Her Healing Ways by Lyn Cote Page B

wound becomes infected, and it usually leads to the patient’s death. Anti meansagainst, so antiseptic measures try to prevent sepsis.”
    â€œMy ma always said cleanliness is next to godliness,” another man spoke up.
    â€œThy mother was a wise woman. In my experience, women with cleaner houses lose fewer children to disease.”
    Mercy held out her hands, and Indigo poured more boiled water and then wood alcohol over them. Mercy took a deep breath and turned to her task. “Nurse Indigo, will thee please spray the patient with carbolic acid?”
    Using the large atomizer, Indigo sprayed carbolic acid over Lon’s broad chest and then directly over the wound, which she had already sponged clean of gore. Mercy proceeded to inspect Lon’s wound, feeling for the deepest point. There was silence all around her—thick, intent silence—as everyone watched her every move. She located the point, reached for her needle and silk thread and began to close the wound with tiny stitches.
    â€œHey! Look!” a man called out. “She’s doin’ it. Look!”
    Mercy felt the press of the crowd. “ Please, thee must all move back. I must have room to work.” To breathe.
    The men edged back. She drew in air and prayed on silently. She could only hope that Indigo’s pressure, plus natural clotting and healing, would help seal the wound and allow the lung to reinflate.
    Mercy set and tied her final stitch and blinked away tears she couldn’t explain. She was thankful that Lon hadn’t stirred during the probing or suturing.
    â€œYou done, Lady Doc?” the bartender asked.
    â€œYes. Now we must hope that Lon Mackey will sleep a bit longer, then wake and begin to heal. Do any of thee know where Lon has been staying?”
    â€œHe’s bunking in the back room,” Sunny said.
    Mercy had wondered where Lon roomed. And though his living arrangement fit his gambling, she could not like Lon in this place. She pursed her lips momentarily.
    â€œI suggest that he be carried to his bed, then,” Mercy said. “Nurse Indigo and I will take turns staying with him.”
    A censorious voice came from behind. “Decent women don’t hang around bars.”
    Mercy turned and recognized the speaker as the same man who had tried to prevent her from treating Lon. “I am a doctor. I know my job, and I do it wherever my patient is.”
    She turned her back on the disapproving man, who had a distinctive shock of gray hair. She wouldn’t forget him any time soon. “Please, some of thee carry Lon to his bed very carefully. I don’t want sudden jarring to disturb the wound.”
    Several men lifted Lon from the bar. He moaned. The men halted. Though Lon’s eyelids fluttered, he didn’t revive. Mercy waved the men on and she followed them. It wasn’t uncommon for a person toremain unconscious for a long while after surgery, but Mercy prayed that Lon wouldn’t remain asleep for many more hours.
    She had just displayed her abilities to many. The outcome of her surgery must be positive, or she might be forced to leave this place in disgrace.
    This cold thought brought back the trembling deep inside. She had done for Lon what he needed her to do, and now she needed him to get well. I need thee to wake up and move, Lon Mackey, our only friend here. Please wake up.
    Â 
    Lon realized that he was breathing, just barely. Something wasn’t right. He felt pain, like his chest was on fire. Like it had been crushed. He recalled loud voices and a table tipping. Something bad had happened. He tried to open his eyes but the lids were heavy, so heavy. Finally, he managed.
    He blinked several times to rid himself of the fog that clung to his senses. Then he saw her. Just a few feet from him, Mercy sat in a chair, her eyes closed. He squinted. What was Mercy doing sitting beside his bed? In the back of the saloon? Was he hallucinating?
    He tried to