Her Healing Ways

The acrid smoke from cigars floated above the poker table. Lon held his cards close to his chest just in case someone was peeking over his shoulder for an accomplice, cheating at the table. So far he hadn’t been able to play for more than chicken stakes. Piano music and bursts of laughter added to the noisy atmosphere. He was holding a flush—not the best hand, but not the worst, either. Could he bluff the others into folding?

“You got to know that strange female?” the man across from him asked as he tossed two more coins into the ante pile. The man was dressed a bit better than the other miners and lumberjacks in the saloon. He had bright red hair and the freckled complexion to match. Lon thought he’d said his name was Hobson.

Lon made an unencouraging sound, hoping to change the topic of conversation. He met the man’s bid and raised it. The coin clinked as it hit the others.

“You know anything about her?” Hobson asked.

Lon nodded, watching the next player, a tall, lean man called Slattery, with a shock of gray at one temple. He put down two cards and was dealt two more.

“You know anything about her? I mean, can she really doctor?” redheaded Hobson asked again.

“She’s a doc all right,” Lon conceded. “I saw her certificate myself. She showed it to me the second night she was in town. It’s in her black bag.”

“We need a doc here,” Hobson said as the last of the four players made his final bet of the game.

“Don’t need no woman doctor,” Slattery replied. “She’s unnatural. A woman like that.”

Lon started a slow burn. Images of Mercy Gabriel caring for the cholera victims spun through his mind. “She’s a Quaker. They think different, talk different.”

The other player, a small man with a mustache, grunted. “Forget the woman doctor. Play cards.”

“She’s honest and goodhearted.” Lon heard these words flow from his mouth, unable to stop them.

“I don’t hold with Quakers’ odd ways,” Slattery said.

Hobson glared at Slattery as he laid down his cards. “My grandparents were Quakers. You could look your whole life and not find finer people. So what if they say ‘thee’ and ‘thy’? It’s a free country.”

As Lon laid down his own hand, he sighed. His flush beat every other hand on the table. A tight place within him eased—winning was good. He scooped up the money in the ante pile.

“Well, nobody would take them in,” Slattery said, looking irritated at losing but satisfied to be able to say something slighting about Dr. Gabriel. “She has a black girl with her. Tells everyone she adopted her. If nobody takes them in, they’ll have to go elsewhere. And good riddance, I say.” Slattery shoved away from the table and headed toward the bar.

Hobson looked after him and turned to Lon. “We need a doctor in this place. Logging and mining can be dangerous. Anybody see where those two women went?”

“When I came in, they were wrapped in blankets, sitting on the trunk under that clump of oaks at the end of the street,” Lon said.

Hobson stood up and headed toward the door.

The quiet man with the mustache looked to Lon. “Let’s find a couple more—”

Two other men came and slid into the seats left vacant by Hobson and Slattery. Out of the corner of his eye, Lon glimpsed Hobson leaving.

Lon hoped Digger was going to help out the two stubborn women. He didn’t like to see anyone homeless, but they had chosen a path that put them at odds with popular sentiment. In any event, how could he provide them with a place to stay? Would they want to bunk in the back of the saloon, as he did? Of course not. With regret, he turned his mind to his new competitors.

Mercy shivered as the night began to fold them into its cool, damp arms. She and Indigo had wrapped themselves in their blankets and perched on top of the trunk, which was wedged between two trees so it wouldn’t move. Oil lamps and candles shone in the dwellings so they weren’t sitting in complete darkness. Mercy kept her eyes on those lights, kept praying that someone would offer them a place, someone would come out—

A man was striding down the street in their direction. Was he headed past them for home? She heard him coming, splashing in the shallow puddles. A lantern at his hip glimmered.

“He’s heading straight toward us,” Indigo whispered.

Mercy caught the fear in Indigo’s voice, and it trembled through her. Was violence to be added to insult here? She leaned against Indigo, her voice quavering. “Don’t be afraid. No one is going to harm us.”

“You that woman doctor?” the man asked in a brisk tone, his copper hair catching the lantern light.

“Yes, I am.” Mercy didn’t know whether she should stand, or even if she could.

“You two can’t sleep out here all night. Follow me.” The man turned and began striding away.

His unforeseen invitation sent her thoughts sprawling. “Please, friend, where is thee going?”

He turned back and halted. “I’m Digger Hobson, the manager of one of the mining outfits hereabouts. I’m going to take you to the mining office for the night.”

She didn’t want to turn the man down, but how would they sleep there? Her nerve was tender, but she managed to ask, “Mining office?”

“Yeah, I bunked there till I got a place of my own. Now come on. Let’s not waste time.” The man strode away from them.

With a tiny yelp, Indigo jumped off the trunk, swirled her blanket higher so it wouldn’t drag in the mud, and began hauling the trunk behind her.

Coming out of her shock, Mercy followed Indigo’s example and grabbed the valises, hurrying on stiff legs through the mud. The two of them caught up with Hobson where he had stopped. The building had a hand-painted sign that read “Acme Mining Office.”

“Come on in. It’s not much, but it’s better than sleeping out under the trees all night. I can’t understand why no one would take you in.”

Mercy could only agree with him. But she was so unnerved she didn’t trust herself yet to speak.

“Some people don’t like me because of my color,” Indigo said, surprising Mercy. Mercy hadn’t mentioned the rude comments people had made about Indigo. But since none of them had kept their voices down, Indigo had probably overheard them. The area around Mercy’s heart clenched.

“I fought in the war to set you free,” Digger said. “Some folks think you all ought to go back to Africa. But I don’t think I’d like to go there myself.”

“Not me, either, sir. I’m an American,” Indigo stated.

“Thee is very kind, Digger Hobson.” Mercy found her voice. She wondered why this welcome hospitality still left her emotionless inside. Perhaps rejection was more powerful than kindness. But that shouldn’t be.

“We need a doctor here. I wouldn’t have asked for a female doctor, but if you really got a certificate and everything, then we’ll make do with you. Mining can be a rough trade.”

Mercy tried to sort through these words but the unusual numbness she hoped was due to the chill and fatigue caused her only to nod. Certificate? Who knew she had a certificate?

Her dazed mind brought up a scene from the saloon infirmary. Lon had been looking over her shoulder as she had dug into the bottom of her black bag. She’d taken out her framed certificate so she could search better.

So Lon had been talking about her? What had he said?

“Dr. Gabriel is tired,” Indigo said. “Where are the beds?”

Mercy realized that she had just been standing there, not paying attention to this kind man.

“There are two cots in the back room. I’m going farther up the mountain now, to get to bed. Have a busy day tomorrow.” As he spoke, he led them through an office area into a back room where there was a potbellied stove and two bare cots.

“Do you have bedding with you?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Indigo stammered.