THE HEALING TOUCH

By Susan G.

Black rain clouds began to fill the late afternoon sky, looming ominously over the stagecoach as it bounced along the empty road. A dark-haired man stuck his head out of the coach's window, peering anxiously at the darkening sky.

"It looks like were going to get some rain, Emily," said the man. He was fashionably dressed in a gray suit with a wide cravat. His clothes and small brimmed hat gave the man the appearance of an Eastern gentleman.

"Oh, I hope, not, John," replied the auburn-hair woman next to him. She was also fashionably dressed in a light blue traveling dress and dark cape, with a small flowered hat perched on her head. A gold locket on a chain hung around her neck. "I don't want to ruin this dress in the mud," she added.

"Don't worry, ma'am," promised Joe Cartwright, seated opposite the woman. "A pretty lady like you shouldn't have to worry about mud. I'll be happy to carry you from the stage to dry ground."

John Moore smiled. "I do believe your son is flirting with my wife again, Mr. Cartwright."

Sitting next to his son, Ben Cartwright looked at Joe with mock despair. "I know," answered Ben. "We're seriously thinking about putting a leash on him."

"Now, Pa, you have to admit the scenery inside the stage is a lot better looking than the scenery outside," Joe said with a grin.

The three men laughed as Emily Moore blushed.

"I'm sure you'll find a lot of business opportunities in Sacramento," advised Ben, continuing an obviously interrupted conversation. "It's a growing town. However, I also think you'll find it a lot different than Baltimore. Things are a lot rougher out here."

"I know," acknowledged Moore. "But that's what we're looking for -- something new and different." He reached over and patted his wife's hand. "Someplace where we can get a fresh start."

Emily Moore fingered the locket at her neck. "Yes, John," she agreed quietly.

Suddenly, the passengers were thrown forward in their seats as the stage came to an abrupt stop.

"What the heck....." started Joe. The door of the coach was pulled open. A heavy-set man with a bandanna over the lower part of his face stood at the open door, a gun pointed at the passengers.

"Get you hands up," the outlaw ordered. The passengers quickly complied. "Throw out your guns real easy, butt first," continued the outlaw. Joe slowly lowered his hand and carefully removed his gun from his holster, then threw the weapon out the door. Ben did the same.

"I don't carry a gun," Moore declared nervously.

The masked man looked him up and down, noting his Eastern clothes. "No, I guess a dude like you wouldn't. All right, all of you -- get out nice and slow."

Emily climbed out first, followed by Joe, her husband, and Ben. The passengers lined up a short distance from the coach, next to the driver. All kept their hands in the air.

"You fellas are wasting your time," the driver advised. "There’s no moneybox on this trip."

Another masked man was climbing down from the driver's seat. "He's right,” said the second outlaw. "Nothing. I told you they'd have someone riding shotgun if they had a moneybox."

"Shut up,” growled the first outlaw. "Keep 'em covered while I see what they've got."

Ben stood stoically as the outlaw patted his body, then reached in and took a wallet from a pocket inside Ben's vest. The masked man took the money out of the wallet and threw the empty leather to the ground. He did the same to Moore, pulling a wallet from the man's inside coat pocket and emptying it. Joe was next; the man took a small wad of bills from Joe's shirt pocket.

Fingering the bills in his hand, the outlaw quickly counted the money. "Look at this. There's not even two hundred dollars here," the big man announced in frustration. He walked to Emily, snatched her purse from her and stuck his hand inside the cloth handbag. "Nothing," he said, throwing the purse to the ground with disgust. He looked at the necklace around Emily's neck. "Maybe that's worth something," the bandit snarled, reaching for the locket.

"No," Emily cried clutching the locket and stepping back. "It's not worth anything. Please, it has a picture of my son in it."

Making a quick move, Joe stepped between the bandit and Emily. "Why don't you leave her alone," he said in a cold voice.

"Joseph!" Ben exclaimed with a warning in his voice.

Joe ignored his father. "The locket's not worth anything. You got what you wanted. What don't you quit while you're ahead?"

