Chapter 7 - Recovery
Beth Michaelson was sitting by the bedside, admiring her sleeping male patient and daydreaming of being a nurse, when her younger brother, who was enthralled with the idea of having a real-life wounded Mountie in his room, noticed Jack move his head and open his eyes.
"Ma! He's awake! The Mountie's awake!" eight-year old Matthew yelled as he ran from the room. "He's not dead!"
Jack blinked his eyes and stared curiously at the pretty girl by his bedside.
"Who are you?" his dry voice croaked.
The girl, who had recently taken to reading her mother's copies of Ladies Home Journal, was glad that she had read the magazine's hint and put Vaseline on her lips to make them glossy and desirable.
"I'm Elizabeth", she said happily as she handed him a glass of water, which he carefully took with his good arm. "I'm almost fifteen", she added with a confident smile.
She leaned over him, lifting up his pillow and placing another one under it so he could drink with his head raised. She lingered longer than necessary, hoping that the injured man would appreciate her bosom and not realize that she had padded it with handkerchiefs.
"My wife's name is Elizabeth."
The girl's face fell instantly.
"So you're really married", she grumbled.
Jack took a small sip of water and moved to put the glass on the nightstand; the girl caught it just before it fell from his grasp.
His head collapsed back onto the pillows.
"Where am I?"
"You're at our ranch", Mrs. Michaelson replied as she walked into the room like a mother goose followed by a gaggle of children, and scooted her daughter Beth away from the bed.
"My oldest boy found you as you were about to get attacked by a mountain lion. He shot the cat, and you near about scared him to death. You passed out at the same time he fired and he thought for sure that he had hit you somehow. He didn't; just in case you're wondering."
"Am I okay?"
Despite his fatigue, the worry was evident in his voice.
"So far. The doctor was here again a few hours ago. You lost a lot of blood but your coloring is coming back. The doctor put 70 stitches in you."
"How long have I been here?"
"Since yesterday. We've been waiting for you to wake up."
Jack's voice was soft and it was evident that each word caused him more effort than it should have.
His few sentences had already worn him out so Mrs. Michaelson had to lean forward and ask him to repeat himself when he spoke again.
"I've got to get word to my wife", he murmured for the second time.
"We're actually very curious about her. You've been mumbling the oddest assortment of things. We assumed some of it must have been about her. We just weren't sure which."
Jack was too weak to lift his head again but he furrowed his brows in confusion at the woman's statement.
"Princess, walking disaster, Elizabeth, stubbed toes, the only one, . . .something about a coal mine- -which we had no idea what it had to do with anything. Really, just an odd list. You must have a very interesting wife."
Elizabeth, working on less than five hours of sleep, stood at the chalkboard watching two of her students tackle fractions. She had originally planned on bringing cookies to help the children understand the math, but she had been too preoccupied yesterday to bother baking.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Thornton. You got a telegram. I know you had asked earlier if anything had come in, so I thought I'd bring this over right away", the young man said as he walked in the schoolhouse door, causing the entire class of students to turn their heads and look at him.
"Yes, thank you," she replied hesitantly as she crossed the room to take the envelope from the man.
"Class, work on math on your own. I'm just going to go outside for a minute."
Elizabeth was halfway out the door when the children yelled out to her. "The baby, Mrs. Thornton. You forgot your baby. We're not supposed to let you forget about your baby!"
Desperate to read the telegram, Elizabeth's heart was already beating rapidly when she turned around and quickly went to the bassinet by her desk.
Clutching the telegram in her hand, she picked up her son and gave a forced carefree smile to her class. "Yes. Thank you. But I hadn't forgotten him. I was just going outside for a moment. We'll be right back. Now do your math."
Elizabeth hurriedly sat on the wooden front porch right outside the doorway and carefully lay the baby next to her before anxiously opening the envelope.
When she pulled out the telegram, she realized that it had been stuffed in the envelope upside down and backwards. The half-second it took for her to turn the paper the right way seemed more like ten minutes of suffocation as her anxiety kept her from breathing.
After reading the few curt sentences, she let out a deep sigh and shook her head.
She had been worried for more than a day, yet it took less than five seconds to have the fear and worry cleared away by the single thin sheet of paper.
I was so silly. I can't believe I was worried for no reason.
Walking back inside, she smiled genuinely as she put Thatch into his bassinet.
"Okay, children. Let's get the next two of you to the chalkboard. Fractions can be fun."
