Her Healing Ways Page 13

  Mercy took her daughter’s arm and pulled her closer. As they walked, Mercy put herself in Indigo’s place. Or tried to. Her unruly mind insisted on bringing up Lon’s kiss. She fought to keep her fingers from tracing the path of his lips on hers. Did she want her fingertips to feel the kiss again or erase it?

  She sighed, feeling lonely even here with friends and her daughter. How could the absence of one person make a sunny day chilly and dismal? I do know how you feel, Indigo. Lon Mackey appears not to want to remember me. And I miss him so. I’ve never missed anyone as much. I know I shouldn’t, but I do.

  The wagon pulled up in front of the cabin. The men helped Pierre down from the wagon and Indigo walked with him into the house. The men followed, carrying Digger on a stretcher. Mercy entered and took off her bonnet.

  Ellen turned a worried face toward her. “I didn’t want that other doctor to treat my Jim,” Ellen said, wringing her hands. “I don’t think he’d be doing so poorly if you’d doctored him.”

  Mercy went to Ellen and put an arm around her. She heartily agreed with every word, but it wouldn’t help Ellen’s state of mind for her to say so. “Dr. Drinkwater is definitely not a…conciliatory man, but he is a qualified doctor.”

  “But he didn’t wash his hands or instruments when he treated Jim. And it was plain to everyone that the men you treated got better faster. A few of the other wives noticed that after that quack left, you knew what to do to help their men get better faster.”

  Mercy nearly smiled at the way her brief, simple teachings on sanitary methods had begun to sink in and take hold. She pulled Ellen into a one-armed hug. “I couldn’t have treated all the patients. There were too many.”

  Ellen chuckled ruefully. “Yes, and you’re not the kind to speak against anyone. But I saw you kick that man in the shins and knock him off his feet.”

  Flushing warm around her collar, Mercy shook her head. “I—”

  “You don’t need to explain that to me. I felt like kicking him myself.”

  Mercy couldn’t stop herself from laughing. Dr. Drinkwater didn’t know how lucky he’d been, evidently. “I’m going to examine your husband’s wound and see if it needs another fomenting.”

  Ellen stopped her with a touch on her sleeve. “I’ve heard talk about you and the gambler.”

  Mercy gasped.

  “People always have to have something to gab about. I just…forewarned is forearmed, my mom used to say.”

  Mercy managed to nod. I must put everything but my patients out of my mind. And gossip never lasts. But Lon Mackey persistently refused to budge from her thoughts.

  In the saloon, Lon sat in his accustomed chair, shuffling the cards, listening to the chatter and hubbub. He used to enjoy all the voices and laughter and bright lights. Now it just irritated him.

  “I’ll take another card,” one of the players said.

  As Lon dealt to him, a sudden hush fell over the saloon. Lon looked up to see the pastor again. Lon felt like growling. He reined in his instant antagonism and looked at the man coolly. “I don’t have a place for you in this game, preacher. You’ll have to wait.”

  The man laughed. “I came this time not only to invite you to the thanksgiving service and potluck but to remind everyone who worked in the rescue that you’re welcome. We just want to make sure that those who helped are given recognition.”

  I don’t want any recognition. I want to be left alone. Lon held tight to his flaring temper. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now if you don’t mind, I need to win this hand.”

  “I’ll bid you good evening, then.” With a wave, the pastor strolled out the swinging doors.

  “That preacher’s got guts,” Slattery said. “I wonder what his church board will say about him walking into a saloon.”

  “If we’re lucky, they’ll fire him,” Lon snapped. “Ante up.”

  The other three players stared at him, looking shocked.

  Lon ignored this and went on dealing. He lost this game and the next. As he dealt the third hand, another hush came over the saloon. Lon recognized the sound of Mercy Gabriel’s purposeful footsteps.

  “Lon Mackey,” Mercy said, “may I speak with thee? I have a message.”

  He wanted to slam his fist straight through the tabletop. He even felt the blow as if he’d actually done it. Yet he rose politely. “Dr. Gabriel, at the present I’m working—”

  The other three players all rose and tipped their hats at Mercy. “That’s all right, Mackey,” one said.

