walked up to her, drawn by the sight of her, the picture of serenity in the center of the cruel storm. Fatigue penetrated every part of his body. A few days ago he had been well-rested, well-fed and smiling. Then disaster had struck. That was how life treated them all. Until it sucked the breath from them and let them return to dust.
As he approached, she looked up and smiled. “Please wash thy hands in the clean water by the door, and I’ll get thee a cup of fresh coffee.”
Her smile washed away his gloom, making him do the impossible—he felt his mouth curving upward. She walked outside to where a fire had been burning all day to heat the boiled water for the cleaning and hand-washing. A large kettle of coffee had been kept brewing there, too. If he’d had any strength left, he would have objected. She wasn’t here to wait on him. But it was easier to follow her orders and accept her kind offer. He washed his hands in the basin and then sank onto a wooden chair.
The Quaker walked with calm assurance through the swinging saloon doors as if she were a regular visitor of the place, as if they weren’t surrounded by sick and dying people. She handed him a steaming cup of hot black coffee and a big ginger cookie. “I brought these cookies with me, so I know they are safe to eat.”
It had been a long time since anyone had served him coffee without expecting to be paid. And the cookies reminded him of home, his long-gone home.
He pictured the broad front lawn. And then around the back, he imagined himself walking into the large kitchen where the white-aproned cook, Mary, was busy rolling out dough. But Mary had died while he was away at war, a sad twist. He shrugged his uncharacteristic nostalgia off, looking to the Quaker.
She sat across from him, sipping her coffee and nibbling an identical cookie. He gazed around him, smelling the harsh but clean odor of lye soap, which overpowered the less pleasant odors caused by the disease.
“You’re lucky to have a maid who can also nurse the sick,” he said. Ever since the unlikely pair had entered the saloon, the riddle of who the young black girl was had danced at the edge of his thoughts.
“Indigo is not my maid. She is my adopted daughter. I met her in the South during the war. She was only about seven at the time, an orphaned slave. Now she is nearly a woman and, as I said, a trained nurse.”
He stared at her, blowing over his hot coffee to cool it. He’d never heard of a white person adopting a black child. He knew, of course, that Quakers had been at the forefront of abolitionism, far ahead of popular opinion. What did he think of this unusual adoption?
He shouldn’t be surprised. Just like him, Dr. Mercy Gabriel obviously didn’t live her life guided by what others might think. A woman who had nursed in the war. He recalled those few brave women who tirelessly nursed fallen soldiers, both blue and gray. As he sipped more bracing hot coffee, he studied this courageous woman’s face. The resolve hardened within him. I won’t let any harm come to you, ma’am.
“Will thee tell me if thee has found any connection between the first victim and the others?” she asked.
Glad for the distraction from his contemplation of her, Lon pulled the notebook out of his pocket and flipped through the pages. “The first victim, McCall, had just butchered and sold a few of his hogs to others in town. But some people who have died were not connected with this hog butchering or sale.”
She nodded, still chewing the cookie. She daintily sipped her coffee and then said, “Once a contagion starts, others can be infected by coming into contact with those who have fallen ill.”
“Are you certain it isn’t due to an ill air blowing through town?” His large round cookie was sweet, spicy and chewy. He rested his head against the back of the chair.
She inhaled deeply. “Over a decade ago, Dr. John Snow in London did a study of the water supplies of victims of cholera in a poor district in London. The doctor was able to connect all the original cases to a pump in one neighborhood.”
If Lon hadn’t been so tired, he would have shown shock at this calm recitation of scientific information. This woman was interested in epidemics in London? Few men hereabouts would have been. He studied her more closely.
Her petite form had misled him initially, but she was no bit of fluff. Despite death hovering in the room with them, her face was composed. She had taken off her bonnet to reveal pale, flaxen hair skimmed back into a tight bun, though some of the strands had managed to work themselves free. Her eyes—now, they stopped him. So blue—as blue as a perfect summer sky. Clear. Intelligent. Fearless.
He recalled her tireless work over the past hours, her calm orders and take-charge manner. Some men might resent it. He might have resented it once. But not here. Not now. Not in the face of such a wanton loss of lives. This woman might just be able to save people. Maybe even him.
“Do you think you’re having any success here?” he asked in a lowered voice.
She looked momentarily worried. “I am doing my best, but my best will not save everyone who is stricken.”
The swinging doors crashed open. A man holding a rifle burst into the saloon. “She’s dying! I need the doctor!”
Chapter Two
Everyone around Lon and Mercy Gabriel froze.
“Did you hear me?” the man shrieked. “I was told a doctor’s here! My wife’s dying!”
Dr. Gabriel put down her cup, swallowing the last of her cookie. She rose and faced the man. “I am sorry to hear that. Why hasn’t thee brought her here?”
“She won’t come! She won’t come into a saloon!” The man swung his rifle toward the Quaker. “You gotta come with me! Now! Save her!”
Lon leapt to his feet, pulling out his pistol, ready to shoot.
“Friend, I am heartily sorry for thee, but I cannot leave all these patients—” the woman motioned toward the crowded room “—to go to one. Thee must bring thy wife here.”
“What?” The man gawked at her and raised his rifle to his eye to aim.
Lon moved toward the man slowly. He didn’t want to shoot if he didn’t have to.
“Thee must bring thy wife here. And then I will do whatever I can for her.”
Lon marveled at the Quaker’s calm voice. It shouldn’t have surprised him that the man with the rifle was also confounded. The man froze, staring forward.
Dr. Gabriel moved away to a patient and began to give the woman another dose of the saline infusion.
“You have to come with me, lady!” the man demanded. “My wife won’t come here.”
Dr. Gabriel glanced over her shoulder. “Is she still conscious?”
The man lowered his rifle. “No.”
“Well, then what is stopping thee from carrying her here? If she is unconscious or delirious, she won’t know where she is.” The Quaker said this in the same reasonable tone, without a trace of fear. Lon had rarely heard the like.
This woman was either crazy or as cool as they came.
The man swung the gun above
