Texas Twilight (29 page)

“Why don’t you go out and talk with Emmeline?
She and Charity looked like they could use a friend right about
now. Someone who knows what’s going on and can ease their
fears.”

Bixby’s face was ashen, but he complied and
soon it was just John and Tuck left in the room. John stared at
Chaim’s face for a long, thoughtful moment. He sure didn’t want to
go this alone. Some moral support and assistance would help
immensely. He remembered Lily’s steady hand as she stitched up his
face, never squeamish about what she had to do. Just resolute on
the job that needed doing.

He glanced up at Tucker. “Go ask Charity to
go fetch Lily for me. Tell her to hurry.”

The boy nodded and ran out the door.

***

It had taken Lily a good half hour to calm
her aunt. The woman had refused to tell her who she thought she’d
seen, or why she was fearful of him. She’d stubbornly stuck to her
excuse that she was tired and wanted to get some rest without
anyone coming into the shop to awaken her. But she’d never
complained about noise before and had slept undisturbed for many
hours during her recuperation. Lily knew it was just a cover for
what she didn’t want to say. Thank goodness she’d finally fallen
asleep.

Now Lily sat in the upstairs sitting area,
holding the cat. The trusting little animal purred contentedly, now
dry and warm and snuggled on Lily’s lap. “What to do, kitty? I wish
my aunt would tell me what she fears. Then maybe we could fix
whatever it is.” The cat looked up at her with adoring eyes and
Lily couldn’t help but smile.

A rapping on the front door made her jump.
The pouring rain had stopped and Lily could hear female voices
whispering softly. Setting the cat on the cushion, she hurried down
the stairs.

“Lily,” Charity called through the door.
“Open up. Chaim’s been shot and John needs your help.” Strain and
tears marked the girl’s face and her clothes were completely
soaked. A large red stain covered the front of her shirt. Fear
rocked Lily when she realized that it was blood. She held Emmeline
by the arm and the poor woman looked beyond her wits. “They’re in
his office.”

“Of course. But, my aunt was—scared by the
storm. I cannot leave her alone.”

“We’ll stay here.”

Lily hurried out the door. Entering the
doctor’s office, she was shocked to see Dr. Bixby sitting at the
kitchen table, his head resting in his hands. He didn’t even look
up when she ran past and into the examination room.

“Thank you for coming, Lily,” John said
softly, trying to hold back his relief at seeing her.

She looked at Chaim briefly, then up into his
face. “Of course. Anything. What should I do?”

If she was squeamish over assisting, she
didn’t show it. “Get washed up as quickly as possible.” The surgery
he was about to perform, so close to Chaim’s heart, was a damn
risky one. He doubted any arteries or veins had been hit, though,
or there’d be more blood. Now, looking down into the face of this
cousin, John knew he was shaken to his core. Chaim was too young to
die. It would be such a waste.

Tucker stood at Chaim’s head with the can of
chloroform and a cloth just in case Chaim actually woke up during
the operation. He also kept his finger lightly pressed on the
artery in Chaim’s neck, monitoring his pulse.

John looked at Lily, then at Tucker. “Here we
go.”

With tweezers in hand, John probed around the
exterior of the wound slowly, knowing full well he had to go down
into the hole and look for the bullet. The possibility of nudging
it in a wrong direction, even the tiniest bit, could claim Chaim’s
life.

“You can do this,” Lily said in a soft
voice.

Her
spoken encouragement was a balm to his nerves. Her nearness gave
him strength. Without glancing up, he nodded his thanks,
acknowledging to himself how her presence here fortified him.
Helped him. He
could
do this,
and with God’s help, he would save Chaim’s life.

Lily dabbed at the blood that flowed steadily
from the wound. As John went deeper, pulling some muscle and tissue
out of the way with the needle nose tweezers, a bright red stream
spurted up and welled, about to spill over. “Let me get that,” Lily
said, soaking it up.

With his finger John pulled the hole wider to
get a better look, not minding the feel of his cousin’s warm
blood.

Chaim moaned, and his eyes fluttered.

