With Autumn's Return (Westward Winds Book #3): A Novel (15 page)

“I’ll need to take your medical history and examine you before I can prescribe anything,” she said, watching Tabitha’s face closely.

The woman refused to meet her gaze. Instead, she stared at the wall behind Elizabeth. “You surprise me, Dr. Harding. I didn’t think you’d turn away a patient. From what I’ve heard, your practice is small. Very small.” Tabitha tapped her index finger on Elizabeth’s desk. “I can help you, you know. Many women in Cheyenne listen to me.”

It sounded more like a threat than a promise, and that raised Elizabeth’s hackles. While she did not doubt Tabitha’s influence, she did doubt her motives. Under no circumstances would she dispense ergot to this woman. “I’m sorry, but I cannot give you what you want.”

Tabitha’s laugh was as brittle as the smile that creased her face. “I suppose you’ve got scruples and principles. They’re all fine and good, but they won’t pay your rent or feed you.” She rose and gathered her reticule. “I thought you’d understand that I wanted to help you, but I was obviously mistaken. I’ll get the ergot from someone else.”

Hours later, Elizabeth was still shaken by her encounter with the lovely woman. She stood in her waiting room, staring sightlessly out the window. How different Tabitha Chadwick was from Sheila Kerrigan! Tabitha was a wealthy woman with a husband who doted on her. Undoubtedly, she had servants who would care for a child, and yet she was so opposed to the idea of motherhood that she was prepared to abort her unborn baby. Sheila had no husband, doting or otherwise. She had no money, nor any servants to help her raise a child. She knew that motherhood would be a struggle, and yet she wouldn’t consider giving up her baby.

“You look like you want to throttle someone.”

Elizabeth’s head jerked to the side and she stared at Jason. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He shrugged. “You were obviously lost in your thoughts. They didn’t appear to be happy ones, either.”

“They weren’t.”

“Can I help?”

“I don’t know.” Suddenly aware that her legs were tired from standing, she sank onto one of the chairs and offered Jason another.

“I can listen.”

But she could not speak. Or could she? Though she could not divulge the details, there was no harm in discussing generalities. “I’m disturbed by some women’s attitudes toward
children. They don’t seem to realize that they’re gifts from God.”

A smile crossed Jason’s face. “The reverend used to say that.”

“The reverend?”

“My father. Mrs. Moran always referred to him that way, so I called him the same thing. He seemed to like it.”

Elizabeth could not imagine herself or her sisters calling their father anything other than Papa. “It sounds so formal.”

“He was a formal man. I can’t recall ever seeing him without his clerical collar. For him, being a minister was more than a calling. It was who he was.” Jason chuckled. “I never could picture the reverend as a boy, and yet he was good with the children in the congregation. He didn’t treat them as if they were too young to understand something.”

Jason leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Sometimes he’d take me with him when he visited parishioners. Most times I’d just sit in the buggy, waiting for him to finish, but I remember one time when he was called to a family whose baby was close to death. That time he took me inside with him.” Jason frowned at the memory. “The baby died almost as soon as we arrived. I’ll never forget the reverend telling me that children were a gift from God, even if the family only had that gift for a moment.”

As tears welled in her eyes, Elizabeth nodded. “Your father sounds like a remarkable man.”

“He was.” But Jason’s expression told Elizabeth that had not been enough.

 10 

J
uly slid into August, with each day a few degrees hotter than the previous one. Occasionally a late afternoon thunderstorm relieved the heat temporarily. That was cause for thanksgiving, as were the days when a storm was followed by a rainbow. Though fleeting, the brilliantly colored arcs never failed to boost Elizabeth’s spirits, for they reminded her of her childhood and how her mother would stop whatever she was doing to gaze at a rainbow. “They’re a gift from God,” she told her daughters, “a sign of his unending faithfulness.” The day Mama had died, there had been a rainbow, and though her grief had been overwhelming, Elizabeth had found herself smiling at the thought that God and his angels were welcoming Mama to heaven with one of her beloved rainbows.

Elizabeth capped the ink bottle as she finished the letter she had been writing to Charlotte. Though she was disappointed that Charlotte and Barrett would not be returning to Cheyenne as soon as they had expected, she understood that some things, including the schooling Charlotte was receiving,
took longer than anticipated. “We’ll be there by Christmas,” Charlotte’s last letter promised.

Christmas. Just the thought caused Elizabeth’s smile to broaden. It would be wonderful to spend the holiday with her family, especially after several years of celebrating alone. That thought, like so many others, raised questions about Jason. How did he spend Christmas? How deep were the wounds Mrs. Moran had inflicted? And, perhaps most importantly, had his father given him tangible signs of his love? Elizabeth did not doubt that the reverend had loved his son, but she feared he’d never demonstrated that love.