The masked man roughly shoved Joe aside, knocking him to the ground. "I think I'll take the necklace anyway," he growled.

Scrambling to his feet, Joe took a quick step toward the outlaw. The bandit turned and, without a warning, fired his gun.

As the bullet hit him, Joe spun around. He hit the ground, rolled twice and then laid still, face down in the grass.

"Hold it,” yelled the second bandit as the other passengers started toward Joe. "Next one who moves gets a bullet, too." Ben and the Moores froze, fear and uncertainty evident on their faces. Ben anxiously looked from his son to the cocked revolver in the man's hand.

The second outlaw turned to the heavy-set man. "You're a fool, Jenks,” he declared. "Let's get out of here."

Standing near Joe, gun in hand, the first bandit hesitated, then holstered his gun. "Yeah, let’s go," he agreed. The outlaws walked rapidly to two saddle horses standing in front of the stopped stage. They mounted and rode off at a gallop.

The four people standing near the stage rushed to Joe, with Ben reaching his son first. Joe groaned as Ben gently turned him over. Blood was flowing from a wound on the right side of his body, just under his ribs. Ben tore Joe's shirt open and examined the gunshot.

"The bullet's still in there, and it looks pretty deep," said Ben in a worried voiced as he untied the bandanna from his neck. He balled the cloth and put it on the wound, pressing hard in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Joe gave a sharp cry of pain.

A rumble of thunder warned of the approaching storm. Ben raised his head and glanced at the darkening sky. "We've got to get him to some shelter, someplace where we can get help," Ben stated anxiously.

"The relay station is only about a mile down the road," advised the driver.

Ben looked around with uncertainty. He glanced up again at the stormy clouds. "All right. Let's get him into the stage," Ben decided. He lifted his son under the arms as the driver and Moore each lifted a leg. The three men carried Joe toward the stage as Emily trailed behind. As the men laid Joe on the ground near the stagecoach door, Ben climbed into the coach, and then turned to face the door. The other two men lifted Joe into Ben's arms.

Dragging his son into the stage and then lifting his upper body onto the seat, Ben positioned his back into the corner of the stage, and pulled Joe after him. He put his left arm around Joe to hold him. His right hand pressed the bandanna on his son's wound. John and Emily Moore climbed into the stage as the driver scrambled into his seat. Moore lifted Joe's legs onto the seat as Emily untied her cape and laid it gently over Joe. Ben nodded his thanks.

The coach lurched forward as the driver whipped up the horses. The stage bounced as it sped down the road, and Joe groaned with each bounce.

Moore leaned out the window. "Slow down," he called to the driver.

"I'm trying to get to the station as fast as I can," the driver shouted back.

"If you don't slow down, you'll kill the boy before we get there," Moore yelled. The coach slowed noticeably.

"Hang on, Joe," Ben said in a soothing voice as he clutched his son tightly. "It's only a little way to the station. You're going to be all right. We'll make you comfortable and get you some help. Just hang on." Joe's eyes were closed; Ben couldn't tell if his son heard him. Then Joe nodded, an almost imperceptible movement of his head.

The stage sped down the road and into the yard of the relay station. A grizzled old man stood on the porch of a small frame house as the driver pulled the team of horses to a stop.

"You trying to kill them horses? What's the all-fired hurry?" demanded the old man.

"We got robbed, Smitty," the driver shouted as he climbed down. "We got a man with a bullet in him."

"Well, why didn't you say so," replied Smitty as he pulled the coach door open. He peered inside. "How bad is it?"

"The bullet is in deep and he's bleeding pretty heavily,” Ben answered anxiously.

"Hand him out,” the old man ordered. "Let's get him inside."

Ben and Moore gently lifted Joe and eased him out to Smitty and the driver. Ben jumped out of the coach and rushed to help the men carrying his son.

John and Emily Moore climbed out more slowly. As they watched the men carrying Joe into the house, Emily turned to her husband. "John…" she began.

"Don't ask, Emily," her husband interrupted. "You know there's nothing I can do."