"Did you send the telegrams?" Jack asked the woman as she brought in a tray with a bowl of soup a few hours later. After helping him sit up, she placed the tray on his lap and handed him a spoon.
"I had my oldest go into town and send them. One to Bear Creek and one to the Mountie office in Blackstown. Doctor Fontaine notified the Mounties yesterday but we sent them another telegram letting them know you had woken up."
"I don't want my wife to worry."
"All wives worry about the men they love."
Jack moved in the bed to get more comfortable but quickly cringed when he felt the tightness of his newly sewn skin pulling.
"Still. I feel bad when she worries. And she's pregnant and has our little boy to take care of."
"We sent the telegram just as you asked."
Jack lifted up the metal spoon and slowly took a small sip of vegetable soup before speaking again.
"My horse? Any word on it?"
"No sign of it yet, but my husband told the neighbors and we'll all be keeping a look out for it. You're in no shape to ride anyway. Doctor says it would just open up all the stitches he's done. The next train headed in your direction isn't for another three days. Doc says you can travel then if you're real careful. He'd prefer if you wait at least a week."
"I want to get home as soon as I can."
"I understand. If you don't have an infection, my husband will take you in the wagon to the train station. Now finish your soup."
Jack took another spoonful of the warm liquid but then dropped the utensil and leaned back.
"I'm too tired for any more now. I'll have the rest in a bit", he explained wearily as he realized that his need to sleep overtook his need to eat.
"I can't believe how worried you had me," Elizabeth said accusatorily. She had gone right over to Lucy's home after the school-day had ended to share the telegram with her friend.
"Me? What did I have to do with this?" Lucy asked as she dunked her mop into a bucket of water and then moved it along the kitchen floor.
"You told me that something tragic had happened to Jack!"
Lucy continued swishing the mop across the floor as she thought about it. "Actually, I didn't say it was Jack. You're the one that dreamed about him."
"Well, it wasn't him that was in trouble. It was his horse. That's all. His horse needs some care so Jack is going to take the next train back home. It might be a few days."
"Did Jack say what kind of trouble his horse got in?"
"No, but I'm sure it wasn't that serious. The telegram made it sound like just an inconvenience."
"I wonder why you got the Angel's shivers around your cleaver. A horse would never be using a cleaver", Lucy said pensively.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes in disgust. "Of course, a horse wouldn't be using a cleaver. This has nothing to do with a cleaver!"
"Maybe not a cleaver, but it has something to do with a sharp blade. You did have a shivering."
"Well, just maybe your friend Mary Mary doesn't know what she's talking about. Did you ever think about that?"
Lucy paused with her mop in the bucket.
"Do you really like Jack's horse? Maybe you have some kind of infatuation with it? That's why you had the shivering about it."
"I do not have an infatuation with Jack's horse! I did not have a shivering because of anything!"
Lucy raised her eyebrows in disbelief as she looked at Elizabeth. She continued to talk as she picked up the bucket of dirty water and dumped it into the sink.
"I never thought of you as a horse lady before. Have you ever read the novel "Black Beauty"?
"I am not in love with a horse! I just got a chill from the weather! That's all!"
Jack slept for another ten hours; letting his body replace the supply of blood that had been left on the open field and across the valley as he had walked for miles.
He slept soundly at times and less soundly at others. His sleepy movements, which normally wouldn't bother him, now caused him to flinch in pain when he pressed his shoulder or thigh against the mattress.
When he was lucid, he reached out his legs and realized that he missed Elizabeth's cold feet under him. He wasn't used to sleeping in a bed without her. When he traveled, his sleeping bag and tent were his bedroom. A soft mattress and sheets were things he associated with home. He missed kissing her goodnight and wrapping an arm around her as she lay next to him.
Sometimes he was aware of the hushed voices in the room and a female hand on his forehead checking to see if a fever had started. Sometimes it was a nervous young touch. Other times, it was a motherly touch.
"Should I kiss him, Ma? That's what you always do."
"Just use your hand, Beth."
"But Ma, you always say that –"
"Just use your hand, dear. There's no need for you to kiss him", she informed her disappointed daughter. "If we're worried, we can use the thermometer."
Jack tried to open his eyes to see the faces behind the voices, but he didn't have the strength.
The soft motherly voice brought Jack to another time.
Another time when a gentle woman took care of him.
Another place.
Another mother.
And a father.
"Son, you're practically falling asleep while you're stacking the wood. Be careful you don't drop a log on your foot."
"I guess I'm just tired."
