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June 1890
Dear future wife,
I made it and it is worse than I could have imagined. When Mr. Parker told me how much money had gone into this place, I assumed it would be one of the safest mines in the United States. It isn’t. It’s probably one of the worst, actually. But one of the men here, Tyrel, has some great ideas on how to get everything safer and increase productivity. He is a Godsend.
I’m working on getting the house I bought to work for a doctor’s office. It hasn’t been easy to do while I also treat miners and their wives and children. Robert has helped some.
Oh, I don’t think I have told you about him. He’s the nephew of my friend Joshua and we met in Chicago. I gave him a job here. Or rather, I told him I would see what I could do to convince the foreman to hire him. That wasn’t hard.
I still miss Joshua, but having Robert around has helped me miss him a little less. Robert is the polar opposite of Joshua, but he has slowly become a friend.
A patient just walked in. I’ll try to write again soon.
Sincerely,
Otis
***
Otis had arrived on a Monday. By Saturday he had talked to all twenty miners and treated over half of them for minor injuries as well as seeing if their children and wives were in good health.
Sunday, he went to the general store for church and found out how few of the miners attended. Samuel taught a good message from the Bible, and he enjoyed seeing the people in a different place.
Monday morning, Otis went to the mine before sunrise after having spread the word late the week before that the miners were to meet him there.
“I won’t delay you long,” Otis said. “I just wanted to be the one to tell you that Tyrel will be the new foreman. He has some plans to make the mine safer, so there will not be any mining until those steps are taken. He does need your help making it safer, though, so you’ll still have work to do.
“If you ever have a complaint about Tyrel, please come to me, and I’ll help you get it straightened out. Any questions?”
No one answered, so Otis nodded to Tyrel, who quickly outlined the plans he had.
Over the previous week, Robert had integrated himself in with the miners, and they acted like he’d been there the whole time. Otis smiled as he walked to town.
His smile faded when he saw a young woman holding a small child waiting on his doorstep. He hurried the last few steps.
“Please,” she said, “help Jane. She’s all I have left.”
Otis opened the door and then took the little girl out of the woman’s arms. They went inside, and Otis laid Jane on a bed. He felt her forehead. It was a little warm, but not bad.
“What’s wrong with her?”
The woman roughly pushed the tears off her cheeks. “She has a horrible cough. At first I thought it wasn’t a problem, but then she started wheezing. I don’t know what causes it, but I know it’s a child killer.”
“How do you know?”
“My father was an unofficial doctor in many mining camps. My little sister died of this cough, and I know of quite a few more children who did, too.”
Otis nodded and leaned close to Jane to hear her breathing. Her lungs rattled when she breathed and after another minute, she started coughing. When he heard it, he knew exactly what it was. “Croup. Can you help me?”
Her eyes pleaded with him. “Anything.”
“Good. First, I need you to stay calm. Lord willing, she’ll be fine. Get a pot of water boiling on the stove. Find my biggest bowl and put it on the floor in front of a chair near the stove. I’ll get the rest.”
She nodded and went quickly to the kitchen.
“Jane, my name is Dr. Miller. I’m going to help you get better. Right now, I need you to sit up. Can you do that for me?”
She curled up into a ball and coughed hard. Otis let her lie there for a second while he grabbed his most pungent remedy. He put it in his pocket and picked Jane up, keeping her upright.
In the kitchen, Jane’s mother was still filling the pot with water. “Ma’am, I’ll finish that. You come sit on the chair with Jane sitting in your lap.”
She did as he said and he got the water on the stove, then stoked the fire to keep it burning hot. “What’s your name?”
“Sarah McKee,” she answered.
“Are you the one the miners went to when they were hurt?”
She nodded and brushed a light-red curl off of Jane’s forehead.
“I was impressed by how well you helped many of them.”
“Thank you.”
Otis poured one-fourth of the remedy in the large bowl and left to get the quilt off his bed. “We’ll put this over you and the bowl once the water is in there. When there is less steam, tell me, and I’ll put more water in.”
Jane’s wheezing hadn’t worsened since they got her inside, but the water started boiling, so he filled the bowl and put the quilt over them. Otis filled the pot again and busied himself with other things, always staying within earshot. Jane’s wheezing and coughing gradually became better, and after two long hours, she rested peacefully.
