Oliver was waiting at Marie's front gate when she emerged from the house the next morning, and the sight of him brought her up short with sudden uneasiness and resentment. It seemed he intended to spend every waking hour with her. For a moment, she considered the idea of abandoning her medical rounds for the day, for he would surely wish to tag along, but rejected the notion as absurd. There were patients who needed her attention. As much as she would like to avoid him, it was simply not possible in a town the size of Bordertown, so she stepped off the porch, and walked boldly to the gate.
"Good morning, Oliver," she said.
Oliver did not seem to hear her cheerful greeting. Instead, he was gazing at her attire with a critical frown, exptremely displeased with what he was seeing.
She was dressed in her riding outfit, a long blue divided skirt that enabled her to modestly ride astride her horse, instead of using the more ladylike sidesaddle. The practice of wearing divided skirts had become acceptable in the west, but was still regarded as shocking in the east and in the European countries. A western-style blouse, and a hat and boots completed her costume.
"Marie, do you consider that to be appropriate attire for a woman of your distinction?"
She glanced down at her outfit, feeling offended by his criticism. "Very much so," she replied. "I am frequently required to ride over rough territory in order to reach my patients, and a skirt is not suitable for much of the terrain. I dress in a manner that is entirely appropriate for the occasion."
"I must object, Marie. You are a proper lady, raised in a good part of Paris, and you must see that you are suitably dressed at all times."
"I am no longer in Paris," she reminded him. "Things are different out here, Oliver."
He was was shaking his head slowly with an expression of disapproval that annoyed her. "I must disagree," he said, his tone of voice regretful that she had chosen to dress in a manner that he considered improper. "This is all the more reason why you must come with me. We must return to a civilized society before these people and their ways do irreparable damage to your reputation."
"I have no wish to be 'saved' by you," Marie told him, pushing her way past him as she started walking toward the stable. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment that I must keep."
He stared after her, fighting down his rush of anger at her independence and rebelliousness. The woman he was seeing in person was not the docile, submissive image that he had created and nurtured in his mind. Her autonomy, he decided, must have developed as a result of the scandalous influence of the uncultured peasants she had surrounded herself with in this uncivilized town. Determined to mold her to fit his image of a "proper woman", he rushed after her. Falling in step beside her, he said, "I believe I will accompany you."
She did mind, but chose not to answer.
His eyes lowered to the black doctor's bag that was clutched in her hand, but he failed to notice that her tense knuckles were white from the tight grip she had on the handle. "You have your husband's bag," he observed. "From that, I presume you intend to visit a patient. Perhaps I should return to the boarding house to fetch my own bag, so that I might be of assistance."
"That won't be necessary, Oliver. These people are my patients, after all, and I am quite capable of seeing to their needs."
He did not fail to notice her emphasis on the fact that his interference in her medical practice was neither desired nor appreciated. In fact, it was obvious that she was not comfortable in his presence at all. His mind could not conceive of what he might have done to alter her opinion of him. "They are, indeed," he said, in response to her statement.
Archie Stanton, Wendell MacWherter's lone employee, was just swinging open the large double doors of the stable as they approached, and he smiled in greeting when he saw Marie. "Good morning, Doctor Dumont. I see you are dressed for riding. Shall I saddle your horse for you?"
Oliver's eyes narrowed, resenting the fact that the blacksmith, a peasant, had noticed Marie's improper attire.
Marie did not notice that Oliver was displeased, but Archie noticed, although he made no comment.
"Yes, please," Marie answered. "And saddle my other horse for Doctor Knapp, please."
Archie glanced at Oliver with eyes that scrutinized him with obvious disdain. "Right away, Doctor Dumont." He was unconcerned with a perception of rudeness, and cast one last lingering gaze at the English doctor, as if disgusted by what he was seeing. Then, he went inside the stable to saddle the horses.
"These uncivilized clods look at me as if I were some sort of freak!" Oliver stated with resentment.
"They distrust people who are obviously of great wealth," she explained. "They have no reason to trust people who regard them as uncivilized clods."
"In my own country, no one would dare look at me in such a way as that!"
