NoRegretsColeNC Read online

  For all she knew, he might already be dead, but for pity’s sake, why wasn’t anyone trying to help?

  “Damned drunk. Serves him right. Wasn’t your fault, Jed.” A knot of men formed around the badly-shaken driver to offer assurance, while a scrawny adolescent patted the horses’ necks to calm them. Nobody seemed to care what happened to the injured man lying motionless in the street.

  Hattie raced forward, knelt beside Willie, and bent her ear close to his mouth. A slight breath touched her cheek. “He’s alive.” Her heart beat a frantic rhythm. She placed a hand at his neck but couldn’t be sure whether or not she felt a pulse. “I’ll get Dr. Kellerman.”

  In the midst of the noise, confusion, and clucking hens, Sheriff Bryant appeared. His call for order quieted the crowd, but the fowl paid him no mind. “Shoo those chickens away and get a cart over here. We’re going to need a couple strong men to move him.” He gestured toward Willie.

  “Don’t know why you’re bothering.” A broad-shouldered farmer stepped forward, glanced down at the stricken young man, and shook his head. “Fellow probably ain’t going to make it, and no great loss if he don’t. I reckon he’s better off dead.”

  “Miss Richards.” The sheriff held a hand out toward Hattie, then helped her to her feet when she grasped hold of it. “Go on. Tell Abner we’ve got a serious injury here. Better tell him to set up his operating table.”

  Hattie gulped and looked once more at Willie. She’d never seen so much blood before, and now, somehow it was covering her, too. Praying her legs wouldn’t give out before she reached Dr. Kellerman, she broke into a run. Behind her, grudging voices grumbled and complained.

  Shocked by their callous remarks, she fought back tears and wondered how people could be so cruel. She didn’t much like him either, but she’d do her best to save him. Drunk or not, Willie Morse didn’t deserve to die.

  * * * *

  The procession bearing Willie’s near-lifeless body—and followed by a few straggling Rhode Island Reds—reached Dr. Kellerman’s hospital only moments after Hattie’s frantic arrival. She’d blurted out news of the accident, recited as many details as she could recall, and already the physician had set to work preparing his operating table.

  “Where is Mrs. Kellerman?” Hattie pressed her hands to her aching sides, struggling to catch her breath. “If you’ll tell me where she is…”

  The man shook his head. “No time for that. She’s off visiting the grandchildren.” His attention turned then to the open doorway and the injured man. “What happened to him?” he asked as he began his examination.

  “Damned fool stepped right out in front of Jed’s wagon. Lucky he didn’t get himself killed.”

  “Maybe that’s what he was trying to do.” Abner let out a long breath. “Get him on the table. I’ll do what I can for him.” But instead, his eyes focused on Hattie. “Wash up, Miss Richards. I’ll need your assistance.”

  “I can’t help you.” Her heart pounded. “I haven’t been properly trained for surgery yet.” Pushing her way toward the door, she drew in a deep breath. The noise and confusion assailed her, making her dizzy. “I’ll go for your wife, sir, she’ll be able—”

  “I’ve told you, there isn’t time enough. Now, listen to what I say, and do exactly as I tell you.”

  “Yes, sir.” One hand on the door, Hattie froze. Slowly, she turned, her gaze falling upon the operating table where Willie lay, barely conscious. “He will live, won’t he?”

  “Can’t say whether he will or won’t.”

  After motioning for the crowd—and the chickens—to step back, Dr. Kellerman closed the door. He worked quickly, moving about the small room, unrolling bandages, and gathering bottles of dark glass, the contents of which were a mystery to Hattie. He laid out an array of gleaming metal instruments.

  “I told you to wash your hands.”

  “Yes, sir.” She watched as he poured hot water over his own hands and scrubbed with a thick bar of lye soap. When he stepped away from the sink, she followed the same procedure.

  In one of his first teaching sessions, he’d stressed the importance of cleanliness in the medical practice. Many doctors scoffed at the idea of unseen germs causing infections or disease, but Dr. Kellerman believed strongly in the theory and was certain he’d someday be proved correct.

