Sawbones (20 page)

“Who brought this?” Waterman looked up from his work. I brandished the envelope with a shaking hand. “Who?” My voice cracked. I coughed to cover it.

Waterman shrugged. “A soldier. I'd never seen him before. He must be with one of the new regiments.”

“Tall? Bearded?”

“Yes. Why? What is it?”

I should have regained my composure before asking Waterman about the letter. Now, his curiosity was piqued. “Nothing.” I folded the envelope and tucked it in the waistband of my skirt. “Are the supplies for the aid kits in the north ward?”

“Yes.”

“I'll get under way.”

I walked into the empty ward and around the private-room partition. I clutched my stomach and mouth against the nausea that overtook me, again. This Wanted poster would follow me for the rest of my life. Would I ever be free from it?

“Doctor?” A nurse called out.

I straightened and inhaled to compose myself. “Yes. Coming.”

For the next few hours the nurse and I created crates of medical supplies to be included on the supply wagons accompanying each patrol. It was repetitive, mind-numbing work but gave me the perfect opportunity to think.

Who had sent me the letter and why? Beau's report implied Pope wasn't in any condition to mail a letter, let alone address it in such a pristine hand. But, if not Pope, who? The man who had beat him? Cotter Black? Had Welch found the letter when attending Pope and seen the resemblance between the picture and me? I didn't think so. It was a horrid picture and Welch had only met me once, when he was drunk.

I stopped what I was doing, went to the office, and opened the log to one of the last pages of Welch's entries. I fumbled removing the envelope from my waistband. My hands shook as I compared the writing on the envelope to Welch's log entries.

Welch's entries ranged from barely discernible scribbles, made most like when he was drunk, to such precise writing it made me wonder if the same hand had written it at all. Neither clearly resembled the writing on the envelope, but neither were they discernibly different.

“Damn,” I muttered.

I stared at the envelope. Was this the only copy of the reward poster in Jacksboro? If so, what proof would Pope or whomever had sent this have of my identity? None. It would be my word against theirs. I stood and walked into the kitchen. Through the back window I saw Corporal Martin smoking and talking to the men detailed to build the death house. I opened the stove, tossed the envelope on the embers, and poked at it with a metal rod until the evidence of my past was nothing more than ashes. I closed the stove, replaced the poker, and dusted my hands off before returning to the office.

I gazed out the window of the office and onto the parade ground full of soldiers on dress parade. Kindle limped down the line with Foster, inspecting the troops. My eyes lingered on his hands. The memory of them cradling my face settled my nerves, until the knowledge they would never do so again shattered them anew.

The front door of the hospital flew open and banged against the wall. Waterman walked out of the dispensary, wiping his hands with a towel.

“Hello, Waterman! Where's Dr. Welch? Had a bit of excitement near Fort Phantom Hill.” The officer was young, good-looking, and covered in dirt from the trail. The crude bandage on his right calf was stained with dried blood.

“Welch isn't available, Lieutenant Strong,” Waterman said. “Dr. Elliston can see to your wound.”

“Well, find the man quick. I want to get this cleaned up before I see my wife. She'll faint dead away at the sight of this bandage.”

The man limped into the north ward. I shared a conspiratorial smile with Waterman and followed.

The lieutenant was taking off his gun belt and coat when I entered. “Oh, hello,” he said. “Are you a new nurse? I don't think I have seen you before.”

“I only arrived a few days ago.”

“Welcome to the end of the earth,” he said with a smile. “I'm Wallace Strong.”

“Dr. Elliston.”

His smile wavered a fraction. “Are you really?” He gave me the once-over and his smile returned. “I should have guessed you weren't a nurse.”

“Let's see what we have here.” I cut the bandage away to reveal a wound that went clear through his calf.

“How did you get this?”

“From an Indian. They had us pinned in a buffalo wallow. Circling around us,” he said, using his hands to illustrate. “I didn't notice it until later.”

I turned away from the young man, remembering my own experience in a buffalo wallow, and busied myself with instruments lying on the table. My heart hammered and my breath came in short bursts. “They rode away?” I asked in as steady a voice as I could manage.

