Chapter 20—SORTING SHEEP FROM GOATS
For the past forty-five minutes Ruth Ann'd been contemplating her predicament from her front-row seat at this incredible fiasco, which was partially of her own making. She'd probably hang right alongside Rusty and Coyote, provided they lived long enough. Or be remanded to prison with a very long sentence. And what would happen to her younger sisters? The worst scenario was that they'd be returned to the abusive home from which they'd fled.
Had Chana and the two other boys on Rusty's team escaped? And what of Elliott's foursome... had their raid on the neighboring ranch—the Bartlett place—succeeded? She'd find out soon enough, when the person sent there to fetch help returned.
Ruth Ann'd been sure enough startled to meet up with those Easterners from the boarding house. She couldn't fathom why they would've been on the road in the middle of the night in the first place… or how her group and theirs had ended up in a three-way shooting confrontation… or, most of all, why the people who knew them as John and Mary Brown hadn't said one word about it.
Whatever dreams Ruth Ann'd harbored for herself and Rusty—and the others—were in ruins. As she was being seated at the table, their eyes had met only for a second—enough for him to signal she wasn't to speak of their association. Probably just as well she had her back to him now and he couldn't see her face. It wouldn't take him long to figure out what she and the other girls had been up to, charging in like that and making all that noise. He'd never forgive her. If he lived.
And he still doesn't know about our little problem.
But that was in the future. Ruth Ann had plenty enough regrets in the here and now... and other immediate concerns—such as her ankle problem and this strange wounded man lying on the table in front of her. When that old lady'd been bent over him, trying to ascertain his injuries, her probing fingers had induced spasms that rippled through to the clenched hand gripping Ruth Ann's.
"Sorry..." he'd whispered, realizing he'd hurt her and trying to pull away.
"It's okay... be still," she'd whispered back, not sure why she couldn't let the man have his hand back. A long time ago when a traveling carnival had come to town, she'd watched a flute player charm a snake out of its basket. That's what she felt like right now... hypnotized like that snake and unable to look away.
Ruth Ann'd continued holding the man's limp hand after he'd passed out when the tall yellow-haired man'd manipulated his dislocated shoulder. She thought she was going to throw up when that joint popped into place—or pee her drawers. The need had been building for some time and was bordering on urgent. She was about to communicate this to the red-haired girl—Max?—who'd taken the old woman's place when the front door opened to admit a figure in galoshes and a yellow rain slicker.
Marilyn Bartlett was no stranger to the Shermans' ongoing tribulations. This wasn't the first time she'd been called out to deal with an emergency. As it happened, the rancher's wife'd still been up and dressed when Andy'd arrived. They, too, had been prepared for a possible attack. The would-be raiders'd met with a barrage of gunfire in which one was killed outright and another mortally wounded, succumbing within the hour. Two others escaped. No injuries had accrued to any of the Bartletts themselves or their hired hands, so—with her husband's assurances that all was under control—they'd quickly hitched up a team while she gathered her supplies. This information had already been passed to Andy during the ride. It was decided to keep that to themselves for the moment.
Divested of her wet outerwear, Marilyn made straight for Slim's post for an update on the status quo: an utterly fatigued Daisy having been packed off to bed; the sheriff, his deputy and the Jacksons holed up in the barn out of the rain; and the house packed to the rafters with teenage horse thieves, all but three of them visibly injured.
Marilyn rolled her eyes. "This could only happen to you, Slim Sherman! Who needs a traveling circus and side show with you as a neighbor?" Without waiting for an introduction, she peered over the red-headed girl's shoulder as the latter clipped excess catgut from the last suture.
"Good job there."
"Thanks." The girl was equally terse.
The patient swiveled his head around. "That you, Miz B? Everything okay at your place?"
"Absolutely fine, Jess," Marilyn lied, stroking his cheek. "And you'll be, too."
With Jess bandaged and escorted to one of the fireplace rockers, Marilyn made a quick circuit of the room to determine who next needed attention. The discomfited birdshot victims were in no immediate danger. Slim then drew her into the hot and steamy kitchen, where Tabbie had pots boiling on every eye of the stove and Max was preparing to resterilize instruments.
