With Autumn's Return (Westward Winds Book #3): A Novel (12 page)

His face reddening, Doc ran a hand through his hair. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“No, Doctor, I’m not.” Though he was visibly angry, Elizabeth kept her voice as cool as a January morning. “I simply wanted to demonstrate the fallacy of your thinking.”

“You think you’re smart,” he sputtered.

“I don’t
think
I’m smart, Doctor Worland. I
know
I am. Shall I tell you how I know that? You told me I was. You said that being admitted to medical school was proof of a person’s intelligence. I was admitted to medical school. Furthermore, I graduated.” She paused for a second, letting her words echo throughout the room before she gave him a sweet smile. “Did you?”

The blood drained from Doc’s face, and for a second Jason wondered if he’d respond. Though he’d never questioned the doctor’s credentials, judging from Elizabeth’s question and Doc’s reaction, she knew more about the man than most of his patients.

“Missy, I’ll have you know that I served in the Army during the War Between the States.”

“Yes, you did,” she said, her expression remaining calm, though Jason had seen her flinch when the older doctor had called her missy. “I admire you for your service, but you didn’t answer my question. Did you or did you not complete medical school?”

The blood that had fled Doc’s face returned, flushing his cheeks, while a vein in his forehead began to throb. “I know more than you’ll ever learn,” he shouted. “That’s all that matters.”

“Perhaps it is,” she conceded, “but if my life were at stake, I would like to know that my doctor had the benefit of expert training.”

“The war was all the training I needed. Everyone knows I’m the best doctor in Cheyenne.”

Doc stormed from the room, heading for the bar that had been set up in the adjoining parlor. In his wake, Jason looked at the guests who remained. Though many of them appeared entertained by the argument, several of them, notably women, wore pensive expressions. Jason didn’t claim to be a mind reader, but he suspected that the women were having second thoughts about Doc. Until tonight, he had been the acknowledged premier physician in the city. Now? Now Jason wasn’t so certain.

The points Elizabeth had made were valid. Even more, they’d been eloquent, and eloquence, Jason knew, was often what convinced people. His law professors had stressed that while it was critical to have the law itself on your side, it was equally important to be able to communicate that law and its implications to jurors. Elizabeth had been both articulate and convincing. Patients might not be lining up outside her office when she opened it tomorrow morning, but he imag
ined that many of the people who’d been here tonight would think twice before consulting Doc again.

As he made his way to Elizabeth’s side, Jason grinned. How fortunate for him that she hadn’t decided to be an attorney, for if she had, between her clear thinking and her gift for oratory, he had no doubt that she would have given him a run for his money.

 8 

R
ose deserved a treat. Perhaps it was only because the morning had been so boring that the thought kept floating through Elizabeth’s brain. She had cleaned her office, not that it had needed cleaning. She’d organized her books, not that they’d needed organizing. Now she was wearing a groove in the floor, pacing the length of the hall. The only good thing she could say about that was that it kept her blood flowing. But while she’d paced, she’d thought of the little girl who’d been such a good friend to Elizabeth’s nephew. Charlotte had told her how Rose had befriended her son, not seeming to be bothered by the boy’s blindness. She’d also mentioned how much Rose enjoyed sweets and that her favorites were the ones Mr. Ellis sold at his confectionary. Perfect. Elizabeth would get a bit of fresh air, and Rose would have a treat for supper.

After locking the door, Elizabeth headed north on Central, smiling as she realized that this was one of the most beautiful
days of the summer. With only the lightest of breezes to stir the air, it was warm, yet the dry heat was refreshing. And there was no doubt that the brilliant blue sky with a few lazy cumulus clouds drifting across it was magnificent. If the poets hadn’t already celebrated the beauty of a Wyoming sky, they should.

Though it was only a block away, Elizabeth had not been inside the Ellis Bakery and Confectionary, but she had heard that the breads and pastries were as renowned as the candies. Perhaps she’d buy a small cake for Jason. Elizabeth knew that he rarely ate at home, claiming that he was the world’s second worst cook. The award for absolute worst went to Mrs. Moran, or so he alleged. It had been little more than a casual comment made the day he’d stopped by to say hello and had found Elizabeth reheating some stew. When his stomach had growled, she had offered to share her lunch with him. It had been one of those times when they’d spoken of a dozen different things, yet only one memory lingered. The more she heard, the more Elizabeth realized that Jason’s childhood had been far different from hers. He might not have faced financial privation as her family had on numerous occasions, but he’d lacked the warm, loving environment that had more than compensated for hand-me-down clothing and watery soups.