“Typical Indian. They got bored, I suppose. We held them off for two days. This morning, we woke and they were gone.”

“The good news is there is no bullet to remove. I need to clean the wound thoroughly, apply carbolic acid to the area, and wrap it in a clean bandage. You are not to remove the bandage for a few days, unless the wound bleeds. Then return to me and I will see to it.”

Lieutenant Strong looked at me in some confusion. “I only wanted a clean bandage.”

I was ready to frighten him with the possibility of gangrene when Beau Kindle bounded into the room.

“Strong, you son of a gun. I heard you were back. Already malingering, I see.”

“Kindle! How are you?”

“Better than you, it would appear. What happened?”

“It's nothing,” Strong replied. “I didn't know I was hit until one of my soldiers noticed the blood on my trousers. Forget about that. Tell me about traveling with Sherman.”

Waterman had discreetly entered the cubicle. I sent him to the kitchen for hot water. I stood in the background and pretended to be busy while I eavesdropped on their conversation.

Lieutenant Kindle pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. “Obviously, I wasn't in his inner circle, but I heard enough to know he was skeptical of the claims of Indian attacks. We didn't see a bit of it, and he was sure the reports making their way to Saint Louis were a bunch of ex-Confederate politicians who wanted to switch our focus from Reconstruction to the Indians.”

“Surely he doesn't think Mackenzie…”

“Like I said, I was not privy to specifics, but that was the general idea I gleaned from conversations I heard between him and the people he talked to on the trail.”

“What about the abandoned farms along the frontier? Did he think people gave up for no reason?”

Beau Kindle shrugged. “You should have seen the angry townsmen here in Jacksboro when Sherman met with them. He barely listened. He was more interested in getting back to the fort and having dinner with the officers and their wives.”

“I'm sorry I missed it.”

“Your Alice especially charmed him.”

Strong laughed. “My Alice?”

“You don't give her enough credit, Strong.”

“I give credit where it is due. I've never seen Alice charm any man.”

“Doesn't mean she is incapable of it,” Beau replied.

“Has she charmed you, Kindle?”

“I'm not so desperate I'll flirt with a married woman.”

“Met the laundresses already, have you?”

“Been to Jacksboro.”

“Don't tell me you've paid for it!” Strong laughed and slapped Beau on the shoulder. “I'll introduce you to Ruth. A sweet little thing who's great company when she keeps her mouth shut.”

I looked up and glared at Strong. So this was the father of Ruth's bastard, and Alice's husband. I could see how someone as ignorant as Ruth would be so easily taken in by the confident young officer. I could see, as well, how plain Alice would suffer the indignities of being married to a libertine rather than not be married at all.

“Enough about whores,” Strong said. “Tell me more about Sherman.”

“He was anxious to get on his way and would have, if not for the attack on the Warren wagon train.”

“The supply train bringing the cattle?”

Beau nodded. “We met them the previous day and camped with them. Five or six families had attached themselves to the train.” Beau paused. “The things they did to those people. Burned one alive and butchered this one woman's face until she was almost unrecognizable as a…”

I dropped the instrument I held, recalling my presence to the two men. Lieutenant Kindle, when he saw who I was, stood and turned bright red. “Dr. Elliston, I didn't realize…” He glanced to Lieutenant Strong for help, but Strong merely looked puzzled. “Strong, Dr. Elliston was the only survivor of the mas…attack. Captain Kindle's regiment arrived before…He was injured, my uncle, and Dr. Elliston saved him. Performed surgery out there on the plains with a storm coming. You should have heard Kindle's men sing her praises,” Beau said. “I took his men to retrieve the lost cattle, you see. We returned last night.”

Waterman returned with a pot of hot water. “Lieutenant Kindle, if you'll excuse us,” I said.

He left, but not before telling Strong he would let Alice know where he was. He was out of the ward before Strong could keep him from alerting his wife.

Performing the mundane task of cleaning and binding Strong's wound helped still my racing heart. Visions from the attack weren't so easy to banish, nor was the realization my experience had become another atrocity to detail with a morbid fascination borne of relief—relief you and yours were safe—and the thrill of dread that one day you might not be.

