Lanterns and Lace

Chapter 26

Grant gripped the reins as he directed the fast-moving horse and wagon. He prayed for guidance and wisdom in dealing with the Detterman family and for God’s healing power to touch the boy. The memory of Sam’s temper and his bitterness over the oldest son’s tragic death flashed vividly across Grant’s mind.

That was more than three years ago, which means Aaron must be around fifteen. He most likely recalled his brother’s death—clearly. Surely the youth didn’t hold a grudge like his father did. Until this very moment, Grant hadn’t considered resentment from Aaron. Uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach. What if Aaron didn’t want Grant to tend to him?

Silently, he prayed for a softening of Sam’s resolve and an end to the bitterness. Perhaps Grant had been given a second chance to show Sam the compassion and commitment with which he treated all his patients.

“I’m praying for you,” Jenny said, breaking into his thoughts. Her brown eyes were warm and sincere. “I’m new at talking to God, but I wanted you to know that.”

“Thanks. I don’t mean to be ignoring you.”

“I know.” She returned his smile. “You have a lot on your mind.”

And he suddenly realized that having Jenny beside him made him feel complete. He wondered how she felt about him.

In a storm of dust, they arrived at the modest farm. Sam and his wife were bent over Aaron, but Grant couldn’t tell if the boy was conscious. Upon further survey of the area, he believed Aaron must still be in the same position as when he fell. Three other boys, including Timothy, and two girls huddled together on the front porch several feet from their parents.

Sam Detterman, a stocky, hairy man known for his strength, stood to face Grant. He waved his fist in the air, and a stream of obscenities broke through the still, hot summer day.

“Go home, sawbones. We don’t need your help.” The red-faced farmer stomped toward the wagon.

“Your boy’s hurt,” Grant said, much more calmly than he felt. He stepped down from the wagon, his left hand firmly wrapped around the handle of his medical bag. “This isn’t going to be easy,” he whispered to Jenny. “It might be best if you join the children on the porch.”

Alarm flashed across her face, and she nodded. Taking her along went against his better judgment. She didn’t need to witness any of this. The reverend may have a funeral tomorrow—the town doctor’s.

“I need to take a look at Aaron.” A trickle of sweat slid down Grant’s face.

“I already told you to go home. You won’t be killing another one of my boys.”

“Sam, please.” Mrs. Detterman, a thin, pale woman, touched her husband’s arm. “Timothy didn’t go after Doc Andrews on his own. I sent him. We need him to set Aaron’s leg.”

“I said no.” He shoved her hand from his arm with such force that she sprawled backward into the dirt.

Grant continued to walk toward them slowly, steadily—praying with each step. Seeing Sam lash out at his wife disgusted him, but Grant vowed not to succumb to anger, no matter how much he wanted to. He contemplated wrestling Sam to the ground and tying him up until Aaron’s leg was set.

“I came to treat your son, and I’m not leaving until I do,” Grant said.

“You’ll have to come through me first.”

Mrs. Detterman knelt at Aaron’s side. “Sam, let him set Aaron’s leg. It won’t heal right if he doesn’t.” She wept and stroked her injured son’s face.

“Is he conscious?” Grant said to the tear-stained woman.

“Yes.” She continued to gaze into Aaron’s blanched face. “He’s hurting real bad.”

“Shut up.” Sam’s voice echoed around them. “I’m the head of this family, and I say he ain’t touching my boy. Have you forgotten what happened to Edgar?”

Grant didn’t hesitate in his pace toward the big man. With each step, he became more determined to tend to the youth.

“Sam, I’ll fight you if that’s what it takes. But one way or another, I’m looking after Aaron.” Grant eyed Sam squarely. Without saying another word, he set his bag aside and rolled up his sleeves.

“I’m bigger and stronger than you.” Sam’s threats mounted with each word.

Grant didn’t doubt him. The man stood more than two inches taller, had broader shoulders, and worked hard physically every day of his life. Grant knew his own best defense came from his faith and reliance upon God.

“Most likely you’ll beat me up good, but I’m not afraid of you. I didn’t kill Edgar. Your son died when the mule kicked him—before I even got here. It doesn’t make sense to blame me.”

