CHAPTER TEN—PART ONE
BARBERING AT THE BREAK OF DAY
"Beware the woman who starts stroking your hair... she may be after your scalp." (Unattributed)
(Gracie's commentary re the doctor's sister... Salviah Louise Whatleigh Lowenstein's marital status was a polite fiction maintained by the family to protect her—and their—reputation as well as that of her young son Jacob. Her baby's daddy was the late Yaakov 'Jake' Lowenstein, the brawny village blacksmith to whom Sally had been engaged. They'd planned to marry as soon as he returned from the war, which he didn't. Yaakov expired after a particularly virulent bout of dysentery and was subsequently interred under a spreading chestnut tree somewhere in Virginia.
But let's back up a little... At the age of two, Sally was rendered motherless by the advent of her younger brother Wilfred, whereupon their fearsome widowed Aunt Emmaline moved in to take charge of the household along with her cook/housekeeper, Peach McNutt. The now late Missus Whatleigh had long since given up trying to corral her willful, headstrong, disobedient little girl and had given over her care to a succession of hired nurses, nannies and governesses. Naughty Sally went through them like green apples through a cow. With a new baby of her own and now her brother's infant, Emmaline was ill-equipped to deal with an obstreperous niece... but she soldiered on. That is to say, she dumped Sally's care on Peach, who also had a new son.
In 1843 the family pulled up stakes and headed for Oregon. Not a day went by that Emmaline didn't think about throwing the five-year-old brat under the wheels of their Conestoga.
Sally attended public schools in Oregon and California before being packed off, kicking and screaming, to the all-girls Ursuline Academy in New Orleans. Although her academic standing was sterling, her behavior was not. Failing to make a proper young lady of Sally Whatleigh after four long miserable years, the nuns were thrilled to forward the wayward eighteen-year-old to Salem College, where she'd been accepted solely on the basis of her academic achievements and a highly-embroidered recommendation from her alumni aunt.
Upon graduation, Sally rejoined her family now situated in Laramie, Wyoming, where she taught school for three years and found herself being courted by Yaakov Lowenstein, a kind and courtly gentleman ten years her senior, son of a local blacksmith and livery keeper and himself a blacksmith/farrier. They fell in love and became engaged. Jake's sideline was ornamental metalworking. When Sally displayed an interest in learning the craft and a talent for design, he happily started teaching her.
The elder Lowensteins—having despaired of ever engineering a suitable match for their only child from within their own faith—were overjoyed when his intended agreed to convert. They asked only that the nuptials be delayed until Sally had received adequate instruction, which Sarah Lowenstein undertook. The official rites of conversion and the wedding itself would have to take place in Cheyenne as there was no synagogue in Laramie.
But it was 1863 and Russian-born Jake heeded, somewhat tardily, his adopted country's call to arms—leaving behind a slightly enceinte fiancée. Which pretty much brings us up to speed on Sally.)
Daybreak... Sally snatched back her fingers as hastily as if she'd accidently touched a hot eye on the stove. Then she spoke, all traces of facetiousness gone. "I can see you've got your hands full here, Freddy, but... really... you're needed back in town. Actually, measles are what I've come about... it's an epidemic for sure. After you left yesterday the clinic started filling up with hysterical mommas. Pearl and I had to help Emmaline... not to worry... we sent all our kids over to the Wings."
Young Doc swore. "I can't leave these folks unattended..."
"No problem," Sally said. "I can stay the rest of the day until you round up some minders. If need be, I'll stay the night."
"I don't know if that's... that is... somebody'll have to..." Young Doc looked doubtful.
Slim was shaking his head, croaking, "Jezz ad Jodesy ardet godda ledda womed hep em wid... uh..."
Sally knitted her eyebrows. "Translation?"
"Jess and Jonesy aren't going to let a woman help with personal needs," Young Doc finished for him.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Sally exclaimed. "When you've seen one, you've seen 'em all! We all have to make sacrifices... they'll just have to get over it. Besides, I doubt Jess Harper even thinks of me as a woman!"
