Love's Abiding Joy (Love Comes Softly #4)(40)

Missie looked at her mother in bewilderment.

"But ya said--"

"I said it will be all right. An' it will. Whatever God decides to do will be the best. He knows us. He knows our needs. He seeks our good. Whatever He wills--"

But Missie pushed away her arms.

"Oh, Missie, Missie," sobbed Marty. "I fought it too. I fought it with all my being'. I want yer pa. I want him here with



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me. But God knows thet. I don't even have to tell 'im. But, little girl, we've got to trust Him. We've gotta let God truly be God."

Missie rose and left the room, still sobbing. Marty heard her close the door on her own room and throw herself on the bed. There was nothing more that Marty could say. She could only pray.

Marty went to the kitchen to ask Wong for coffee for the men in the sickroom. Clark had been given another opportunity of rest. The last of the medication had been given. Each one in the house felt the lingering question of "what then--?"

As Marty carried the pot of coffee and cups to the room, she met Missie in the hall. Her face was still tear-streaked but more serene. "Mama," she said, "I just wanted you to know that it's all right. I've prayed it all through, an' I'm . . . I'm willin' to. . . to let God be God. He does know best. I knew it all along. It's just easy to forget sometimes when you want your own way so--" She could go no further.

Marty managed a weak smile, and the tears flowed down her cheeks. She leaned over and kissed Missie on the cheek and then moved to go on to the room where Clark lay.

Missie wiped her tears on her apron and straightened up just as a knock sounded on the door.

Missie went to answer. Maria stood there, her shoulders square and her eyes shining with faith and pride. And just behind her stood Juan.

"Can we come in?" she asked. "My husband . . . is a doctor."



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Chapter Seventeen




Juan



Juan walked purposefully into the sickroom and set his case on the bed. His quick glance took in Clark's pallor and the flush that colored his cheeks. His nose caught the stench of rotting flesh, and he turned to the leg.

He knew even before he looked just what he would find. The crushed limb was badly infected, and the gangrene was not only eating away the flesh of the leg but was also poisoning the body of the man. The leg would have to be removed.

Juan's thoughts went back to another time, one just like this one. Another man lay before him with a similar leg and, at that time as well, Juan the doctor had needed to make a lifesaving decision. He had decided then, as he was deciding now, that the leg must be sacrificed in order to save the life. All of his training and experience told him so. He had done what he needed to do. The man had lived.

And then . . . Juan shuddered as other memories crowded into his mind. The angry screams, the raging accusations, the shouts that spoke of betrayal, and finally the sound of a pistol



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shot. For a moment, Juan felt that he must flee Clark's room--and the memories. Then the groans of the sick man and the cries of the women in the hall strengthened him. He straightened himself and looked at the two men in the room.

"I'm going to need lots of boiling water and a strong man to assist me," he said evenly and removed his jacket.

"I wish thet I could volunteer," said Willie. "I'd like to, but I'm a-feared thet I'd cave in halfway through. I can see to the water, an' I'll find ya a man."

Willie told the ladies about the need for boiling water and went on to the bunkhouse. Lane was sitting in the doorway watching Nathan and Josiah who played with Max.

Willie went to the bunkhouse, motioned Lane inside, and shut the door.

"We found us a doc," he said; and, at the surprise that showed on everyone's faces, he continued. "Juan. Juan has all the trainin' an' has even been in practice fer a few years. I know ya all have questions. So do I, but now ain't the time fer answers. We'll git 'em all in good time. Right now I need a man. I got a job thet won't be easy to do. The doc needs help. He's gonna take off thet there leg. Yer wonderin' why I don't offer, him being' my father-in-law an' all. Well, I'll tell ya straight out. I'm not sure thet I could take it. I might fold up on the doc jest when he needed me most. Anyone here thet thinks he could do it?"

Willie's eyes looked around the bunkhouse. Not all of the cowboys were in. Some of them were out on the range taking their shift with the cattle. Those who were in the room probably wished they were far away as well, mending fence or herding doggies. Willie had asked a hard thing.

Jake lay stretched out on his bunk, catching up on some sleep. He had had the late shift the night before. In the corner, Smith, the bitter, critical member of the crew, sat smoking a cigarette and staring at the cards in his hand. Browny was his partner in the game. Clyde, who sat on a stool near the window, shifted the lariat he was working on into the other hand and shot tobacco juice at the bean can sitting on the floor. Lane went white and stared at his hands as though trying to



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measure whether they would be capable of such a job. The room was heavy with silence. At last, Lane cleared his throat and spoke softly. "I'll go."