The Midwife's Secret (11 page)

“Then how are we supposed to get it out?”

She choked down her queasiness. “I have to push the
hook through the skin on the other side of your biceps muscle, then cut the barb off, then slide it out from where it came.”

“Like hell you will.”

It would be easier and faster to help him if he were under chloroform. She prayed he wouldn’t fight her. “Fortunately, it’s gone through muscle, not bone. But to stop the bleeding I need to remove the hook.”

“Are you sure of what you’re doing?”

“Positive.” Her lips went dry. Blazes, it must hurt. She peered into the basket, spotting a set of cutters. They were the snips she used for removing fish heads.

She picked up the cool metal grips and groaned when she spotted the sliver of rust along one blade. “We’ve got to use these to cut the tip. We can cleanse the wound later when my bag or your brother arrives, but what we can’t do is pour more blood into you once you’ve lost it.” Besides, she couldn’t wait here forever.

What if Quaid Murdock never arrived? What if no one could find him?

Tom needed treatment immediately. The longer the dirty hook was in, the greater the chance of blood contamination.

His muscled body went rigid. “Do it now.”

“I’m sorry, it’s going to hurt. You’ll get pain medication later. Take a deep breath.”

He took one.

She pressed against the end of the hook. Tom groaned with the pressure and, steeling herself, she told herself to be quick. The brown point of the metal hook appeared beneath the bronzed skin. When she gave it extra pressure, the barb pierced the surface. In a slippery pool of blood, she clipped the jagged top, slid the hook out, then pressed her petticoat to the wound.

Tom heaved with the assault.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, brimming with compassion. “Help’s coming. Hold on.”

She was still applying pressure when five minutes later Pierce came running down the riverbank with her black medical bag. “Amanda! I’m here!”

“Thanks, Pierce.” She unbuckled the bag, removed a linen pad and asked him to pour diluted carbolic acid on it. She soaked Tom’s wound. He jolted with the sting. And again when she repeated it, he didn’t pull away. Lord, the man was stoic.

“Pierce, put pressure here while I measure the morphine.”

The young man did as she asked. After she filled the syringe, she injected it into Tom’s good, right arm. Thank God, she could finally help ease his pain.

“I’ll clear up the fishin’ tackle,” Pierce said when everything had settled. He rose and scanned the area. “I don’t think Margaux and Josh should see this mess if they come down. They were cryin’ pretty hard.”

“Where are they now?” Amanda asked.

“Watchin’ you, up through the crest of that ridge.”

“What?” Amanda and Tom groaned together and looked up to the forest’s edge.

“Grandma insisted on comin’ in case I needed help, but didn’t want to bring them closer in case…he looked bad.”

Tom waved weakly with this good arm, but the sister and her brother looked like they were still crying. The sky rumbled with muted thunder. Grandma waved, indicating she was taking the children back to the shack. Amanda would soothe them later. Right now she concentrated on her work.

Pierce walked downriver, headed to the two discarded rods lying on the ground.

When the medicine took hold, Amanda sutured Tom’s wound, the entry and exit holes, nine stitches total. With a wisp of sadness, she realized he’d have permanent scars on his biceps. “I’m sorry this happened to you.” She suddenly noticed how close they were sitting, dark heads almost touching.

“It was an accident.”

She felt his body slacken beneath her own. The morphine was helping. Her body, in turn, relaxed with his.

When she finished with Tom’s sutures, she took a good long look at him. Her hair, pinned loose over her back, dipped low over her shoulders. “Are you feeling better?”

He’d regained his color and managed a weak smile. “Yeah.”

She quirked a brow at his expression. Something about the pleasant sparkle in his eyes, the agreeable tug at the corner of his well-defined mouth…. Sometimes, people reacted strangely to the morphine.

She’d seen it three or four times in Grandpa’s practice, but there was nothing she could do for the patient once it started except let it ride. Tom became talkative.

