Chapter 3 - The Night Cottonwood Creek Rose
Jacob stepped into the rain before Evelyn could stop him.
Within seconds his jacket was soaked.
He walked toward the crossing, shining a flashlight across the moving water.
Evelyn watched through the windshield.
The creek was not enormous, but the current was fast and rising.
Debris moved through the headlights.
A broken branch.
Grass.
Something wooden she could not identify.
Jacob returned and opened the driver's door.
"We don't take the truck through."
"Then how do we reach the Palmers?"
"There's an old cattle trail half a mile north. Higher ground."
"Can the truck use it?"
"No."
Evelyn stared.
"You are not about to suggest horses."
"They're already saddled at the Jenkins place across the ridge if we can reach the barn."
"I can barely ride when the weather is pleasant."
Jacob grabbed the medical bag.
"Tonight the horse will be too scared to judge you."
Under other circumstances she might have laughed.
Instead she followed him into the rain.
The cattle trail was difficult even on foot.
Mud grabbed Evelyn's boots.
Twice Jacob took her arm.
The second time she did not protest.
By the time they reached the Jenkins barn, she was breathing hard.
Tom Jenkins appeared with a lantern.
"What in God's name are you doing out here?"
"Palmer place," Jacob said.
Tom's face changed.
"Anne?"
"Labor."
"Take Daisy and Buck."
Within minutes they were riding.
Evelyn's fear of horses disappeared beneath larger fear.
They reached the Palmer ranch shortly before nine.
Samuel Palmer opened the door.
Relief broke across his face.
"Doctor."
His wife Anne was thirty-four weeks pregnant by Evelyn's best estimate.
The contractions were regular.
Too regular.
Worse, Anne said she had felt the baby move less that afternoon.
Evelyn's training warned her immediately that the situation could become dangerous.
She examined Anne as carefully as circumstances allowed.
They needed a hospital.
There was no argument.
"How?"
Samuel asked.
Evelyn looked toward Jacob.
"The creek."
Jacob shook his head.
"Truck won't cross now."
"Another route?"
"Adds almost two hours."
Evelyn felt cold despite the heated room.
Anne gripped the bedsheet.
"I can't ride a horse."
"No," Evelyn said. "You aren't going to."
She turned toward Jacob.
"We need a vehicle on the other side of the creek."
Jacob understood before she finished.
"We get her to the crossing by wagon."
Samuel stared.
"In this?"
"It's that or wait."
Evelyn looked at Anne.
Waiting was the greater danger.
Jacob and Samuel prepared a covered livestock trailer with blankets and straw.
It was crude.
Evelyn hated it.
But medicine was often choosing the least dangerous imperfect option.
Margaret had once told her ranchers survived by respecting the difference between difficult and impossible.
Tonight, Evelyn understood.
They moved Anne slowly.
Every mile felt longer than the last.
At the crossing, the water had risen another several inches.
Tom Jenkins had telephoned the sheriff from his house.
On the far side, headlights appeared.
An ambulance from Worland had come as close as it safely could.
But between Anne and the ambulance was a flooded stretch of road.
Jacob and Samuel secured ropes across the shallowest section.
Evelyn looked at him.
"Absolutely not."
"We can't bring the trailer through."
"You could be swept away."
"So could she if we wait."
Jacob spoke calmly.
That made it worse.
He and Samuel crossed first using the rope.
The water reached Jacob's thighs.
The current shoved hard against him.
He reached the other side.
Then they rigged a canvas stretcher between two men and slowly transferred Anne across with Evelyn beside her.
Halfway through, Anne cried out.
Another contraction.
The current struck Evelyn's knees.
Her boot slipped.
A hand caught the back of her coat.
Jacob.
"Eyes on me."
She looked at him.
"One step."
She moved.
"Another."
They reached the ambulance.
Twenty minutes later they were moving toward Worland.
Jacob remained behind to help secure the horses and equipment.
Evelyn went with Anne.
At the hospital, the obstetrician determined that early delivery was necessary.
The baby boy was small.
He required assistance.
But he lived.
Anne lived.
Samuel cried openly when he finally arrived.
Evelyn stood outside the treatment area with mud drying on her clothes and realized her hands were shaking.
A nurse approached.
"You Dr. Mitchell?"
"Yes."
"Someone's asking for you."
Jacob sat in the waiting room.
His hair was still wet.
There was blood on his sleeve.
Evelyn crossed the room.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Jacob."
"Rope burn."
She pulled up his sleeve.
The abrasion along his forearm was deep enough to need attention.
"You should have told someone."
"Someone was busy."
"Sit."
He obeyed.
Evelyn cleaned the wound.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Finally Jacob said, "Boy's all right?"
"So far."
"And Anne?"
"Stable."
His shoulders relaxed.
Evelyn taped fresh gauze into place.
"You could have been killed."
"So could you."
"I'm the doctor."
"Water didn't seem impressed."