Elizabeth doubted that watery soup had ever been part of Jason’s life, and it certainly wasn’t now when he took most of his meals in restaurants. But perhaps even fine restaurant food became ordinary if eaten too often. That must have been the reason he’d seemed to savor the stew she’d shared with him and why Jason claimed he preferred her backyard picnic to the banquet at the Cheyenne Club.

Fried chicken and cold biscuits couldn’t compare to the succulent beef, oyster pudding, and the flaming dessert that the club had provided. That dinner had been delicious, once Elizabeth’s temper had cooled and she’d stopped seething over Dr. Worland’s prejudice. The truth was, his diatribe had been no different from what she’d endured in school, and, unlike her classmates’ taunts, her discussion with Dr. Worland had wrought at least one benefit: a few more women had come to her office. Some of them had been at the club that night. Others said they’d heard what had happened. All had announced that they wanted a doctor who was fully trained. It was a start. Thanks to her new patients and indirectly to Dr. Worland’s hostility, she had enough money to splurge on cakes and candies.

When she reached the corner of 17th Street, Elizabeth paused, waiting for a wagon to pass before she crossed Central. From here she could see her destination. Three wide windows topped with generous transom windows gave it an appearance of elegance, and the steady stream of customers left no doubt of its popularity. As she watched, a woman exited the confectionary. Fashionably dressed in a black walking suit and gloves, with a black-trimmed bonnet, the blonde appeared to be a couple inches shorter than Elizabeth. Though her clothing made Elizabeth suspect that she was a widow emerging from deepest mourning, the almost imperial tilt of her head proclaimed her confidence. Perhaps it was that confidence that caused her to stumble. Elizabeth didn’t know. All she knew was that one second the woman was walking, the next she lay crumpled on the boardwalk.

Picking up her skirts, Elizabeth rushed across the street. “Are you all right?”

The woman attempted to rise, then shook her head as her leg gave way. “I’m afraid I twisted my ankle.” Elizabeth noted that although the woman’s grammar was correct, her voice did not have the cultured tone Elizabeth would have expected, given the fine clothing. “It appears that this is not my lucky day,” the woman said.

Elizabeth crouched next to her. Judging from the woman’s inability to put any weight on the ankle, she suspected the injury was more serious than a simple strain or sprain. “Let’s get you to my office, and then we’ll see how lucky or unlucky you are.” A confused expression greeted her words. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m Elizabeth Harding. Dr. Harding.”

The woman nodded. “That’s right. I heard folks say there was a lady doctor in town.” She attempted to stand again, then grimaced as she sank back onto the boardwalk. “I appreciate your offer, ma’am, but I can’t go to your office. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Why ever not?” Surely this woman didn’t agree with Dr. Worland that females could not be effective physicians.

The woman’s blue eyes clouded. “I’m Phoebe Simcoe.”

If Elizabeth was expected to recognize the name, she did not. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Simcoe. Now if you’ll try not to put any weight on your injured ankle, I think we can get you to my office.”

“But you shouldn’t . . .”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Arguing will not help your ankle. I can, but I need the instruments in my office. Be careful. I’m going to lift you up.” Sliding her arms around Phoebe Simcoe’s waist, Elizabeth drew her to her feet. Though she appeared slender, Mrs. Simcoe was no lightweight. Elizabeth wished
Dr. Worland were here to watch her. He’d no longer question her strength if he realized she’d just lifted her own weight.

“Don’t hurry,” she said as Phoebe clung to her. “I don’t want to do any more damage to that ankle.” It took longer than Elizabeth had expected to get her patient to her office, and both women sighed with relief when Phoebe was safely ensconced on the examining table. “This may hurt a bit,” Elizabeth said as she unfastened Phoebe’s high-button shoe. As she had feared, the ankle was badly swollen. A gentle touch confirmed her fears. “You’ve fractured your ankle, Mrs. Simcoe. Fortunately, it’s not a compound fracture. Once I put it in a plaster cast, it should heal properly.”