“Why did you leave me standing at your door that night?” His voice was husky at her ear, his breath warm at her neck. Her heart began to race. His skin smelled fresh, like the wind and the river. “You know the night I mean.”

Her chest tightened beneath his scrutiny. Now that the emergency was over, she was abruptly aware that beneath her long skirt, her knee was pressed between his firm legs and she was almost straddling his warm thigh. Good heavens, how had she gotten into this intimate position?

She lifted her knee and swung her legs over to the medicine bag lying beside her on the grass, hastening to tidy her bottles. “Now I know you’re feeling better,” she said, trying to sound casual. “But next time, I’ll give you lau
danum instead of morphine.” Even though they were both derivatives of opium, she had used the morphine initially because it was more potent.

He reached out and touched the back of her hair, weaving his fingers between the black strands and her spine, sending waves of pleasure tumbling through her skin. “Why did you flee? Don’t you want to answer the question?”

“No,” she whispered, completely still beneath his stroke.

“Then how about this one. If you were going to run away, why did you tempt me?” He reached out and grazed her cheek, gently turning her face to his, arousing her to his burning touch. “Why, Amanda, did you bother to kiss me back?”

“Please,” she said, pulling away, feeling herself shiver, “it’s the medicine speaking.”

“No it’s not, it’s me.” He sounded so wounded, so vulnerable.

“It’s complicated.”

“I want to hear it anyway.”

She couldn’t speak; gazed down at the brown bottle sliding between her fingertips. Her stomach tightened, half with fear, half with the possibility of telling him.

“What are you so afraid of? Are you afraid of me?”

A raindrop pelted her cheek. “No.”
Yes.

He hesitated, measuring her beneath half-hooded lids. His voice was low and raspy. Were her senses deceiving her, or was he beginning to slur his words? “Your former husband. What did he do to you?”

She tried to manage a feeble answer. “Nothing.”

“Yes he did,” Tom said evenly, tearing down her carefully built composure with his deep, dark gaze. “And I’m going to find out what it was.”

He
mustn’t.
It was too painfully private. “How do you…how do you intend to do that?”

“You’re going to tell me.” His silky fingers traced a path down her temple, then over her softly parted mouth, sweetly draining her of all resistance. “When you’re ready, you’re going to come to me and I’m going to hear it from these gorgeous lips.”

The bottle of solution dropped from her hand and smashed on the stones between them.

“T
om!” A man’s voice boomed from the trees, echoing above the gush of the river, startling Amanda. “Blazes, man, what have you gotten yourself into?”

Not yet recovered from Tom’s intimate questioning, Amanda whirled to face the man running toward them. His tall, skinny body pounded the shore. A droopy, walrus mustache etched his young face. In his late twenties, wearing a bowler hat, white linen shirt, suede vest and brown silk cravat, he carried a leather medical bag. Help was here.

“Quaid,” Tom called, then clamped a hand on Amanda’s pivoting shoulder, anchoring her to the spot with his possessive hand. “We’ll continue this later,” he murmured, strumming another chord within her.

“How are you, Quaid?” Tom asked when his brother reached them. They looked similar, thought Amanda, except Quaid had brown hair instead of black, and his nose was larger.

Quaid laughed and nodded politely to Amanda. “How am I? Why you devil, you’ve frightened everyone—” Quaid stopped and stared at his brother. “Uh-oh. You’ve got that wild look in your eyes. You didn’t give him morphine, did you, miss?”

Amanda rose to her feet and glanced down at Tom, with his tousled black hair, shadow of a beard, the irrepressible green eyes framing the handsome square face. His snug denims and silver-tipped boots added to his charm. “I’m afraid I did. He’s handling it pretty well—”

“That means the worst is yet to come—”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Tom interjected with humor, trying to rise to his feet. This time his words were definitely slurred and he was swaying. Both Amanda and Quaid sprang to help him. Tom took their hands and yanked hard, nearly toppling them both. Then he laughed. “Oops.” He was as strong and tough as an ox.