Sam swung his right fist toward Grant’s face, but Grant blocked it with his left hand and pushed the big man back. The intensity and surprise of Grant’s defense knocked Sam into the dirt. Swearing, Sam quickly regained his balance and landed a punch to Grant’s jaw. The impact stunned him, and he tasted blood. For a split second he questioned the sensibility of fighting this mountain of a man.

Grant drew back his left hand and laid into Sam’s stomach, doubling him over. Sam, in turn, used his head and body to hit Grant’s midsection. The pain sent the doctor to his knees, gasping for breath.

“Stop, please.” Mrs. Detterman attempted to pull her husband back, but he shook off her grip.

A little girl cried out for her papa.

Jenny said nothing while she waited on the porch with the children.

The two men continued to brawl in the dust and dirt. Sam’s strength only surpassed his rage, and Grant feared he was losing the struggle. With each blow to his body, he felt himself weaken. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be stretched out beside Aaron. The youth moaned above the sounds of the others, strengthening Grant’s efforts. If Sam succeeded, his son would limp for the rest of his life.

Sam began to show signs of tiring, but Grant felt his own strength wavering, too. He knew he’d more than held his own, and he thanked God for allowing him to endure the blows thus far.

Instantly, Grant received another closed fist to his right eye, which didn’t hurt nearly as badly as the first time—apparently it was numb. Finally, he managed to throw his entire body into the larger man, knocking him to the ground. It gave Grant the needed advantage, and he pinned Sam to the rock-hard earth. They both knew the fight was over. Even so, Grant grappled with whether to release him or not.

“I need to tend to your boy,” Grant said between ragged breaths. “Before I let you go, I need your word that you won’t interfere.”

Sam’s face had already begun to swell, and blood trickled over his chin. He nodded.

“I also need your help in setting his leg. It will go faster if the two of us work together.”

Sam glared at him, but Grant increased the pressure on his arms.

“Pa,” Aaron whispered within a few feet of them. “Please, help the doc set my leg. I don’t want to be a cripple.”

Sam’s body relaxed beneath the hold, and Grant released him. He prayed for wisdom. He hurt all over, yet he needed a clear head and steady hands to treat Aaron.

“Mrs. Detterman, I need some clean strips of cloth, warm water, soap, and the straps and splints from my wagon. I have a few cloth strips there, too, but it might not be enough.” He took a deep breath between words and wiped the blood from his mouth. The woman hurried off into the house, and Timothy called for his brothers to help him with the items in the wagon.

For the first time since he and Sam had exchanged blows, Grant caught sight of Jenny sitting on the porch with the other Detterman children. She smiled encouragingly. She hadn’t shed a tear, and he hadn’t heard her scream.

“I’ll help Mrs. Detterman.” Jenny lifted her skirts and disappeared into the house.

Grant bent over Aaron. He gingerly examined every part of the boy’s body. Aaron’s eyes were alert. Internal organs were not abnormally tender, but a huge bump rose from the side of his head where he had fallen. A few ribs appeared to be broken along with the right femur.

“He looks pretty good except for his leg and a few bruised and broken ribs.” He glanced over at Sam, who knelt on the opposite side of his son. “Have you ever set a leg, Sam?”

“No. Watched a time or two but never tried it myself.” Sam’s left eye was nearly swollen shut.

“Well, it’ll hurt him. I’m going to give him a shot of morphine, but he might still pass out. Be better if he does. Aaron is going to fight me, and that’s where I need your help. If you’ll position yourself above his head and hold him still, I can work fast to get the bone into place.”

He sighed deeply. “I’ll do it.”

Mrs. Detterman returned with the requested supplies. Grant wiped the blood trickling down from his lip and scrubbed his hands. Meanwhile, Timothy returned and watched Grant’s every move, obviously intrigued with the whole process. As Grant administered the painkiller, he remembered the days when he had observed others being treated for injuries and ailments. Grant wondered if Timothy shared the same interest for medicine.

Grant took a fleeting glance at Jenny. She looked to be telling the children a story. What a blessing. Those kids were probably scared to death.

Giving Aaron his full attention, Grant took a deep breath to steady his hands. A drop of blood dripped onto his arm, and Mrs. Detterman wiped it off. “Aaron, I know you hurt powerfully bad, but I need you to look at me.”

Aaron’s cloudy gaze silently begged Grant to remove the pain.

