Courage To Care

by

Sylvia Rochester

The following morning, Rachel stumbled bleary eyed into clothes she purchased especially for this occasion. No doubt she’d raise some eyebrows. Feeling free, if somewhat masculine, she stepped from the porch in her split skirt and high-topped, laced riding boots.

“Morning,” Will Turner said looking Rachel over from head to toe. The deputy didn’t comment, but his smile said he approved. He handed Gabe the reins to a stallion. “Matthew saddled your horse and sent this nice brood mare for his sister.”

“How thoughtful of Matthew,” she said. With one foot in the stirrup, she grabbed hold of the saddle horn and mounted the horse with ease.

“You look real natural sitting astride a horse,” Gabe said tying down saddlebags bulging with medical supplies.

In the predawn stillness, they made their way out of town and into the foothills of the Cascades. A thick forest of Douglas fir towered over scraggly undergrowth and rocky outcroppings. The wilderness provided a sanctuary for bears, pumas, wolves and countless smaller animals—rabbits, squirrels, and beavers, to name a few.

At first light, they came upon a meadow covered in wildflowers, a dazzling rainbow of color. She reined in her horse for a better view. Painted silver by the rising sun, a meandering stream snaked its way through the valley.

“Takes your breath away, huh?” Will said. “Guess this is as good a place as any to give the horses a breather.”

The cool mountain air settled around them. Puffs of white flared from the horses’ hot nostrils. The mare dipped her head and snorted as if tuned to a sylvan orchestra—the cheer, cheer, cheer of a cardinal, the snare-like rustling of leaves and a flute-like whistle of wind through the boughs.

“This will always be home,” she said to Gabe.

“Always,” he said. “Now, what say we keep moving?”

They followed single file along a narrow path.

“How much farther?” she asked.

“About another hour,” Will said. “See the mountain ahead. The settlement’s just on the other side.”

Another hour! I’ll be sitting on pillows for the rest of the week. Putting a hand on the back of the saddle, she pushed up and stretched her legs in the stirrups. Ah, a moment of bliss.

When they crossed the next mountain, a haze covered the valley floor. Only the tallest trees broke through the blanket of white.

“How would you like to live down there? Nothing like waking up and kissing the clouds,” Gabe said.

“Are you sure there’s a community under those clouds?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” Will nudged his horse and zigzagged down the mountainside. Near the bottom, the fog-like mist thinned revealing a row of houses clumped together in a clearing. “We’re here.”

Rachel counted six dwellings. The settlement’s weathered houses reminded her of the shantytowns in New York. Only here in the mountain air, they smelled better.

“Where is everyone?” she said.

“Probably deciding whether to shoot us or not.” Will’s somber face left no doubt he was serious.

“Well, do something. Let them know who we are,” Gabe said moving his stallion closer to Rachel.

“Is that you, Will Turner?” a shaky voice called from a darkened doorway.

“Yeah.”

A skeleton of a man with long, straggly gray hair eased onto a porch. He wore faded brown overalls, no shirt and held a rifle in the crook of his sinewy arm. Rachel glanced at Will whose narrowed eyes widened with recognition.

“Good to see you, Mr. Zeagler. It’s been a long time. I brought a new doctor.”

The man stepped off the porch and moved toward them. As if tethered by some invisible rope, people emerged from the shacks and followed the old man, the expression on their faces one of curiosity.

They dismounted.

“What happened to Doc Clayton?” Mr. Zeagler asked.

“He’s okay,” Will said, “just getting too old to make the trip. He said you’re probably tired of looking at his face anyway.” Will grinned, but Mr. Zeagler showed no emotion.

The old man wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the rifle’s barrel and let the butt of the gun rest on the ground. He leaned back on his heels and gave Gabe a long, studied look. “Let me be the first to welcome you, Doc,” he said extending his other hand.

“I’m Gabe Wilson,” he said shaking Mr. Zeagler’s hand. “Glad to meet you, but I won’t be the one looking after you. My wife, Rachel, is the doctor.”

A murmur rippled through the gathering. Mr. Zeagler’s eyebrows bunched and his mouth turned downward. “I ain’t never heard of a woman doctor. You mean she knows everything like Doc Clayton?”

“I’m sure they both know things the other one doesn’t, but she’s good. I’d trust her with my life,” Gabe said.

“I’m pleased to meet you.” Rachel reached out to shake his hand, but Mr. Zeagler dropped his arm.

“Ain’t decent for a lady to treat a man.” His lip curled into a smirk. “You’ll not be looking at my body.” He wheeled and stomped toward his cabin.

Can’t say I’d want to look at your scrawny… Rachel rolled her eyes skyward. Sorry. Fighting with the old geezer wasn’t the answer. She would have to earn his approval. She turned her attention to those around her.

“Do you think Doc would ask me to treat you if he didn’t think I was qualified? We’re partners, and he believes in me. All I ask is you give me a chance.”

Several of the bystanders turned away without saying a word, but a handful remained. A young woman stepped forward. Her homespun dress clung to her slim body leaving nothing to the imagination. She looked barely into her teens with skinny arms and legs. Except for her long, blonde hair and small, doorknob breasts, she could easily have passed for a boy.

“Doctor Wilson, I’m Amy Lawson,” she said. “My daughter’s got a bad place on her hand and needs tending. Can you help her?”