Lilac and Lark ran for the well. Forsythia hurried at his side. “Do you need a knife?”
“Have one.” He snatched up his bag and rushed to the Armsteads’ wagon.
A boy of about ten lay in the back on a quilt, his mother cradling his head and shoulders. The same youngster Adam had seen driving the wagon the day Anthony came into town with a gashed hand. His trouser leg was rolled up over a bare right foot, the ankle an angry red and swollen to twice its normal size.
“We were raking hay, stacking it.” Armstead’s words tumbled over each other, and he shoved his hands through his hair. “The snake was hidden in the hay. It darted out and struck him before we even knew it was there.”
Made sense—warm, dry hay, the perfect place for a cold-blooded creature to curl up. Adam yanked a strong bandage from his bag and tied it tight around the boy’s leg below the knee in a quick jerk. For a tourniquet, it would have to do.
“Hello there, Carl. I’m going to see what I can do for your leg, all right?”
The boy nodded, his eyes glassy. That wasn’t a good sign. His mother smoothed his hair back from his damp forehead, her hands trembling.
“Please take my scalpel from my bag and go hold it over the flame in the stove,” Adam told Forsythia. “Then you and Anthony hold Carl’s leg.”
She was already on her way to the soddy with the scalpel as if she’d been reading his mind.
Moments later, Adam pressed his now cooled scalpel to the swollen flesh and made two quick incisions across the bite. Carl moaned, quivering, but Forsythia held his leg firmly. Adam bent his mouth to the cuts and sucked and spat several times into the dry grass. This should have been done immediately after the bite, but he could only hope it might still have some effect.
Lilac appeared at his elbow with a cup of water and the wet compresses. With a nod of thanks, he swished away any remaining poison from his mouth.
Forsythia helped him pack the leg in wet cloths. “This slows the circulation?”
“Yes. We hope.” Adam pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Think, think. His knowledge of treating snakebites had been purely theoretical until now.
“Ma always said to use indigo for a snakebite.” Forsythia’s voice cut into his tumbled thoughts, steady and calm. “Or a poultice of gunpowder and egg.”
“You have those?” Adam lifted his head.
“Yes.” Forsythia scooted out of the wagon. “I’ll be right back.”
“Bring the wagon closer, into the shade of the sod house.” Adam beckoned to Anthony. “We don’t want to move Carl directly unless we have to.”
Once in the shade, Adam climbed up into the wagon and checked the boy’s pulse. Still fast, and his breathing was rapid. But the leg seemed no more swollen or red than before. Please, Lord. Show us what to do. Save this boy’s life.
“Here.” Forsythia emerged from the soddy, Lark behind her. Each held a dish. “Ma never mentioned using both together, but I don’t know which is best.” She sprinkled the powdered indigo on the incision, then reached for Lark’s dish and smeared on the grayish-yellow paste of egg and gunpowder.
“My pa always said egg was good for absorbing all sorts of poison.” Mrs. Armstead spoke for the first time, her voice unsteady. “He cured our dog one time when she’d eaten rat poison by forcing raw eggs down her throat.”
“Well, we’ll see what this does.” Forsythia gently repacked the sides of Carl’s leg in the wet cloths, then stepped back, her shaky release of breath the first sign of nerves she had shown.
“Let’s pray.” Lark held out her hands, and her sisters grasped them. Forsythia hesitated, then reached for Adam’s. He took hers without letting himself think about it, then placed his other hand on Carl’s swollen bare foot.
“Father.” Lark’s voice held steady. “We lift up Carl to you. We’ve done all we can, Lord, but nothing is too difficult for you. We ask for your mercy and your healing upon this boy. Amen.”
“Amen,” came murmurs around the circle.
Carl’s eyes had drifted closed. Adam checked his pulse and breathing. “Still rapid, but steady.”
“What now?” Anthony raked his hands through his hair again.
“We wait. And keep praying.”
Hours slipped away, the sun passing the noon mark in the sky. Adam and Forsythia stayed with the Armsteads, Lilac caring for the children around them and giving the little ones their dinner. None of the adults had any desire for food. They kept the cloths around Carl’s leg wet and spooned sips of water down his throat. Lark and Del returned to cutting sod with Jesse’s help.
“I should change the poultice again.” Forsythia pushed strands of damp hair off her face. The July heat baked around them, even in the scanty shade. She hurried into the soddy, then emerged with a fresh concoction. She climbed back into the wagon and gently peeled the drying poultice away, pausing to examine the bite below.
“What do you think, Doctor?”
It was hard to see with the substances coating it, and yet . . . “It’s not any more swollen. I want to say the swelling and redness have gone down a bit.”
“Really?” Mrs. Armstead clasped the back of her hand to her mouth, hugging Carl’s shoulders with her other arm. Half-asleep, the boy stirred and moaned.
Adam held up his hand. “He’s not out of the woods yet. But go ahead with another poultice, Miss Nielsen.”
Forsythia smeared the egg and gunpower paste on again.
By the time shadows stretched across the prairie, Carl’s pulse had slowed to a more normal level, and that glassy look was gone from his eyes. His leg, though still swollen, had lost some of the awful lividness.
“I think you might take him home now.” Adam changed the wet cloths on Carl’s leg once more. “Just keep him resting and the leg downward from his heart, and change the poultice once more tonight. I’ll come see