"What about the livery stable... and the forge?" Young Doc queried.
"Sundays and Mondays're usually quiet anyway. Avery can handle that and any straightforward shoeing that comes in. Anyone with special problems will just have to wait until I get back. What can I do to help?"
Kim pondered this morsel of intel—the woman was a blacksmith?
Young Doc outlined his needs to his sister, who nodded her head in accordance.
Slim stood up. "Godda ged drezzed... god stog do veed."
Young Doc harrumphed, rummaging around in his black bag. "You, my friend, are not feeding stock or doing anything but going straight back to bed. You're sick, in case you hadn't noticed. Here, drink this..." He handed over another brown bottle.
"Dow?"
"Yes... now. All of it. Then wash your face and hands... and hair while you're at it. Doesn't look like we got all the horse slobber out of it last night."
"Horse slobber?" Sally questioned. "Do I even want to know?"
Slim chugged down the medicine, gagging and making a face. "Wad dis?"
"Never you mind. It'll make you feel better."
A howl from the back bedroom rent the air, distracting everyone.
Sally snickered. "Look out, world—Jess Harper's awake. He's mad as hell and he ain't gonna take it no more."
Young Doc grinned at his sister. "Bet I know what his problem is! You wanna flip to see who takes care of that or...?"
"No contest! You do it. I'll take care of Slim. Andy, would you get me a washcloth and some towels... oh... and soap and his shave things, too."
"Sure, Miss Sally!" The boy followed the doctor into the second bedroom, coming back in two shakes of a lamb's tail with the requested items. Sally took a large enameled wash basin from under the work counter and filled it with hot water from the stove, then crooked a finger at Slim. "Okay, big guy... let's get this over with!"
The tall rancher didn't object. Pulling off the top of his longjohns, he obediently leaned his head over the basin, bracing his hands on the countertop while the tall woman soaped and rinsed his blonde hair. While he washed up and toweled his hair, she busied herself working up lather in the shave mug and giving the straight razor a good stropping. He demurred when she ordered him to bring up a chair and sit so she could do the honors. "Don't be silly. The way your hands are shaking you'd cut your throat at the first sneeze!" Slim sat.
Kim filed these intimacies away for later reference, with a pang of regret that the doctor's delectable sister obviously had some sort of prior involvement with Slim Sherman even though she was evidently already spoken for by someone called Avery. The husband? She wasn't wearing a wedding ring.
A few minutes later, a much-refreshed Slim was chivvied back to his bedroom and the doctor had taken his place at the table. Sally leveled her gaze at Andy. "You're next!" She insisted he wash his hair (over his objections) and stood by with a fresh towel until the boy was done.
Instead of sending Andy back to bed, Young Doc called him back to the table. "Come sit for a minute and let's talk, man to man."
Andy's eyes rounded but he did as told. Young Doc slouched down in his chair a little so that he was at eye level with the youngster, using his peer approach to elicit cooperation. Sally admiringly referred to this as kiddieschmoozing. Worked like a charm every time.
"Now... I was gonna tell you to go on back to bed... but I have this problem, see... and I really need your help. I hate to ask, seein' as how you're not feeling so good yourself but..."
Andy was all ears and rapt attention. "Whatever you want me to do, Doctor Whatleigh, I can do it!"
"Good man! I knew I could count on you! Now, Miss Sally's gonna stay until I can get some people out here to help... but she's gonna be pretty busy taking care of the stock first and fixin' up breakfast and lunch for everyone later. Somebody has to look after Jess and Jonesy 'cause they can't get out of bed. Dya think you can help 'em use the thundermug when they need it, and make sure they have water by their bedsides?"
"Yessir! I can do that." Andy was already swelling with importance.
"Shouldn't he be resting, Fred?" Sally put in.