"You are no longer in your own country," she told him.
"Look at that!" he complained, gesturing toward the bay mare that Archie was saddling. "Not even a proper saddle! I am expected to ride like a cowboy! This is totally unacceptable! We must take a carriage instead."
"I am riding my horse, and if you are determined to accompany me, you will do the same, because I will not wait for a horse to be hitched to a carriage. However, there really is no need for you to accompany me at all, since you find the tack so disagreeable."
He turned hostile eyes her direction, angered that she would speak to him so boldly, but he also knew that she meant what she had just said. As soon as her horse was saddled, she would mount up and ride away, and in a carriage, he could not safely overtake her. "I wish to accompany you, Marie. One would just think that a man of my distinction could be provided with a proper saddle."
"This is not a personal affront to you, Oliver. These people are probably not even aware of your heritage. As for the saddle, we have no use for English saddles out here. They are impractical for such rough terrain."
When the first horse was ready, Archie went to the stall of Marie's other horse, a leopard-type Appaloosa with gray spots over white, and began to saddle it as well. Oliver seemed not to notice the animal's flashy coloration. All of his attention was focused on the saddle that was being placed on its back. Again, Marie saw the disapproving frown on his brow. "Again, I must protest, Marie. It is highly improper that you should be riding astride a horse like a man. You should be using a saddle more appropriate for a lady."
"Again, Oliver, a sidesaddle is not practical out here."
He shook his head, slowly, as if the changes he was observing in her were tragic. "I am very disappointed in you, Marie."
"I did not ask for your approval," she retorted.
Archie led the two horses outside, but Oliver was not ready to abandon his position on the discussion, yet. "Stable boy!" he said, drawing an annoyed look from Archie. "I demand that you remove this saddle at once, and replace it with a saddle more suitable for a lady."
Before Archie could respond, Marie snatched the reins of her Appaloosa from the blacksmith's hands. "Oliver, I will not debate this issue with you. As I explained before, things are different out here."
"Is there some problem here?" a voiced asked behind them. They turned to find Jack there, seated on his blond sorrel gelding. The animal pranced beneath him, sensing its rider's agitation.
"No problem, Jack," Marie responded. She hung the handle of her doctor's bag over the saddle horn, and mounted without waiting for assistance from Oliver, a display of independence that the Englishman was not prepared for. Without waiting for him to mount, she nudged her horse with her heels, and cantered out of town.
"Marie, wait!" Oliver called. He quickly mounted the other horse, and cantered after her.
Jack and Archie watched as the two doctors rode away, then Archie looked up at the marshal. "You trust him?"
"Nope. Matter o' fact, I think I'll tag along." He nudged his gelding's sides, and galloped after them.
With her mare's strong strides to carry her at a rapid gait, Marie briefly wished she could just keep riding, as far and as fast as she could go. Something deep inside was advising her to get as far away from Oliver Knapp as she could, but she realized that was not possible. She had responsibilities to Lucy, to the townspeople, and to her patients. She could not abandon them simply because she wanted to escape Oliver's advances. She would have to face him and somehow convince him that she was not interested.
When she was well away from town, she slowed her mare to a walk, allowing the two men to catch up to her. As expected, they split up, settling one on each side of her.
Inside, Oliver was seething with rage that this excursion had not gone as he had planned. The marshal was developing a habit of making himself present when it was not appreciated. He would have to impress upon Marie to discourage his attention. With an annoyed clip to his voice, he said, "Constable, we're going out on medical rounds. I'm sure you would not be interested in that."
Jack understood the ploy. "Quite the contrary, Ollie," he said, drawing a harsh glance from the other man.
"It's Doctor Knapp," came the brusque response.
"Sorry 'bout that," Jack said with an inward smile, his message delivered loud and clear. "I rather find Marie's doctorin' interestin'. She a fine doctor. In fact, she's saved my life more than once."
"Yes, well," Oliver began, then chose not to complete the sentence, but both Jack and Marie knew the direction his thoughts were going. Instead, he shifted his attention to the scenery, observing the high peaks of the Rocky Mountains that stretched in a long rugged line through Alberta and Montana. "What primitive country," he said. "We certainly don't have mountains like that anywhere in England."