Emily looked at him for a long moment, then turned and swiftly walked into the house.

Entering the way station, Emily saw a large, sparsely furnished room. A long table, with benches for three on either side, was positioned near a stone fireplace. The rest of the furniture consisted of a rocking chair, a tattered overstuffed chair, and a couple of small tables with glass lanterns on top. An open cupboard leaned against the wall next to the fireplace with metal plates, cups and pots scattered haphazardly on its shelves. Two doorways were on the far wall. Emily saw the men crowded into the room to her left. She hurried toward it.

Joe lay on one of two single beds in the room. A wooden chair and a small table with a lantern separated the beds. Ben was stripping the shirt and jacket off his son as the driver and station agent removed Joe's boots. Ben unbuckled Joe's holster and gently slid the belt away.

"I've got some towels and bandages in the next room," said Smitty as he turned to leave. The driver covered the lower part of Joe's body with a blanket. Joe moaned loudly as Ben again pressed his now bloody bandanna to the wound. His head turned from side to side as his body stiffened with pain.

"Smitty's probably got a jug around here," observed the driver. "Whiskey'll help the pain."

"No," said Emily sharply from the doorway. "Alcohol will only make him bleed more." The men turned and looked at her. "I've had some training as a nurse," she added.

"Can you help?" Ben asked with a pleading voice.

"I'll be happy to do whatever I can," Emily answered. She removed her hat and rolled up the cuffs on her dress sleeves. Ben moved aside as she knelt by the bed. Emily removed the makeshift bandage and examined the wound. "The bullet is deep into the tissue. If you remove it and don't tie off the blood vessels, he'll bleed to death." Emily looked into Ben's worried face. "He needs a doctor."

"The closest doc is in Silver Springs,” the driver declared. "I'll saddle a riding horse and go for him." The driver hesitated as the sound of rain started pelting the roof. "I'll ride as fast as I can but it's a long way. With this storm, I doubt if I'll be back before morning.

Do you think he'll last that long?"

"He'll make it,” Ben said grimly. "Just get going."

Nodding, the driver left the room as Smitty rushed in. The old man's arms were filled with towels and bandages. Emily turned to him. "Heat some water so we can clean the wound," she told the station master. "And keep a lot of water hot. We may need it."

Working together, Ben and Emily cleaned Joe's wound and tightly bandaged him. Ben tried not to be upset by his son's soft moaning as they worked. “That’s all we can do for now,” admitted Emily in a soft voice as she tied the bandage around Joe.

“Thank you,” Ben answered, his eyes still on Joe. Emily nodded and turned to leave the bedroom.

A hard rain was pounding on the roof and windows as Emily emerged from the room. Her hair hung limply around her face. Sitting on the near bench of the table, his elbow leaning on the table, her husband was sipping a cup of coffee. Emily sat wearily on the bench next to him.

"Have some coffee," Moore suggested. He walked to the fireplace, grabbed a cup from one of the shelves, and poured the hot liquid from a coffeepot on the grate. He handed the steaming cup to his wife. "Drink this,” he ordered. "You'll feel better." Emily took the cup and gratefully began sipping the coffee.

For several minutes, Moore watched his wife without speaking. "How is he?" he asked finally.

"I don't know," Emily replied wearily. "The bullet damaged some tissue. It can't be removed without further damage." She looked hopefully at her husband. "He needs a surgeon to remove the bullet and repair the damage."

Moore stood and turned his back to his wife. "No!" he exclaimed angrily. "I've already told you there's nothing I can do. Don't ask me."

"Doesn't it mean anything to you that Joe was hurt defending me?" Emily pleaded. "He was trying to help me. Why can't you help him?"

Turning back to face his wife, Moore had a look of determination on his face. "I'm sorry but I can't help him,” he stated firmly. "That part of my life is over." With long strides, he crossed the room to a window and stared out into the night.

Sighing, Emily put her cup on the table. As she rubbed her neck, she walked to the rocking chair and sat down. Soon she was asleep.

