American Boy - Larry Watson [2]
Once again the doctor surveyed the table, looking steadily at each of us in turn. Dr. Dunbar was not a weak or indecisive man, and it was unlikely that he was actually seeking counsel. As it was, Dr. Dunbar had already gone beyond what most fathers would have done. In that time and place—a small Midwestern town buttoned up tight with the early sixties’ sense of decorum—few fathers would have shared these details with their family, much less asked for advice. A few heads of households might have called their wives aside and apprised them of the situation, but to involve the children was almost unheard of.
Nevertheless, I offered an opinion, which was testimony to my brashness rather than to any wisdom or practical judgment I might have possessed. “You could stay here,” I suggested, “and Johnny and I could try to help find her.”
“Well, there’s an idea. And not a bad one,” Dr. Dunbar said. “Well? Anyone else want to weigh in? Either in favor of Matthew’s proposal or not.”
Since I had volunteered Johnny for duty, I expected that he might speak up.
“No?” the doctor said. Then, to my surprise, he added, “All right then. We have a plan.”
The creases that appeared between Mrs. Dunbar’s eyes led me to believe that she didn’t agree, but she said nothing.
“I know you fellows are hungry,” Dr. Dunbar said, taking in the meal spread before us, “but if you want to join the search party out at Frenchman’s Forest, you’ll have to head out right away. Time is not on the side of someone bleeding from a bullet wound.”
Janet popped up out of her chair and asked, “Can we go, too?” Julia, often willing to allow her more vocal sister to speak for her, eagerly nodded her interest as well. The Dunbar twins were bright, bold little girls whose adventurous spirits made them seem more like their father than their mother.
Dr. Dunbar looked from one daughter to the other as if their request warranted serious consideration. Finally he said, “I don’t doubt that you two have eyes every bit as sharp as the boys’, but that’s just the problem. I’m afraid you might find her. And that means you might see something you wish you hadn’t. No, let’s leave this one to the boys.”
The twins looked both disappointed and relieved.
Johnny and I stood up and left the table in order to prepare for our expedition. While we put on our stocking caps, coats, and overshoes, Mrs. Dunbar assured us that a hot meal would be waiting when we returned. We were almost out the door when Dr. Dunbar called us aside.
“Now, if you do find her,” he said, “don’t try to do anything heroic.” He handed each of us a stack of gauze pads. “A bullet wound is nothing to fool with. If she’s bleeding heavily, use simple compression. No tourniquets or anything extreme.” And then he added with a smile, “And absolutely no field surgery—don’t dig out the bullet with a jackknife or anything along those lines. If you have to touch a wound, use the gauze, not your bare hands. Now go. I’ll set up an emergency room in the clinic.”
As we dressed to go out, Johnny and I were excited, almost giddy, at the prospect of adventure. But when we finally left the house we were solemn and subdued, mindful that