The Doctor's Wife

Chapter 4. A Boy's Collection and Recollection

The fire crackled and filled the room with warmth and light. His wife was unpinning her hair and he heard each pin clink as she dropped it into its box. Ah, his wife. Her light brown hair shone golden in the firelight, cascading down her backside... She was the most prettiest little thing. It hurt to breathe. She turned then, her eyes fell on him and then darkened and squinted knowingly. "Neil MacNeill, will you stop your gaping. You make me feel like a prize buck."

"Nay na a buck, love. A beautiful forest nymph maybe. You certainly dance like one."

Clink. Clink. Clink.

He suddenly remembered where he was. His shivering was causing the metal tools in his hands to rattle and clang against themselves.

Och his lungs burned, but it dawned on him the rest of his body no longer hurt. There was no feeling. Everything--his legs, his arms, his mind--was numb. It was almost a welcome nothingness. Damn. Damn. Damn. He didn't know how much longer he could last. Please God.

Sam Houston saw the women coming down the path before they could announce their presence. He burst out the door excitedly. He had something to show his teacher.

"Mrs. MacNeill!" he shouted, clutching a small leather satchel.

But Christy did not look at him, she seemed to be in a trance. Did she not hear him? He ran down the path towards them.

"Sam Houston," Mrs. Alice began, "Has thee seen Dr. MacNeill?"

"No'm. I have not. But I found some new arrowheads!" he grinned. And then looked back at Mrs. Huddleston. Her face was tear-stained and grim. Zady, too, riding with Mrs. Alice, looked wrought with worry.

"What's wrong? Is someone hurt'?"

"Where are thy folks, Sam Houston?" Mrs. Alice asked, dismounting.

The cabin door swung open and more Holcombe children poured out. Mrs. Holcombe appeared, holding Baby Girl. Elizabeth Holcombe was a right pretty woman, with the same steely elegance of Fairlight. Her dark brown hair matched her eyes, which were kind and soulful. Like Fairlight's, too, Christy thought, but without the knowing look Fairlight always seemed to have. Oh how she so missed her first, dearest friend in the Cove. She still felt her friend's presence in Zady, and was thankful the girl was here with them now.

Mrs. Alice repeated her inquiry, but Mrs. Holcombe shook her head.

"Is he alright?" Mrs. Holcombe asked, concern furrowing her brow.

"No one has seen nor heard from him and he was due at the mission hours ago," Mrs. Alice explained. "We were hoping you had seen him, but as I see that is for naught, might we trouble you for a short spell by your fire and something warm to drink?"

"You sure can!" Sam Houston answered eagerly. He waited for Zady and Christy to dismount, and then led both the horses to the watering trough.

"I hate to impose," Alice continued as she started up the steps, Christy and Zady trailing behind her, "but Mrs. Huddleston is in need of a bit of warming."

"It's no trouble at-all. Please come in," Mrs. Holcombe gestured to the door, then called out, "John!"

Just as soon as she'd shouted, the oldest Holcombe boy appeared, grabbing his hat from the hook by the door. "I'm going fer Pa, Mama. We'll help look for Dr. MacNeill."

"Thank you, son. Come, Mrs. MacNeill," she placed a hand gently on Christy's shoulder. "I've no doubt the menfolk will find your man soon."

The Holcombe cabin was worn but clean. With the three guests seated around the fire, coffees in hand, there was not much room for anyone else. Mrs. Holcombe was standing at the small wooden table behind them, Baby Girl on her hip, kneading bread dough. Sam Houston lay on the floor under the table, part of his arrowhead collection spread out around him. Lizette, the oldest Holcomb girl, stoked the fire in a small cast iron stove in the corner, feeding it sticks from a pile nearby. Although it was smaller than most other stoves found in the Cove, it was clear Mrs. Holcombe still did most of her cooking on it. Christy felt a twinge of guilt, knowing they were probably using up the Holcombes' wood, gathered by little hands, for the fireplace. Although the fireplace had already been lit when they entered the cabin, no doubt they were only keeping it going for company. Most families seldom used their fireplaces unless it was bitter cold out and both fireplace and stove were needed for warmth. It was usually the children's job to gather kindling and fuel. Had they not had visitors, they most likely would have diverted all the wood to the stove by this time of day.

Even with Sam Houston under the table and not blocking anyone's path, there was no easy passage to the door. The cabin was no smaller than any other cabins in the Cove, but then none were built to be spacious. The wind was rattling the windows and the space under the door, though stuffed with rags, was letting a cold breeze blow all the way to the fireplace. The fire roared and flickered with each strong gust. Christy looked around the room and wondered how all seven Holcombes managed to huddle around the fire on cold days.

Christy took the cup of coffee offered to her by Elizabeth, but instead of bringing it to her lips, she just held it in her hands and stared forlornly into the fire as Sam Houston spread out his collection. He was picking them up one by one to show Zady, who was feigning interest. Christy hadn't realized how cold she'd been until the warmth from the mug started the feeling back in her hands. They burned and began to itch. Neil was cold and hurt. She just knew it. Suddenly she felt a renewed sense of urgency.

"Mrs. Alice," she stood, "I have to go. I just have to keep looking for him."

Mrs. Alice saw the wild, desperate look in Christy's eyes. She was no longer dispirited with worry but had now found her spunk and nothing was going to deter her.

"Christy," Mrs. Alice's gentle tone contrasted with Christy's panicked one. I will go with thee straight away. Won't you just get some warmth into thee first? You were shivering earlier. The temperature is not overly cold but the wind is brutal today. I fear we may be in for a storm."

"Exactly. I can't. Not when Neil could be lying somewhere hurt. I can't stop, Mrs. Alice, I can't until we find him."

"He could have easily gotten delayed by a patient in need," Mrs. Alice began, but even she knew it had been too long with no word. Even if Charlie had wondered off, which was still possible, although more and more unlikely the case as time went on, someone would have seen or heard from the doctor. Still, Zady had not actually seen the doctor in her vision; it could have been about anything. She murmured a quiet prayer that the menfolk would find her former son-in-law soon.

Christy turned to Zady.

"Zady, can you tell me again about the rocky overhang? The picture you drew--it looked like a thumb."

"A thumb?" Sam Houston piped up. "A rock that looked like a thumb?"

"Does thee know it?" Mrs. Alice asked.

"Sure I know it. It's on the way to one of Doc's fishing holes."

Mrs. Alice clasped her hands to her face as if in thankful prayer.

Sam Houston was halfway out the door with Christy close behind. Mrs. Alice quickly thanked Mrs. Holcombe and started out after them.

"I'll be praying you find him!" Mrs. Holcombe shouted after them.

"We'll be sure to return Sam Houston to you, " Alice returned.

As they untethered the horses, Sam Houston began to holler for his father and brother.

"My pa can't have gone far with John," he explained, and went back to hollering.

"The wind is carrying thy voice away, I fear, Sam Houston," said Mrs. Alice. "Which direction is this fishing hole?"

Sam Houston pointed the way, which was the direction from which they'd come. Mrs. Alice pulled him up onto the saddle with her. Christy and Zady shared Prince.

"Sam Houston are you sure? We came from that way already," stated Mrs. Alice.

"Yes'm. I'm sure as a coon's got rings on its tail," Sam Houston answered.

"You lead the way, Sam Houston" Christy instructed, a hint of hopeful jubilation in her voice. Neil couldn't be far. Maybe he had stopped at a nearby cabin and not heard their shouts. She forced her thoughts away from the alternative.