  “We’ll have to use ether.” The doctor’s eyes studied her closely. “It’s safe when used properly but can kill if too much is administered. Don’t question what I tell you, Miss Richards. Do as I say, and do it without hesitation.” His expression softened. “You’ll be all right.”

  “Yes, of course.” Although she couldn’t recall a time when she’d ever been so nervous, she resolved at once to do whatever was asked of her. A life was at stake.

  She listened with care as instructions were given.

  “Sponge. Towel.” She recited the words aloud as she gathered the items together. Hattie glanced at her mentor and nodded. “Three inches from the nostrils. Thirty seconds.” Miraculously, her hands obeyed each command. As she repeated the words and phrases, her voice seemed to come from somewhere far away, as though her mind was no longer in her body, as though she were no longer there. Shy, insecure Hattie Mae Richards had somehow disappeared to be replaced by a calm, strong-willed young woman of courage and duty.

  Dr. Kellerman took his place and set to work. His gnarled fingers reached from one instrument to the next, flying quickly and efficiently.

  “Clamps.”

  “Yes, sir. Clamps.”

  Hattie’s hands moved swiftly, too, doing the doctor’s bidding. Sutures, gauze, another drop of ether. She questioned nothing and did as she was told.

  At last, the surgery was finished.

  “Is it over, sir? Is that all you need from me?” Hattie looked up, grateful to have made it through the ordeal. When Dr. Kellerman nodded, a gasp of air rushed from her lungs. Her body began to shake from tip to toe. Bursting into tears, she fled from the room.

  She had done it, yes, but she wasn’t sure she could ever do it again.

  Thoughts flooded her brain. Each time she closed her eyes she saw the image of the skillful physician cleaning the wound, cutting into Willie’s flesh and repairing the torn, jagged edges. She saw the blood again. She saw the twitch of Willie’s eyelids as he succumbed to the vapors and slipped into a deep, deep sleep.

  Had he felt anything? Surely not. The thought brought a bit of comfort.

  An hour later, Hattie Mae sat alone on the porch that wrapped around the hospital—an old two-story residence purchased and refurbished by Abner and Charlotte Kellerman. From the outside it appeared a cheerful, inviting residence. On the inside, the hushed atmosphere and the pungent smell of antiseptic and various medications made its true function immediately apparent. It was the first—and only—hospital in the town of Sunset.

  After all the hubbub of the awful accident, the afternoon seemed oddly quiet. Most folks were probably gathering around either the Red Mule saloon or Taylor’s Mercantile to talk about the day’s events. A few of them, she guessed, would probably be betting on the outcome, taking odds as to whether or not young Mr. Morse would survive.

  Hattie’s hands still trembled. She sucked in great gulps of air in an attempt to calm herself. Somehow, she’d done it all correctly, had kept her head, choked back the fear building inside of her, and she’d performed a valuable service, but Lord knew, she hoped she never had to do it again. She had no desire to be a surgical assistant. Her role was supposed to be that of a kind and gentle caretaker, an angel of mercy who could soothe a fevered brow, smile away aches and pains, and attend to the comforts of the ill.

  The door opened. Hattie glanced over her shoulder, smiling as the doctor stepped out onto the porch to join her. He still wore his blood-stained jacket. The sight of it made her wince.

  “He’s sleeping quite soundly.” Dr. Kellerman nodded his head in the general direction of the room where Willie lay. He placed a hand on Hattie’s shoulder. �
�You did well, Miss Richards. If he pulls through, he’ll have you to thank for helping save his life.”

  “I only did what you asked.” She cocked her head. “You said if he pulls through…” Hesitant to speak her thoughts, she bit her lip. “He might still die. That’s what you’re saying.”

  “We do our best, but a lot depends upon the patient. I’m not sure this fellow’s got the will to live.” He hesitated, as if he were chewing on his thoughts. “The next few days will tell the tale. The wound itself could have been worse. He’s a lucky man. There wasn’t any damage to the artery, and miraculously, no broken bones. There’s still danger of infection, though.”