Otis took Jane from her mother. Mrs. McKee’s face shone with steam and perspiration and her previously loose hair stuck to her face. “I’ll lay Jane down on one of the beds. You take care of yourself in here.”
Mrs. McKee stood up shakily and almost collapsed to the floor.
“Are you all right?” Otis asked, his brows furrowing.
She nodded abruptly. “Just a little dizzy, I guess. I’m fine.”
Otis watched her move stiffly to the sink. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. Just keep Jane comfortable and safe.”
“I will.” Otis carried Jane to one of the beds, laid her down, and pulled the blankets over her. “Rest easy, little one.”
Someone came in the door and Otis gave Jane one last pat on the head. “Can I help you, sir?”
The burly, unkempt man blinked at him. “You the doc?”
“I am.”
“I’ve got somethin’ wrong with my arm. It don’t like to move when I want it to.”
Otis brought him to the exam area and had him sit down so he could check the arm. It didn’t take long to find the problem. “Your arm is broken. I’ll need to set it and put it in a plaster.”
The man’s face turned white. “Do you gotta?”
“If you want the arm to heal, yes. Why?”
“I don’t like plaster.”
“It’s only temporary.”
Mrs. McKee came into the room looking much fresher and healthier. “Herman Borhling! Are you telling me a mountain man like yourself is a-feared of a little plaster?”
“Nope. I’m a-tellin’ the doc that.”
Mrs. McKee put her hands on her hips. “What would your wife say if she knew your fear of plaster?”
He gulped. “Do it, doc.”
Otis turned to hide his smile.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mrs. McKee asked.
Otis stopped on his way to get the plaster. “Sure. Find the laudanum, please, and give him one and a half milliliters.”
Otis didn’t wait to see if she did as he asked but instead got the plaster. The clanking of bottles told him she had listened to him.
When he came back to Mr. Borhling, Otis asked, “Do you know anything about putting a plaster on, Mrs. McKee?”
She nodded.
“Good. Could you mix it up while I get the arm set and splinted?”
“Yes, I can.” For the first time that day, he saw the hint of a smile on her face.
“That’s the closest I’ve seen to a smile on her,” Mr. Borhling whispered after she left to get the water. “At least since her baby and husband died.”
“She lost a baby as well as her husband?”
He nodded.
Otis found a clean rag, rolled it up, and asked him to open his mouth. “Bite down on this.”
He did, and Otis quickly snapped the bones together. He grunted and went limp. Otis lowered the man’s now unconscious form down. Most of the time he preferred his patients to be awake, but with him so afraid of plaster, he didn’t know what would happen.
Mrs. McKee returned with the plaster and they put the mess together to keep his arm from shifting out of place.
The whole time, Otis kept an ear out for any change in Jane’s breathing, but nothing happened.
They finished plastering the arm and cleaning up before he woke up.
“Is it done?” Mr. Borhling asked.
“Yes,” Otis answered.
“What do I need to do?”
“Don’t get the plaster wet. If you need something for the pain, I can let you have some laudanum, but it won’t be much.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Thank you, doctor—”
“Miller.”
“Dr. Miller, what do I owe you?”
“Are you a miner?”
“No, but I was once.”
“Then you owe me nothing. But please tell me why you aren’t a miner anymore.”
“I was told I wasn’t needed anymore, and that I was too lazy.”
“Were you?”
“No, but there were a few days I couldn’t do as much as usual, ’cuz I was sick. I worked as hard as I could the rest of the time.”
“Talk to Mr. Colton and tell him I recommended you if he needs another man. But don’t try to do too much with your arm until the cast comes off.”
“When’ll that be?”
“Six to eight weeks.”
He groaned. “All right. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He left and Otis looked around for Mrs. McKee. He found her sitting next to Jane. Otis pulled up a chair next to hers. “Do you like taking care of people like you did today?”
Her finger traced Jane’s face. “Yes, I do. I miss helping Father. I helped people as needed before you came, but I didn’t like that as much because I always second-guessed myself and didn’t really know what I was doing.”
Otis nodded and thought for a minute. “How would you like a job as my nurse? You would do things like you did today as well as possibly treat more minor things if I’m not here.”
Her head snapped up. “You would pay me to do that?”
“Yes.”
The hint of a smile came back. “I would like that, but I have no one to take care of Jane.”