"Beautiful, ain't it?" Jack asked.
"To look at from a distance, yes, I suppose," Oliver agreed, "but I must say, it seems a rather savage beauty. Gives me a chill just the look at them. Winters here must be positively unbearable."
"We manage. Don't we, Marie?"
She nodded without speaking. She had not spoken one word during the ride, and she remained silent until they arrived at the farm where her patient resided. In the nearby field, using scythies, a man and two boys were harvesting the wheat from the large field. When he saw them, the man paused briefly to wave a greeting, then resumed his work.
"Farming family?" Oliver asked.
"Yes," Marie replied, speaking for the first time. "They raise wheat."
The front door of the small house opened as the trio dismounted, and a woman stepped onto the porch wearing a simple cotton dress under her white apron. "Good morning, Doctor Dumont," she said cheerfully, with a lilting Irish accent.
"Good morning, Mrs. McKinney," Marie responded. "How is Eric doing today?"
"He's doing fine, thanks to you." She held the door open wider. "Come in, come in! Good morning to you, too, Marshal Craddock."
Jack removed his hat. "Ma'am."
Mrs. McKinney's gaze stopped on the stranger, and Marie saw the distrustful look on her face that she had seen on the faces of many of the others who saw him. "This is an old friend of my husband, Doctor Oliver Knapp, from England," she explained. "He's in town for a visit."
Oliver heard the implication that his presence was only temporary, and he cast a quick glance her direction, but she refused to acknowledge the glance.
"Well, any friend of the good doctor is welcome here. Come on inside," she beckoned.
Marie and Jack entered the house, followed by Oliver.
Like most homes in the area, the house was crudely made of local timber and a hearth made of river stones. The main room was large and open with a variety of homemade chairs, a homemade table for dining, and a cooktable. A smaller room on one side was the owner's bedroom. A ladder nailed to the wall provided access to an open loft overhead, which served as the boys' room.
A teenaged boy sat in a chair at the roughly hewn wooden table, his right leg propped on another chair with pillows to cushion the injured limb. A white bandage surrounded the boy's calf.
"How is that leg?" Marie asked.
"Doesn't hurt much any more," the boy replied. Unlike his mother, Eric's speech bore no trace of Irish accent, indicating that he had either been born after his parents had left their homeland. "I can't feel my toes."
"Well, we expected that." Marie placed her bag on the table and opened it, removing apair of scissors. "Let's have a look, shall we?" With the scissors, she began carefully cutting the bandage from the wound, aware that Oliver was leaning forward, observing with interest.
"How did this happen?" he asked.
"During the harvest, he was struck by the blade on the scythe. Left a serious gash in his leg."
"How deep?" he asked.
"About an inch deep, and about seven inches in length down the side of the calf and around toward the back of the leg. Some of the nerves were probably damaged. That accounts for the loss of feeling in his little toe."
He was shaking his head with obvious concern over her treatment of the wound. "At the very least. A wound like that will not heal properly."
"Well, there will be some minor paralysis associated with the foot, but he will grow accustomed to that."
"I don't mean that," he said, sharply. "I've seen this type of injury many times, enough to know that the wound won't close properly. It is probably full of infection, already." Reluctant to say the words for fear of upsetting the mother, he said, "Marie, you know what the standard procedure is for this type of injury."
Mrs. McKinney had been listening with mounting concern. "What is he talking about, Doctor Dumont? "
"Nothing you need to worry about, Mrs. McKinney," Marie assured her. To Oliver, she said, "Standard procedures are not necessary out here."
She finished unwrapping the wound, and smiled, very pleased. "Yes, that looks wonderful. It's healing very well, and the edges are knitting just as I had hoped. I will be able to remove the stitches next week."
Oliver stared at the wound in disbelief. Instead of the blackened putrid flesh he had expected, he saw the red, curving laceration where he had been struck by the scythe. Healthy pink flesh surrounded the wound, and Marie's delicate stitching held the edges of the wound together.
Jack nudged Oliver with his elbow. "Told ya she's a good doctor."