A noise woke Emily with a start; she hadn't meant to sleep. She looked around the room. John was sprawled in the other chair, snoring gently. Smitty was drinking coffee at the table. "How long have I been asleep?" she asked the old man with alarm.

"Oh, well over an hour, maybe close to two," Smitty answered. "You were right tuckered."

With a concerned expression, Emily stood and walked rapidly to the bedroom. Ben was sitting by his son's bed, gently stroking Joe's head with a cloth. Beads of sweat were forming on Joe's ashen face.

"Any change?" Emily asked.

"The bleeding has stopped," Ben replied softly. "But he's got a high fever. I'm trying to cool him down." Ben dipped the cloth into a pan of water and squeezed out the excess water. Gently, he wiped Joe's face and chest.

"Why don't you get some rest? I'll stay with him," Emily urged.

Ben shook his head. "I couldn't sleep, even if I wanted to."

Nodding with understanding, Emily sat on the empty bed. "Is Joe your only child?"

Once more, Ben shook his head. "I've got two other sons," he answered without looking at Emily. He continued to dip the cloth into the water and press it to Joe's head. "Joe's the youngest. His mother died when he was just a baby. I've always been more protective toward him than my two older boys. I guess I've felt he missed something being raised by me and his brothers."

"I'm so sorry he was shot because of me. I should have just let those men have the locket. It's not worth your son's life," said Emily guiltily.

"It wasn't your fault,” Ben replied as he continued to bathe Joe's face. "Joe's always been impulsive. And, even though he tries to act tough, he's got a soft heart. I don't think anyone could have stopped him."

Suddenly, Joe stirred on the bed. His breathing became more rapid as he began to twist and turn on the bed. He let out a sharp cry of pain.

Ben laid a restraining hand on Joe's shoulder. "Lay still, Joe," he commanded, his voice filled with worry. "I know it hurts but you have to lay still."

Despite his father’s words, Joe tried to twist away. "Pa!" he cried desperately. "Help me, please." He turned his face to Ben, his eyes open and bright with fever. Joe gripped Ben's arm tightly. "Help me," he repeated. "We have to stop them. Don't let them shoot! Pa? Pa? Do you hear me?"

Groaning, Joe squeezed his eyes close. His breathing became labored. He cried out again as his body arched with pain. Suddenly, he collapsed back onto the bed and laid still, his breathing rapid and shallow.

Pulling back the covers, Ben looked as Joe's bandages. A splotch of red showed on the bandage and was growing. "He's bleeding again!" Ben declared with alarm.

Rising quickly to her feet, Emily walked to the door of the bedroom. "John! John! Come here quickly," she shouted into the big room. John Moore woke and sat up in his chair. "John, come here!" Emily shouted with urgency.

Brushing his eye with his knuckle, Moore walked into the bedroom. "What is it, Emily? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Joe's started bleeding again. We can't wait for the doctor from town. You've got to do something," Emily told her husband.

"What can John do?" asked Ben in a puzzled voice.

Emily turned toward Ben. "My husband is a doctor, a surgeon."

"What!" Ben leaped to his feet and faced Moore. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Because I'm no longer a doctor," answered Moore quietly.

"You can't just stop being a doctor," Ben said angrily. "It's not like taking off a suit of clothes. You have the knowledge and skill to help my son. You took an oath. You can't just stand by and do nothing while my son may be dying."

"You don't understand," Moore replied in a bitter voice. "I can't help Joe. If I operated on him, I would kill your son, just like I killed my own son." Turning quickly on his heel, Moore left the room.

Ben stared at Emily with astonishment.

"John Moore was one of the finest surgeons in Baltimore," Emily explained to Ben. "He took cases everyone else said were hopeless and, many times, he saved the patient. He became famous. Wealthy people, artists, even senators flocked to his office, and he was able to help a great number of them.”

“What happened?” Ben asked with a frown.

"We had a son, Michael,” answered Emily. “One day, when he was about five, Michael became ill. At first I thought it was one of those usual stomach aches that children get. But Michael got worse. When I finally took him to John's office, our son was very sick. John took one look and realized Michael had appendicitis. He rushed him into the operating room.”

