Between Two Worlds (30 page)

The landlady stood. Her back was ramrod straight, and her thin
face dropped with concern. “Of course. Let’s not tarry if the child’s bad off.”

The trio rushed up the stairs with Delaney in the lead. Georgia
had left the bedroom door open. Gabriel knocked and then entered when she
called him in. Delaney and Charlotte hung back, peering in from the threshold
of the door. They could see Fletcher thrashing on the bed. He was scratching at
his face and neck. Gabriel rushed to his side.

“I’ve done all I could to get his fever down,” Georgia told him. She
seemed to be near her breaking point. “Nothing’s working. He complained of a
sore throat early this morning, and now these bumps have appeared. He won’t
stop scratching at ‘em.”

“Stand back,” Gabriel ordered.

Her mouth gaped, probably stunned by the brash way in which he’d
spoken to her. She gazed between him and her son.

Gabriel opened Fletcher’s shirt and turned him gently on his back.

“It looks like he’s sunburned,” Georgia said.

“It’s a rash,” he corrected. “Open your mouth for me, Fletcher.
Say ah.” The boy opened his mouth and Gabriel peered in. “His throat is red and
the tonsils are covered with a white coating.” He felt the child’s glands.
“They’re swollen.”

“I’m cold,” Fletcher whined, pulling the cover up to his neck. His
little body was racked with chills.

Gabriel turned to Georgia, his face dark.

“What is it?” Delaney asked from the doorway. “What’s wrong with
him?”

“This child has scarlet fever.”

“Oh my God,” Charlotte whispered.

Georgia’s fist flew to her mouth.

“We have to get him to my clinic immediately,” Gabriel said.  He tucked
the covers around the boy’s body and lifted him from the bed.

“Do you need a buggy to transport him in?” Delaney asked.

“There’s no time.” Gabriel was already out of the bedroom and
heading down the stairs. “I’ll carry him.”

Delaney followed behind, with Charlotte on her heels. Georgia, who
was barefoot, slipped into some shoes and closed the bedroom door behind her.

“Can you help him, doctor?” she called, skimming her hand along
the smooth surface of the oak banister as she raced down the stairs. Her face
was flush with panic. Gabriel strode to the front door, which Delaney pushed
open and held for him to step through.

“I’ll begin treatment as soon as we get to the clinic. He glanced over
his shoulder and spoke to Charlotte. “Please make sure that whatever eating
utensils Fletch used recently get washed thoroughly in hot soapy water. This is
a bacterial infection, and it’s highly contagious.”

Charlotte gasped when Fletch passed out. His little body hung limp
within Gabriel’s arms.

“Lucinda and I will pray for him,” Charlotte told Georgia as she
and Delaney scampered after the doctor.

~ * ~

Fletcher lay on the cot that Jasmine had vacated earlier that
morning. Delaney was running on pure adrenaline. It had been one thing after
another since she’d arrived. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d saved the
towheaded boy from the stampeding horses. Now the little guy was stricken with
scarlet fever. She and Gabriel scrubbed their hands with lye soap and rinsed
them. As she was drying them on a towel, she glanced over and saw Georgia
staring at the bloodstains on the floor.

“Why don’t you pull up that chair and sit at your son’s side?”
Delaney suggested, pointing to the hardback chair against the wall. She put her
hand on Georgia’s back and ushered her over to the other side of the exam
table, away from the stains.

“Delaney, please soak a towel in warm water,” Gabriel instructed.
“We’re going to wrap it around his neck. It’ll help to soothe the swollen
glands. Then take another towel and soak it in cold water. That one you can
place on his forehead. We need to get his fever down.”

“Yes, Doctor.” She wanted to take her new position seriously, so
she spoke like a professional in front of Georgia.

To Georgia he said, “Fletch needs to drink plenty of fluids. We’ll
fill a glass with water and you make him sip it. As soon as he feels like eating,
one of us will go next door and bring back some soup from the café. With his
throat raw and sore, he won’t be able to eat anything else, but we need to keep
his strength up.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Georgia replied, mimicking Delaney.