  “We’ll just lay our hands facedown, and when you’ve finished talking to the lady doctor, we can continue the game.”

  Mercy smiled.

  And Lon was left with no recourse but to speak to her. “Dr. Gabriel, let’s go outside.” He motioned toward the door. She preceded him, nodding and greeting men who rose to say hello.

  Outside in the chilly autumn night, he faced her.

  “I’m sorry to bother thee when thee is working, but Digger Hobson is fretful with fever and he has sent me to bring thee to him. I don’t think he will be able to rest till he has spoken with thee tonight. And he needs his sleep.” She gazed up at him.

  The light from the saloon glistened in her blue eyes. His gaze drifted down to her pale pink lips and he couldn’t help but think of how they’d felt when he’d kissed her. Stop. He inhaled. “Let’s go.”

  She turned and he walked beside her. Neither spoke until the Dunfields’ house was in sight. “Digger is making the best of the situation. And I think with careful nursing he will recover his health. Please try to speak to him as thee would—”

  “I know. I’ll speak to him as if you hadn’t cut off his leg,” Lon interrupted. No sooner had the words escaped him than shame consumed him.

  Mercy said nothing further, but led him into the Dunfields’ house.

  He trailed in behind her. In the small parlor, Digger, Dunfield and the miner Indigo fancied lay on rope beds side by side, all flushed with fever and looking weak and miserable, much worse than the last time he’d seen them. He wanted to turn and high-tail it back to the saloon. But he forced himself to see them, not flashes of past scenes from army hospital tents in battle after battle.

  He cleared his throat. “Digger, you wanted to see me.”

  The redhead grinned feebly. “Come here.”

  Lon shot a nasty glance at Mercy. Had she brought him here to sit beside the man and watch him die?

  “I’ll get you a chair,” Ellen Dunfield offered.

  “Digger is doing well,” Mercy said, as if she’d noticed Lon’s reaction. “I think his fever will break in the next few days. I must thank Ellen for helping me nurse him, along with her husband.”

  So Mercy thought Digger was going to be all right. Lon felt the tightness in his gut loosen. He sank into the chair. The three women drifted away, giving the men some privacy.

  “Gambler, I need you to take over for me at the mine,” Digger said, his voice reed-thin.

  “What do you need me for?” Lon asked, feeling resentful at being brought here to be asked to do something he couldn’t do. “I’m not a miner.”

  “You’re a man who can get things done. I’m getting better, so I’m able to think what should be done at the mine. But I’m not able to do it and see that it’s done right.”

  Lon geared up for a good argument. “I might be able to tell your crew what you want done, but I wouldn’t know if it was done right.”

  “Not a problem. I got a guy working for me who’s about a hundred years old.” Digger chuckled, sounding like a creaky gate. “He can tell you if they’ve done it right, but he hasn’t got the energy to give orders. You met him when you were running the rescue brigade.”

  Lon wanted to continue arguing, but didn’t want to upset Digger. Keeping calm was important for someone who was running a fever—even he knew that. “I still don’t know why you want me to run the mine while you’re laid low. There must be someone else—”

  “The miners will do their best for you be
cause they know you care about them,” Digger interrupted. “They won’t talk back to you or try to get away with anything. You’ve already won their respect.”

  “That’s right,” Jim Dunfield spoke up. “We all know that more of us—if not all of us—would have died without you moving things along like you did.”

  Lon pressed his lips together to hold back an angry response. Why did everyone act as if he’d done something great? “I just did what anybody would have done.”

  “There were a lot of people in this town who ducked out when the going got tough,” Digger said. “You stayed and did what had to be done. So no more arguing. I need to know in the morning.”

  Digger’s final sentence ended the conversation. Lon rose and shook the three men’s hands, then turned toward the door. Now if only Mercy would let him leave without having to add her bit.

  He nodded at the women who had gathered around the table pushed against the wall. They waved at him and wished him goodnight. He walked out the door into the faint moonlight and found he was not looking forward to going back to the gaming table.

  He also found he was more than a little disappointed that Mercy hadn’t followed him out as he’d expected her to.