“Good. Now, I want you to listen carefully. Your pa is going to help me set your leg. It’s going to hurt worse than it does now. I want you to go ahead and holler all you want. Don’t be a hero. If you feel like passing out, give in to it. I promise I’ll work fast, but we’ve got to straighten out the bone in order for you to walk proper again.” Grant touched his forehead. “Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir,” Aaron managed. “I–I don’t want to be a cripple.”

“We’re going to make sure your leg heals straight as a tree trunk. You’re a brave young man, and I know your parents are proud of you.”

Mrs. Detterman wiped the beads of sweat from Aaron’s face, and he forced a tightlipped smile for her. Grant looked up at Timothy, who still seemed interested in everything that was going on.

“Timothy, I need you to take your ma over by your brothers and sisters with Miss Jenny. Please keep her there until your pa and I are finished,” Grant said.

Mrs. Detterman looked tearfully at her husband for direction. Sam nodded, and Timothy complied with Grant’s wishes.

“All right, Sam,” Grant said in a low tone.

The big man firmly held his son’s arms and silently signaled for Grant to begin. Quickly, Grant twisted and turned Aaron’s broken leg into its original position. The youth sank his teeth into his lower lip until it bled, and when his father shouted for him to scream, he let out an ear-piercing cry.

“It’s set,” Grant said in the next moment. “The worst is over.”

He worked diligently wrapping the cloths around the leg and splints, then bandaging Aaron’s ribs. Grimacing in pain, the boy used all of his strength to lift his head and view the set leg.

“You’re the best patient I’ve ever had,” Grant said.

“Thanks, Doc. It looks straight, doesn’t it?”

Grant smiled. “I’ll be racing you next year at the Fourth of July picnic. You can tell all the girls what happened and how brave you were.”

Once finished, Grant studied Sam. Blood oozed from various cuts on his face, and his left eye sat enclosed in a ring of black and blue. “Do I look as pitiful as you do?”

For the first time, Sam grinned. “Worse.” He held out his hand, and Grant grasped it firmly. “Thanks for helping my boy. I was wrong, real wrong.”

“That’s all right. A good fight makes a day entertaining.” Grant wasn’t about to admit he ached all over.

“Well, I’ve been spiteful. I never got over losing our firstborn, and deep down, I knew it wasn’t your fault, most likely mine for not getting rid of that crazy mule. What I mean is I’m sorry.” He met Grant’s gaze with a look of respect.

“You had no way of knowing what would happen to Edgar. You can’t blame yourself.”

Sam wiped the tears filling his eyes and focused on Aaron. “Guess your brothers will be doing your chores for quite a spell, son. Nigh on to harvest time.”

Aaron nodded wearily, visibly exhausted. “I’m going to be cranky and bored, but I won’t be a cripple.”

Sam touched his son’s face before another tear spilled from his own eyes. He brushed it away. Even so, emotion rested on his father’s face.

“Thanks, Pa,” Aaron whispered. “Doc couldn’t have fixed me without your help.”

“Is it still hurtin’ bad?” Sam said.

“Yeah, pretty bad.”

“I can leave him something for the pain,” Grant said. “What do you say we get him into the house?”

Sam called to his wife, who sat obediently with her other children. “Ma, this boy needs to come inside. Are you ready for him?”

*****

Grant didn’t want to take the Dettermans’ money for his doctoring, but he knew that refusing payment would have injured Sam’s pride. The man insisted Grant clean up and stood by while Jenny dabbed a wet cloth over the cuts and bruises. Much to Grant’s surprise, once Jenny completed her nursing, she turned to Sam and gave him more attention than Grant had received.

Good. She understands Sam’s pride took a beating today.

Mrs. Detterman pressed Grant and Jenny to stay for supper. Grant had felt the hunger pangs earlier, remembering the unfinished plate of food at the picnic. Jenny appeared exhausted, and she, too, admitted to hunger.

The couple stayed long past sundown, laughing and talking with the family. Grant found several licorice sticks for the younger children, for which they thanked him repeatedly. Mrs. Detterman remarked how horrible both men looked. She couldn’t decide whose face had the most cuts and bruises.

“You know,” Sam began, passing a plate of fried chicken to Grant, “the mark of real friendship comes from a good fight where both men win.”

“Oh, but we’ll be hurtin’ tomorrow,” Grant said, and the family laughed.