  “Will he be in much pain?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Am I to give him laudanum?”

  “Only in small doses, and only if the pain is unbearable.”

  “How long will he require care?”

  “He’ll need someone to sit with him for the next twenty-four hours. He’ll probably be here several weeks.” He got to his feet. “I’ll send word to his mother in Denver. As far as I know, Willie’s got no place of his own to stay.”

  “I’ve heard he’s been sleeping at the livery most nights.” Hattie thought again of Willie’s privileged background as the son of a federal judge. Truly sad to see how low he’d fallen.

  “Or sleeping it off in the back room at the Red Mule.” Dr. Kellerman wore a woeful expression. “That’s what drink does to a man.”

  Hattie wondered again at the circumstances behind Willie’s wretched existence. His father had been accused of some wrong-doing, she recalled, but she didn’t know the particulars. None of her business, she told herself, biting her lip to keep from blurting out her questions.

  When Dr. Kellerman cleared his throat, she looked up at him. “Yes, sir?” She knew the sound always presaged something of importance.

  “Seems today turned out to be a test for you, Miss Richards. You rose to the occasion. Nursing is a profession that requires a number of different skills, not the least of which is the ability to follow directions. You did well.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Have you ever considered attending a nursing college?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have the resources. Besides, I’m quite happy here, Dr. Kellerman.”

  “I’m pleased to have you, Hattie.”

  She basked in the warmth of his words. How good it felt to be accepted, to feel as though she had finally found a place where she belonged. Even more, to have found a role in life which she could perhaps fulfill. Of course, she could not truly take any credit.

  If she could provide comfort to the sick or soothe a hurting soul, it was only because the Lord had seen fit to give her the gifts of compassion and caring. She prayed she might use her gifts well.

  Chapter Two

  Damn it, he was alive. He knew because he hurt. All over. Everywhere.

  For a long time, Willie lay still, his eyes closed, terrified at what he might discover if he attempted to move. While he seemed to be all in one piece, he couldn’t be sure of it. He’d heard stories of men who’d lost limbs in the war yet who still felt their missing arm or leg. Phantom limbs, they were called. For all he knew, he might be a cripple now, a man with no future ahead of him, confined to live out his days in pain, suffering, and pity.

  He stiffened. Wasn’t that the life he already lived?

  His eyes remained closed, shutting out the light of the day, and shutting out all the awful truths he wasn’t willing to face. It was only when darkness descended upon him that he stirred in the bed. He moved his fingers first, and then his wrists, his forearms, his upper arms.

  As full consciousness returned, pain shrieked through his body, no longer a dull, throbbing ache, but an agonizing fire that burned so hot he wondered if maybe he had died and gone straight to hell after all.

  His eyes stung, and a groan crept from his throat. He fought to remain strong. Despite his efforts, one tear slid down his swollen cheek. Another followed.

  Yes, he was very much alive. His body hurt and his soul ached. Lying in the darkness, he cried for all the things he should have been, for all the things he should have done, and for all the faults he could never overcome.

  When he heard shuffling, scraping noises near the bed and realized he was not alone, Willie tried to muffle his sobs. Only women—and the weakest of men—shed tears. Although it required great effort, he managed to lift one arm and drag it across his face in an attempt to wipe the wetness from his eyes.

  “Mr. Morse? Are you awake now?”

  The voice seemed to come from far, far away, yet Willie could sense the young woman’s presence at his bedside. She couldn’t have been more than a foot from him. Slowly, he opened his eyes, curious about the voice. It was gentle. It was quiet. It was oddly familiar.

  In the darkness, he could see nothing more than a vague, but shapely outline.

  “Do I know you?” he asked, letting his eyes close once more. “I’ve heard your voice before.”

  “I’m Hattie Mae Richards. I’ll be caring for you while you’re here.” A sudden intake of breath followed her words. “You do know where you are, don’t you, Mr. Morse? You’re in the hospital. You were involved in an accident. Do you remember?”

  He nodded, but in the darkness she probably couldn’t see the slight movement of his head.