  “Hey,” someone with a rough voice said. Lon felt a nudge in his ribs. “Hey, gambler.”

  Lon opened one eye, ready to commit murder. “What?” he snapped.

  “I’m Athol Dyson. I come to take you to breakfast so I can explain what’s got to be done at the mine today.”

  Still with only one eye open, Lon stared at the gray-whiskered old-timer who was bending over him. He recognized him as one of the older men who’d worked at the mine cave-in and who’d tried to buy him a drink not long ago.

  “Come on,” Athol chided, the wrinkles on his face moving with each word. “Digger told me to come and fetch you. We got to get to the mine before the miners arrive.”

  Waves of disbelief rippled through Lon. “I told Digger I’d think about it and get back to him.”

  “Well, to me and Digger that’s a yes. If you didn’t want to do it, you’d have just come out and said so. Wouldn’t you?”

  Lon asked himself, was this true? Then a thought occurred to him. If he went to breakfast and to the mine, Mercy would be relieved. He’d seen her concern for Digger, her patient, last night. And Digger deserved any help Lon could give him. Another advantage—he wouldn’t have to spend tonight trying to act the charming gambler. He sat up. “Give me a minute to shave and comb my hair.”

  “You young fellers—” Athol shook his head, his long beard waving back and forth “—always got to look good for the ladies.”

  Lon rose, shaved, dressed and rejoined the old-timer at the back door. “Did you mention breakfast?”

  Athol chuckled. “That’s a good sign. I like a man with an appetite.”

  The two of them ambled down the alley and onto Main Street to the café. When Athol entered, he was greeted warmly. Indigo was waiting tables this morning. Athol and Lon sat at a small table and accepted mugs of steaming coffee from her.

  Lon tried to ignore the fact that news of his capitulation in this matter would soon be known to Mercy. Why did that bother him? He was glad to do something to help Digger. It bothered him because Mercy was clearly trying to get him away from the saloon, and because the lady doctor was way too knowing. He was a pane of glass to her and he didn’t like it. He didn’t want her to think he’d changed his mind.

  Lon forced himself to listen to what Athol was telling him about the day’s mining agenda. This is just temporary. I’ll do this for Digger and after this break, I’ll be more than ready to go back to the gambling table.

  On Sunday morning, Lon found himself standing at the back door of the church, idly listening to the large group service. The two pastors in town had combined their congregations and invited the whole town. The pews were filled with women and children, and men leaned against the walls and spilled out onto the steps.

  People were subdued and that hit Lon as the right spirit. Lon had planned not to attend, but in the end, so many miners had urged him to come that he’d given in. He’d just stand at the back and slip out before the service was over.

  In spite of his best intentions, he found himself looking around for Mercy, but he didn’t see her anywhere. Maybe someone had needed her doctoring. Then he heard rustling behind him and quiet murmuring. He turned and blinked, not trusting his eyes. Didn’t the woman ever know when to quit?

  Mercy was walking down the main aisle, leading the Chinese men and their families toward Pastor Willis. The murmuring increased to an agitated buzz. Lon gritted his teeth. Why did Mercy want to embarrass the Chinese by bringing them here where they wouldn’t be welcome? Why couldn’t she see that this would discredit her with the people here? His nerves jangled. And against his will, he prepared to do battle for the woman who never left things as they were.

  “I’m so glad you were able to persuade our Chinese friends to come today,” Pastor Willis said, stepping away from his pulpit. “As you all know,” he addressed the gathering at large, “we owe a debt of gratitude to these strangers in our midst. I asked Dr. Gabriel to invite them so that we as a community could thank them for coming to the aid of our miners.”

  There was utter silence as the congregations digested this. Then Mrs. Dunfield, with her chin high, rose and began to applaud. Her little girl popped up and began clapping, too. One by one, other women rose and then the whole gathering—except for a few sour-faced dissenters—rose. A few men whistled. The sound enveloped Lon and his throat thickened with emotion.

  Finally, Pastor Willis raised his hands for quiet. He approached Chen, who had gone into the hole first. “I believe that you were the man who bravely went into the mine after the avalanche.”

