the looks of Orville’s arm, Taylor would be suturing it for a while. Enoch jutted his chin toward a bench in a silent order to sit down. For all of his dramatics, the mayor needed nothing more than for his hand to be cleansed and bandaged, but what he said left Enoch glad he’d finally agreed to step in and render care.

Forty-five minutes later, with all of the men gone, Enoch helped Taylor clean up. Her shoulders slumped with fatigue. He’d been sitting with Mercy, but Taylor was still at anyone’s beck and call around the clock. Had she gotten any sleep at all?

Turning toward him, she stuffed a wad of bloody cloths in a basin. “I can’t for the life of me imagine what happened at the saloon. I don’t know who Herman is, but all the men seem to. No one said who shot him.

“Orville has a big mouth, and Gustav Cutter’s temper is swift. I’d attribute a fight between them to that combination, but they weren’t baiting each other or waging war here. Do you know what happened?”

“Yes.” He took the basin from her and carried it to the kitchen sink. Cold water rinsed blood out best—especially if done right away.

“Well?”

After the mayor confided in him, Enoch hadn’t had much opportunity to decide how best to share some of the information with his twin while leaving her ignorant of other portions of it. He put the words together quickly. “In addition to selling those patent medicines, Orville’s been trying to earn some money using those crazy machines Dr. Wicky left behind.”

“They’re working—at making people crazy.” Taylor shook her head. “I understand Orville’s part in the whole matter. But the mayor? Gustav Cutter hardly seems the type to rely on such quackery.”

Enoch pumped the water furiously, hoping he’d turned in time to hide his expression. Starting to rinse the cloths, he strove to sound nonchalant. “I believe that was the general cause of the disagreement.”

“Ohhhh. I suppose then it probably had to do with Dr. Somebody-or-Other’s magnetic girdle.”

Water splashed all over him. “Girdle?”

“Yes. Sydney and Velma told me about it as well as some other items Orville carted out of here. Sydney’s amusement over that one item’s advertising made it stand out in my mind. ‘For the treatment of social ills and baldness.’ ” Taylor barely paused to draw a breath. “If Orville was foolish enough to suggest the mayor might be in need of a treatment . . .”

“Someone might get hurt.” Enoch didn’t look at his twin—he couldn’t. She’d stare at him with such intensity, she’d read his every thought. “So that settles it. I’ll take care of the rest of this. Go on up and get some sleep.”

“That does not settle it.” Anger vibrated in her voice. “When it comes to the welfare of the citizens of Gooding, I’ll do whatever I deem best. I don’t need you to take care of this or to tell me to go take a nap as if I’m an irritable toddler. You’re nothing like the brother I knew a month ago. That Enoch respected my professional ability and judgment and never once interfered with my patients.”

“I did not interfere. If someone confides in me, I owe it to them to be worthy of their trust.”

“But if I’d treated my patient, he wouldn’t have confided in you.”

Her accusation hit home. He’d made a determination, stepped in, and treated a human patient—her patient, in her surgery, without so much as having glanced her way for permission. The magnitude of what he’d done struck him. By interfering, Enoch had given the mayor an excuse to say he didn’t need the doctor, when otherwise he’d have needed to either sign on to her list of patients or proclaim himself to be a hypocrite.

Still upset, Taylor kept right on talking. “The twin I had in Chicago would have respected a woman’s mind and sought her wishes.”

“Of course I did.”

“Not anymore, you don’t.”

Though tempted to argue the point, Enoch gritted his teeth. He’d earned her wrath, so he’d take it.

“The Enoch Bestman here in Texas is a complete stranger who acts as though neither his wife nor sister ought to be troubled by anything.”

“Come on, Sis. What kind of man would stand back and allow a lady to endure something when he could take the brunt of it?”
I wouldn’t want you hearing what the mayor said.

“We’re not talking about a threat where a man’s physique would protect a woman’s smaller frame. The issue at hand is one where you’ve determined that it’s your place to be the gatekeeper of knowledge, weighing information and determining what is acceptable and what is deleterious or unacceptable.”

“That’s an oversimplification—”

“Ignorance is never admirable nor attractive, and if that has become your feminine ideal, you may as well go wear Orville’s girdle.”

Weak rays of sun slanted across her mattress, awakening Taylor from a short nap. Exhaustion and years of learning to sleep in short snatches helped . . . some. She had let her emotions loose in full force and felt none the better for it. As a matter of fact, she felt worse. Her twin was carrying an unbearable burden, yet she’d added to it.
What is wrong with me? I used to be able to tease him. We once laughed things off or compromised. How is it that we fight over things now? Is that the way it’s going to be from here on out? A few months ago, I would have appreciated his bandaging a simple hand wound.

As soon as she tidied her hair, she went to check on Mercy. Enoch sat beside her, and Taylor murmured, “I’m here. You can go sleep now.”

Enoch shook his head.

They’d already argued enough. Taylor chose not to pick a fight, and certainly not while standing over Mercy’s bed. She assessed Mercy’s respirations and pulse and prepared to fold down the covers so she could inspect the dressing.