Other than smiles and an occasional pat on the shoulder, Papa had not expressed his love. It had been Mama who’d dispensed hugs and kisses, telling her daughters with actions as well as words that they were loved. Without a mother, Jason might not have been so fortunate. His father had told him that children were a gift from God, but Elizabeth wondered if anyone he knew had described rainbows the way her mother had.

Rainbows were one of the few similarities between Cheyenne and the other places Elizabeth had lived. Though she missed the mature trees that lined many of the streets in both Vermont and New York, she had to admit that the Wyoming sky was beautiful. It seemed bluer, and perhaps because there were few trees to block the view, it seemed bigger. The heat was different too. Wyoming was drier, making the heat seem less oppressive than New York’s. Equally important, the heat dissipated soon after nightfall rather than lingering all night. Though it had been difficult to sleep in New York during one of the summer heat waves, Elizabeth had had no trouble falling asleep and remaining asleep here.

While she couldn’t say when it had occurred, Elizabeth felt as if contentment had settled over her like the woolen cloak Charlotte had given her for her last birthday, and like the cloak, it warmed her. There were many reasons to give thanks. It was true that patients were hardly stampeding to her door, but each week brought her one or two more, and it would soon be time to return to Phoebe’s for the girls’ monthly checkups and to remove Phoebe’s cast.

Elizabeth was grateful for both her growing practice and the fact that Gwen seemed happier, perhaps because Rose had developed an attachment to Harrison. The little girl who’d once shied away from him now chattered about horses whenever she saw him, and every day she demanded to know whether he’d bought any. Elizabeth might have called Rose’s behavior badgering, but Harrison didn’t seem to mind. He just grinned, bestowing smiles on both Rose and her mother. In return, Gwen beamed with happiness whenever Harrison was around.

Elizabeth couldn’t help wondering whether the plan to establish a horse ranch was a recent development, perhaps precipitated by Harrison’s desire to spend more time with Gwen, or whether he’d had it in mind when he returned to Cheyenne to assist with the store renovations. Regardless of the reason, she imagined that Barrett would be glad to have one of his brothers living in Wyoming. Family was important.

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, sending a prayer of thanksgiving heavenward that by the end of the year she would be reunited with her sisters. When she opened her eyes again, she tried not to frown at the reminder that Jason had no family. One day when they’d been sharing another of Mr. Ellis’s cakes, he’d told her that he had no aunts or uncles to give him cousins. He was alone in the world.

There had to be something she could do. Before she could complete her thought, Elizabeth heard a woman shouting.

“Dr. Harding! Dr. Harding!”

Elizabeth sprang to her feet and rushed into the waiting room. Her eyes widened in surprise when she realized that she knew this woman, though the voice was so distorted by panic that she hadn’t recognized it. “What’s wrong, Delia?”

When her maid’s hand had become infected, Miriam had brought the young woman to Elizabeth’s office. It had been simple enough to remove the splinter that had festered, more difficult to convince Delia that she needed to keep the hand bandaged for a week. Fortunately, when she had returned eight days later, Delia’s face had been wreathed in a smile, and she’d admitted that the bandage hadn’t curtailed her activities as much as she’d expected.

Delia was not smiling now.

“It’s Miss Miriam.” She paused, correcting herself. “Mrs. Eberhardt, that is. She’s mighty sick and she needs you.”

Seconds later, Elizabeth had her medical bag in her hand and was climbing into Miriam’s carriage. “I’m glad you brought the buggy,” she told Delia as she settled the bag at her feet.

“Me and Roscoe knew there was no time to waste,” the young woman said, gesturing toward the driver. “Miss Miriam wants you, but Mr. Richard called Doc Worland.”

Elizabeth tried not to frown at the prospect of once again locking horns with the older physician. Fortunately, he had not yet arrived at Maple Terrace. Elizabeth was surprised when there was no sign of Richard as she entered Miriam’s room. She would have expected him to be at his bride’s bedside. Keeping her expression even, though the sight of Miriam sent
waves of alarm pulsing through her body, Elizabeth greeted her patient. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy. There was no doubt that Miriam was, as Delia had said, mighty sick.

“I’m glad you came.” Miriam’s voice was as weak as she appeared. “I feel awful.” She laid her hand on her forehead. “I’m so hot. Oh, Doctor, I’m worried that I might hurt my baby.”

One touch was enough to tell Elizabeth that Miriam had a dangerously high fever. “You do have a fever,” she said, neglecting to add that she shared Miriam’s concern that the elevated temperature might be harmful to her unborn child. There was nothing to be gained by adding to her patient’s distress.

“Let’s see what’s causing that fever.” Elizabeth slid the thermometer under Miriam’s tongue and ran her hands along her patient’s throat. What she found disturbed her as much as Miriam’s fever.

“I’m so weak,” Miriam cried when Elizabeth completed her palpation. Her green eyes were frantic with worry. “I tried to get out of bed, but my legs just collapsed. Oh, Doctor, I’m so afraid.”