"Yes... of course... but, Andy... remember you're sick, too, so if you start feeling bad, I want you to go and lie down for a while and take a nap."
Andy turned to Sally hesitantly. "Are you gonna do my chores, too, Miss Sally? Like milk Deecy? She can be real ornery..."
"I reckon I can get Miss Deecy to see things my way, Andy... hey, why don't you write me out a list of your usual chores in the order they need to be done? Then I'll know exactly what to do."
"Sure thing, Miss Sally!"
Young Doc took over again. "Here's another thing... and this is really important, too, Andy..."
"Yeah? I mean, yessir?"
"It's about Jess... he's gonna hate being cooped up and he's gonna get bored somethin' awful lying in bed all day. Maybe you could take some books in there and read to him, keep him company for a while so he won't get lonely? And when he needs a nap, you can go read to Jonesy."
"Okay. Only... I ain't... haven't... ever seen Jess read a book... how would I know what he likes?"
"Why don't you start with your favorite and see how that works out?"
Sally interceded. "Andy... first, would you go over to the desk and get started on that list for me?"
"Yes m'am!" Andy hopped up and bustled over to the far side of the parlor where Slim did his paperwork.
Young Doc caught his sister eyeing her next victim with intent. "You can throw that one back in the pond, Sis... he's already clean!" he chuckled.
Sally marched over and bold as brass leaned over to sniff the top of Kim's head, then whipped a large comb out of a pocket. "That may well be but he damned sure could use a good currying!" Which was true... his thick mane was a mare's nest of knots and tangles... and he couldn't lift his arms to get at them.
Kim looked to the doctor in alarm, showing the whites of his eyes, and Young Doc laughed out loud. "Resistance is useless, kid. Might as well let her have her way with you."
Kim sat stoically as Sally gently tugged her way through one snarl after another. After a while he started to relax. It was pleasant, having a woman's fingers running through his hair again... it had been a while, after all. Must be what a dog feels, why he gets all goofy when his human gives him a good scratching around the ears... or at that Sweet Spot right above the base of the tail... Without comment she picked apart the tiny braid and deposited the ragged remains of the osprey feather on the table. Kim felt himself drifting into an almost hypnotic state. When she announced he needed trimming as well, he couldn't summon up the energy to contradict her. She asked Andy to bring her a pair of scissors and a mirror.
In the meantime, Young Doc got up to repack his medical kit, inventorying the remaining drugs and dispensing instructions. "Sally... there's treatment plans for everyone here on the table and the key to the drug chest. There's no more morphine left and very little laudanum, so you need to be stingy about doling it out. I'd say Jess gets top priority—he has to be still until the cast hardens, then Jonesy if he has another attack of cramps, then your little buddy there but only if he looks like he needs it."
Young Doc returned to the kitchen table and pointed a finger at Kim. "You... don't pick up anything heavy or try to bend over. Every few minutes you need to try and take a real deep breath. It'll hurt but do it anyway because you want to maintain lung function and not get lung fever. If you have to cough, hold a pillow against your chest like so..." Young Doc demonstrated. "You can move around the room—in fact, the longer you can stay on your feet or at least upright, the better—but don't walk around outside and don't bump into anything because if you do, you die. Understood?"
Kim hesitantly nodded yes, fine-sorting this shower of information and directives. Weren't physicians supposed to be a little more... supportive and circumspect? 'Oh, by the way, you might die. Pass the butterbeans, please' seemed a bit insensitive. Being stuck here for eight to twelve weeks was too depressing for words and tantamount to a death warrant—surely he'd be discovered before then and hastened to his next incarnation.
"Don't move!" Sally thumped him on the head. "And don't look so hangdog... this is a nice quiet place to recuperate. Isn't that right, Andy?" she called out.
Andy turned around in his chair at the desk, thinking of all the violent incidents that had occurred since Jess' arrival... but he caught on quickly and suppressed a giggle. "Yes m'am, that's right... nothing ever happens around here. Peaceful as the grave."