When Delaney wrapped the moist towel around Fletcher’s neck, he
groaned and called out for his ma.

“I’m here, sweetheart. Mama’s here.” Georgia reached for his hand
and he squeezed it.

Delaney sidled next to Gabriel, who was pulling beakers and
bottles from his medicine cabinet. “Are you going to give him some of nature’s
aspirin? I remember you telling me it helps reduce fever.”

He smiled. She was glad to see that smile again after the tense
morning they’d shared.

“I knew you’d be a fast learner.” Pride showed in his hazel eyes.
“Yes. I’ll give him some, but right now I’m going to mix some oregano with a
little bit of water to make a paste.”

“Oregano?”

“We’ll slather it on the rash. It’ll help the itching. He’s scratching
hard and we don’t want him to leave scars. Georgia?” he called over his
shoulder, “I want you to trim his fingernails short so his skin isn’t damaged
by the scratching.” He plucked a small pair of scissors from his desk drawer
and handed it to Delaney. He was moving fast, talking fast, and working fast.

Before she took the scissors to Georgia, she whispered in his ear,
“Are you worried?”

He shot her an anxious glance. “Yes, I’m worried. Scarlet fever
can kill a child. It’s killed hundreds of children across the plains. Please
hurry and soak those towels.”

“I will, but…”

“But what? What is it? Time is of the essence here.”

“I know what the treatment for scarlet fever is.”

He stopped mixing the potion. The realization must have hit him like
a punch to the gut. “Of course you do! Why didn’t I ask you before?” He set the
beaker down and glanced at Georgia. She stared at both of them, so he lowered
his voice. “Tell me what to do, Delaney. What’s the cure?”

“There’s nothing you can do, except what you’re already doing. The
cure is something called antibiotics. A drug called penicillin.”

“Antibiotics.” He mulled the word over. “This penicillin. When
will it be discovered?”

“Sometime around 1928, if my memory serves me.”

“That’s another forty years!” Gabriel looked over at Fletch. The
boy was moaning and itching and kicking his feet. His mother tried to calm him
with no success. “Let’s get those towels on him and I’ll mix up this oregano
paste and then we’ll talk some more.”

After those things were done, Gabriel fed the boy a cup of
valerian root tea. It acted as a sedative, causing Fletcher to fall asleep.
With the child finally at rest, Gabriel, Delaney and Georgia sat down and
discussed the prognosis.

“Is he gonna die, Dr. Whitman?” Georgia asked with a quivering
lip.

“I’ll do everything in my power not to let that happen. It’s lucky
we caught this early, but I’m afraid Fletch is still in for a long struggle.
Unfortunately, I’ve seen how scarlet fever can affect young children. He’s
going to be uncomfortable for several weeks, and his skin might start to peel.
The throat infection is going to cause him a lot of discomfort. And he’ll have
to stay quarantined. This type of fever is highly contagious.”

Georgia winced.

Delaney had been sitting quietly, but now she spoke up. “He
doesn’t have to suffer long, Gabriel.”

His greenish-brown eyes delved into her.

“You know what I’m talking about.” She squared her jaw. “I’m going
next door right now to talk to Donovan. He won’t deny a child his life.” She
started for the front door.

“What’s she talking about?” Georgia asked with tears in her eyes.
“What’s Donovan got to do with my child?”

“Gabriel will explain,” Delaney said. “Tell her everything,
Gabriel. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

When she walked into the café, she hailed Hannah. “Is Donovan in
the back?” There was no time to waste with pleasantries.

Hannah shook her head. “He left about thirty minutes ago.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Don’t know, Miss Marshall. Maybe home. Or maybe he went to play
cards or gamble at one of the saloons. That man’s hard to keep track of, as you
probably know by now.”

“Which saloon does he frequent the most?”

