The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [149]
I said, "What was that?" and the doctor looked at me sharply, then said, "To tell the truth, ma’am, I don’t truly believe that your husband could tolerate any surgery. I think it would be too much of a shock to him, myself. He’s pretty far gone, ma’am."
We stared at each other, then he broke away, put his penknife in his pocket, and turned to don his coat, a blue coat, K.T. all over. I didn’t believe he was a doctor at all. Perhaps he was a governor pretending to be a doctor, just as Governor Robinson was a doctor pretending to be a governor.
"Now, Lidie," said Louisa, as if I had spoken aloud, but of course I hadn’t.
After the doctor went down the stairs, I said, "You’ve got to find another doctor, a real doctor."
"Now, Lidie."
I turned to Charles. "Please? Please, Charles, you must know someone else, or some woman who knows ..."
Later, a woman did come by. She was the wife of one of the legislators, and she had some emetic with her and the makings of a poultice for each wound. She told us what to do—to give a dram of the emetic every hour, and to change the poultices twice a day. Louisa felt that we should also get some broth into Thomas when we could, and a bit of whiskey now and then. We listened to our instructions and set up our sickroom as if we would be there for weeks—as we would be if Thomas should recover. Louisa and Charles bustled about, Mrs. Bush and Mr. Bush came in, and also Mrs. Lacey and one of the boys; the woman with the poultices had a friend, too, so in general there was a crowd and much talk, some of it about Thomas and his injuries, much of it about who had shot him. I told the story over and over. The only telling detail I could come up with was the sound of the one man’s voice—very southern—and the look on the boy’s face when he shot Jeremiah: he looked pleased. Perhaps I would know them to see them, but perhaps not—I couldn’t remember them, exactly. My only hope was that the looks of one of them would strike me should he appear before me again. Everyone speculated about who they had been, even bringing up names and looking toward me, as if I could say yes or no and that would be the one. I tried to explain how quickly it all had happened, and then everyone was sympathetic and declared that I should be bothered no more. And then, after a moment or two, they resumed speculating. When I asked what had happened to Mr. Graves, no one knew.
In the evening, I fell asleep again, and after I woke up, everyone was gone except Louisa, who was sitting beside Thomas, gazing at him. When I opened my eyes, she said, "Feel better?"
"Yes and no."
She smiled. "He spoke again. He asked where his carbine was."
"What time is it?"
’’After midnight."
"You must be exhausted yourself."
"Well..." She nodded.
"I’m fine to sit up. I’m not tired at all." Really, what I suddenly wanted was to be alone with my husband. Here we had been married all of ten months, had known each other for less than a year, and we had hardly been alone together, if you thought about it.
"I am tired," she said, "but I hate to ..." Moments later, she went off to bed, and my conscience smote me at my feelings of ingratitude. I took my place in the chair she had been sitting in and looked down at my husband. Frankly, I was amazed, still amazed. It seemed that there was no way I could get past this amazement into something more appropriate, more like what Louisa and the others seemed to be feeling. They had gone right into anger, sadness, and