Oliver glanced at him, and Jack was pleased by the surprise he saw in the Englishman's eyes.
"Seen a lot of them type wounds, ya say?" Jack taunted.
"Jack," Marie reproached, but he noticed there was no real annoyance in her voice..
Jack fell silent, and Oliver stepped back to allow Marie the room to cover the wound with a fresh bandage, still surprised and visibly disturbed that Marie had disregarded the standard procedure for treating such a wound, and even more surprised that her blatant disregard for the teachings of the university masters had not resulted in disaster. At least, not yet.
Eric watched as Marie tied the ends of the fresh bandage in place. "I heard tell there's a schoolteacher in town," he said.
"That is true, but I don't want you on that leg for awhile, yet. Perhaps in a couple of weks, you'll be able to go. Most of the farming boys will be going later, so you won't be behind."
"Thank you, Doctor Dumont."
"You're welcome, Eric." She stood up to return her things to her bag. "I'll check back in a couple of days, but if there is any severe pain or bleeding, I want you to send for me right away, day or night."
"We will," Mrs. McKinney promised.
Oliver watched curiously, anxious to see the manner of payment the poor farmers bestowed upon the woman who had treated their son. As expected, Mrs. McKinney did not offer cash. Instead, she lifted an object from the tabletop, and removed the cloth from it. "I baked a fresh sweet potato pie for you, Doctor. It just came out of the oven this morning."
Oliver looked away, shaking his head with disgust as Marie accepted the pie as payment for her services. He was determined that her generosity would change once they reached Vancouver! He would not tolerate her habit of squandering away their profession on pastries and foodstuffs.
"Why, thank you, Mrs. McKinney." She leaned over the pie, inhaling the aroma. "My, that smells good."
Mrs. McKinney smiled, pleased that Marie had considered the pie adequate payment. "I wish it could be more," she lamented as she replaced the cloth over it to protect it.
"It's plenty," Marie assured her.
"You're welcome to stay for lunch," the woman offered, glancing hopefully at each of their faces. Jack deferred to Marie, willing to abide by whatever decision she made in regards to remaining for lunch.
Marie shook her head, declining the offer. "We appreciate your offer, but we must be getting back."
Marie, Jack, and Oliver left the house, untied their horses, and mounted once again, this time turning back toward town.
They rode for awhile in silence, then, Oliver said, "Marie, you got lucky this time. I realize you did not go through medical school to become a doctor, and that you might therefore be tempted to concoct your own methods of treatment in some cases, but deliberately disregarding procedure could have cost that boy his life. Don't you realize how much filth was driven into that wound by the scythe?"
"I washed the wound sufficiently to remove any debris that was carried into it by the tool. At the worst, the boy will have a large scar and some minor paralysis of the foot."
"Unless he dies from infection," Oliver retorted. "That is still a distinct possibility."
"You don't understand how it is out here, Oliver. It may seem like a savage wilderness to you, but the air is clean and the water is pure. We have no industrial smoke stacks, no chemical runoff to taint the streams and rivers, and no sewers to pollute the well water. There is no unhealthy city filth to infest wounds. My own standard procedure for any would or illness is a conservative approach. That boy is from a farming family. He must have both his legs to make a living."
"Is his leg worth more than his life?" Oliver asked.
"He will have both his leg and his life," she said with a confident smile, satisfied that she had done a good job with the boy's leg..
Abandoning the argument over Marie's choice of treatment, Oliver glanced at the cloth-covered pie that Marie carried in her free hand. "Is that how your patients typically pay you for services rendered?"
"They pay me whatever they can afford, sometimes cash, sometimes food or services. They always insist on payment. They will accept no charity."
"They are bringing in a harvest," Oliver pointed out. "Can't you tell them you expect ligitimate payment after they are paid for their harvest?"
"It doesn't always work out that way," Marie told him. "Money from the harvest goes toward taxes and things they cannot make for themselves. Many families cannot spare even a few cents toward an unplanned doctor bill, and I will not turn away a patient simply because they have no cash."
"How do you survive? By living off pies and eggs?"
She shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "I have my store," she reminded him.
