Chapter Three

"I wish there was something else I could do."

Her and Johnny loaded Arthur as carefully as they could, carrying him cautiously down the cliffs and resting him in the cart. Charlotte jumped in beside Arthur, bracing him so he wouldn't shift carelessly around when the moved.

"Should we take him into Annesburg, Miss Balfour?"

She bit her lip. There wasn't a doctor in Annesburg. Not a good one anyway. The man worked for the mining company and only tended to mining-related injuries. The nearest legitimate doctor was in Saint Denis and that would be at least a full day's ride. But, Charlotte wasn't giving up yet.

"Drive to Willard's Rest, Johnny."

He frowned. "Your place?"

She wasn't sure the extent of Arthur's involvement with the Pinkertons, but she didn't want him captured or killed in Annesburg. She told him firmly, "I'll tend to him there."

Charlotte wasn't altogether without knowledge. Her father was a doctor. If she were a man, she would have joined the profession too. Right up until she'd met Cal, she'd worked in her father's office. Mostly, she had handled his appointment book, but she'd been utilized more than a few times when her father needed an extra hand and his assistants were out of the office.

Johnny pushed the horse to its limit. Luckily, the trail heading north to Willard's Rest wasn't nearly as rocky and hilly as the cliffs near Beaver's Hollow. Johnny concentrated on the road, leaving no room for conversation.

Charlotte focused on Arthur, holding him tight when they went around corners so he wasn't thrown against the cart wall. She couldn't do a true examination of him in this bumpy wagon, but the swelling and bruising on his face told a grim tale. His fists were bloody and his clothing was also splattered in blood. His or an enemy's, she didn't know. She couldn't see any bullet wounds, which had her hopeful. None of his limbs were bent at an odd angle so maybe nothing was broken.

When they reached her house, Johnny jumped off the cart and together they carried Arthur inside, in the extra bedroom. Charlotte started removing his boots and opening his buttoned shirt to inspect his injuries.

"Bring in that basin by the sink, will you? And a washcloth."

Johnny went to fetch both. He set the tub with water on a chair in the room and handed her the washcloth. "He sure must mean a lot to you if you're going to all this trouble."

"Yes," she answered softly as she dipped the cloth in the water. "He saved me when I was at my most helpless. I owe him a life debt."

"If he means that much to you, I might know someone who can help," Johnny said hesitantly. "The rancher I work for has a daughter, who just had a baby. 'Prematurely' is the word they keep using. They paid some fancy doctor from Saint Denis to come stay for a couple weeks to make sure the babe lives. I could see if he'd come by here."

"That's wonderful, Johnny." It was the best news she could possibly hear. "I'll owe you a favor for this."

"I'll go fetch him. It'll be faster if I unhitch the cart."

"Wait." She dug in her pocket until she came up with cash. She thrust it at him. "Take half of that for yourself and offer the other bill to the doctor. If he doesn't find it enough, let him know I have more for him if he'll make his way up here."

"This is too much, Miss Balfour."

She told him firmly, "Just take it and go."

He nodded. "I'll be back in half an hour, ma'am."

While Johnny went for the doctor, Charlotte returned to Arthur. She unbuttoned her sleeves and rolled them up. It was time to get to work.

OOOOOOOOO

The doctor who arrived was an older gentleman and clearly travel weary. But, Charlotte liked the look of him, professional, with intelligent eyes behind small, round glasses.

"Thank you for coming, Dr...?"

"Barnes."

"Charlotte Balfour." She led him into the bedroom on the right, where Arthur lay, shirtless now. He looked a mite better than when Johnny had left, but his breathing was shallow and he was sweating from a fever. She was just grateful his breathing persisted.

His brow furrowed. "Was another physician here?"

"No, sir, this was my doing." She moved out of his way as she explained, "I cleaned him up, bandaged the worst of the cuts as best I could, but I think his ribs might be cracked. I couldn't bind his chest without help."

"Hmm."

His noncommittal reply sent her mind back to when she'd worked with her father. He never complimented her work either, but she'd learned that if he wasn't correcting it, then she'd done well.

Dr. Barnes inspected Arthur top to bottom in silence. A few times, he uncovered her bandages to peek at the injuries. He listened to his lungs with a stethoscope for so long that Charlotte began to fidget.

When he spoke again, it startled her. "I don't recommend we bind his chest. It'll affect his lungs too much and they're strained enough as it is."