Amanda bit down on her smile, but it was good to see he’d conquered his pain. He’d be fine. She could see it.

Quaid ignored Tom’s comment and kept talking about him. “He had a toothache a few years back and when I gave him morphine, he was dancing around the room on one leg. Why didn’t you tell this woman—”

“I never thought of it.” Tom’s mischievous grin set off the deep groove that ran to his jaw. Why, he was teasing her.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” said Quaid. His good humor seemed to darken. “Although I wish she’d given you laudanum. Let’s see your arm.”

Tom held out his arm for Quaid to examine. Amanda was struck by the picture they made, two brothers deeply caring for one another. “Amanda’s already fixed it,” Tom said, “and she did a great job.”

“Hmm,” said Quaid, ruffling his brow.

Amanda shifted uncomfortably in her boots while he prodded at the arm. The sleeve was ripped from the cuff to the shoulder point, exposing Tom’s bare flesh. The hairy forearm flexed with deep veins and hard muscles, definitely
cultivated from working hard. At least Tom didn’t wince as Quaid pressed over the sutures, which meant the morphine was more than effective.

“
I
can take care of my brother now,” Quaid said abruptly, releasing the arm. He glanced down at the moist dirt that was streaked along Amanda’s black skirt.

She felt temporarily deflated. “Well…of course…”

“Thank you, Amanda,” Tom added, frowning at his brother. “Come on, Quaid. Amanda Ryan, meet my brother Quaid Murdock.”

She stepped forward, expecting to shake Quaid’s hand at the introduction, but he didn’t offer one. Instead he stooped down to pick up the basket. “Fannie told me about you.”

Amanda felt herself color. Of course, Fannie Potter.

Quaid glanced down at the broken glass by her high laced boots and frowned. Then he peered into the basket and picked up the rusty wire snips. “Did you use
these
on my brother?”

She licked her dry lips. She’d known the dangers, but she’d weighed them carefully before making her decision. Beside her, Tom staggered on his feet.

“Let’s help Tom up the riverbank,” she said, wrapping her arm around his right side. Quaid did the same on the left. Pierce was already thirty feet ahead of them, carrying their medical bags. She’d return later to clean up the glass.

“I needed to remove the hook,” she explained, puffing her way up the hill then through the forest, allowing Tom to lean on her. “And those snips are all I had to cut it with. But as soon as I got my medicine bag, I assure you, I soaked the wound with carbolic acid—”

“The snips are rusty,” Quaid accused. “Haven’t you read the current journals? Do you know anything about Louis Pasteur’s theories? Something called
infection?
”

“Quaid,” said Tom gruffly. He smiled at his brother in exaggerated friendliness.
“Lay off.”

Well, blazes. Amanda could take care of herself. She didn’t need Tom’s chivalry. “Yes, I’ve read them,” she said with confidence, tugging Tom’s arm tighter around her neck, causing him to smile, which she ignored. “Including last year’s article of Joseph Lister’s theories in the
British Medical Journal.
”

Quaid gasped from beneath his brother’s wide shoulders. The doctor’s mustache dipped well below his chin. “How dare you try to pass yourself off as a doctor—”

“Quaid,” said Tom, “get off your high horse. Sorry,” he slurred in Amanda’s direction, with an apologetic grin. “My brother thinks he needs to protect me.”

Raindrops pelted the leaves. Amanda surged forward. “I never claimed I was a doctor. I’m a midwife, with two solid years of book training, and another three combined with practice.”
More clinical training than new doctors,
she wanted to add, but didn’t have to, for the words clung to the air.

They reached the clearing of the shack and both let go of Tom so he could stand on his own.

Amanda asserted, “I’m well experienced, Quaid—”

“Quaid?” the man asked in horror.

It was an improper slip of the tongue. She should have addressed him as “Doctor.”