Enoch’s hand stilled her movement. “ ‘Beautiful dreamer,’ ” he began singing.

Mercy moaned.

“Do you hurt, sweet pea?”

Her eyes opened, and she bit her lip. Taylor smoothed back a few stray wisps of her sister-in-law’s hair and strove to ease the awkward moment. “Of course she hurts, Enoch. Your singing has to be one of the more painful things known to man.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mercy agreed.

“You can give me voice lessons later.” Enoch reached for a glass and eased the straw between his wife’s pale lips. He seemed so casual and relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders and the infinitesimal shake of his fingers gave away his fear.

Is he afraid I’ll tell her the truth, or is it just that he hates the truth himself and doesn’t like her hurting? Whichever it is, I only made it worse today. I have reasonable matters to discuss with him, but I was unreasonable. Instead of being able to lean on me when he needs me the most, he’s on his own.

After a few sips, Mercy cleared her throat. “How long have I slept?”

“Four days.”

“Four days!” Mercy’s right hand flew to her mouth. “It can’t be. Heidi. The boardinghouse.”

“Everything’s being taken care of,” Enoch assured her.

“And now you need to be taken care of, too.” Taylor drew down the covers with great care, yet used a brisk move so it wouldn’t look as though she was fussing. “I need to inspect your dressing.”

Mercy fingered the button at the high neck of her flannel nightgown. “Yes. Of course.” Faint color washed her cheeks as she cast a quick look to her right. Her lashes lowered, and her grip on the button tightened.

“Let me help you.” Enoch reached for the button as he spoke.

“No!” Silence hovered over the three of them. Then Mercy whispered, “Please leave me alone with the doctor.”

“No.” Enoch said the word quietly, calmly, firmly. “I’m your husband, and my place is by your side.”

Her brother needed her. Her patient needed her, too. How was she to decide whose decision to support?
Lord, please give me wisdom now and all of us help in the days ahead.
Her stethoscope hung on the bedpost, a poignant reminder that she wasn’t there as Enoch’s twin sister, but as Mercy’s physician. Taylor steeled herself for the battle ahead when suddenly words threaded through her mind.
What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. . . .

“She’s my patient, and you’re her husband, and you’re making a pest of yourself. Being by her side puts you in my way. Go stand by the window, Enoch.”

Enoch gave Mercy a peck on the cheek. “Hurry up and get well. Sis is far too bossy for us to stay here much longer.”

“If you don’t like that window,” Taylor said, making a dismissive gesture, “go look out any of the others, and polish them while you’re at it. After all, you still haven’t hired a housekeeper, and that was part of our deal.”

“Deal?” Mercy asked faintly as she watched Enoch walk toward the far side of the bedchamber.

“For me to agree to come to Texas. You’re my sister now, so I expect you to stand beside me on this and make him hurry up. I think I’ve been remarkably patient.” Taylor pushed her sleeves up. “You just lie still. Your gown is nice and full, so I can leave the covers here at your waist and lift the gown instead of having to unbutton you and bother with the sleeve. I’ll inspect your dressing now. I do that a few times each day and change it once a day. Eager as Enoch is to escape from me, you can come have me change it as you continue to heal.”

“I’ll just do it for her at home.”

“You, Taylor. I want you to.”

“Hey!” Enoch protested from over at the window.

The stricken look on Mercy’s face cut through Taylor. If this was how she felt without knowing her diagnosis, how much worse was it going to be when she learned it was cancer? Patting her sister-in-law on the shoulder, Taylor used her crispest voice. “Enoch, don’t you dare say another word. You only treat animals.”

Enoch made an impatient sound. “The two of you are going to stick together, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” they said in unison, then Mercy winced as the gown snagged for just a second on the dressing. Intentionally, Taylor left the gown bunched up so her patient couldn’t see the bandaging. If there was any complication whatsoever, Mercy could be told about that later—not now. Not when she’d likely be absorbing at least part of her condition as soon as Taylor drew the gown back down. Whether Enoch wanted her to know or not, Mercy was too intelligent not to figure things out. It wasn’t fair to have her deduce the situation by herself; she deserved to have her doctor and family be honest with her.

“Excellent. The dressing is nice and dry.”

A whimper escaped Mercy.

Taylor didn’t look at her patient’s chest; she looked at her face.

Eyes huge and lips tremulous, Mercy stared downward. She’d lifted her head slightly and could plainly see the dressing. Her right hand came over and she barely grazed her fingertips over the flat surface. Too weak to keep her head up, it lolled back.

Slipping her fingers beneath Mercy’s, Taylor gave them a small squeeze. “Enoch—”

“I don’t want him here. I don’t want him to see me. Not like this. Oh, not like this.”

“Shhh.” Hastily, Taylor pulled the gown down and the bedclothes up. “You’re covered.”

Enoch hadn’t waited. Upon hearing his name and his wife’s anguish, he’d come at once. “Enough of that.”