"So, you're basically giving away your services?"
Jack had been listening to the debate in silence, and joined the conversation now on Marie's benefit. "Some people don't get into the doctorin' business to enrich themselves. Some do it 'cause it's the right thing to do."
Oliver tossed an irritated glance at him that plainly told him the debate was out of his realm of personal experience, but he chose not to pursue the subject. Two against one were never good odds.
When they reached town once again, the dismounted at the stable, and Archie appeared to take the horses inside.
As Marie started back toward her house, Jack fell in step with her. "Marie, I don't suppose you'd have dinner with me tonight."
She glanced up at his face, and knew that he was inviting her before Oliver had a chance to do so. Jack's company was much preferred, so she smiled, "I'd like that, Jack."
"Right. I'll see ya then." He glanced at Oliver with a triumphant expression. "Adios, Doctor Knapp."
"Marshal." He watched Jack walk away, then, realizing that Marie was approaching her front gate with the intention of going into the house, he rushed to catch up. Grasping her by the wrist, he brought her to an abrupt halt. Startled, she looked quickly into his face, and found his eyes were flaming with unconcealed anger. "Marie, we need to get a few things straight. First, when you are in my presence, I would appreciate it if you would see to it that you are suitably dressed. Is that clear?"
"Do not presume to tell me what I may or may not do! Now, release my arm!" she demanded.
Instead of obeying the command, his grip on her wrist tightened, making her wince. "I mean it, Marie," he said, menacingly. "You are going to be my wife, and you will do as I say!"
"I have not consented to that!" She indicated the arm, still held in his vise-like grip. "And this is not the way encourage my affection. Now, release me!"
He ignored the command. "Second, you will accept only cash in payment for your medical services. I will not have you giving away these services to peasants. And third, you are to have no further contact with that marshal. You have comsented to dinner with him tonight, so I suppose you are honor-bound to that, but while you are with him, you must tell him that you are promised to me. Is that clear?"
As Marie stood looking into Oliver's angry eyes, something flickered in her mind, a memory long buried and long forgotten; a black eye and a split lip that Beatrice had laughed off, attributing it to her own clumsiness. The incident had troubled her at the time, recognizing the strange look in the other woman's eyes as concealed fear, but she had eventually dismissed it and forgotten about it altogether. Now, the odd suspicion returned, giving cause for her to wonder if Beatrice's death had, indeed, been an accident.
Using the twisting technique that Jack had taught her, Marie wrenched her arm free of Oliver's grasp. Before he could recover from the surprise of losing his grip on her, she hurried into the house, and slammed the door behind her.
Leaning close to the window, she parted the curtain just a crack and peered through it. Oliver was still standing at the gate, staring at the house, as if indecisive about what to do about her. Finally, deciding there was nothing he could do at the moment, he turned and walked back down the street toward the boarding house.
Marie exhaled a sigh of relief. With Jack meeting her for dinner, perhaps she could avoid him the rest of the day. But what about tomorrow? Tomorrow was Monday. She must see that Lucy was enrolled in school, and then she would have to open the store.
"Marie?"
With a gasp of fright, she jumped and whirled around to find that Lucy had come up behind her, and successfully managed to resist the urge to lash out at the girl for startling her so badly. After all, Lucy had no way knowing how badly Oliver was troubling her.
Lucy flinched in response to Marie's sudden movement, and she was startled by the fear she saw in her guardian's wide blue eyes. "Is everything all right?" she asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"
"I have, Lucy," Marie responded, her voice trembling. "In a way, I think I have."
Lucy did not understand, but she knew it must have something to do with the Englishman she had seen riding away with Marie earlier, and whom she had dined with the night before, the man she had not yet met, but had heard a great deal about from people who had seen him. "Who?" she asked. "That man?"
Marie nodded. "I don't want you to go anywhere near him. He's a very dangerous man. Promise me, Lucy."
Responding to the urgency in Marie's voice, Lucy nodded. "I promise."
Marie seemed satisfied. "All right. Help me put on a pot of tea. I need to sit down."
Together, they went into the kitchen to put the teapot on the stove.
GO TO CHAPTER SIX