Her Healing Ways. Lyn Cote
had also been ready for this. Again, she kept her bubbling irritation hidden. If one chose to walk a path much different than the average, then one must put up with this sort of aggravation—even when one’s spirit rebelled against it. “Yes, Indigo is my adopted daughter and my trained nursing assistant.”
The proprietor looked at her as if she’d lost her mind but replied, “I don’t know if she’ll take you in, but go on down the street to Ma Bailey’s. She might have space for you in her place.”
Mercy nodded and thanked him. Outside, she motioned to Indigo and off they went to Ma Bailey’s. Mercy’s feet felt like blocks of wood. A peculiar kind of gloom was beginning to take hold of her. She saw the boardinghouse sign not too far down the street, but the walk seemed long. Once again, Mercy knocked on the door, leaving Indigo waiting with the red trunk.
A buxom woman in a faded brown dress and a soiled apron opened the door. “I’m Ma Bailey. What can I do for you?”
Feeling vulnerable, Mercy prayed God would soften this woman’s heart. “We’re looking for a place to board.”
The interrogation began and ended as usual with Ma Bailey saying, “I don’t take in people who ain’t white, and I don’t think doctorin’ is a job for womenfolk.”
Mercy’s patience slipped, a spark igniting. “Then why is it the mother who always tends to sick children and not the father?”
“Well, that’s different,” Ma Bailey retorted. “A woman’s supposed to take care of her own.”
“Well, I’m different. I want to take care of more than my daughter. If God gave me the gift of healing, who are thee to tell me that I don’t have it?”
“Your daughter?” The woman frowned.
Mercy glanced over her shoulder. “I adopted Indigo when she was—”
“Don’t hold with that, neither.”
“I’m sorry I imposed on thy time,” Mercy said and walked away. She tried to draw up her reserves, to harden herself against the expected unwelcome here. No doubt many would sit in judgment upon her today. But she had to find someone who would take them in. Lon Mackey came into her thoughts again. Could she ask the man for more help? Who else could put in a good word for them?
Heavenly Father, plead my case. For the very first time, she wondered if heaven wasn’t listening to her here.
Midafternoon Lon took a break from the poker table. He stepped outside and inhaled the cool, damp air of autumn. He found himself scanning the street and realized he was looking for her. He literally shook himself. The Quaker was no longer his business.
Then he glimpsed Indigo across the mud track, sitting on the red trunk. As he watched, the female doctor came out of a rough building and spoke to Indigo. Then the two of them went to the next establishment. Dr. Gabriel knocked and went inside. Within minutes, she came back outside and she and the girl headed farther down the street to the next building. What was she doing? Introducing herself? Or trying to get a place to stay? That sobered Lon. No one was going to rent a room to a woman of color. Lon tried to stop worrying and caring about what happened to this unusual pair. This can’t be the first time the good doctor has faced this. And it’s not my job to smooth the way for them. In fact, it would be best if they moved on to a larger city.
He turned back inside, irritated with himself for having this inner debate. The saloon was now empty, sleepy. Since his nighttime schedule didn’t fit with regular boardinghouses, he’d rented a pallet in the back of the saloon. He went there now to check on his battered leather valise. He’d locked it and then chained it to the railing that went upstairs, where the saloon girls lived. He didn’t have much in the valise but his clothing and a few mementoes. Still, it was his. He didn’t want to lose it.
Mentally, he went through the few items from his past that he’d packed: miniature portraits of his late parents, his last letter from them as he fought in Virginia and the engagement ring Janette had returned to him. This last article wasn’t a treasured token but a reminder of how rare true love was in this world. He wondered if Mercy Gabriel had ever taken a chance on falling in love.
That thought ended his musing. Back to reality. He’d have to play some very good poker tonight and build up his funds again. He lay down on his pallet for a brief nap. The night was probably going to be a long, loud one.
Mercy faced cold defeat. She had been turned away at every boardinghouse door and had been told at the hotels that they had no vacancies. She sensed the reason was because of Indigo’s skin color, a painful, razor-sharp thought. A cold rain now drizzled, chilling her bone-deep. She and Indigo moved under the scant cover of a knot of oak and elm trees.
“Well, Aunt Mercy, this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve slept under the stars,” Indigo commented, putting the unpleasant truth into words.
Mercy drew in a long breath. She didn’t want to reply that those days had been when they were both younger and the war was raging. Mercy had found little Indigo shivering beside the road, begging. Mercy had turned thirty-one this January. The prospect of sleeping out at twenty-one had felt much different than sleeping without cover nearly a decade later. Both she and Indigo sat down on the top of their trunk. Father, we need help. Soon. Now. Then defeat swallowed her whole.
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