Worry lines furrowed Slim's forehead. "I think Jess might've hit his head when he fell off the roof. He wasn't making any sense when I found him. He's been in and out of consciousness since then, and complaining about the light hurting his eyes."
"What's the longest he's been under at any one time?"
"Three, four minutes…?"
Max cut in. "Miz Cooper didn't find any contusions or lacerations to the scalp."
"I wouldn't be too concerned, then," Marilyn soothed. "And he seems lucid enough now. If he is concussed, there's nothing we can do about it except keep him quiet."
She turned to the red-haired girl. "I'm Marilyn, by the way. Who might you be?"
"Maxine. Max for short."
"Well, Max-for-short… you game to move on to the next casualty? It's going to be a lot gorier than Jess. If you don't have the stomach for it, better tell me now."
"I can handle it."
"Good. Is there any more ice? Jess needs an ice pack on that shoulder."
"No, m'am… we used it all on Ruth Ann's ankle."
Slim was fidgeting. "She's not really a nurse, Marilyn… maybe I'd better…"
Marilyn had the bit in her teeth. "The men in the barn'll be wanting coffee… you can take that out to them on your way to the ice house."
"But I…"
"But first, go check on Daisy… see if she's all right or needs anything."
"I really think I…"
"You still here? Get a move on!"
Slim sighed. "Whatever you say, Marilyn."
The next few minutes were a maelstrom of motion as Marilyn made Tabbie's acquaintance, dispensing instructions on loading a basket with cups, spoons, sugar and cream in Mason jars. Just as Slim was stealthily exiting Daisy's bedroom, his brother came in from putting up the horses. Before Andy could shuck off his slicker, Slim promptly delegated the coffee delivery and ice-fetching tasks to him and reported back to Ward Matron Bartlett.
She thrust a mug of tea at him with orders to make sure Jess slugged down every drop.
"If there's laudanum in it he won't accept it," Slim warned.
"So don't tell him," Marilyn shrugged. "There's enough honey and whiskey in there he won't notice."
Marilyn and Max were scrubbing with carbolicized soap and hot water when Andy returned in time to help Slim move the next patient to the table. No less observant than Daisy, the rancher's wife noted the change that came over the face of the girl with the injured foot when the semiconscious young man was lifted off the sofa and laid out in front of her. It'd gone dead white and she looked like she was about to faint.
"What's your name, sweetie?"
"Ruth Ann." It came out as a whisper.
"This your young man?"
"Yes, m'am."
"Thought so. And what's his name?"
"Rusty."
"Well, Ruth Ann, we'll do what we can, but it's going to be messy. Not something you should be seeing in your condition."
"I'd rather stay with him," Ruth Ann objected.
"What condition?" Slim and Andy chimed simultaneously.
"What do you think?" Marilyn snapped. "Find some other place for her, Slim... but keep that foot up."
At the desperate look on the girl's face, Maxine realized she was approaching dire straits herself. She intervened to whisper in Marilyn's ear.
"Good Lord! You mean to tell me none of you have been to the accommodation?" Marilyn scolded, turning on Slim. "Don't you men ever think? Why wasn't this taken care of earlier?"
Pink with embarrassment, Slim carried Ruth Ann to the washroom. The other girls followed like ducklings, grateful for the respite and for not having to trudge through darkness and rain to get there.
Slim deposited his burden in the chair Andy had dragged in. "There's one more girl back in my room. Daisy sent Mike in there to keep her company but they're both probably asleep."
"Well… go get her. Don't just stand there."
Slim returned a few minutes later carrying the last girl and handed her in.
"Keep your eyes on our patients while we're in here. You can be getting that young man's clothes off in the meantime." With that, Marilyn closed said door in his face.
Trooping back to the parlor, Andy asked his brother if all mothers were that militant about bodily functions.
Slim chuckled. "I guess if you have six kids like she does you have to be organized about these things. Ma wasn't that bad, but there was only the two of us. Still, when you were little it seemed like every hour on the hour she made me tote you to the outhouse whether or not you needed to go."
"Aw, Slim!"
"She claimed it saved on laundry."
With everyone's personal needs met, Command Sergeant Major Bartlett orchestrated a reshuffling of bodies before commencing preparations for the next patient.