“You lost your family in the attack?”

I nodded.

“I'm sorry.” After a moment he continued, his voice hard. “That's why we have to do whatever we can to stop these savages! Eradicate every last one of them off the face of the earth. That's the only way we are going to be safe.”

I thought of Maureen's destroyed face for the hundredth time and hoped I would be there when the last Indian was killed; a small part of me hoped I would be the one holding the gun.

“How did you survive?” Strong asked.

I placed two squares of cloth soaked in carbolic acid on both wounds, wrapped a clean bandage around his leg, and tied it off.

“I was a coward and hid in a buffalo wallow. Like you.”

My second interview with Lieutenant Colonel Foster went smoother than the first, due to my concerted effort to control my temper. I needed to get back in Foster's good graces, first by groveling, and then by showing my worth as fort doctor.

“Lieutenant Colonel, I would like to apologize for my behavior the other day. I let emotions supersede logic and made an ill-advised accusation.”

“That will happen with women, I grant.”

If Foster had been the least bit observant, he would have seen me clutching my hands so tightly my knuckles were white. I smiled and said, “I do hope you won't hold it against me.”

“Of course not!” His demeanor changed to one of bonhomie. “I admit I was angry at first. Miss Mackenzie helped me see where you were coming from, though I still do not agree with you.”

“Harriet?”

“Yes. I saw her while visiting Kindle the next day. You were at the hospital, I believe. Doing an outstanding job!”

I chastised myself for my jolt of jealousy at the idea of Harriet visiting Kindle. He'd shown his preference that morning on the road to Jacksboro.

“I accept your apology. Now, don't take this the wrong way, but no one ever comes to see me but that they want something.”

“I've completed the crates of medical supplies for the long patrols.”

“Excellent!”

“I also treated the bullet wound Lieutenant Strong received on his patrol.”

“How is he?”

“He will be fine.”

“Good news. He is an excellent officer. Need him in the field.” The compliment was losing its effectiveness; Foster said it of everyone.

“I understand the smaller patrols have no medical officers.”

“No.”

“The officers and some of the men perform medical attention as needed?”

“Correct.”

“With your permission, I would like to train a soldier in each company in the basics of medical attention. The quality of the first aid a soldier receives can be the difference between a healed wound and a chronic one.”

Foster leaned back in his chair. “Go on.”

“What I would like to teach them, specifically, is the importance of cleanliness. Cleaning their hands before attending to the wound, keeping the wound clean, covering the wound with a clean cloth. I would also train them on using carbolic acid to clean and cover the wound.”

“Is that the vile smelling stuff you put on Kindle?”

“Yes.”

“How long would this training take?”

“An hour at most. I have checked the hospital stores and there is not enough carbolic acid to supply the patrols. However, I will make up the difference from my supply, which can be replaced when the fort's stores are replenished.”

“I cannot say when that will be,” Foster said. “You may be gone before it happens.”

“Yes, I could be,” I said, slowly.

“I assume you plan to continue on your journey, or have you decided to make Jacksboro your home?”

“No. Continuing on is my plan.” I thought of the bloody Wanted poster. “I would like to leave as soon as possible.” My stomach clenched at the thought of Kindle.

“When Major Kline arrives you can accompany the next wagon train destined for Fort Sill. From there, you can travel to the nearest train station or, if you prefer, take a stage to…Where were you going again?”

“California.”

“I've wondered, Doctor, whatever in the world motivated you to come west? I can understand a man venturing out alone, but a woman is a different matter.”

“Have you forgotten, I was not alone?”

He paused. “No.”

“Thank you for the offer of escort to Fort Sill,” I said, happy my groveling had at least changed his mind about throwing me off the fort with no assistance. “Until then, I would like to be of some use.”

“Yes, the training.” Foster took up his pen. “It sounds a good idea. Can you start tomorrow?”

“I will need to prepare. The day after?”

“I will tell the officers to send a man.”

“A bright soldier who will not mind receiving instruction from a woman would be preferable.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No. Nothing. Thank you, Colonel Foster. Since there are so few soldiers who are sick I have felt quite useless these last days. I do hope my gender is not keeping sick men from getting the attention they need.”