The symptoms were consistent with Elizabeth’s tentative diagnosis. All she needed was one more confirmation. She touched Miriam’s lips. “Open wide,” she ordered. “I want to look at your throat.” Miriam’s throat revealed what she feared. Elizabeth took a deep breath, then laid her hand on Miriam’s in what she hoped would be a comforting gesture. “There’s no easy way to tell you this. You have diphtheria.”

Miriam’s reaction was instantaneous. As her eyes widened, she clasped her abdomen. “Will I die? Will my baby?” It was a valid fear, for diphtheria killed close to half those who contracted it.

“Not if I can help it.” Elizabeth reached into her medical bag, pulled out two bottles, and uncorked the first. “I’m going to swab your throat with tincture of iodine, and I want you to gargle with this at least three times a day,” she said, holding out the second bottle. “It’s hydrogen peroxide,” she told Delia, whom she’d summoned from her post by the door.

Elizabeth removed the swab from Miriam’s throat and tossed it into the sack she had brought for that purpose as she heard Richard’s voice. “Right this way, Doc.”

Elizabeth’s nemesis had arrived.

Miriam cringed and tugged the bedcovers over her head. “Don’t let him use leeches,” she pleaded.

“I’ll do what I can.” It was all she could promise. Straightening her shoulders and fixing a neutral expression on her face, Elizabeth took a step away from the bed as the two men entered the room.

“What are you doing here?” Though Richard’s words could have been confrontational, he sounded confused rather than angry.

“I sent for her.” Miriam lowered the covers and looked at her husband. “She’s my doctor.” Though her voice was weak, she sounded determined.

“Harrumph!” Dr. Worland made no effort to hide his displeasure at Elizabeth’s presence. “A midwife at best.”

Laying his hand on her forehead and stroking it gently, Richard addressed his wife. “Now, darling, I know you meant well. It’s fine for Dr. Harding to attend you when the baby is born, but you need a real doctor now.”

Though Elizabeth’s blood boiled at the implication that she was not a true physician, she said nothing. There was naught to be gained by antagonizing either Richard or Dr.
Worland, and so she merely stood at the foot of Miriam’s bed, ready to help if she were allowed.

Richard nodded at her. “I think it’s best if you leave Dr. Worland with his patient.”

“No!” Miriam clenched Richard’s hand, her face flushing, her voice tremulous. “I want Dr. Harding. She’ll save our baby.”

Though Richard’s eyes were tender, he shook his head. “Doc Worland will treat you.” His voice brooked no argument, and Miriam slumped back on her pillows.

Elizabeth squeezed Miriam’s hand, then gestured to Delia to follow her out of the room. “I’ll be back later,” she said softly. “Get her to gargle if you can,” she said as she handed Delia the bottle of peroxide. “It will help.” Though Elizabeth doubted Delia would be able to swab Miriam’s throat without causing a gag reflex, she gave her the bottle of iodine and a handful of swabs.

“Thank you, Doctor,” the young maid said. “I’ll do my best.”

Elizabeth was descending the stairs when she heard Dr. Worland emerge from Miriam’s room after what must have been only a cursory examination. “It’s what I thought,” he said, addressing Richard. “She has scarlet fever. The only way to cure that is to bleed her.” He paused for a second before adding, “I have leeches with me.”

Scarlet fever! Leeches! Elizabeth shuddered at yet another example of the older doctor’s incompetence. Spinning around, she raced back up the staircase. “You’re mistaken, Dr. Worland,” Elizabeth said when she reached him. “Mrs. Eberhardt does not have scarlet fever. There is no reddening of the tongue, but if you examined the back of her throat”—and
Elizabeth doubted he had, given the short time he’d spent with his patient—“you would have seen that the diphtheric membrane is enlarged.”

The older physician took a step toward Elizabeth, his posture menacing. “Are you presuming to question my diagnosis?”

Under other circumstances, Elizabeth would have chosen a more private venue for this discussion. Medical etiquette decreed that one doctor did not challenge another in the presence of patients or family. But she doubted Richard would leave her alone with Dr. Worland.

“Yes, Doctor, I am questioning you. Mrs. Eberhardt has diphtheria. The symptoms are conclusive. This is diphtheria, not scarlet fever. Bleeding the patient would be the worst possible thing you could do for her and her baby.” Elizabeth turned to Richard. Though she hoped he would support her, she knew it was unlikely. It was clear that Richard shared Dr. Worland’s opinion of her abilities.

“My wife is afraid of leeches,” he admitted. “Isn’t there any other way to save her?”

“None. None at all.” Dr. Worland glared at Richard. “If you’re going to take this chit’s word over mine, I’ll wash my hands of you.”

The threat met its mark. “Let’s not be hasty.” Richard gave Elizabeth a short nod. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. Roscoe will drive you back to your office. Dr. Worland is in charge here.”