“I’ll be right here if you need me.” Dr. Gunther’s words fell on deaf ears. Sally had already drifted off to sleep again.
The next morning Sally was strong enough to be moved from the doctor’s office to Tamara’s small house on the edge of town. She was put on a stretcher and carried two blocks to Tamara’s one room cabin.
Smoke and Cal walked beside the stretcher with her, all the way. And, somewhat embarrassing to Sally, so did much of the town.
“How is she doing?” someone called.
“We’re prayin’ for you, Miz Jensen,” another shouted.
When they reached Tamara’s cabin the stretcher bearers, two young men hired by Smoke for the job, took her inside and put her on the bed.
There could not be a greater contrast between Sally’s fine house at Sugarloaf—a two-story edifice with five bedrooms, a living room, parlor, dining room, and kitchen—and Tamara’s tiny abode. The house was one room, with a bed, a table and two chairs, a cooking/heating stove, and a small settee. There was also a cot, where Tamara said she would be sleeping during Sally’s convalescence.
Dr. Gunther had walked down with his patient as well, and as Sally was moved gently, from the litter to the bed, he put the back of his hand on her forehead. He looked over at Tamara.
“I’m going to leave you a thermometer so you can take her temperature from time to time. There are two things we need to look out for. Shock and infection.”
“How do I look for them?” Tamara asked.
“If there is a change in her alertness, if she starts having dizzy spells, quick, shallow breathing, or clammy skin, those would be signs of shock. I think she is past that danger, but one should always be careful.”
“What do I do if she has shock?”
“If you think she is going into shock, lift her legs so that they are higher than her head. And keep her warm.”
“All right.”
“There may be a greater danger of infection, so I want you to look out for it as well. Her wound will probably start suppurating, or draining. If the liquid that comes out is clear, there’s no problem. That is to be expected. But if it looks like pus, or has an odor, or if you see little red streaks on the skin, leading away from the wound, that would indicate infection. Then I want you to take her temperature. If it is over 101 degrees, that is absolute evidence that her wound has become infected.”
“And if that happens?”
“Treat the wound with iodine,” Dr. Gunther said. “In fact, if you keep the wound treated, I think the likelihood of infection will be remote. I will leave you two bottles, along with the thermometer.”
“Thank you,” Tamara said.
Smoke sent Cal back to Sugarloaf to help Pearlie with the spring roundup. Over the next week, he developed a routine. Every morning he walked down to Tamara’s house to have breakfast with Sally and her friend. He would sit beside Sally’s bed, talking to her, sometimes reading to her while she was awake, remaining quiet as she slept. At night, he slept in the hotel room.
On the third day Sally developed an infection. At first, it was just some red lines, radiating out from the wound. Then her temperature rose to 102. Dr. Gunther was called. He cleaned and disinfected the wound, and kept a wet cloth on her face.
For two days, Sally hovered between life and death. Smoke stayed in the little house with her, talking to her, reassuring her when she was conscious, that everything was going to be all right. But was it?
During Sally’s periods of unconsciousness, Smoke slept fitfully.