“More troops are arriving daily. I am sure your ward will fill again in no time. At the least, it will fill with drunkards when payroll arrives.”

“Yes, but the new surgeon will arrive as well and I will be no longer needed.”

“I imagine Major Kline will find something for you to do.”

“Major
Ezra
Kline?”

“Yes.” Foster stopped writing. “Do you know him?”

The blood drained from my face, but my voice didn't betray my nervousness. “By reputation. He was a professor at Syracuse Medical College and has been at the champion of Pasteur's germ theory of disease.”

“Rejoined the Army after his wife died. I'm sure he will be happy with your training the troops. He has been trying to innovate in the medical department for years. If there's nothing else…”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel.” I walked to the door and turned. “One more thing.” Foster put his pen down and tried not hide his exasperation. “Since Captain Kindle is recovering so well, my nightly presence is unnecessary. My continued residence in his quarters is inappropriate. As such, I am on my way to town to find lodgings.”

“An excellent idea.”

“Do you know when Major Kline will arrive? So I can estimate the amount of time I will need to procure a room?”

“Any day now.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for your time.”

I left Foster's office more alone than ever. I suspected, despite his effort at pretending otherwise, Foster was humoring me until he could kick me off his fort, with Sherman's letter in hand or not, I didn't know. Harriet had done an excellent job of keeping herself and the other officers' wives clear of my bad influence. I had rejected the one person I had a connection with, a decision I regretted and admired in equal measure. I would miss Kindle's company but the pain of the later, inevitable parting would be greater than my current regret.

I walked around the back of the officers' quarters, past the detached kitchen, and across the dirt wagon track that circled the fort. In front of me, the plain stretched out to infinity, broken only occasionally by scrubby trees and large clumps of cacti and topped with a clear blue sky. A slight breeze, crisp and refreshing, danced over the tall grasses. I brushed my hands over their tops as I walked and enjoyed the tickling sensation.

I could never live here, I thought. It was too open, exposed, not only to human danger (though where was there not an element of human danger?) but also to nature. The memory of the storm was almost as terrifying as the Indians. The ferocity of both was unbelievable, nightmarish. As days wore on and life returned to normal rhythms, the events took on a dreamlike quality. The further away I moved, the less real they seemed. I could almost believe I had imagined both, that the memories were someone else's, or a story I heard, a fairy tale designed to scare children. Then the nausea and headache would return, or my shoulder would ache. The openness of the land, though beautiful in its own way, reminded me of my vulnerability and kept my constant companion, fear, close to my heart.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my sore shoulder. I endeavored to hide the pain of it from everyone, especially Kindle. Weakness, in any form, would diminish my effectiveness. The stress of keeping up appearances, of pretending to be strong physically, mentally, and emotionally, was unbearable.

My solitary life stretched across the plains before me. The journey from Richardson to Fort Sill and on to the railroad. The gentle swaying of the train as it chugged west toward the Rocky Mountains. My mouth watered with the idea of a good meal. Then, where? Another country? Another town on the frontier? Opening a practice, always being on call, traveling through the frontier in the dead of night to deliver babies and see to the dying.

Or, should I turn east and go home? I thought of the house I left, my family home. A thick layer of dust would now cover my possessions. I thought of my closet full of dresses and hats, ten years out of style but still serviceable for the few social occasions I attended. In New York my focus had been on medicine, on keeping up with the latest discoveries and putting them into practice. Social engagements held little interest. With the prospect of no society a reality, I longed for the camaraderie of women and the attention of men. But, that would not be my life in New York. What waited for me there was a noose.

I sighed and opened my eyes. Introspection was a luxury I couldn't afford. The sun was high in the sky and I had much to do before it set that evening.

Then, I saw him. His dark brown skin and black hair stood out against the blue sky, his white horse contrasting with the green of the prairie grass. I lifted my skirt, turned, and ran as fast as I could, straight into Kindle.

“Laura,” he said, grasping my arms. “What's the matter?”