Before she had a chance to respond, Tom tottered in front of her. “I hereby authorize you to call him Quaid.” Rain trickled off his brow, along his straight nose, down his chin. Warm rain splashed them, but no one seemed to notice. Tom waved his finger at his brother. “Nothing else but Quaid. I insist.” He nodded extra hard at his brother, like a schoolteacher chastising a wayward student.

She gazed from Quaid’s stark disapproval to Tom’s
thunderous smile. When Tom winked at her, the brothers struck her as funny. A gentle thread of laughter caught at the back of her throat.

“Tom,” said Quaid, “if you talk to me like that, how the hell am I supposed to get any respect in this town?”

Tom turned his palms upward and splayed his arms at the sky, letting the rain splash his face. “How is
she?
”

“She treated you with rusty instruments and gave you morphine,” Quaid said in a condescending tone. “Thank you, miss…. Is it
Miss
Ryan? Or
Missus?
I’m not quite sure how to address a woman…of your stature.”

Amanda’s mouth fell open in surprise. That was uncalled for. “It’s
Missus!
” Miss was fine with her, too, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of choosing.

That was enough for Tom. He lunged at his brother. “I warned you. Now I’m forced to defend her. And this won’t be the first time I’ve walloped your behind.”

Quaid ducked out of harm’s way. “Stop that! Or I’ll have to come after you!” The two circled each other, fists drawn.

Mortified, Amanda watched. What had she done, calling for Quaid Murdock? She thought Tom’s brother would help. But the doctor was fighting with his patient! The family was insane!

She heard the shack door open. Grandma sidled up next to her and planted an open umbrella above their heads. “Why, they’re crazier than we are.”

Tom hollered at his brother. “Are you going to smarten up and treat her better, or do I have to teach you a lesson?”

“I will
not
fight with you,” said Quaid. “Drop your fists.” But they both kept circling.

When Margaux and Josh cuddled up to Amanda’s skirts, Tom must have noticed them, for he looked in their direc
tion then suddenly sobered. “Howdy, Josh, Margaux. You see, I’m fine.”

Margaux buried her face in Amanda’s skirt and sobbed.

Amanda stroked her hair. “He’s fine, Margaux. It wasn’t your fault.” Amanda’s eye caught the porch, at the two worn leather suitcases. “What’s this?”

Grandma spoke up. “I tried to stop them, but they insisted on packin’ their things.”

“Why?”

“We’re leavin’,” said Margaux. It was then that Amanda noticed the children were dressed in the clothes in which they’d arrived. “We knew you wouldn’t want us to stay around, once…once Mr. Murdock got hit.”

“It was an accident, sweetheart,” Amanda said, clutching the children to her side.

Margaux’s shoulders heaved with her tears. “We’ll go back into town with Dr. Murdock and see ourselves to Mrs. Hawthorne’s house. She’ll help us find the train to Calgary. Sorry we caused you so much trouble, Mr. Tom.”

Tom came wobbling over. “No, honey,” he said to Margaux. “I’m fine. See?” He twirled around in the rain as Margaux and Josh peeked out from her side.

“Your shirt’s all torn up,” Margaux said.

“Ah,” Tom huffed. “It was an old shirt.”

It didn’t look old to Amanda, but she was grateful to him for saying so.

“I’ve got two people lookin’ after me, so you don’t have to worry. There’s Amanda, and then there’s my brother here, the doctor.”

“Are you sure he’s a doctor?” Margaux asked in disbelief.

Quaid scowled.

Tom grinned. “He doesn’t look like one or act like one, but he is.”

Margaux giggled.

Amanda looked from Margaux’s face to Josh’s. “I’m still hoping you’ll stay here with me. My original offer still stands.”

“It does?” Their faces brightened.

Amanda smiled and nodded.

“Then we’d like to stay, instead of going to the Calgary orphanage at all, wouldn’t we, Josh?”

“Ya,” said Josh.