"Need these young ladies out of the way, Slim," she barked, indicating Cindy Lou and Eddie with Ellie May asleep on her feet between them. "So I'm commandeering the rest of your bedroom. Put Ruth Ann in the rocker opposite Jess. Keep her foot up. You… Tabbie…" She pointed at the curly-headed blonde nervously twisting her hands in her shirttails. "Keep the hot water coming and start another pot of coffee. Use the big pot."
"Yes, m'am."
Marilyn peered into the tea chest. "We're gonna need a lot more bandages. Slim… where does Daisy keep clean bed linens?"
Slim threw up his hands. "Don't have a clue."
Andy spoke up. "Er… I know."
"Choose two that look the most worn out. Start cutting up one into strips about four inches wide and the other into twenty-four inch squares, roughly. Change into clean clothes first, and wash your hands thoroughly… we don't need cross-contamination."
Younger brother looked to older one in supplication. Slim pooched out his lips and looked ceilingward. "Better do as she says."
Following orders, Andy retreated to his and Mike's bedroom to change while Slim herded the girls into his and Jess' bedroom.
A startled Slim was the next conscript as Marilyn rummaged through her carryall of medical supplies, extracting a bottle of ether. Uncapping it and applying a goodly amount to a gauze pad, she handed it to him.
"I'll need you to administer anesthesia."
"But I don't know... I've never..."
"Easy peasy. Stand over there by his head and I'll tell you what to do as we go along."
"I'm sure you will," Slim grumbled, with a flash of sympathy for Garland Bartlett. If Marilyn had been president of the Confederacy, it was just possible the South might have won.
Marilyn was gratified to see that the red-haired girl didn't turn a hair when ordered to cut away the remnants of the patient's trousers, calmly draping a modesty towel over the pertinent parts.
Good head on her shoulders, this one.
As they got to work, Marilyn sought more information.
"Might one inquire why a young woman with your skills has elected a life of crime? Hand me a sponge."
"Pardon me?"
"Rustling isn't a usual occupation for a young woman."
Max rolled her eyes. "We're not rustlers."
"We?"
"My cousins and myself—Tabbie and her brother Ben... he's the one at the desk over there. And Edwina... Eddie... she's in the bedroom with the others now. We're the Shermans' nephew and nieces... they just don't know it yet."
"Whaaat?" Slim choked, nearly dropping the ether-soaked pad. Over by the kitchen table, Andy dropped his scissors.
"Run that by me again?" Marilyn blinked in confusion. "I believe I misheard you. Need some gauze here. Andy… put those scissors back in boiling water and rewash your hands."
Max continued. "Matthew... Slim, rather... and Andy are our uncles. We only just found out a few weeks ago and decided to make a surprise visit. Long story. There's been no time to explain... or for anyone to listen. Bad timing, as it's turned out."
"No kidding! But it'll have to keep til we're done. We have to concentrate on Rusty here. Lord, what a mess! Slim, pay attention to what you're doing."
Slim and Andy were both speechless and their eyes kept flickering from Max to Ben to Tabbie in utter disbelief.
An hour of delicate probing yielded many bone shards but Marilyn was unable to extract the firmly-wedged bullet. Once the wound was thoroughly flushed with carbolic solution, she decided against suturing.
"If you leave it open, he'll bleed out before we reach town," Slim said.
"And he'll die for sure if you try to take him there. That's not an option. You have to get a doctor out here."
"Marilyn... be reasonable. I can't keep all these kids here. We simply don't have the room."
"I didn't say you had to. The others can probably endure the trip but this one has to stay... at least for a few days. He may not last that long anyway."
Rusty hadn't regained consciousness even after the ether was withdrawn. His breathing was shallow and his pulse weak, but he was still alive.
"Let's move him back to the sofa before he wakes up."
"If he wakes up," Slim said gloomily.
Over in her rocker, Ruth Ann was softly sobbing. Jess had dozed off in the facing rocker, thus missing Max's revelation. Attempting to resist Marilyn's and Max's determination that he be next up on the table, Coyote soon succumbed to the press-ganged anesthesiologist's gauze pad of liquid dreams. They had him stitched up and back on the fainting couch while he was still under. One by one the lesser injuries were seen to. Andy'd gone out to the barn to join the other four men, who were alternately napping and picking buckshot out of unhappy horses. And outside, the rain had ceased falling as dawn crept in.