For a moment, Emily stood silently, a look of sorrow on her face. Then she took a deep breath and continued. "John had done this operation a thousand times, so he wasn't concerned. However, in the middle of the operation, one of Michael's arteries started to bleed. No one knows why. Maybe he was born with a weak spot. John started to work on the artery, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. While he was doing that, Michael's appendix suddenly burst. The bleeding and infection was too much for our son's small body to handle. He died on the operating table.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben murmured sympathetically.

"John blamed himself for Michael's death,” Emily told Ben. “For two weeks, he sat in our son's room and just brooded. I finally got him to go back to the office, but he wouldn't… he couldn't go back into the operating room. One day, a few months ago, John came home and announced he was giving up medicine. He wanted to go West, away from the constant reminders of our son. He wanted to start over as a businessman. I keep hoping John will come to his senses. He's a fine doctor."

"I'm sorry about your son," Ben stated in quiet voice. "But I'm trying to save MY son."

"I know," Emily acknowledged. "I'll talk to him."

Emily found her husband standing on the front porch staring into the sky. The rain had stopped. "The air smells so fresh and clean after a rain," Moore observed without turning.

"John, you can't ignore your responsibilities any longer," Emily said softly. "You've got to help that boy."

"I meant it when I said I was no longer a doctor, Emily."

"John, that boy in there is dying. You've got to help him," insisted Emily.

"No!" Moore cried. "I can't. You don't know what it's like. You don't know how it feels to kill your own son."

"You didn't kill Michael," countered Emily. "He died. You did everything possible but our son died."

"You just don't understand," Moore told his wife quietly.

"Oh, I understand," Emily answered angrily. "I understand very well. You're not only mourning the loss of our son, you're mourning the loss of the great Dr. John Moore!"

Moore starred at her in astonishment. "Oh yes", continued Emily. "The great Dr. Moore. A simple operation and his son dies. Maybe Dr. Moore isn't perfect; maybe Dr. Moore isn't God!"

"Emily..." Moore began.

"Be quiet, John!" Emily shouted. "I've put up with a lot. I've put up with your self-pity. I've given up my life and friends and everything in Baltimore so you could move to a place where people wouldn't know you're not perfect. But no more. I will NOT put up with you allowing Joe Cartwright to die. If you stand by and do nothing, I will leave you, John. I'll leave you to wallow in your self-pity, alone for the rest of your life." Emily stalked off the porch and back into the house.

Stunned by his wife’s words, Moore stared at the empty door for a long time. Finally, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. With a determined walk, he entered the house.

In the large common room, Emily was seated in the rocking chair, weeping softly. "Emily," Moore said as he laid a hand on his wife's shoulder, "I'll do what I can to help the boy. But without my instruments, I don't know how much good I can do."

Looking up at her husband, Emily smiled. "Your medical bag is in my luggage. I'll get it. "

With an air of authority, Moore turned to Smitty, who was still sitting at the table. "Clean off that table." Moore ordered. "And round up every candle and lantern in this place. I'll need plenty of light." He turned to his wife, who was standing nearby with a black doctor's bag in her hand. Moore took the bag, almost snatching it from his wife’s hands. "Emily, wash down that table and cover it with a clean sheet." He turned back to Smitty, who was gaping at him. "Move!" Moore barked. We don't have any time to loose."

As Emily and Smitty sped to their tasks, Moore walked into the bedroom. Ben was sitting by Joe's bed, wiping his son's face and holding his hand.

"Excuse me, Mr. Cartwright," Moore said briskly as he pushed Ben aside. "I have to check my patient." Ben watched in astonishment as Moore examined the wound, measured Joe's pulse and felt Joe's forehead. He pulled a stethoscope from his bag and carefully listened to the sounds from Joe's chest. Finally, Moore turned to Ben. "I won't lie to you. It's a bad wound and I may have waited too long. His pulse is weak and some infection has started to set in. But I think I can save him. I would like your permission to try."