"Didn't you sleep well last night?", Thomas Thornton asked over his shoulder before going back to carrying wood.
"I think I did." Jack placed another log onto the woodpile and then sank himself down on the pile. "I don't feel so good, Pa."
The man set down his load of wood and walked over to Jack, placing his rough calloused hand on his son's forehead. "You don't feel feverish. But let's get you inside"." . . . . . .
. . "Charlotte, Jack's feeling a little tired."
"I'm okay, Ma. I just don't feel so good", Jack said as his father led him to the couch, and his mother hurried over from the kitchen.
"What's bothering you?"
"I don't know."
"Head? Belly?"
"No. Just ain't got no energy."
Charlotte reached over and placed her lips on Jack's forehead.
"He's got a fever", she announced. The concern evidence in her voice.
"Charlotte, I felt his forehead and it seemed fine to me."
"He's got a fever. Get him into bed", she instructed as she went to get a washcloth to run under cool water and fill with crushed ice.
"I'll get the thermometer."
"You don't need a thermometer. I just told you he has a fever. Probably about one hundred and one degrees."
"Charlotte, you cannot possible know that by kissing his forehead." . . .
. . . .
. . .
. . . "Do I got a fever, Pa?" Jack asked weakly as he lay in bed after his father had helped him change into his pajamas.
He watched his father scrutinize the small bead of mercury in the thin glass thermometer which he had just removed from Jack's warm mouth.
"One hundred and one degrees. How did you do that?" her husband asked in disbelief when Charlotte walked into the bedroom.
"It's a mother thing."
Throughout the night, Charlotte crept into the darkened room more than once, removing the washcloth and gently placing her soft lips to her son's forehead to check his temperature, before replacing the cloth with a fresh cool one.
In the morning, she lifted his head, helping him sit up so he could drink some juice and take the aspirin that she held in her palm.
She held his glass for him so he wouldn't clumsily drop it and spill the liquid on his wrinkled sheets which were already damp with his sweat. She pushed his cow-licked hair off of his forehead and gave him a reassuring smile.
Jack didn't know why he was feverish, but it didn't matter.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall back asleep.
His ma would make him better. She always did. That's what mothers did. And to the seven-year old, it seemed like he had the best mother in the world. And the best father. . .
. . . .
. . . "How you feeling today, son?"
"I'm bored! Ma says I have to stay in bed 24 hours after my fever's gone. But I feel all better, Pa. Can I go outside and play? Pleeassee?"
"No. Your ma's right. You stay in bed. But I brought you something."
"What is it?" Jack asked excitedly as he sat upright in bed.
"Something I picked up in town."
His father smiled and handed him the objects. "I've seen how you like to doodle. I thought maybe you could use a real sketchbook and pencils."
Jack looked at the soft-covered book, opening it and running his hand over the smooth ivory-colored blank pages. His eyes moved to the three newly sharpened pencils his father had given him.
"Those are real artist pencils. I thought you could use the green one for landscapes. If you're going to be a Mountie one day, you'll spend a lot of time outside looking at nature. You might as well start practicing now."
"Thanks, Pa!"
"Now you stay in bed and get better."
"I'm all better already. But I'll stay in bed drawing!"
Jack's father leaned down and gave Jack a kiss on the top of his head. "I'll go check on lunch. I love you."
"I love you too, Pa. . . . And Pa, I'm sorry if I worried you and Ma."
Elizabeth put some more of the tiny bits of crushed ice into a small washcloth and twisted it tightly before walking to the playpen and picking up a fussy Thatch. She ran her finger along his little gums again, feeling the tiny bump.
"Come here, pumpkin. Mommy will fix everything."
She wiped the drool off his tiny chin and then placed the cloth in her son's mouth, allowing him to suck on the coolness.
"I think you have a tooth coming in. Won't Daddy be surprised?"
She kissed his forehead, letting her lips linger on the baby's soft skin. Elizabeth was grateful when she noticed that it was nice and cool.
She held her son and walked around the front room, gently rocking him in her arms, and then pausing when she came to the long high counter which ran almost the entire length of the front room and was a remnant from the home's days as a mercantile.
Before he had left town, Jack had left his pencils and sheets of paper lying on top of the wood, and Elizabeth hadn't bothered to clean up and put them away.
Juggling her son in her arms, Elizabeth moved the three sheets of paper with one hand and looked at the artwork.
She smiled when she saw the one that Jack had recently worked on.