Young Doc was gathering up his clothing, about to retreat to the front bedroom to get dressed, and Andy was just finishing up his chore list when Sally applied the final touches to her tonsorial administrations, patting Kim on the shoulder. "There! All done!"
"Thank you." The words were out of Kim's mouth before he realized he'd said anything. Young Doc and Andy gaped in astonishment and Sally dropped her scissors on the floor, exclaiming, "I'll be dipped...!"
"You can talk!" Andy squeaked in excitement.
"Told you it was only temporary!" Young Doc exulted. "That's encouraging... very encouraging. Looks like you're gonna make it after all."
Kim was embarrassed all over again. They were all behaving as if he were a toddler who'd uttered his first 'mama'. Andy came over to stand beside him. "How come you couldn't talk before?"
"Dunno..." Kim shrugged.
"Is your name really Sky Lizard? Should I call you Mister Lizard or can I call you Sky?"
Before Kim could answer, Sally leaned over and bussed him on the cheek. "What matters is that you can talk now."
"Must be your magic touch, Sis... you could bring a dead man to life!" Young Doc kidded his sister.
"Yeah... so I've been told... but it wasn't from cutting his hair!"
"Sally!"
Sally held up the shaving mirror so Kim could admire his new look. Reduced to shirt-collar length and still longer than any other male's in the house, his unruly thatch was now somewhere between dark blonde and pale brown—sun-bleached sheep-like curls littered the floor. Andy observed it critically and then spied the forlorn discarded feather.
"Wait a minute!" Andy ordered. He slipped into the front bedroom, careful not to disturb Jonesy, and rummaged around in his treasure chest until he found what he wanted—a contour feather from a blue heron, in perfect condition. Bearing it triumphantly to the kitchen, he presented it to Kim's barber with, "I don't know if this means anything, Sky, but you just don't look right without it!"
"You're right... he don't," Sally agreed, expertly weaving it in place. The turquoise blue contrasted nicely with Kim's amber eyes, which looked even larger and more brilliant without the great mass of hair shadowing them, and made his brown skin seem even darker.
Kim looked in the mirror again and produced a semblance of a smile. "It does mean something. Thanks."
"Hey, I just thought a somethin'! Andy cut in with a worried look.
"Problem?" Sally asked.
"Yeah... when I get well and have to be doin' my own chores again... and Jess' and Jonesy's... I ain't gonna have time to sit around readin' to 'em. So I was thinkin' maybe Sky'll have to do some a that since he ain't no dummy after all... I mean mute... if he can read and write, that is. How about it, Sky... can ya?"
Sally was thinking how Slim would be raking Andy over the grammatical coals.
Kim fixed him with an owl-eyed stare and intoned with a perfectly straight face, "Sky Lizard read and write heap good." Sally burst out laughing along with Andy and Young Doc. The only one not laughing was Kim himself, who was feeling like a perfect jackass. What on earth had possessed him?
"Then you and him can get to be friends while you're doin' it," Andy added helpfully.
Young Doc sobered up quickly. "That probably wouldn't be a good idea just yet..." he suggested delicately because that was prying open the lid of a big old jar of touchy subject.
"Why not... oh... I get it... because Sky's a halfbreed? Yeah... you're right... Jess might shoot him or somethin'."
The silence that followed lasted an eternity. Out of the mouths of babes.
"Who told you that?" Sally finally asked.
"Slim did, last night in the barn... he said Jonesy and Jess think breeds can't be trusted and... what?"
Young Doc and Sally were looking appalled. Kim was studying the table top. Sally was thinking how Slim would have a conniption if he'd heard such a rude comment in front of a guest.
"Nothing..." Sally finally said. "We'll talk about it later. Go and finish that list for me so I can get started."
Andy returned to other side of the room, feeling he'd made a faux pas but not sure how.
