Doc, do you think Mr. Foster is going to make it?” questioned Molly with sincere concern in her voice.
We were sitting at what I considered “my table” at the diner. Last week, Wilson Foster, fell in her place of business, hitting his head, and hadn’t been able to gain consciousness for any length of time since then.
“It’s hard to say, Molly. Very little is know regarding apoplexy,” answered Doc, then he ran his thumb over his nose in a flicking motion. “I don’t think his problem is from the knock of the head; it’s something more serious than that. I know that in some of the hospitals back east they are doing some surgeries on the arteries in the neck,” he continued grabbing the sides of his neck and bringing his fingers together. “It seems that there is a build up in the arteries that can cause paralysis and even death. Stroke, they’re calling it now. I think that’s what happened to Wilson.”
“Well, can anything be done?” asked Molly.
Doc seemed fidgety today, this time he scratched the left side of his head. “I don’t know, Molly. I just don’t know.”
Molly began to shake her head, “Poor Elizabeth. What will happen to her?”
It was now my opportunity to speak. “Darnelle can run the store…”
“She’ll have to!” interrupted Doc. “Wilson won’t be up for a long time,” he paused, “if ever. I don’t know if he can even speak. Elizabeth will have to spend her time taking care of him, or send him to Denver to one of those homes.”
“Oh, Doc, no!” cried Molly. “That would be terrible. Well, we need to pray for Mr. Foster.”
“Edith has been helping Elizabeth, but she can’t keep it up. She’s supposed to be home tomorrow,” he informed us then looked at me. “I’m glad you thought of Mrs. Blackstone. Darnelle can surely operate the store, but she’ll need help.”
I had just taken a sip of coffee. “It wasn’t my idea,” I replied. “Molly thought of her. She’ll work while Connor’s in school. He can do some work as well, chopping wood, sweeping, things like that.”
Doc grabbed his hat and coat and was putting them on as he walked to the door. We had another three inches of snow last night. He turned to look back at us, shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “It’s cold,” and walked out.
“Poor Mr. Foster,” mulled Molly.
We sat there quietly for a few seconds when Marta came to the table. “I will only take a minute, but I need to talk with Senor Miles,” she said.
“Go ahead, Marta,” uttered Molly. “I’ll take over your tables.”
As Molly left, Marta took her chair. “Senor Miles, I am worried about Charlie. He should have been back three days ago,” she said wringing her hands. “I am fearful that something has happened to him.”
“Most likely the road’s just closed.”
“No, Senor,” she was in tears, holding her hands to her chest. “I feel it here, something has happened.” She looked at me pleading.
I pulled at my moustache. Molly has meandered in our direction and heard Marta’s plea. “Miles.”
Putting my hand on Marta’s I nodded. “I’ll head out tomorrow. Standing up I picked up the Greener, put on my hat and told Molly. “I’ll need to get a mule and supplies. See you for supper…”
**********
p.s. Those of you who enjoy The Saga of Miles Forrest should be interested to know that there are two full-length novels about the adventures of Miles. They are: Return From Tincup; and Winter of the Wolves. They may be purchased from Amazon.