Alexander was coming. He would see for himself how short of the mark Burke had truly come. It would be a reckoning; one he wasn’t entirely ready to make.
Wind was a constant in Wyoming. Therefore, so was dust. Burke spent time every day sweeping it out of the entryway of his home, knowing it’d be back again soon enough.
There was something of a metaphor in that. So much of his work didn’t really “keep.” He would see the town through an illness, but eventually there was another. He’d attend to an injury down the Red Road, only to hear of another down the Irish Road, followed by another out at one of the ranches. That was the nature of doctoring. But he did sometimes wonder how much of a difference he was truly making.
He swept the afternoon’s pile of dust out his front door and onto the porch. He then swept it off the edge and out amongst the dirt—dirt that would soon enough be blown back inside.
Eliza O’Connor was on the porch of the adjoining inn, doing precisely the same thing. “It never stops, does it?”
“Not ever.”
She rested her broom upright and leaned a little against the handle. “Did you fight this much dust in Chicago?”
All the town knew Burke had undertaken his medical schooling in that city. “Nowhere near as much.”
“We battled damp more often than dust in England,” she said.
He’d heard from the Irish in town that their homeland was similar. Every place had its joys and challenges, he supposed. In the orphanage, he had experienced far more of the latter.
Eliza’s gaze settled on the southern horizon. Her eyes narrowed. Burke looked in that direction as well.
A cloud of dust billowed into the sky far in the distance. They’d come to know that sight well; the stage was approaching.
Would this be the one Alexander was on? Surely not. He’d said he needed to make arrangements first. There’d not been enough time since the letter arrived for Burke to make further improvements to his humble infirmary. He hoped that meant Alexander hadn’t managed to work things out on his end either.
“Let me finish your sweeping,” Burke offered. “That’ll give you a moment to prepare for the new arrivals.”
“I know you’ve plenty of urgent matters to fill your time,” she said. “Sweeping my porch is hardly as urgent as working on your convalescing rooms. You’ve mentioned that need a lot lately.”
It had weighed heavily on his mind ever since Alexander’s letter had arrived. “The dust on your porch might not be as urgent as my uncompleted rooms, but it’s far easier to address.”
Eliza smiled a bit. “Who am I to deny you an easy task in the midst of difficult ones?”
What she labeled “difficult” he’d been finding “impossible.” For two years he’d spent every free moment and available penny continuing the work of completing his infirmary. Yet, he still lacked furnishings, medicines, and equipment. His own bedroom was so sparsely furnished that it bore a depressing resemblance to the space he’d occupied in the orphanage.
There was so much to do. Sweeping a porch would be a welcome escape from the weight of it.
Eliza stepped back inside to make her preparations. Burke moved to the inn’s portion of the covered porch and set himself to the task at hand. It was easy to think while sweeping. He could order the items in his mind.
The local merchant had procured a few more powders for him as well as apothecary jars. There was room in Burke’s cabinet for them already. He had received more nails and wood so he could build the bed frame needed in the third room. He needed shelves and bedside tables and stools for sitting and examining in those rooms.
He finished his sweeping just as Eliza stepped back out once more. The stage was rumbling up to the inn. He pulled the doors closed so the pounding hooves and spinning wheels wouldn’t send dirt onto Eliza’s clean floors.
Heaven help him if Alexander was on this stage. He’d spend the entirety of his friend’s visit making excuses for how short he’d fallen from the mark they’d set for themselves all those years ago.
Burke crossed back to the section of porch in front of his home and infirmary in the same moment the stage came to a halt.
After a moment, the dirt kicked up by its arrival settled once more. The driver hopped down and pulled open the coach door. Burke held his breath.
Out of the stage climbed a young woman with fly-away hair, noticeably fine clothing, and a somewhat frantic expression. She rushed immediately to Eliza. The two discussed something in low tones.
No one else stepped out of the coach. Was she the only passenger?
The new arrival came rushing to where he stood. “You’re a doctor?”
“I am.”
“The lady I’m traveling with has taken ill. Can you help her?”