  A sudden memory nudged Lon. Before he considered what he was saying, he blurted out, “Why don’t you ask him why they came to help?” All faces turned toward him. He felt the hot flush of embarrassment on his face.

  “I Chen Park. We hear loud noise. Rocks falling. We come see rocks over mine. Bad. I say, woman doctor help wife bring baby. We help miners.”

  Now every face turned to Mercy. She gazed back with her usual honest-eyed serenity. What would her response would be? She stepped forward. “I am grateful, Chen Park,” she said, nodding toward the man, “that thee came to help the miners. It reminds us that we are all human and all need each other. I was happy to help deliver thy first son, and I hope he will grow strong and wise.”

  “Yes,” Pastor Willis agreed, “and please stay for the meal.”

  Voicing his thanks, Chen Park bowed several times toward Willis, Mercy and then toward the congregation. Then the Chinese began to walk back down the aisle. But as they passed, Ellen Dunfield came to the aisle and held out her hand. “Thank you,” she said and then continued, sounding a little uncertain, “Chen Park, I’m Mrs. Dunfield.”

  Chen Park took her hand. “Good day, Mrs. Dunfield.” Though the man had trouble with her name, both of them smiled. Then at each row down the aisle, hands were shaken as they made their way to the open doors.

  Inside Lon, disbelief vied with sincere gratitude. He’d seen the Chinese who worked on the railroads and at mining sites hated and degraded by the white settlers, treated worse than animals. How was this event happening? When Chen Park passed him, Lon thrust out his hand. “Thanks again, Chen Park.”

  When the Chinese families had assembled at the rear and on the steps, Lon looked at Mercy. Awe expanded within him. What a woman. She was a miracle worker. And he was a witness to this one. The admission made him feel how far he himself had missed the mark.

  The pastors ended the service with prayers and the gathered congregations answered the benediction with a loud “Amen!” The women hurried outside to where tables had been set up. Soon the tables groaned with pans of roasted venison and elk, bowls of cooked greens, huge bowls of mashed potatoes with puddles of melted butter and, at the end, a crowd of pies, cakes and cookies
. Lon hung back by an ancient oak.

  He wanted to leave, but found he couldn’t make himself turn away. The mixed aromas of the food and the rumble of happy conversation ebbed and flowed over the churchyard and drew him irresistibly, though he’d halted at the edge.

  He’d felt a part of this community during the cholera outbreak and the mine cave-in. But would they welcome the gambler? A deeper, more disturbing thought stirred within him. Did a man who had ordered men to battle and to death deserve a part in this celebration? He half turned to leave.

  “Isn’t thee hungry?” Mercy asked, coming abreast of him.

  Lon startled against the oak. “Where did you go off to? I thought I saw you come out with every one else.” He spoke in a provocative tone and didn’t apologize for it. This woman had a way about her that a man had to watch. She wouldn’t wrap him around her finger as she had in the past.

  Holding a castiron skillet with both hands, she smiled at him. “I went in the back entrance to get this pan for Mrs. Willis.”

  The mention of the church’s back entrance instantly dragged his mind again to the kiss he’d stolen from her there on that night not so long ago. His collar became tight.

  “Thee must come and sample the dishes or thee will insult the ladies.”

  He wanted to say no and walk away, but that would call attention to the situation, causing gossip about the lady doctor and him. So he forced a smile. “After you, Dr. Gabriel.”

  She led him toward the laden tables. He resented every step and the effort the charade cost him. When they were almost to the table, Mercy turned and gave him one of those smiles that he didn’t want to admit made him weak in the knees.

  He nodded and headed for Digger Hobson, who was sitting on a chair, wrapped in a blanket. As Lon walked away, he made a vow to himself. I’ll be leaving town as soon as Digger is on his feet.

  Chapter Ten

  Several days after the thanksgiving service, Mercy sat in her cabin. It had been a long time since she’d had a quiet morning to herself. How long would it last before she’d be called out to a sick child or some other emergency? She sipped the now cool cup of coffee Ellen had brought her with a breakfast tray. Mercy’s mind rolled over and over in circles of confusion.