Amanda clapped her hands in surprise. They wanted to stay? Here with her?

“You know what?” said Tom when the hugging was over, drops pouring off his tanned face, soaking his clothing. “I think we better take cover. It looks like it might rain.”

Josh was the first to start laughing, followed by the rest of them. Tom did have a pleasing way with children, thought Amanda.

“I better get you home,” said Quaid, mounting his stead. “Getting wet isn’t doing you any good. If I ride alongside the wagon, can you control your horse?”

Tom snorted in disgust. “Can I control my horse….”

“Maybe I should come with you,” said Amanda.

Tom’s eyes lit up. “Maybe you should.”

“He’ll be fine,” Quaid insisted. “I’m here now.”

Tom shrugged with disappointment and she laughed softly.

As much as she wanted to go to take care of him, she knew it was better that she stay here to comfort the children.

Where would Quaid take him? Back to his own cabin, or to stay at Quaid’s overnight?

Tom lurched his way up the wagon.

“Goodbye, Tom,” said Amanda. “And goodbye…”
What should she call Tom’s brother? If she called him Quaid, the man would be furious. If she called him Dr. Murdock, Tom would be. “Goodbye
you all.
”

Tom winked at her again, and she felt a warm gush of pleasure. She was growing to like him. He was likable, wasn’t he? And, Lord, so good-looking.

They were just heading out when a stranger on a small horse, a pinto, rode up the path. “Is this property number D ninety-five?”

“Yes,” said Amanda, wondering who he was. “It is my lot.”

Was he a government official?

A bearded middle-aged man, he looked weary in the late-afternoon mist, as if he’d been traveling for days. He looked down at a piece of paper between his fingers—the same yellow color and size of Amanda’s deed. A sickening wave came over her. Finnigan wouldn’t have—couldn’t have—sold it twice over.

In a mutual panic, Tom looked to her and she to him.

“Well, then,” the man stormed, “why in thunder are you building a cabin on
my
property?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” said Benny Jones, the tender-faced clerk in the land registry at ten after eight the next morning. “As soon as you people leave this office and give me a moment to send the telegram to Calgary, I’ll let you know when the magistrate will arrive to hear your case.”

Tom sighed and glanced at Amanda’s stubborn profile as she stood next to him at the long pine counter. He didn’t have to ask how she’d slept. One look at the puffy eyelids and the swollen creases in her cheeks told him she’d tossed and turned all night. Beside her stood Miss Clementine, equally agitated, then Pa and Graham Robarts. The new
comer with the deed, Lorne Wilson, had separated himself at the far end of the counter.

Tom had barely recovered from his day yesterday. The morphine had worn off and he’d tried not to take any laudanum, or willow bark crystals, until sunrise when the throbbing became unbearable.

Right now he watched Amanda battle for her land, and his frustration level equaled hers. It wouldn’t be fair for her to lose it. She was a good woman with good intentions.

They did have one thing on their side—the stranger’s deed wasn’t properly dated and it hadn’t been sold using a lawyer’s services. Tom wondered if that meant anything. Graham had told them he thought it did. It had to.

The stranger from Edmonton, pounded on the counter. “I demand this be settled. I paid good money for this land!”

“But your deed’s not dated. It just says May 1888,” Miss Clementine argued. “Amanda’s says April seventeenth, 1888.”

“It don’t matter what day!”

“I told you, sir,” said the clerk, “it’s not my decision, but the magistrate’s. Tom’s is the first property that’s been resold in Banff. The law’s not clear about the particulars of the date. And may I remind you, this is Canada’s first national park? The land is rented in perpetuity, but the buildings themselves are bought and sold. We’re all still new at this. The laws aren’t clear.”

Wilson grumbled about the good-for-nothing laws and stalked out of the office. In his Mountie uniform, Graham leaned over the desk and tried to reason with the clerk. “They have similar deeds, Benny. Both with Finnigan’s signature.”