“I’m happy to be of assistance,” he said, when he could trust himself to speak.
“I suppose there was no harm done,” she said, straightening her shoulders and elevating her chin a little. “I’ve dealt with overly gallant men before—doctors in the hospital and so forth. One just has to be firm, but Private Reeves wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise.”
Alice must have seen concern in his eyes then, for she added, “I soon learned how to deal with such men at Bellevue, and by the time I finished my training, I was treated with respect.” She took a breath. “These men said they’re part of the ‘Security Patrol’ to ensure the safety of the homesteaders. Reverend, have you heard of such an organization?”
Elijah nodded. He had seen them riding around the camp, very proud and important in their blue uniforms, yet wearing only the privates’ insignia. He’d overheard them with their distinctly Southern voices, conversing with a couple of Hungarian immigrants. It seemed to Elijah that they had been overly interested in the foreigners’ circumstances. And why were men of mature years only privates, unless they had only recently joined the army? They’d bear watching, for sure.
“I—I had intended to relieve you at the Gilberts’ this morning,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m sorry, but I fear I overslept.”
He smiled at her reassuringly. “I’m sure you needed it. I’ve never seen such calm and fortitude as you displayed last night, Miss Hawthorne.”
The color rose in her cheeks, and she stared straight ahead as if embarrassed at his praise. “It’s no more than was expected of me when I worked as a nurse, Reverend Thornton,” she said. “A nurse cannot be of any help if she is wringing her hands and swooning, can she?” She went on without waiting for an answer. “In any case, I checked on Mr. Gilbert a little while ago, however, and I was very pleased with how he was progressing. The wound looked as good as I could have hoped for, and his wife had already seen to a slight fever he’d developed. I’ll call on them again this evening.”
“Excellent. I appreciate it, Miss Hawthorne.” He cleared his throat. “I was actually out looking for you. I’m already in your debt for helping my deacon, I know, but there’s a member of the congregation whose child is ailing, and I was wondering if I might ask you to visit them?”
He held his breath, wondering if she would agree. She’d said she’d left her nursing career behind, but after she’d performed so heroically last night, he dared to hope that she might have been so gratified by saving a life that she’d reconsider her stance against becoming a nurse again, and benefit Boomer Town.
Chapter Five
Alice was silent, remembering her reluctance to do anything that might make her stand out so it would be easy for Maxwell Peterson to find her. But really, what were the odds of him or his minions learning that she was here simply because she chose to help some inhabitants of a tent city hundreds of miles from New York?
She should not act like a frightened mouse the rest of her life, when there was something she could do to aid her fellow man. It had felt good, saving Keith Gilbert’s life last night, and receiving his gratitude and that of his wife, Elijah Thornton and his brothers. A patient’s appreciation, and his family’s, had been what had kept her and so many other nurses enduring long hours and scant pay.
“I—I’ll understand if this is something you no longer wish to do,” Elijah said, before she could speak, “and remain grateful that you could aid my deacon last night. I know you said that you no longer wanted to pursue a nursing career.”
He looked so apologetic that Alice realized how long the silence had gone on and spoke quickly. “Oh, no, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to leave you waiting so long! That is— Yes, I will go see this sick child, if you will show me the way. I suppose we should stop back at my tent, though, so I can pick up my bag.”
Within minutes, she had retrieved her bag and followed Elijah to a tent in the middle of Boomer Town. An anxious-looking father stood waiting for them at the entrance of the tent.
“Thank God you found her,” he said, spotting Alice and the preacher. “It don’t seem like my Nate’s ever gonna stop throwin’ up. I’m Jeremiah Kindell, miss, and I sure hope you can help him, like I hear you done with Keith Gilbert last night.”
“I’ll be happy to do what I can,” she murmured, touched by the man’s faith in her.
“Please, come inside,” he said, lifting the tent flap. “My wife’s in there with him.”
As Alice’s eyes adjusted to the dim light within the tent, she saw not only a wife and child within, but three other children, as well, all wide-eyed and fearful. She gave them an encouraging smile before focusing on the boy lying on a sheet in the middle of the tent, his head cradled in a worried-looking woman’s lap.
The boy looked to be about seven or eight, and was pallid except for a spot of hectic color along each cheek. Alice could see pearls of sweat beaded on his forehead and damp hair plastered down at the edges. A cloth-covered bowl lay near his head, evidently at the ready in case he vomited again.
“What can you tell me about your son’s illness, Mrs. Kindell?”
“We had this sack a’ green apples I was gonna make into a pie, and Nate got into ’em when I wasn’t lookin’. He musta et six of ’em at least afore I noticed,” the tired-looking woman said. “Since then he’s been crampin’ and heavin’ ever’ few minutes, since last night.”
Alice breathed an inward sigh of relief. A simple case of green-apple stomachache, a common ailment in active, ever-hungry boys. Nature would take its course and ease his symptoms in time. “I’m sure I can help him feel better,” she said, and reached into her bag. “Do you have a pot I could use to make a tea for him to sip?”
After the woman rose and fetched one, Alice mixed ground ginger root, allspice, cinnamon and cloves, poured in some water fetched by the boy’s father and encouraged the wan-looking boy to sip some.
“Give him a sip or two every few minutes,” she advised the mother. “He’ll feel better in a while, though he might have to visit the privy soon.”
“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Kindell breathed. “God bless you, Miss Hawthorne—”
“Hey, is that nurse still in there?” a man’s voice called from outside the tent. “I got me this boil...”
And so it went. Word had spread that a nurse was seeing those with ailments over at the Kindells’ tent, and before the afternoon was over, she had lanced the man’s boil, seen a young man with quinsy throat, salved and bandaged a burn, treated a case of catarrh and pried a splinter out of a finger. And the afternoon was gone.
“I fear my simple request has ended up consuming the rest of your day, Miss Hawthorne,” Elijah said after the patients finally stopped coming.
“That’s all right,” she told him, realizing that the time had seemed to fly for her because she’d felt productive and useful. “The only plan I had today was to look at horses. We’re all of us just waiting for the twenty-second, aren’t we?”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “You’re a good and generous woman.”
Her stomach rumbled just then, reminding her that she had never been able to start simmering the beef bone and the rest of the ingredients for her supper stew.
She wasn’t sure if Elijah had heard it, but he said, “Why don’t you join my brothers and me for supper? We usually go to Mrs. Murphy’s tent. It’ll be our treat. You can tell Gideon what you’re looking for in a horse,” he added, just as she opened her mouth to say she appreciated