"Sorry!" brother and sister mouthed simultaneously.
Kim shrugged, his face impassive.
CHAPTER TEN—PART TWO
IN THE RANCH HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN
"The pain will go away when it stops hurting." (Unidentified nurse)
Sunup... "I hate to leave you all in this fix but the sooner I go the sooner I can get back with reinforcements." Young Doc stepped out onto the porch, Kim following with short, halting steps. Andy trailed behind in case Kim needed support. Sally had just led Fancy up to the steps where the mare jigged between the shafts of the Amish buggy, ready to roll out. Slim, Jess and Jonesy had all gone back to sleep—the latter two with chemical assistance.
Young Doc directed his next statement at Kim. "A word to the wise. The nurse I'm hoping to send out is a bit... eccentric. Very competent, however... knows more than I do. Whatever she says goes. Don't give her any trouble or you might not live to regret it. Look... I gotta go. By the way, nice tattoo." With that, Young Doc clambered into the buggy and drove off. Sally turned away and headed back to the barn.
Lemony rays of sunshine were spilling across the mountain tops in the distance. Yesterday's rain had scrubbed the air clean and the commingled scents of evergreens, grasses, sagebrush and manure were borne on a light breeze, uncommonly warm for this late autumn morning. In the pasture across the road, Kim spotted his pony—the only dun in a band of chestnuts and bays and one magnificent sooty black mare.
(Gracie's commentary about Sally's horse... As all the Whatleigh's personal mounts had to be oversize for obvious reasons, Sally's mare was a crossbred Thoroughbred-Percheron. Her name was Tar Baby after the Rancho La Brea tar pits in California.)
Kim was gratified to see his faithful steed moving freely and showing little aftereffects of yesterday's ordeal, which alleviated a worry almost as great as the possibility of a premature reunion with his ancestors. He was pleased about regaining his speech and feeling marginally better than he had two hours ago. Even that blessing had come with a price (nothing's free in this world!) and that was a full-on blast of recollection as to why he was here in Wyoming in the first place... and what had happened yesterday.
His thoughts were interrupted by Andy offering to show him the way to the privy, on the grounds that the doctor's orders to stay indoors surely didn't preclude visits to the necessary. For a sick kid he was certainly full of noise—chattering away nonstop, pausing only to cough or wipe his nose... and scratch. It must be awfully lonely, having so much to say and no one to say it to except three grown-ups who likely didn't have a lot of spare time to listen. On the way back Andy detoured to show off his menagerie with a synopsis as to how each critter had come under his care. He confided his intention to become a veterinarian and his brother's plan to send him away to prep school in St. Louis the following year.
Sally was nearby, surrounded by chickens anxiously awaiting a scattering of feed from the pail she was holding. She paused to scold Andy and 'Sky' about being outdoors in contradiction of the doctor's orders, but smiled when Andy asked her about breakfast. Why yes, she'd be pleased as punch if he'd go ahead and get it started! She'd be in soon as she'd collected the eggs and milked the cow.
Just the idea of food made Kim want to hurl. His ribs were thrumming like kettle drums. When they returned to the house he asked Andy to hoist his saddlebags onto the fainting couch as he couldn't do it himself. Since there didn't seem to be any prospect of pain medication on offer, marijuana would have to do. Andy excused himself to the kitchen and disappeared into the root cellar.
Taking panoramic stock of his surroundings, Kim wondered how he was going to entertain himself for the rest of the day. What he needed was something to take his mind off his predicament... and there was a tall bookcase on the far side of the room toward the back wall...