  “I’ll get Dr. Kellerman now. He asked me to summon him once you’d regained full consciousness.”

  A rustle of skirts and petticoats swished across the floor, accompanied by soft, delicate footfalls. Hattie Mae Richards moved through the room like an ethereal spirit. In some mysterious way, her presence seemed to wrap itself about him, comforting him, giving him a feeling of true peacefulness. He’d never known the feeling before.

  When the young woman opened the door, a gleam of lamplight from the corridor cut through the darkness. The knife of reality sliced into his brain. Fear pounded through his body.

  “No, don’t go.” Willie’s words shot out, taking with them the last of his strength. He sank down deeper into the bed, closed his eyes again, and wondered whether he would live or die.

  Which would be worse? He couldn’t be sure. Death would be easier, but he suspected God might keep him alive just to punish him for all his sins.

  The dark-haired nurse returned to Willie’s bedside. She placed a hand on his brow.

  “Dear me, I’m not handling my duties very well, am I? I should have checked earlier for signs of ague.” Her voice, though still pleasant to hear, sounded apprehensive. As before, it also sounded oddly familiar.

  When Willie opened his eyes, he turned to gaze at the girl’s face. Now that she stood close, and with the golden light illuminating the room, he could see her clearly. He remembered when and where he’d seen her before.

  “You were at the mercantile.”

  “Hush, no need to talk. It’s important you save your breath.”

  “You called me pitiful.”

  A sigh rushed from her delicate pink lips. “Indeed. In fact, I called you plumb pitiful. I was wrong to speak so uncharitably toward you. You have my apology.”

  Her hand still rested on his brow. When she drew back and stepped away from the bed, Willie regretted the loss of her touch.

  “You don’t have to be sorry for what you said. You’re right. I’m plumb pitiful.”

  “You’re also running a fever. I need to get Dr. Kellerman.” She whooshed away from his bedside, her footsteps quick and determined. When she reached the doorway this time, she didn’t stop. She didn’t turn, she didn’t look back.

  Willie’s pleas for her to stay hung in the air like an unanswered prayer.

  * * * *

  As the night wore on, he drifted in and out of consciousness. At times his head cleared. At others, he slipped deep into confusion. An orchestra of noise vibrated around him. Heavy, percussive footsteps beat a frantic rhythm at his bedside, and a shrill female voice rose up wailing a lamentati
on that would have made Job weep.

  His brain wasn’t working right. Willie tried to sort through the chaotic images of long-robed Biblical figures superimposed over musical performers. Instruments floated through his mind, turning to shining medical implements whose purpose he couldn’t fathom—and probably wouldn’t want to know.

  Words hovered in the air. He reached up and tried to catch one but it slipped from his grasp.

  “Keep his hands down, Charlotte. You’ll have to restrain him.”

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  More words flew past him. Ague, a fancy word for fever. Sodium. Salicylates. Medicinal extracts. Willie struggled to follow as the words sailed through his brain. He couldn’t keep up with them.

  Two distinct voices bantered over him, one deep and masculine, the other that same harsh woman’s voice he’d picked up before. But no soft, sweet, quiet voice that might belong to a dark-haired beauty with the gentle touch of an angel.

  Willie struggled to sit up but couldn’t. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

  “Calm down.” Heavy hands pressed against his chest. “Be still, Willie. We’re going to help you.” Long, gnarled fingers moved quickly, stripping away his night clothes.

  “Get away from me, you witch!” He broke free from her, flailing an arm in the air. “Leave me alone.”

  “Abner, help me. He’s more than I can handle.”

  Between them—gradually, Willie realized the people accosting him were actually Dr. Kellerman and his wife—they finally managed to subdue him once more. Charlotte stripped him down, bathed him with a sponge dipped in tepid water, and the doctor pried open his jaws to force some bitter-tasting concoction down his throat.

  When he shivered, they wrapped him in flannel and covered him with blankets. Slowly, his mind cleared again. He opened first one eye, then both. The worn-looking couple stood beside his bed, shaking their heads at him.