"Of course," answered Ben gratefully. "What can I do to help?"

Joe was moved to the dining room table turned into operating table. For over two hours, Moore worked on him as Emily stood at his right, holding a tray of instruments. Ben stood near the table, holding a lamp, and Smitty brought clean cloths and fresh water to the table at Moore’s commands. Moore worked swiftly and surely, removing the bullet and infected tissue, then sewing the delicate blood vessels. At last, he made the final stitches and wrapped Joe in clean bandages.

"That's it," Moore declared, turning to Ben. "I've done what I could. We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

"Thank you," Ben said with sincerity. “Thank you very much.”

"Don't thank me yet," warned Moore. "We don't know if Joe will pull through."

"Regardless of what happens, thank you," answered Ben. "You did your best. That's all anyone can ask."

Looking at Ben, Moore took a deep breath. "You're right. All anyone can do is their best." He turned back to his patient. "Let's leave Joe where he is. I don't want to risk moving him yet."

Ben spent the remainder of the night sitting by his son, anxiously watching him. Moore sat in the over-stuffed chair with Emily on his lap, her head on his shoulder. Both dozed but woke as the morning light poured into the room. "Tell me something," murmured Moore as he stroked his wife's hair. "Would you have really left me? I mean, if I hadn't operated on Joe?"

Emily kissed her husband lightly on the forehead. "I would never leave you, John. I just wanted to shake you up. It was the only thing I could think of that would get you to operate."

"It certainly did that," her husband acknowledged with a smile.

Suddenly, Joe stirred on the table. Instantly, Moore and Emily jumped to their feet and went to his side.

"Joseph, Joe, can you hear me?" asked Ben as Moore felt Joe's wrist. Joe slowly opened his eyes and glanced at the people around the table.

"Hi," Joe said weakly.

"How do you feel, son?" Ben asked

"Hungry," answered Joe with a wry grin. He took a deep breath and seemed to gather his strength. "What does a fellow have to do to get fed around here?"

The trio around the table laughed with relief. Ben looked across the table at Moore, who nodded reassuringly. "Thank you," said Ben softly.

Four days later, Emily and John Moore were once again dressed for traveling. They walked out of the door of the way station, followed by Ben. Joe sat in a chair on the porch and watched the couple. Moore turned to Joe as he and his wife stepped off the porch.

"Now remember, what I told you, Joe,” Moore said sternly. "Get plenty of rest. And I want you to wait at least another week before you travel home."

"Don't worry," Ben declared with a smile. "I'll keep him here, even if I have to hog-tie him."

"You all worry too much," grumbled Joe. "I'm fine."

"You just do what the doctor ordered," Ben told his son.

With a smile on his face, Moore walked over to Smitty, who was standing near the stagecoach. "Thanks for everything," Moore said, extending his hand. "Tell Dr. Baker again I'm sorry he made that long trip for nothing."

"He didn't mind," Smitty answered, shaking Moore's hand. “He liked talking all that doctor stuff with you. Besides, he did have the medicine you wanted."

"That reminds me," Emily noted with a frown. "Joe, it's time for your next dose. Don't forget it."

As he got to his feet, Joe rolled his eyes to the sky. "You'd think I was twelve year old," he protested. Then an impish grin crossed his face. "But I'll do it for the prettiest scenery this side of the Mississippi."

The men laughed as Emily blushed. Ben walked forward and helped Emily into the stage. He turned to Moore. "Thanks again for everything," Ben said as he and Moore shook hands. "I know Sacramento is getting a very talented doctor. It won't be long before I'll be bragging that I know John Moore, the best surgeon in the West."

"Now it's my turn to blush," laughed Moore as he climbed into the stage.

Ben, Joe and Smitty waved as the stage drove off. Ben put his arm affectionately around Joe's shoulders as they turned back to the house. "Let's go get your medicine," Ben suggested, and laughed as Joe wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Then," Ben continued as they entered the house, "I'll let you beat me in a game of checkers."

*****End*****

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