The Patient
By Chelseagirl
Angharad was clearing up the consulting rooms, that evening, before heading home to her boarding house. Doctor Lawrence, who lived upstairs with his wife, had gone to bed. He was getting on in years, the doctor was, and she worried that he’d been working himself too hard.
The clatter of horses’ hooves wasn’t unusual in town, of course, but for some reason, Angharad found herself drawn to the window, on that snowy night.
Only to see him dismount from his horse, the handsome dark-eyed stranger she’d nursed back to health. Jim Stone, he’d been called. How many years ago was that?
She opened the door just as he was raising his hand to knock.
“Well, I see that your leg is doing just fine – I saw you leap off that horse.”
He hesitated a moment. No doubt he was trying to recall her name. After all, his life was bound to be far more adventurous than her own, working as a nurse in this sleepy Western town, so far from home. He must meet so many people. And yet, she was oddly disappointed.
And then, with the flash of that brilliant smile, he clearly remembered. “Nurse Griffiths! It’s good to see an old friend—I didn’t know if you or the doc would still be here.”
“Why yes, Mister Stone. Still here, helping the good folks of Cypress Creek, we are.”
He nodded quickly. “It’s—well, my real name’s Smith. Joshua Smith.”
She wondered if that was true.
Continuing, he said, “And my friend, Thaddeus—you knew him as Paul Butler, if you recall—well, he’s been injured, and I can’t move him. He’s in an abandoned shack, twenty minutes ride away. Could the doctor come and help him?”
She shook her head. “Is it something I could help with? Doctor Lawrence is nearly eighty years old, you see, and I,” she paused, gathering her thoughts, “well, I don’t think he should go out in the storm.”
Stone’s—Smith’s—face fell. “He took ill so suddenly, you see. One minute we were riding, and the weather took a turn for the worse. Pretty soon, he was slumped in the saddle.”
Angharad smiled. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you, just that I don’t want to wake the doctor.”
She scrawled a quick note to the Lawrences, then turned to grab her coat, scarf, and hat, and the medical bag that she and Doctor Lawrence shared.
“I ‘preciate that, Nurse Griffiths, but I’m afraid my friend needs a doctor.”
That again. “As the doctor has gotten on in years, I’ve taken over more and more of his practice.” A dozen years of working at the man’s side, she’d picked up a lot of knowledge, and she’d supplemented it by reading all the medical books in his library.
Smith’s smile widened. He was remembering, she could see. “Of course. I remember our conversations, when I was laid up here. What was that—five years ago, now? Sorry for doubting you.”
“Do we need the wagon, to bring him here? We keep the horses at the Livery in town; I’d have to wake up Zechariah.”
Smith shook his head. “I’d rather we got there quickly. Would you mind riding behind?”
“Fine with me,” she said, so he mounted, and then helped her up behind.
***
As the second rider, she knew she slowed the horse just a little. Her arms around Joshua Smith’s waist, her form pressed up against his as they rode, was distracting for the still young-ish widow. Over the years since he’d recovered from a bad fall at Doctor Lawrence’s, she’d thought from time to time of her dark-eyed patient, the easy smile he’d recovered along with his health. She wondered if he’d ever thought of her.
They drew closer to the abandoned cabin where he’d left his friend, and the horse slowed to a walk.
“Don’t want to alarm Thaddeus,” Smith explained.
The cabin must have been recently abandoned, because it was still clean and furnished, if sparsely. On the bed lay the man Angharad had known as Paul Butler, now called Thaddeus. Who were these men, who changed their names so easily?
Thaddeus was semi-conscious, covered in sweat. A fire burned in the fireplace. Angharad found herself wondering if the wood had been left behind by the former resident—it seemed unlikely Joshua Smith would have had time to gather any before seeking help for his friend.
“We were just riding along, as I said,” Smith commented, “and Thaddeus started to get dizzy. He drank some water, and it seemed to help for awhile, until it didn’t. Luckily, we found this cabin, and I got him inside. He’s been going from bad to worse. I recalled we were near Cypress Creek, and of course I remembered you and the Lawrences, so I thought I’d take my chances to see if anyone could help.”
