I was on my way to the house with an armload of wood when a buckboard clattered into our yard. The driver hauled back on the reins, making the horse rear up and whinny. It stopped near Father's office.
Rags ran over, barking. A woman dropped from the driver's seat without using the step. I dropped the wood and ran over. The woman wasn't familiar to me. She had long black hair, hanging loose on her shoulders. She wore a red dress with black lacey stuff everywhere, and her shoulders showing. Her blue eyes were very worried. I shushed my dog. He obeyed, but hung around with his tongue hanging out, waiting for someone to pay him some mind.
A sweet, flowery smell came from her. It was like the magnolia flower in Missouri where I was born. “I'm Alexandra Crowe. Where's the doctor? I need the doctor, quickly.” She pointed to the wagon bed.
The sight of Blaine, the saloon keeper, flushed all thoughts of magnolias from my head. A bright pink blanket was bundled around him like a cocoon. Other blankets had been rolled and put around him, so he wouldn't heave around on the road. Blood was everywhere. My mouth went dry. I ran my tongue around my lips and the inside of my mouth. Blaine needed medical attention, and it was up to me to see he got it.
“I work in the saloon,” she said, as if that was supposed to tell me all I needed to know. “Where's the doctor?”
I lifted the edge of the blanket. Blaine's right ear was just about missing. All that was left was a shred of flesh hanging from where the ear hole should have been. Blood spurted from a spot just above it, and I didn't have to be a doctor to know this wasn't good. I swallowed, tried to anyway, shuddered and glanced first toward the house, then the office and then back to Blaine. He had his eyes shut. Now he opened them, but they were glazed over and I knew he wasn't seeing me. I didn't know how to tell this lady that there was no doctor, that it was more than likely Blaine was going to die for lack of medical care. I'd never felt so helpless in my life, not even the morning Mother was giving birth to Rebecca. This time it was life and death, and I didn't know what to do.
“I'll be right back.” I started toward the house. The first few steps were weak and I nearly tripped and fell. I threw open the gate. My mother and Amanda were already on the porch.
“Blaine's been hurt. It's bad.”
Mother's eyes rolled up and she caught hold of the porch railing.
“Mother, you watch the girls. Jesse and I will take care of this,” Amanda said, taking control. She ran back inside.
My mother followed, but very slowly. She didn't deal well with emergencies. Not a good thing for a doctor's wife, but Amanda was another story. She could keep her head and was strong enough, even, to set a broken bone.
Alexandra and I helped Blaine out of the buckboard, which was no easy feat since he was dead-weight unconscious. Amanda flew out the office door. We three tottered and stumbled, but got him inside and onto the examination table.
Amanda went right to work. She fumbled with tools on the sideboard, then came to the table.
Alexandra and I held tight to Blaine while Amanda worked. I kept my eyes away from what she was doing.
I smiled at Alexandra and saw she was doing the same thing. She smiled back at me, then we each looked out the window, at father's doctor's certificate, at each other, at the medical books on the shelf — anything so not to have to see what my sister was doing to the side of Blaine's head.
I asked Alexandra what had happened.
“I didn't see the men come in the saloon. The place was busy. I brought them a couple of rounds of drinks. They were talking low, leaning toward each other. That got my interest and I tried to hear what they were saying. One of them saw me and gave me a look like I better stop it. So, I made myself busy across the room.” She stopped talking while she flung her hair back over her shoulder. There was that smell of magnolias again. For an instant I felt something warm and homey in the pit of my stomach. She said, “They didn't look like the sort anybody should tangle with, if you know what I mean.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“What did they look like?” I asked, forcing my thoughts away from magnolias — again.
“One of them was big, really big. He had shaggy black hair. All three of them needed a bath.” She tried to smile, but it was thin and unreal. “The one with the beard needed to be raked.”
I felt like I'd been hit in the gut with a broom handle. “Did one wear silver spurs?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.
“I'm sorry, I just can't remember. Is that important?”
“No. It's just that I think I've seen those men before.”