Charlotte nodded and swallowed. "Alright."

As he was wiping his hands in a second basin of clean water, Dr. Barnes commented, "I know this man."

She snapped to face him in surprise. "You do?"

"Sure. I diagnosed this fellow with TB months ago. I advised him to come up north and get some rest." He eyed Arthur critically. "I see he chose to take only some of my advice."

TB. Charlotte cast her gaze to Arthur. If he'd have asked for a place to rest, she would have granted it. She'd told him before, what's mine is yours, and she'd meant it. Had he been too proud to ask? Guilt filled her. She'd seen him sick. Why hadn't she simply offered?

Dr. Barnes moved to the table and started loading his medical tools into his leather bag. "I'll return in a week and help you move him, if you haven't already."

She frowned and turned to the doctor. "Move him? Do you think his ribs will heal that quickly?"

Dr. Barnes paused. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought you realized. There's not much we can do for the fellow. He's been beaten badly. If he doesn't die from pneumonia, it'll be the TB soon enough."

"TB isn't a death sentence," she argued. "Not necessarily."

He eyed her strangely. "Ma'am, I can tell you are an educated woman, from the city even. Maybe, with the proper care right from the get go, he could have prolonged his life. But, this man pushed his body to its limit. He doesn't have long in this world."

"I refuse to believe that." She knew she sounded stubborn, unladylike, but she couldn't help it.

Dr. Barnes sighed as if he'd heard such denials before and was tired of hearing them. "The best you can do, Mrs. Balfour, is make him comfortable. I'm just saying, for your sake, it would have been better if you'd found him already dead. It would have saved you a lot of inevitable grief."

Coldly, Charlotte told him, "I think you ought to leave, Doctor."

Barnes wasn't offended at her tone. He reminded her, "I'll be back next week, before I leave the McKinley's."

She didn't answer him, didn't look at him as shut the door behind him. She walked to the doorway, watching Arthur as he lay unconscious. She stood still, held her breath as she listened for his. It was there. A whisper of life, but it was there.

She wasn't a doctor, but she wasn't ignorant either. There was life in Arthur still. Otherwise, he'd already be dead. She and Johnny hadn't dragged him off that cliffside and carted him all the way home just for him to die. She wouldn't allow another man she cared about to die in this house.

OOOOOOOOO

When Dr. Barnes returned a week later, Arthur's fever had broken, most of his cuts had scabbed over and the swelling on his face was down. His bruises had went from dark purple to mostly yellow. After Dr. Barnes examined him, he cast her a frank, impressed look.

"I don't know how you managed it, Mrs. Balfour, but you got him through the worst it."

She gnawed her bottom lip. "Then why isn't he awake yet?"

"Now that, I couldn't say for sure."

Dr. Barnes opened Arthur's eyelids, used a tongue depressor on his tongue, and finally listened to his heart and lungs with a stethoscope. Charlotte didn't have a stethoscope on hand, but she'd listened every morning and evening, ear to his chest, and knew it didn't sound good.

"Has he been conscious at all? Taken any drink or food?" Dr. Barnes asked.

Charlotte sat on the bed, then moved to adjust the pillows behind Arthur's head. "I've fed him broth as best I could. He's not awake, but he's not in a comatose state." She brushed some of the hair out of his face. "He suffers from nightmares. Stuck reliving something terrible. Sometimes, he'll thrash about and work himself into a fit, but he never wakes."

"Hmm. Only time will tell, I suppose." Dr. Barnes rubbed his glasses on his vest. "And how are you holding up, Mrs. Balfour? Had any symptoms?"

She turned to face him. "You mean, of TB?"

"It is highly transmissible," he warned. "Are you having any issues?"

"No." She looked to Arthur again. "I'm quite familiar with TB. I don't have any symptoms."

"But, you appear exhausted. I suspect, from taking care of this man all on your own."

He could say that again. She'd hardly had a chance to make herself a meal. She was constantly cleaning Arthur's room and the kitchen. Running to the well for fresh water. Changing his bed sheets, which were the hardest because she had to be careful pulling the sheets under Arthur. It had to been done daily because he sweated through them by the next morning. Her hair was a mess and her clothing wrinkled.

"Well, I've finished up at the McKinley's. I'll be catching a train back to Saint Denis this afternoon. But, please, write to me should our friend awake. I can mail some tonics your way, if you so desire." He nodded to her. "Don't forget to take care of yourself now, Mrs. Balfour."