Angharad inspected the man. “He’s burning up with fever. I’ll brew him some willow bark tea and we’ll just have to wait it out. But I think he’ll be absolutely fine. I’m suspecting he was coming down with something mild, when you got caught out in the weather and it turned to something worse. Shelter and the tea will help.”
Angharad showed Smith how to brew the tea, and they took turns sitting up with Thaddeus. Around about dawn, as she noted her patient’s unobstructed breathing, he opened his eyes for the first time. They were a lovely clear blue, and seeing them, a host of memories from that few weeks, five years earlier, came back to her.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Where’s Hay—” Thaddeus began to ask, and cut himself short. “Wait, I know you, don’t I? I remember that pretty accent.”
She nodded. “Your friend has managed to fall asleep sitting up,” she pointed to Smith, snoring softly with his head folded in his arms onto a wooden table. “He was exhausted. And yes, we’ve met. I’m Angharad Griffiths. I’m a nurse. I took care of your partner about five years ago when he was recovering from a bullet to the leg. And I’ve always wondered about that.”
“An accident,” her patient said, quickly, sitting up in the bed. “Just a misunderstanding with an overprotective rancher, didn’t like us crossing his property.”
“Except that Jim Stone and Paul Butler are really Joshua Smith and Thaddeus—”
“Jones. Thaddeus Jones,” he said, helpfully.
“Jones? A good Welsh name,” she said and smiled. “Well, it’s really none of my business. You’re recovering well. As soon as your friend wakes, I’ll ask him for a ride back into town, and leave the two of you to go on your way.”
“There’s no hurry,” and Thaddeus Jones smiled a smile just as radiant as his partner’s.
“Except for the other patients back in town. Doctor Lawrence is getting on in years, and depends on me more than ever.” Sally Hawkins was expecting her second any day now, and young Frank Sayers had injured himself badly in a fall. She was needed elsewhere.
***
When Joshua Smith woke up, several hours later, his partner was up and dressed, drinking tea and chatting with Angharad.
“I’ll leave some of the willow bark for you. And just because the two of you are favorite patients, some of this Darjeeling, as well.” She smiled. “I always keep some in my bag, since most Americans have the most appalling preference for coffee.”
“Not Joshua’s coffee.” Jones made a face.
“My coffee is,” Smith smiled, “adequate.”
“If you say so.”
“If you don’t mind, I really must be getting back,” said Angharad, and began to gather her things together.
When they arrived in front of Doctor Lawrence’s office, after a rather lovely ride, with snow falling all around them, Angharad dismounted.
Smith made as if to join her, but she stopped him.
“You’ll need to give him the willow bark tea for another day or two. And then, I expect, the two of you will be moving on.”
Smith nodded, lips tight. “That’s what we do.”
Angharad took a deep breath. “You know, it’s almost Christmas. And the Lawrences would love to see you. If you wanted to, before you headed off.”
There was a look of regret in the dark eyes. “I’d like nothing better. But it’s best if we keep moving, Thaddeus and me.”
“Important appointments to keep?”
“Not exactly. Trouble to keep out of.”
“A shame. Not much trouble in a town like this, though. At least not if you weren’t involved in a bank robbery. And I don’t suppose you do that sort of thing anymore, do you? Mister Jim Stone, Joshua Smith, something Hay?”
“I don’t know what you might be talking about.”
“The doctor and I put two and two together last time you were in town. You were a patient to be helped, and we both got to know you and your friend. I fancy myself a good judge of character. Well, except for my late husband.”
Joshua Smith smiled. “Something like that, Nurse Griffiths. Something very much like that.”
“Well, I won’t inquire further,” she said, “but it’s Angharad, please. Give your friend a few days to get better and we’ll hope to see you Christmas Eve.”
“We’ll see, Angharad.” He mangled the pronunciation, as she’d known he would. “We’ll see. But I’d very much like to see the Lawrences again.” He reached down towards her, and clasped her hand. “And you, especially.”
He turned and rode away, and she didn’t see him or his friend again.
Not, that is, until Christmas Eve.
This is a sequel to “Recovery,” a hurt/comfort fic which I wrote in 2018 as a present for Helen when she was recovering from surgery. You can find it on An Archive of Our Own.
