your life.”
Judah Abbot’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He offered no response, however, and gradually lowered the walking stick. He used it to support himself as he moved sideways to the left lip of the porch.
“Go on,” Cole said. “Jump.” It was only a few feet, but Cole knew enough about the stiffness in Judah’s hip to know the jolt would be painful and keep him from moving too quickly. As soon as Judah leapt, Cole laid the rifle beside Runt and picked up his end of the litter.
Will nudged the door open with his boot and went inside. “Judah’s bedroom is over there,” Will said, jerking his chin to the right.
“Where I got the sheets. Runt and his brothers slept in the loft.”
“Judah’s room it is.”
With some careful maneuvering, they were able to set the litter on Judah’s iron rail bed. The springs creaked and mattress dipped alarmingly as Cole placed one knee on the edge to position Runt better. “We’ll leave her on the litter for now. Fire up the stove and put some water on for me, then you can go get your shirt. Take the rifle and find a leash for that mad dog. Don’t let him poke you with that stick again, and see if you can’t get Runt’s proper name out of him.”
That no-account Beatty boy had an urge to salute smartly. He held himself in check, but only just. “Anything else?”
“Not now. Check with me when you get back.”
Will nodded and started to go, pausing in the doorway to look back once. “That was some good thinking, Doc. You looked real comfortable handling that rifle.”
Cole was brushing back a black shock of badly cropped hair from Runt’s forehead. He looked up and caught the deputy’s eye. “Perhaps I was.” His gaze dropped away as he opened his bag, “Then again, perhaps I was acting.”
“That’s all right,” Will said. “I like a puzzle.” With that,
he closed the door quietly and went about his business.
In preparation of this morning’s visit to the Abbots, Cole had taken the time to pack his medical bag carefully. He wished now he’d known it would require a magician’s skill to pull whatever he needed out of it. He owned three satchels: surgical, obstetrical, and one that Whitley called the kitchen sink. Believing that his goal today was to learn about his patients and provide evaluation and consultation, he brought the third bag for its general usefulness. It contained a mercury thermometer, a couple of scalpels and probes, one pair of scissors, sutures and a curved needle for suturing, tweezers, a razor, a binaural stethoscope, hand soap, a notebook and pencil, finger splints and a bandage roll, cotton pads, and five small cobalt blue bottles containing common medicines like pepsin and aconite tincture that had wide application. Almost as an afterthought, he’d added a saw and anesthetic vaporizer from his surgical bag. It never once occurred to him that he’d need any of his obstetrical instruments. “It’ll have to do,” he told his patient. “I’ll have to make it do.”
Cole heard Will leave the house. Almost immediately there was a volley of expletives leveled at Will’s head. Cole ignored Judah’s colorful curses and accusations, confident the deputy could handle it, and began preparing his patient for a thorough examination by first removing the clothes that he could easily and cutting away the rest. The rest included the wide strips of linen wound around her chest like swaddling cloths. Cole’s only response to making this discovery was to shake his head.
He carefully removed the bloody wadding from between her thighs and pushed a pillow under her hips to keep her pelvis on an incline. He covered her with a clean sheet.
The lack of good light in the room frustrated him. Drawing back the curtains revealed another window in need of a thorough scrubbing. Cole propped it open and examined the wadding. There appeared to be little new blood; most of it was in some stage of drying. This was borne out when he raised the sheet and glanced at the pillow under her buttocks. He was encouraged to see that bright crimson stains were minimal.
Cole tossed out water from the basin on the washstand and poured fresh from the pitcher. He found a stack of linen towels folded in the cupboard and removed one. Taking the soap from his bag, he made a good lather and washed his hands before he applied himself to the further care of his patient.
He retrieved his thermometer and slipped it under Runt’s armpit, then he removed his pocket watch and observed her respiration for a full minute. After recording it, he checked her pulse. It was stronger than it had been when he’d first come upon her but not as steady as he would have liked. Cole took out his stethoscope and fixed the ivory earpieces in place. He lowered the sheet to uncover Runt’s left breast and rested the ebonized wood bell over her heart. He listened carefully to the rhythmic contractions of the chambers, the rush of blood, and its smooth passage through the valves.
Runt stirred, moaned, and offered a modicum of resistance when he turned her on her side to listen to her lungs. After assuring himself that they were clear, Cole allowed her to lie on her back. He removed the thermometer from her armpit and read it. She had a slight fever. He set the thermometer on the washstand and recorded the temperature in his book as 100.4°
Cole put away his stethoscope and turned down Runt’s sheet to the level of her waist. He tapped on her abdomen, carefully avoiding the welts, then pressed harder in the areas of the major organs, watching her face all the while for some reaction. None of her distress seemed to be associated with anything other than her pelvic region. He covered her up to her neck with the sheet and relocated himself closer to the foot of the bed.
Cole raised Runt’s knees and pushed the hem of the sheet over them. He separated her thighs and pressed her heels into the feather tick until they found purchase. It was a stretch to reach the basin and towels, but he managed it and set them on the bed beside him. In order to learn the extent of her beating, he wiped away every vestige of blood. The labia majora were bruised and there were thin lacerations on the inner lips. Without a vaginal speculum, Cole could not make as complete an examination as he would have liked. He probed her vagina gently with two fingers, feeling for tearing and abrasions and believed he found both, suggesting the insertion of a foreign object.
Cole rinsed off his hands and rose from the bed with the basin in his arms. He emptied the basin out the window for the second time, then left Runt alone while he checked on the water Will was supposed to have left for him on the stove. It was boiling when he got there. At their current altitude boiling didn’t necessarily mean it was hot enough for sterilization, but he decided it would serve his purpose.
He found some whiskey in the larder and tucked the bottle under his arm, and then carried it and the kettle back to the bedroom. He rinsed the basin with hot water, tossed it, and added more hot water. When it was tolerable to dip his hands in, he washed them again.
Situating himself at Runt’s side, he replaced the pillow with two folded towels. Laying his warm palms over her lower abdomen, he massaged and manipulated the flesh in aid of expelling any placental tissue still trapped in her uterus. He worked for several minutes and kept a close eye on the bloody effusion that stained the towels.
When he was satisfied that the procedure had been as effective as it could be, he straightened and rolled his shoulders, loosening the hard knots between his blades. He reached for the towels, his glance swiveling sideways toward Runt as he did so. He knew a moment’s hesitation when he saw she was watching him.
This was a lucid gaze. There was pain, certainly, but her slate gray eyes were not dull with it. There was cognition and comprehension. She held his stare unblinkingly but with none of the defiance