“Sorry, cousin,” John said quietly. “You’re
young and strong. It’ll take more than a little bullet to bring a
McCutcheon down. You’re going to live to tell about it.”

So far John hadn’t seen the bullet. Typically
extraction of a projectile didn’t take long. The loss of blood was
usually the cause of death in a shooting. You had to get in and get
out fast, then plug the hole. Charity’s makeshift bandage had done
a darn fine job at stemming the flow until she’d gotten him
here.

Tuck looked up sharply, the sudden movement
drawing John and Lily’s attention. “He stopped breathing.”

J
ohn immediately
grasped Chaim’s neck and pressed his forefinger into the flesh,
smearing it with blood while barely able to feel even the slightest
sign of life. He watched Chaim’s chest, willing it to rise. Moments
ticked by. Although he’d only seen it done once, he’d read about
artificial breathing in his studies. There were many cases cited
and right now, it was his only option. But, before he tried, he’d
quickly extract the bullet.

Lily looked at him with scared eyes and
Tucker seemed to be in a trance. “He’s not breathing so we have
little time. First, I’m going to find that bullet, and then….”

Lily nodded although he could see she was
shaken.

“Swab away the blood.”

Gritting his teeth he went in like a bat
after a mosquito, unwilling to retreat without the hideous ball of
led. “I feel it.” Slowly, he opened the tweezers wider until he
felt them around the bullet and brought it out, tossing it
aside.

“Only light pressure, Lily.”

John
stepped to Chaim’s head and tilted it back, making his mouth drop
open. Before his eyes, and in a flash of inspiration, John saw the
face of Bob Mackey lying dead on the ranch house floor, all those
years ago as the man’s life’s blood leaked from his body, slowly
sapping his energy away. Once again John felt the weight of his
Colt 45 in his hands and the burden of guilt on his soul.
Was
this
the reason
that the accident had happened? So he’d be here as an educated
doctor with the newest procedures, and prepared, to save Chaim’s
life? Could that possibly be?
Something good will come of this, you will
see
, his mother had
insisted many times through the years. As horrible as that
sounds,
that’s how God works. It’s hard to understand and to
accept, but it’s true. And when it does, you’ll know it.

John gave himself a mental shake. Artificial
breathing was virtually unknown to self-taught doctors. It was just
now becoming a talked about subject in the medical schools. Would
Chaim die here and now, even with its possibilities to bring him
back to life?

Not if he had anything to say about it. With
renewed purpose, John gripped Chaim’s chin and nose and placed his
mouth over Chaim’s, blowing a large breath into his cousin’s mouth.
From the corner of his eye he saw Chaim’s bloody chest rise under
Lily’s hands, bringing a startled gasp from her. Tucker stepped
back several feet and watched. John said nothing but waited a few
moments and repeated the process. After five more breaths, John
paused to feel for a pulse in Chaim’s neck, hoping, praying, to
feel something substantial. A flutter…

Determined, he kept at it, three breaths and
quick check of his pulse. Three breaths, and check his pulse.

“You are doing well,” Lily said solemnly. “So
much air going into his lungs is truly amazing.” She touched his
shoulder for a quick moment, in support, he was sure. Just having
her close kept him grounded. “His color looks better, John. It is
working. I am sure.”

A handful of agonizing minutes ticked by. Ten
turned into fifteen. Tucker came forward and wiped the sweat from
John’s brow. Resigned that Chaim wasn’t going to start breathing on
his own, knowing he should probably give up and face the fact that
they’d lost him, he heard Dr. Bixby’s voice from somewhere in the
room. “Keep going, boy, don’t stop.”

John took a moment and glanced around. At
some point Charity and Emmeline had entered the room unannounced.
They huddled in a corner with their arms around each other and eyes
as big as saucers, staring back at him. Lily stood firm, her hand
pressed upon the folded towel over Chaim’s chest.

Twenty more minutes passed—but felt like
twenty hours. John stepped back and straightened his aching back,
feeling light-headed and disappointed. He swiped his arm across his
sweaty face and heaved a deep sigh.

They all stared at Chaim.