Once dinner was over, Grant checked Aaron to make sure he’d received no other injuries. “Thank you for the fine meal, Mrs. Detterman. I guess we’ll be heading toward town, but I’ll be back day after tomorrow.” He turned to Sam and grasped his arm in a firm shake. “I look forward to seeing you on Saturday. It’ll be best if Aaron’s not moved until I get back.”

Grant helped Jenny crawl up onto the buckboard and sensed a new injury to his right shoulder. The ride back to town proved slow, not like the whirlwind trip earlier in the day. Truthfully, he hurt all over, and the soreness guaranteed tomorrow and the next day would be worse. Still, he felt a sense of satisfaction, or rather gratefulness, that God had used him to unite this family.

Sam had been a bitter man, and he’d often taken it out on his family. His wife and children weren’t the only part of his life that he’d turned his back on. Before Edgar’s accident, Sam had been active in church and a real witness to God’s power and grace. Perhaps now the slow healing process could begin. It would be wonderful to see the Dettermans in church again.

In the faint shadows, Grant stole a glimpse at Jenny. An array of stubborn curls circled her face, and she’d long since given up on trying to tuck them inside her hairpins.

“You were a real help today,” he said. “Thank you for giving up the Fourth of July celebration.”

“I wanted to come, remember? You were magnificent.”

“I got into a fight,” he said. “Not sure how God feels about that.”

“You made sure Aaron wouldn’t be lame.”

“I did my best.” He hesitated. “Are you as tired as I am?”

“If you’re tired enough to sleep in the back of this wagon, then I guess so.” She reached up and pulled the pins from her hair. “And this will help my headache.”

In the pale light cast from the two lanterns lit on both sides of the wagon, he saw a cascade of thick brown curls fall softly around her shoulders. Framed against a half moon, her hair looked to have streaks of gold woven throughout. The sight took his breath away.

Grant didn’t have a firm hold on what he should say, but a mere “thank you” hadn’t seemed like enough. His awkwardness brought a siege of silence. Finally, he decided to speak from the depths of his heart. If only he could see her eyes.

“Jenny,” he began. “I thought Sam and I would battle in words today, not with our fists. Sorry you had to see it. Not once did I hear you scream or cry out. Instead, you gathered up the children and kept them occupied. And I didn’t have to say a word about Mrs. Detterman. You comforted her like you two had been lifelong friends. You’re a strong, courageous woman, and I don’t know anyone else I’d rather have had with me today.”

Her hand lightly brushed over his. “I’m glad I went with you, and I’d do it again.”

“Let’s hope not too soon. My body couldn’t handle it.”

They both laughed despite the gravity of the day’s events.

“Too bad you’re a teacher. I think you’d make an excellent nurse.” He hoped his praise didn’t reveal what lay in his heart.

The closeness of the young woman caused him to wish he didn’t smell of sweat and look twice as nasty as what hit his nostrils. It didn’t seem fair that even in the dim light of the kerosene lanterns, Jenny remained lovely . . . radiant. She took up so much of his thoughts lately. He found himself thinking about her before he went to sleep at night and before he opened his eyes in the morning. Each time he saw his daughter, an image of Jenny took over his senses. They looked too much alike. It distracted him more than a Christian man should allow. What happened to his resolve about not needing a woman? Didn’t being a father and a doctor take up all of his time? What about the slip of paper in his Bible listing all of his requirements for a wife? Besides, this woman couldn’t possibly . . .

“Jenny?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever been kissed by a sweaty, dirty, black-eyed, bruised, and beaten doctor?”

“No. Can’t say I have.”

“Good.” He pulled the horse to a halt. “You may want to hold your nose,” he said with a halfhearted attempt at humor.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

Wrapping his arms around her small shoulders, he drew her close to him. She trembled in his embrace as he lifted her chin. In the darkness, he envisioned those huge, endless pools of brown, feathered in the longest lashes he’d ever seen.

Slowly he descended upon her lips, gently tasting. The softness increased his desire for more. She seemed fragile to him, like a porcelain doll, but real—and in his arms.

Hesitantly, he pulled back. He wanted to say something, but the words refused to come. What he’d yearned for in a kiss had now manifested itself, and it shook his senses.

Without a doubt, Grant realized he was in love.