There are moments when fear becomes a luxury.
Danny Pike screaming on those saloon tables was one of them.
I could not wonder what Lavinia thought.
I could not worry what Abel would ask afterward.
I could not think about the fact that my father had been dead for two years and that I had never touched his instruments since closing his medical case after his funeral.
There was only the boy.
His breathing.
His pulse.
The swelling around his arm.
I ran my fingers carefully from Danny's shoulder toward the fracture.
He flinched.
"I'm sorry."
"Is it broken?"
"Yes."
His eyes widened.
"Bad?"
"Bad enough that we're going to take care of it now."
I deliberately avoided unnecessary words.
People frightened by injury often remembered the worst sentence anyone said around them.
My father had taught me that.
Never give fear more language than it deserves.
I checked Danny's fingers.
"Can you feel this?"
"Yes."
"This?"
"Yes."
"Move your fingers."
He did, barely.
Good.
Blood still reached the hand.
The break appeared to involve both bones in the forearm, but nothing protruded through the skin.
That was also good.
A closed fracture could still destroy an arm if set poorly, but we had a chance.
Abel knelt opposite me.
"What do you need?"
There was no accusation in his voice.
No wounded pride because his wife possessed knowledge he didn't understand.
Only trust.
"Keep him looking at you."
Abel nodded.
Earl returned carrying smooth wooden pieces.
"These?"
I examined them.
"Perfect."
Silas placed whiskey beside the case.
Someone brought steaming water.
I cleaned my hands.
Then the instruments.
Lavinia stood near the wall.
Her face had lost all its earlier smugness.
The judge remained close.
"Mrs. Renfrew," he said quietly. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Keep everyone who isn't helping at least six feet back."
Judge Whitmore turned.
"You heard her."
People obeyed.
That surprised them almost as much as it surprised me.
I gave Danny a measured amount of whiskey.
Not enough to make him senseless.
Enough to dull the edge.
Then I looked at Abel.
"This will hurt him."
His jaw tightened.
"I understand."
"I need you not to interfere when he cries."
His eyes flicked toward Danny.
"Can you do that?"
After a moment, Abel nodded.
I leaned toward the boy.
"Danny."
He looked at me.
"I'm going to straighten your arm."
Terror spread across his face.
"No."
"Listen to me."
"No, don't—"
"Danny."
He stopped.
"You want to use this hand again?"
His lips trembled.
"Yes."
"Then we're doing something difficult now so you can have something good later."
Tears filled his eyes.
"My ma—"
"Would want the same."
"Will I lose it?"
"Not if I can help it."
That was as much promise as I dared make.
I positioned Earl at Danny's upper arm.
Another man held his shoulders.
Abel gripped Danny's uninjured hand.
"Look at me, son."
Danny stared at him.
I wrapped both hands around the injured forearm.
My hands.
Those too-large hands.
Those rough hands.
The ones Lavinia considered embarrassing.
They fit perfectly around the task.
I applied slow traction.
Danny screamed.
Abel's face went white, but he didn't move.
"Stay with me," Abel said.
"It hurts!"
"I know."
"Make her stop!"
Abel swallowed.
"Can't."
"Please!"
"You trust me?"
Danny sobbed.
"Yes."
"Then trust her."
That sentence nearly broke my concentration.
I had not expected it.
Not from Abel.
Not with his neighbors watching.
Not when he had only just discovered there was an entire part of my life I had never explained.
I continued.
Steady pressure.
Controlled movement.
No sudden force.
I felt resistance.
Then change.
The bones shifted.
A small sound passed through the room.
Not a crack.
More a muted movement beneath flesh.
Danny cried out again.
Then his breathing changed.
I checked alignment.
Better.
Much better.
I ran my fingers along the forearm.
"Hold the lantern closer."
Judge Whitmore did.
The angle was gone.
I checked Danny's fingertips again.
"Feel this?"
"Yes."
"Move them."
His fingers moved.
Relief nearly weakened my knees.
I didn't let it.
"Good."
I placed padded wooden splints along the arm and wrapped them carefully with cloth.
Not too tight.
Swelling would worsen before it improved.
When the final knot was secured, I lowered Danny's arm onto folded blankets.
"It's done."
Nobody spoke.
Danny blinked at me.
"That's it?"
"That's it for tonight."
He began crying.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
The release after fear.
Abel pressed Danny's good hand between both of his.
"You did fine."
Danny looked at me.
"Thank you."
I smiled.
"Save your thanks until you can throw a ball again."
The saloon door burst open.
Mrs. Pike entered, breathless and wild-eyed.
"My boy!"
She rushed forward.
Judge Whitmore caught her gently.
"Careful."
When she saw Danny's arm splinted, she stared.
"What happened?"
Danny answered before anyone else could.
"Mrs. Renfrew fixed it."
His mother's gaze moved toward me.
"You?"
I nodded.
She looked around.
"Where's Dr. Mercer?"
"Cheyenne."
Her face crumpled.
I crossed the room.
"Danny's fracture was severe, but circulation is good. His fingers move. When Dr. Mercer returns, I want him to examine the arm and make sure everything remains properly aligned."
"Will he be all right?"
"I believe so."
Mrs. Pike grabbed both my hands.
For once, I didn't mind anyone staring at them.
"God bless you."
I felt suddenly tired.
"He's going to need you tonight."
She nodded repeatedly.
I explained what to watch for.
Numb fingers.
Unusual coldness.
Increasing discoloration.
Severe swelling.
Fever.
If any appeared, she was to send for me immediately.
When I finished, I became aware of the room again.
Of the townspeople.