She looked at him sharply.
Jacob smiled faintly.
The adrenaline left her all at once.
Evelyn sat beside him.
"I was terrified."
"So was I."
She turned.
Jacob did not look embarrassed by the admission.
"I thought you weren't afraid of anything."
"That's because I don't advertise."
Evelyn laughed weakly.
Then her eyes filled.
She hated herself for it.
Jacob saw.
He moved closer but did not touch her.
Not until she leaned toward him.
Then his arm went around her shoulders.
The gesture contained nothing demanding.
No kiss.
No declaration.
Just warmth.
For the first time since discovering Thomas's letter, Evelyn allowed herself to rest against another person without wondering what he wanted in exchange.
They returned to Red Willow after dawn.
Margaret was waiting.
She hugged Evelyn.
Then Jacob.
Then complained that neither of them had enough sense to come in from rain.
By noon, the entire valley seemed to know what had happened.
Two days later, Samuel Palmer arrived with a photograph.
Anne was smiling weakly from a hospital bed.
A tiny baby lay wrapped beside her.
"We named him Matthew Jacob Palmer."
Jacob nearly dropped the photograph.
Samuel grinned.
"My wife picked Matthew."
Then he looked at Jacob.
"I picked the other part."
Jacob stared at him.
Evelyn watched something move across Jacob's face.
Pride.
Discomfort.
Emotion he did not know what to do with.
Samuel turned to Evelyn.
"We would've lost them without you."
Evelyn shook her head.
"You got help early enough."
"We got you."
The words followed her for days.
She had spent years in Casper believing significance meant being where the most resources existed.
At Red Willow, she began to understand another kind of usefulness.
Sometimes what mattered was being where no one else was.
That realization frightened her because it complicated everything.
Dr. Bennett telephoned.
Margaret handed Evelyn the receiver in the kitchen.
His voice crackled over the line.
"I heard about that delivery."
Evelyn frowned.
"How?"
"Wyoming is large geographically and tiny socially."
She smiled.
"Anne Palmer and the baby are doing well."
"I know."
Then his voice became serious.
"Evelyn, I need your answer."
Her stomach tightened.
"The supervisory position."
"I know."
"I can hold it another week."
Evelyn looked through the window.
Jacob was helping Frank load hay.
"Harold, do you ever regret staying at the hospital?"
Silence.
"That's an unusual question."
"Humor me."
Dr. Bennett sighed.
"Medicine is mostly choosing which regret you can live with."
"That doesn't help."
"It isn't supposed to."
She smiled sadly.
He continued.
"I stayed because I loved the work. Not the building. Not the position. The work."
Evelyn lowered her gaze.
"And if the work had taken you somewhere else?"
"I hope I would've been brave enough to follow it."
They ended the call.
That night Evelyn told Margaret she wanted to investigate whether the county could support a small rural clinic.
Margaret stared.
"A clinic?"
"Not a hospital. Basic care. Regular hours. Vaccinations. Follow-ups. Somewhere people could be seen before a problem became an emergency."
"You mean here?"
"Near Ten Sleep."
Margaret slowly sat down.
"Evelyn, that's not a small idea."
"I know."
"You'd need money."
"I know."
"Licensing."
"I know."
"Equipment."
"I know."
Margaret smiled.
"Then why are you smiling?"
Evelyn touched her face.
She had not realized she was.
Over the next several days she asked questions.
The county health office had discussed improved rural access before.
Nothing had happened because there was no physician willing to commit.
That fact remained lodged in Evelyn's mind.
No physician willing to commit.
She wrote for information.
She spoke to the pharmacist in town.
She asked Margaret how much an unused building near the old feed store might cost to rent.
She told no one she had decided anything.
Because she had not.
But Jacob noticed.
"What are you doing?"
He found her at the kitchen table surrounded by papers.
"Research."
"Looks dangerous."
"Possibly."
He sat opposite.
Evelyn showed him her notes.
Jacob read silently.
Then he looked up.
"A clinic."
"Maybe."
"Here."
"Maybe."
His expression remained guarded.
"You don't have to look frightened."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Jacob leaned back.
"I don't want to misunderstand again."
The honesty hurt.
Evelyn reached across the table.
Her fingers touched his hand.
He looked down.
"I don't know yet," she said.
"I know."
"But I'm trying to figure it out."
His hand turned beneath hers.
Their fingers remained together.
It was the first deliberate touch between them.
Neither moved.
Then headlights appeared in the yard.
A car stopped near the porch.
Margaret looked through the front window.
"Who comes this late without calling?"
Jacob stood.
Evelyn followed.
A woman stepped from the car.
She was tall, dark-haired, perhaps Jacob's age.
She wore a navy coat and stood motionless when she saw him through the window.
Jacob's hand fell away from Evelyn's.
His face changed.
Not with affection.
With shock.
The woman walked toward the porch.
May you like
Margaret whispered one word.
"Clara."