Otis chewed his lip. “Isn’t there an older woman in town?”
Mrs. McKee nodded. “Why?”
“Do you think she could take care of Jane?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s worth a try at least.”
“Yes, it is. When would you want me to start?”
“As soon as you can.”
She licked her lips. “I noticed you have all the bottles in alphabetical order with the labels facing outward. Are you particular about that?”
Otis chuckled. “Yes. Very.”
“Why?”
“I like everything to be orderly and in its place.”
“Were you like that as a child, too?”
He tensed, a memory coming up.
“See what you do with that, Otis!” my father taunted.
I stared at the mess he had made and trembled. I tried so hard to ignore the urge to pick it all up, but I couldn’t. I started organizing everything. Father kept knocking things down onto the floor. One thing for every two I picked up. I worked faster and faster to try to catch up to him but never could. Father was always faster than me.
Otis shook the memory away. “A little maybe.” He stood up. “Let me know what you decide.”
She stood as he was about to leave. “I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have.”
“You didn’t.”
“You seem rather tense.”
Otis forced his fists to unclench and took a deep breath. “It’s nothing.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “All right. I would love to work with you and will come here as soon as I find someone to watch Jane.”
“Thank you.”
“When can I bring her home?”
“If possible, I’d prefer you wait until she wakes up.”
She hesitated. “Is there something I can do in the meantime?”
“Did you want to visit with a couple of the women in town to see about them watching Jane? I can keep an eye on her for you.”
“Sure.” She hesitated again and thought for a moment. “I’ll be back shortly.”
She left, and Otis let out a long breath, the forced smile fading quickly. Those questions had been too close for comfort. Much too close.
***
Another year passed by. Otis had a steady stream of patients, but not too overwhelming. Tyrel got the silver mine in better working order and must have had a better eye for where to dig because they suddenly had a lot more success and profit.
As Christmastime neared again, Otis got more and more homesick. He missed his family and wished he could leave, but he couldn’t. There was too much he still needed to do here before he could feel comfortable leaving.
Otis faithfully wrote letters to his brothers and sisters as well as to Mr. and Mrs. Brookings, but a letter wasn’t the same as having the person right there with you.
A week before Christmas, on his way back from a house call to an expectant mother, he saw two people riding toward him, but thought nothing of it at first. Then the man swung out of his saddle and ran toward him.
“Otis!” he exclaimed.
Otis stopped, unable to move as the man threw himself at Otis in a tight hug. “Ellis?”
He chuckled. “Surprised?”
“Shocked.” Otis nodded toward the young woman watching them. “Is that Olive I see?”
Ellis pulled his arm. “Yep.”
“Why are you here?”
Ellis harrumphed. “Did you hear that, Olive?”
“I did,” she replied. “But I think it is a fair question for him to ask.” She smiled at Otis. “We are here because you sounded lonely, and we wanted to help if we could.”
Otis helped her off her horse and gave her a hug. “Mary and Carter?”
“They wanted to come, too,” Ellis said, “but we didn’t think we should stretch your hospitality too far.”
Otis stared at him. “Really? That can’t be the only reason.”
“It wasn’t,” Olive said. “Mr. and Mrs. Brookings thought it best if they stay in Montana for now. They may join us some other time.”
Otis let out a breath. “Good. My office and home are right over there. Shall we go?”
Otis led Olive’s horse and knew Ellis would follow. After getting the horses in the stable and Ellis and Olive settled into the spare rooms, Otis gave them a tour of the office, town, and mine. They met almost everybody, or at least it seemed like it.
They had a wonderful Christmas dinner the next week. Olive insisted on inviting Sarah and Jane, and all the single, unattached miners. They had a total of fifteen people in his small kitchen. It was a tight squeeze, but they managed.
After the meal Sarah and Olive had prepared, Otis continued the tradition Mr. Brookings had introduced to them. He read about the fall of man and how they all came to need a Savior, then Otis read a few of the prophecies, the Christmas story, and a little of Christ’s death. He didn’t do it as well as Mr. Brookings did, but he thought it went fairly well.
Olive had made sure everyone received at least one gift. She had quickly knitted up a scarf for each of the men and sewn a lacy handkerchief for Sarah and Jane. Everyone thanked them profusely as they left and Otis went to bed that night feeling like the happiest man alive. If only things could stay that way, he would be the most content man in the world.