Phoebe clenched her fists as Elizabeth touched the swollen appendage. “How long will it take to heal?”

“Six weeks, if you’re careful. You’ll need a crutch to keep the weight off it.”

“Six weeks!” Phoebe shook her head. “The fellas will laugh at that.”

It was not the reaction Elizabeth had expected. Patients frequently groused at how long it took for bones to heal, but few laughed. Though she hated to deliver what might sound like a lecture, Elizabeth needed her patient to understand the gravity of her injury. “A broken ankle is not a laughing matter. Ankles are complex joints, and a fracture can be very serious. You were lucky, Mrs. Simcoe.”

The blonde whom Elizabeth guessed to be around thirty appeared thoughtful. “Maybe I was lucky, after all. You were there right when I needed you. I doubt any other woman in the city would have helped me.”

Again, it was an unexpected reaction. Elizabeth reached for a bandage. “Another woman might not have been able
to set your ankle, but I’m sure she would have helped you.” Another woman might have taken Mrs. Simcoe to Dr. Worland. His office was slightly closer than Elizabeth’s, and he was, as he had announced at the Cheyenne Club, the most prominent physician in the city.

A hint of amusement filled Phoebe Simcoe’s blue eyes. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“You told me you were Phoebe Simcoe. Your clothing makes me believe that you’re a widow.”

“That’s true,” she said as Elizabeth began to wrap her ankle. “Mr. Simcoe has been gone for almost ten years. Most folks here just call me Phoebe. That’s the name of my business: Phoebe’s.”

Though Elizabeth wracked her brain, she could recall no stores by that name. “I’m sorry, but . . .”

Phoebe chuckled. “You haven’t been here very long, have you?”

“A bit less than a month.”

“And you probably haven’t had much reason to frequent 15th Street. That’s where my business is. On the northeast corner of 15th and Warren.” She looked down at her ankle. “I run a bordello, Dr. Harding. That’s why the good women of Cheyenne pretend I don’t exist.”

If Phoebe Simcoe expected her to be shocked, she was mistaken. While Phoebe was the first madam she had met, Elizabeth was well aware of the existence of bordellos, the women who lived there, and the men who frequented them. Papa had preached many a sermon deploring the circumstances that led women to brothels at the same time that he reminded his congregation how Jesus forgave that very sin. Elizabeth would not judge Phoebe.

“Then I’m doubly glad I decided to go to Mr. Ellis’s today. You needed a doctor, and I needed a patient. The women of Cheyenne may admit my existence, but so far they’re not lining up in the streets, waiting for me to treat them.” Elizabeth bit her lip, wishing she could retract the words. She should never have told Phoebe Simcoe—or any of her patients—how small her practice was. “Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to burden you with my tale.”

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed, and she was silent for a moment. Then, nodding briskly, she asked, “How would you like a dozen patients? My girls need a doctor. They don’t like it, but I insist on monthly checkups. Doc Worland performs them, and they like that even less. He lectures them most every time he comes, and he’s rougher than he needs to be.”

While it would be unprofessional to agree, Phoebe’s description was consistent with Elizabeth’s impression of the older doctor. She felt a moment of elation at the realization that, not only would she be gaining more patients, but she would be able to make those patients’ lives a bit easier. “I’d be honored to treat your girls.”

“You’d need to come to my place.”

“That’s fine. I make house calls.”

Phoebe held out her hand, gripping Elizabeth’s firmly. “Thank you, Doctor. It seems this was my lucky day, after all.”

Dust and rubble. It was everywhere. Harrison tried not to frown, but if there was one thing he disliked, it was disorder, and that was rampant. Oh, the workers claimed they were following his plan. Most days he knew they were. They had
demolished the wall between what was once Mr. Yates’s dry goods store and Charlotte Harding’s fancy dress shop, the one with the French name that Harrison never did learn to pronounce. The result would be a large, well-lit store with plenty of space for the goods Barrett planned to carry. Right now, it was an unmitigated mess, just like Harrison’s life.

He had made no progress with Rose. No matter what he tried, she still shied from him. Before Independence Day, he had consoled himself with the thought that she was wary of all men, but seeing her with Jason had destroyed that illusion. Rose had giggled and laughed as she played with Jason. There was no doubt about it: Harrison was the only man she distrusted.