Without any help this time, his chest lifted,
then slowly went back down. It rose again. Everyone gasped.

“He’s breathing!” Tucker said
enthusiastically, pointing at Chaim as if anyone needed
direction.

John placed his finger on Chaim’s neck one
more time and smiled. “His heartbeat is strong. I think he’s going
to make it.”

***

The group clustered around the kitchen table
in a hushed silence. Charity and Emmeline, with teeth chattering,
did their best to drink the hot peppermint tea Dr. Bixby had
prepared for everyone. They’d been draped with a blanket and looked
like a pair of rag-a-muffin bookends as they sat in stunned
silence. As soon as the emergency had passed, they’d told Lily that
Louise Brown had been walking past her shop after closing up the
Post Office early and they’d begged her to stay in the store. After
hearing why, she insisted it was the least she could do to help,
being her and Chaim had practically grown up together. She’d sent
her prayers and promised to come and get them the moment she heard
Aunt Harriett wake up.

Exhausted, John gazed out the window at the
evening street deep in thought. Overhead clouds made the town
darker than normal. Tucker was taking the first shift sitting with
Chaim to keep a close watch on him. He, too, had a cup of tea to
soothe his frayed nerves. None of them, with the exception of John,
had ever witnessed a person being brought back to life.

“Will there be problems later?” Dr. Bixby
asked, looking much older than his years. His hands still shook as
he had the cup sandwiched between his palms, almost as if he’d
forgotten he held it.

John dragged his attention away from the
window to look at his friend. “Impossible yet to tell. Cases very.
It’s the opinion of many doctors that it depends on the length of
time his brain was deprived of oxygen.”

Emmeline’s cup rattled badly and she quickly
set it down. Her silent tears had not stopped flowing since they’d
come into the kitchen and it was clear to everyone in the room that
things had changed considerably since she’d gone out to the ranch
to stay.

“But, we’ll not think of that now,” John
added. “Besides his wound, Chaim’s strong as an ox. If infection
doesn’t set in he even may be up in time for the dance. I’m not
saying he’ll be able to participate, but at least he’d be able to
go. We’ll shoot for that.”

Charity glared at his choice of words.

She had reported to the sheriff what had
taken place, and he’d ridden out to the Rim Rock to let the rest of
the McCutcheons know what had happened. If the runaway horse hadn’t
made it completely back, perhaps stopping in some pasture to graze,
they’d have no way of knowing anything was amiss. John was sure it
wouldn’t be long before someone would be arriving in a panic.

Bixby set his cup down heavily. “I’ve heard
of artificial breathing from time to time, but haven’t yet read
about it. And I surely wouldn’t know how to do it. I’m
flabbergasted.”

Lily rose and went over to the stove to get
the kettle of hot tea, then went around the table refilling
everyone’s cups. The sweetness of peppermint filled the air. “That
was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Breathing for another
human being. Imagine that. If not for you putting air in Chaim’s
lungs—” She shook her head in disbelief and it was a second before
she continued. “He would be gone. You saved him as surely as I
stand before you now. The last two hours have been astounding.”

She gazed at him, pride shining in her eyes,
and it was impossible for him not to smile. There was something
else there, too. A promise of things to come? Or, perhaps, just his
imagination. “I’ve never done it before myself,” he said. “I could
only hope I was doing it right.”

“I think there was something bigger watching
over you today, brother,” Charity whispered. “It was
miraculous.”

“She’s right, John,” Emmeline said. It was
the first words she’d spoken since coming from the store. “I’m
thankful you didn’t stop. It felt like a dream.”

John didn’t know how to respond. Although
artificial breathing was a fact of medical science now, he too,
felt as if there had been, at that moment, something else,
something supernatural, guiding him.

Thundering hooves clamored from down the
street, everyone jumped up. It didn’t take but a second and Dustin
burst into the room, followed by Winston, Winnie, Madeline and
Becky, all dressed for hard riding. “He’s in there,” he gestured
with his head. “He’s alive, but tenuous. We have to keep a close
watch on him for a couple of days.”

It was Aunt Winnie who spoke first, “Can we
go in?”

John nodded.