Words would not come. I was gasping, crying. I pointed a shaking arm to the south. Kindle's gaze followed and he instinctively moved in front of me. His body tensed as I stood behind him and watched the Indian ride toward us. A moment passed and Kindle relaxed. He raised his hand in greeting, which the Indian returned with a smile.

“He is a Tonkawa. One of our scouts. Are you okay? You are shaking like a leaf.”

“No, I'm not okay,” I snapped.

“What are you doing out here?” Kindle asked, an edge to his voice.

“Thinking. Trying to find solitude. Lord knows it's scarce, like everything else in this godforsaken place.”

The Indian called a greeting to Kindle. I left when Kindle returned it. He may be able to embrace one Indian while fighting another, but to me they were savages, every one.

“Who is that?” the Indian asked.

“The most frustrating woman I've ever met,” Kindle said.

Without turning around, I slammed the back door of his quarters in response.

The sun was setting with a brilliant show of colors when I arrived at the laundresses' quarters. The vibrant hues cast a warm glow on the dull beige canvas tents and gave them a homey appearance they lacked in the harsh light of day.

Women ranged in front of the three tents, relaxing and laughing with a camaraderie borne of personal familiarity and a lack of societal restraint. Most cared little what the world thought of them. Those who did lived apart, did their jobs diligently, and waited for their husbands, brothers, or fathers to visit from the fort or return from patrol.

As with every strata of society, there was a hierarchy among the laundresses, with Mary as the leader. The women deferred to her in everything—most willingly, some grudgingly and suspiciously—always waiting for the first sign of weakness to exploit. They would have a difficult time deposing Mary, as even in mirth, which was how I found her when I arrived that evening, her suspicious eyes were roving across her acolytes.

“Lookie here, ladies,” Mary said. “It's our own personal doctor come visiting. To what do we owe this honor?”

“I was in town and thought I would stop by to check on my patients.”

“Did'ja now?” she replied, her eyes giving evidence of the calculation in her head.

“Yes, I did. May I?” I nodded to a vacant crate.

Mary motioned her acquiescence with the demeanor of a queen.

“Thank you.” I sat and placed my medical bag next to my feet.

“You wanna drink?” Mary offered. “We're celebratin'!” Each woman held a tin cup full of clear liquid.

I thought of my day: the scene with Kindle, the realization Foster wanted me gone, the Indian, and the imminent arrival of Ezra Kline. Another terrible day. I hardly had any other kind at Fort Richardson. “Why not?” Adella poured. “What are you celebrating?”

“Farmer came by to visit and left us a jug of his homemade corn mash. Pretty good, ain't it?”

I sipped from the mug and nearly choked. “Yes,” I managed to say amid the women's laughter. “Very good.” The mash went down easier on the second sip. By the third, my glass was empty and I was holding out my cup for more.

“Slow down there, Doc,” Adella said. “Stuff's strong.”

“Whatcha doin' in town?” Ruth was sitting at Mary's feet with her arms crossed over her stomach, trying to cover a pregnancy ready to show. My eyes traveled from her stomach to her face and I smiled encouragingly.

When I examined Mary and Adella I had discovered they suffered from venereal disease and poor nutrition, but were in good health otherwise. I advocated the use of sheaths during intercourse for the former and an increase in the amount of vegetables they ate for the latter. They laughed and said how many vegetables they were able to eat was up to God, the weather, and how much the quartermaster decided to give them when the fort garden produced.

“Yeah,” Mary said, “what were you doin' in town? I'd a though' you'd be snuggled up with the captain tonight.”

“I'd much rather be visitin' the captain than a bunch of women,” Adella said.

My face burned. “I don't know what you are talking about.”

“No need to be shy with us, Doctor,” Mary said. “Adella saw you and the captain on the road today.”

I hoped the setting sun, the heat from the fire, and the corn mash would account for the embarrassment burning on my face. “I'm sorry you saw that. It was an unfortunate event the captain and I both regret.”

Adella laughed. “You sure did'na look like you thought it was unfortunate when it was happenin'. Not as I blame ya. He's a fine-looking man. I wouldn' mind being on the receivin' end of that unfortunate event.”