Of Lavinia.
Of Abel.
My husband stood on the opposite side of the table watching me with an expression I couldn't interpret.
The medical case remained open.
I began returning instruments to their places.
Nobody moved.
Finally Abel spoke.
His voice was quiet.
"Harriet."
I looked up.
He came closer.
His gaze dropped to my hands.
Then to the splinted arm.
Then back to me.
"Who taught you to set a bone like that?"
There it was.
The question.
The whole saloon seemed to lean toward us.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
"My father."
"Your father was a doctor?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
That question hurt.
Not because he sounded angry.
Because he didn't.
He sounded confused.
Perhaps even wounded.
I glanced around.
"This isn't the place."
Abel looked at the crowd.
He understood.
"You're right."
Lavinia did not.
"Surely everyone deserves to know whether an untrained woman has just been practicing medicine on a child."
The warmth disappeared from the room.
Abel turned.
"Lavinia."
I touched his arm.
"No."
She lifted her chin.
"I'm merely saying what others are thinking."
Judge Whitmore spoke before I could.
"I wasn't."
Lavinia blinked.
The judge continued.
"I was thinking Mrs. Renfrew demonstrated considerably more composure and practical knowledge than anyone else present."
"But she admits she isn't a physician."
"So did every man standing around Danny while the boy cried for help."
Silence.
Judge Whitmore's words landed harder than anything I could have said.
Lavinia flushed.
I closed Father's case.
"Judge, she's correct about one thing. I am not a licensed doctor."
"You never claimed to be."
"No."
"What exactly did your father teach you?"
I hesitated.
Then answered.
"Almost everything he could."
The judge's curiosity sharpened.
"Explain."
So I did.
Not the whole story.
Only enough.
"My mother died when I was nine. Father couldn't leave me alone while he made calls, so he took me with him. At first I carried his bag. Eventually I assisted him."
"For how many years?"
"Fifteen."
A murmur moved through the room.
"Fifteen?" Earl repeated.
I nodded.
"I learned wound cleaning, stitching, fever management, childbirth, splinting, basic fracture reduction. I also learned what I don't know."
Judge Whitmore smiled slightly.
"An important part of medicine, I imagine."
"The most important."
Lavinia crossed her arms.
"Then why hide it?"
That question was fair.
I hated that she was the one asking it.
I looked at the case.
"Because after Father died, I had no protection."
"Protection from what?"
"People."
Nobody spoke.
I continued.
"Father was respected while he lived. When he died, some men who had watched me assist him for years suddenly decided I was dangerous because there was no doctor standing beside me anymore. One family blamed me for a death I couldn't prevent."
Abel's brow tightened.
"You never wrote about this."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I was ashamed."
"Of what?"
"Of failing."
"You saved lives."
"I lost one."
"You think doctors never lose patients?"
My throat tightened.
"You weren't there."
"No," Abel said. "I wasn't. Because you never told me."
The pain in his voice was unmistakable now.
I looked away.
Danny groaned softly.
His mother bent over him.
This was not the time.
Abel recognized that too.
"We'll talk at home."
I nodded.
An hour later, Danny had been moved carefully to his mother's house.
Abel and I walked through the snow without speaking.
His boots crushed the thin crust.
My medical case hung from my hand.
For eight months, I had imagined telling him.
Sometimes I pictured understanding.
Sometimes disappointment.
Never this silence.
When we reached the house, Abel lit the lamp.
I set Father's case on the kitchen table.
Neither of us removed our coats.
Finally Abel spoke.
"Was the man who died under your care the reason you left Pennsylvania?"
I stared at him.
"Partly."
"And the rest?"
I sat.
"You."
That startled him.
"When your letter came," I said, "I was tired of being Samuel Stroud's daughter. Tired of people asking whether I thought I was a doctor. Tired of remembering every patient Father and I couldn't save. You offered me somewhere no one knew that part of me."
"And you thought I wouldn't want to know?"
"I thought you wanted a wife."
"I wanted you."
The answer struck harder than anger would have.
Abel pulled out the opposite chair.
"Harriet, I told you about Margaret."
"I know."
"I told you how she died."
"You said she became sick."
He went very still.
"She died because there wasn't a doctor close enough."
My breath caught.
He had never told me that detail.
"Abel..."
"Winter storm. Fever after childbirth. Mercer was trapped thirty miles south. By the time another doctor reached us, Margaret was gone."
He stared at Father's case.
"I sat beside my wife for eighteen hours and couldn't do one useful thing."
Suddenly the helplessness I had seen beside Danny made sense.
"I am sorry."
"So am I."
His eyes returned to mine.
"When Danny was lying there tonight, I was back in that bedroom."
He swallowed.
"Then you walked in."
I waited.
"I wasn't angry because you knew how to help him."
His voice cracked slightly.
"I was angry because you thought you had to hide that from me."
I covered my face with my hands.
For the first time all evening, those hands shook.
Abel came around the table.
He knelt beside me.
"Look at me."
I lowered my hands.
"I don't know what happens now," I whispered.
"I do."
"What?"
"Tomorrow we'll check Danny."
"And after that?"
"The next day, we'll check him again."
I almost laughed through my tears.
"That's not what I mean."
"I know."
Abel took my hands.
He turned them palms upward.
Scars.
Calluses.
Everything Miller's Gulch had mocked.
"I spent eight months watching people tell you these hands were wrong."
His thumb moved over one scar.
"Turns out they were simply too ignorant to understand what they were looking at."
My eyes filled.
Then Abel did something I would remember until my last day.
He brought one of my rough hands to his mouth.
And kissed the palm.
---