The drawing was halfway done; the soft wisps of the baby's hair were penciled in, as were his long delicate eyelashes, but the boy's pudgy cheeks weren't yet finished.
There's plenty of time. He'll finish it when he comes home, she thought with a smile.
There's nothing to worry about.
Through the closed single-pane window, Jack heard the recognizable sound of a rooster announcing the break of dawn.
He kept his eyes shut until he heard the creak of the bedroom door.
Without otherwise moving, he watched the door open and the youngest daughter of the Michaelson family walk in the room.
The little girl, without saying a word, walked across the room and picked up Jack's hat before sitting on the ground with it.
Jack watched curiously as the child examined the hat carefully, reaching her hand into it, holding it upside down and shaking it, and then waving it about. She ran her hand along the inside. And then along the outside.
Finally, finding nothing interesting about Jack's hat, she stood up and began examining Jack's belongings which were laid out on the dresser. She was most definitely looking for something specific. She hesitated with her fingertips on his satchel, tempted to open it, but first she glanced in Jack's direction.
When she saw that Jack was awake and quietly staring at her, the girl approached the bed, and sat her body on the mattress near his chest. Slowly she reached out a tiny hand, stopping just before she reached his unshaven face.
"Can I touch them?"
"What?"
"Your dimples"
A perplexed Jack simply nodded.
"Smile", she ordered.
When Jack obliged, the girl reached out her other hand and pressed a finger to each dimple, patiently keeping her fingers there for five seconds. Finally, she moved them away.
"Nothing", she said with a disappointed sigh.
"What did you expect?"
"You're not a magician, are you?"
"I'm a Mountie. Why would you think I was a magician?"
"My ma told my pa that your dimples put Beth under a spell", the girl said as she jumped down from the bed.
Jack gave a weak chuckle and then immediately winced in pain.
"Sorry to disappoint you."
"That's okay. I didn't think you were. You don't have a rabbit in your hat or even a wand", the girl said casually as she skipped out of the room.
If I were a magician, I would magically get myself home. Jack thought wistfully.
Despite having already slept most of time that he had been at the ranch, he closed his heavy eyelids and fell back asleep again.
While he lay in bed, seemingly doing nothing physically demanding other than to allow his chest to expand in and out, the cells inside his body were busy fighting against the bacteria which had silently entered his wounds.
The pine needles. The crushed grass. The small bugs in the dirt. The filth from the man's ax.
All of it was now quietly threatening Jack's life.
Elizabeth gently bounced her little boy on her lap, supporting him against her body as she finished her bowl of warm oatmeal.
She sat at the kitchen table thinking about the pot of soup she had made earlier for Jack. She decided that she would finish it off tonight and make him something new tomorrow. Maybe a rabbit stew. Something hearty after his long travels.
She picked up the telegram she had received yesterday and looked at it again. It was simple. Just enough to let her know that Jack was delayed due to a problem with his horse.
If he doesn't have a horse, he probably isn't camping. He must be a hotel or staying at a boarding house. . . . I hope he's eating well.
"Stop, little one, you'll just get all sticky", Elizabeth said as she reached out and gently pried her son's hand away from the honey dipper. "The honey is for my breakfast tea. Not for you."
"You're going to be sticky!" the youngest Michaelson daughter announced as she watched her mother drizzle thick honey onto Jack's stomach wound.
A naked Jack tried to lie still while the woman tended to his injuries. "Can I get some more pain medication?" he asked tersely.
"Beth, hand him two more pills and some water", Mrs. Michaelson instructed as she put a bandage over the honey-covered stitches.
She lifted the sheet to expose Jack's thigh and glanced at her daughter to make sure that her eyes were averted before gently removing the gauze and examining the injury. The woman tried not to frown when she saw that the skin was inflamed and red.
"How is it?"
"It's fine. The honey will help to keep away infection. I know the doctor prefers iodine but I'm going to try honey. Let me just wash and dry it first."
The woman had spent seventeen years as a mother and even more as a wife. During that time, she had nursed her husband's scrapes, sprains, and any manner of illnesses, and had managed to keep her children from losing any limbs.
She didn't want to admit it to the man lying in her son's bed, but she was worried.
He was still too tired and his wounds didn't look good. It was mostly the thigh wound that bothered her.
She moved a soapy cloth along the stitches, wiping away the substance which was oozing out between the tight closings, and then patted the area with a fresh dry cloth.
If it gets infected, he could lose the leg, she thought worriedly.
Up next: Chapter 8