“He likes ‘em all. He enjoys his ale. He’s Irish, you know.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of his roots. Thank you, Hannah. I’ll go look
for him. If he returns, please tell him to go next door to see Dr. Whitman
right away, or to find me. It’s of the utmost importance. It’s a matter of life
and death. Do you understand?”

The pupils of Hannah’s eyes grew wide. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

Delaney searched every business and saloon on Washington Street.
Luck was with her this time for she found Donovan playing Faro at the Ace in
the Hole, the fourth gaming parlor she entered. When she strutted to his side,
she ignored the grunts and shocked expressions on the faces of his companions.

“You can’t be in here, ma’am,” the Faro dealer said with a frown,
as he rose from his seat at the gambling table. “Ladies aren’t allowed. I’ll
escort you out.”

She tapped Donovan on the shoulder. “Mr. McKinney will escort me,
thank you.” The Irishman’s curly head turned and then he dropped his face into
his hands.

“Miss Marshall,” he groaned. “Won’t you give a poor fella a
moment’s peace?” His gambling partners laughed.

“No.” She yanked on his coat sleeve. “Not when a child’s life is
at stake.”

Donovan lifted his head. “A child’s life, ye say? Which child?”

“Come outside with me. We need to talk. Now.” Delaney turned and
strode across the large room toward the front door. She flung it open and
watched him excuse himself from the table, saying his goodbyes to his
cardplaying buddies.

“What’s this all about?” he asked, once they got onto the walk.

“I need to go back to the future
now
, and you’re going make
it happen. Where can we go to talk? In private.” Her indignant gaze pinned him
like a dart. When Donovan hesitated, she added, “If you don’t tell me the rest
of that story you started yesterday and make that bridge reappear over the Salt
River, little Fletcher Brent may die.”

That got Donovan’s attention. “Little Fletch, ye say?”

She nodded.

He stroked his mutton chop sideburns and then beckoned her with
his pointer finger. “Follow me.”

After a short walk down a side street, she found herself in the sitting
room of a small crumbling-down stone cottage. “This is your home?” she asked,
as Donovan prepared a hot toddy in the cramped kitchen.

“Aye. It’s been in me family for years, ever since they came over
from Ireland. It’s not much to look at anymore, but I can’t bear to part with
it.” He sat a steaming mug of tea on the tiny side table next to where Delaney
sat and then lowered himself into an overstuffed chair with rips on the arms.

“Okay, Donovan. Enough stalling. Spill your guts before I spill
them for you. Fletcher doesn’t have much time. He has scarlet fever.”

“Oh, no.” He licked his lips. “Aye, lass. You’ve waited long
enough.”

Her whole body shook with stress and anticipation. “Go on,” she
said. “I just told you. Time is of the essence here.”

“Aye, aye. Let’s see. I told ye Fiona O’Reilly was your great,
great, great grandmother.”

“Yes! I know that part. Please get on with it,” she huffed.

“Well, the O’Reillys and the McKinneys go way back, back to the
Old World, back three hundred years, in fact.”

“I know
that
already, Donovan.” Exasperation caused
Delaney’s voice to squeak.

“Aye. Three hundred years ago, yer ancestor, Aislinn O’Reilly was the
matriarch of the O’Reilly clan. She discovered someone had stolen the gold from
the pot under the rainbow that belonged to her clan. I think I told ye that
part before.”

“Wait a minute,” Delaney said, interrupting him. “Gold from
the
pot under the rainbow
? You’re kidding me, right? You told me he stole gold,
but you didn’t mention a pot under the rainbow.”

Donovan leveled his emerald eyes at her. “Aye, lass. Gold and
rainbows are what we’re talkin’ about here. Now do ye want to know what
happened, or don’t ye?”

“I do. Go on.”

“Well, it turned out that Samuel McKinney was the culprit. He was
a cobbler by trade, as most leprechauns were at that time, but apparently he
tired of hammerin’ day and night with nothin’ to show for it. He wanted
material things he couldn’t afford. Everyone knows leprechauns are greedy
little bastards.” Donovan shook his head. “To think. Me very own ancestor was a
gnarly thief.”