The bookcase contained an eclectic and surprisingly comprehensive library including textbooks on a wide variety of subjects, a just-published Collins Student's Atlas, an 1847-edition Merriam-Webster dictionary, George Dadd's American Cattle Doctor (published 1851) and Modern Horse Doctor (published 1854), military field surgical manuals (both Union and Confederate), Dr. Chase's Recipes, or Information for Everybody (Dr. A.W. Chase), the Housekeeper's Encyclopedia (Mrs. E.F. Haskell), and many other tomes of practical knowledge. Two lower shelves held back copies of The New England Journal of Medicine and American Veterinary Review (journal of the seven-year-old American Medical Veterinary Association). The bottom two shelves were stuffed with dime novels. Kim was modestly impressed but also disappointed not to find anything more intellectually satisfying in the area of fiction. An initial attempt to reach one of the pulp novels reminded him that bending over and down was both problematic and painful.
Drifting to the bedroom door immediately to his right, Kim put his ear against it and heard labored breathing punctuated by coughs and someone else's rhythmic snores. On the other side of a writing desk the next door yielded a lighter snore, the deeper arrhythmic aspirations of the old man. At this point the only thing between Kim and the front door was a curious triangular cabinet in the corner with one of its doors slightly ajar… enough to reveal a book spine. Inching the door open, his mouth fell open... the motherlode!
Books, books and more books... novels, autobiographies, biographies, anthologies, collected works... most of them handsomely bound in muted colors of leather and neatly alphabetized by author! With the exception of a few new ones, all had spine creases indicating repeated usage. Kim was enthralled... who in this backwater read all these books? Complete editions of Shakespeare and all the major GrecoRoman philosophers. Many old friends were there... Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Darwin's On the Origin of Species, Dostoyevky's Crime and Punishment, Dumas' Three Musketeers, Hugo's Les Misérables, Swift's Gulliver's Travels, Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Whitman's Leaves of Grass...
For starters he pulled out and set aside two recent publications already on his must-read list—Tolstoy's War and Peace (rave reviews!) and Twain's The Innocents Abroad. He did like him some Twain. The prospect of weeks of confinement didn't seem so daunting now—assuming he wasn't tracked down and dispatched to Valhalla before he was able to hit the road again.
Suddenly Kim spied, through the slot left vacant by his removal of War and Peace, something familiar: the tooled leather sheaths of his knives, hidden behind the row of books. Obviously someone had stashed them there, but to what purpose? He decided they were best left where they were and put Innocents back in to fill the gap.
Kim had noted a rocking chair conveniently situated on the porch... the perfect place to settle down with a book. Young Doc had warned 'do not walk around outside'. Nothing was said about sitting. Or toking, for that matter.
Aware that he was becoming uncomfortably warm, Kim was confronted with yet another difficulty—the lurid pink union suit. Now Kim came from a tropical climate where most folks (discounting the missionaries) dispensed with underpinnings altogether and had never even seen an item as claustrophobically restrictive as a union suit. (Personally, he preferred going commando even in cold-climate countries.) So Kim set the book down and looked around for his shirt and denims, which were nowhere to be seen—perhaps squirreled away in the household laundry basket, wherever that might be. He couldn't very well take the damned thing off entirely and go about starkers with a female on the premises. So he took his makin's outside along with his literary selection and did the best he could after settling down in the rocker—gingerly squirming out of the top portion, rolling it down around his waist and tying the two sleeves together in front. It was an improvement.
All through the earlier trudge to the convenience and back, the pain had continued unabated although Kim was able to disregard it to some extent, now that he had other things to occupy his mind. (And of course a big fat doobie helped a lot.) But it had worn him out. The sun felt good on his abused torso and he fell sound asleep only a few pages into the ponderous tome. He woke up briefly when Sally clomped onto the porch with two brimming pails of milk. She stopped to ask if he wanted some and he thought maybe he could keep some milk down, so she brought him a glassful on her way back out. Andy woke him up again to see if he wanted breakfast, which he didn't. Then he nodded off again and didn't awaken when the canary yellow fringe-topped two-bench surrey drawn by a perfectly matched pair of Morgan geldings and containing three ladies rolled right up to the hitch rail in front of the porch and stopped.