for?” he asked, leaning closer. The faint fragrance of lavender momentarily distracted him from her words.
“After the 1834 cholera epidemic, New York State passed laws forbidding the discarding of animal carcasses in or near any body of water. Does that help thee?” she asked.
Without a word of doubt, Lon rose and strode outside. He motioned to the bartender, Tom Banks, who was adding wood to the fire under the kettle of water the Quaker required to be kept boiling. “We’ve got a lead on what might have caused the cholera. Come with me. She told me what to look for and where,” Lon said.
The two of them hurried down the empty street. Dawn was breaking and normally people would be stirring, stepping outside. But every shop in town was closed up tight and all the houses were eerily quiet. No children had played outside for days now. Even the stray dogs lying in the alleys looked bewildered.
“Do you think this Quaker woman, this female doctor, knows what she’s doing?” the bartender asked.
Lon shrugged. “Proof’s in the pudding,” he said. But if he had to wager, his money would be on Mercy Gabriel.
At the McCalls, the two of them walked around the empty house to the well. He was used to violent death and destruction but the unnatural silence and creeping dread of cholera was getting to him. Everything was so still.
“The Quaker told me to examine the well and any other water source.”
“Doesn’t she know that contagions come from bad air?” Tom objected.
“She knows more than we do,” Lon replied. “Every time I talk to her, I know more about this scourge than I did before.” Of course, that didn’t mean she could save everyone. In times like these, however, he’d found that a show of assurance could avert the worst of hysteria. He didn’t want anyone else bursting into the saloon and letting loose with a rifle.
The two of them approached the well. It was a primitive affair with the pump sitting on a rough wooden platform.
“I don’t know what we’ll find that’s not right,” Tom grumbled. “From what I heard, the McCalls always had sweet water. That’s why they always brought the juice.”
Lon stared down at the wooden platform. Part of it was warping and lifting up. “Let’s find a crow-bar or hammer.” They went to the barn and found both. Soon they were prying up the boards over the McCalls’ well.
Both of them cursed when they saw what was floating in the water.
They cleaned out the well and then pumped water for a good half hour. Then they capped the well cover down as tight as they could. Tom and Lon walked silently back to the saloon. Lon hit the swinging door first and with great force, his anger at the senseless loss of life fueling a furious fire within. The two swinging panels cracked against the wall. Every head turned.
Lon crossed to the Quaker doctor. “We found dead rats floating in the McCalls’ well.”
The Quaker rose to face him, looking suddenly hopeful. “That would do it. Had the well cover become compromised?”
“It was warped and loose.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “We need to find out if everyone who is ill has been brought here. Anyone who drank the juice or who came in contact with a person falling ill from it should be checked. Then we need to make sure that every house where the illness has presented is scrubbed completely with hot water with a high concentration of lye soap.”
“That will end this?” Lon studied her earnest face, hoping against hope that she would say yes.
“If we kill off all the bacteria that carry the disease, the disease will stop infecting people. The bacteria most likely move from surface to surface. I believe that in order to become ill, a person must ingest the contaminated water or come into contact with something an infected person has touched. Does thee need anything more from me to proceed?”
“No, you’ve made yourself quite clear.”
She smiled at him. “Thee is an unusual man, Lon Mackey.”
He couldn’t help but smile back, thinking that she was unusual herself. He hoped she was right about the cause of the cholera. Only time would tell.
The last victim of the cholera epidemic died seven days after Mercy and Indigo came to town. When people had begun recovering and going home, the few remaining sick had been moved to one of the small churches in town after it had been scrubbed mercilessly clean. And the vacated saloon was dealt with in the same way. The townspeople doing the cleaning complained about the work, but they did it.
Eight days after getting off the wagon train, Mercy stood in the church doorway. She gazed out at the sunny day, her body aching with fatigue. She had slept only a few hours each day for the past week, and her mind and body didn’t appreciate that treatment. Only three patients lingered, lying on pallets around the church pulpit.
The new mayor came striding up the path to the church. “The saloon is clean and back in business.”
She gazed at him. Even though she was glad there was no longer a need for a large hospital area, did he expect her to say that the saloon being back in business was a good thing?
“I took up a collection from the people you helped.” He drew out an envelope and handed it to her. “When do you think you’ll be leaving town?”
Mercy made him wait for her answer. She opened the envelope and counted out four dollars and thirty-five cents. Four dollars and thirty-five cents for saving half the lives in this town of over a thousand. She wasn’t surprised at this paltry amount. After all, she was a female doctor, not a “real” doctor.
Mercy stared into the man’s eyes. “I have no plans to leave.” She had thought of going on to Boise, but then had decided to stay where she had shown that she knew something about doctoring. Many would discount her efforts to end the epidemic, but others wouldn’t—she hoped. “And, friend, if this town doesn’t want a recurrence of cholera, thee should have all the people inspect their wells and streams.”
The mayor made a harrumphing sound. “We’re grateful for the nursing you’ve done, but we still believe what real doctors believe. The cholera came from a bad wind a few weeks ago.”
Mercy didn’t bother to take offense. There are none so blind as those who will not see. “I am not the only doctor who believes that cholera comes from contaminated water. And thee saw thyself that the McCalls’ well was polluted. Would thee drink water with a dead rat in it?”
The mayor made the same harrumphing sound and ignored her question. “Again, ma’am, you have our gratitude.” He held out his hand.
Mercy shook it and watched him walk away.
“The thankless wretch.”
She turned toward the familiar voice. Lon Mackey lounged against the corner of the small white clapboard church. He looked different than the first time they’d met. His clothing was laundered and freshly pressed, and his colorful vest was buttoned correctly. He was a handsome man. She chuckled at his comment.
“It is so predictable.” She drew in a long breath. “I’ve heard it all before. ‘You’re just a woman. What could you possibly know?’
