Page 91 of Silver Lining
"I've been called worse."
He lifted his head and rubbed his eyes. "She's my only child. I've tried never to let her down. Now, because of you, I've broken my promise." His furious expression promised that she would regret crossing him.
"So what will you do, Mr. Houser? Will you punish me for trying to save your daughter's life? Punish Max for riding hell-bent for leather to fetch the doctor? What can you do to make our lives harder or make us more miserable than you've made us already?" Reaching for the bottle, she refilled her glass and then poured more whiskey for Gilly and Houser. "Maybe you won't wait until foreclosure to burn down Max's house. That would teach us not to interfere, wouldn't it. Or maybe you could send one of your minions to shoot what's left of Max's cattle. Yeah, that would teach us a lesson."
A deep plum color infused his cheeks, and he leaned toward her. "Whatever happens is well deserved.
Whose fault is it that my daughter may die?"
"I'm not sure," Louise said thoughtfully, moving her glass in damp circles on the table. "Maybe it's Philadelphia 's fault for not saying no when she should have. Maybe it's your fault for not setting limits and for letting her believe rules don't apply to her. Maybe it's Max's fault because he loved her too much.
Maybe it's your wife's fault for dying too soon. Maybe it's my fault for marrying Max when I didn't even want to. Maybe it's Livvy's fault for buying land outside Fort Houser and making it possible for her son to meet your daughter. Maybe the weather is to blame for providing a warm spring evening conducive to poking. I don't know who or what is to blame. What difference does it make? Will assigning blame change anything?"
"That's enough!" he said, speaking through his teeth.
"Yes, it is," she said wearily, pushing up from the table. "Gilly, we'll need a stack of fresh towels for the doctor. Your mother said to tell you to put out the roast beef for supper. People can eat if they feel like it."
Without glancing at Houser, Louise walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs and back into the oppressive and frightening odors and the sight of blood and pain. Livvy looked up with a worried and helpless expression and shook her head.
"I hope the doctor gets here soon."
"I do, too." She wanted Philadelphia to live. She had promised Max.
An endless hour elapsed before the downstairs door finally banged open and Max, Wally, and Dr. Pope ran up the staircase. The doctor strode in the room, but Max and Wally halted at the door and their eyes widened before they turned away.
"Oh Jesus."
"God!"
"Damn it, get out of here," Louise said, pushing them into the corridor. "Go downstairs," she ordered before she shut the door on them. "We'll tell you the minute we know anything."
Dr. Pope set down his bag, threw off his coat, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. "I'm told she's full term. She fell down the staircase and that's when the bleeding began. Is there anything else I need to know?" After Livvy described what had happened throughout the last seven hours, he nodded briskly.
"I want to die," Philadelphia whispered. She blinked dazed eyes at the ceiling.
"We're going to try to prevent that," Dr. Pope said, bending to open his bag. "You ladies might want to step outside for a minute or two. I think our little mother would appreciate some privacy during the examination."
"Oh. Of course." Taking Louise's arm, Livvy headed for the door. She sagged against the corridor wall.
"I am so thankful that he's here. Whatever you said to make this happen, I bless you for it."
After a few minutes, Louise frowned. "What's taking so long? Did he forget we're waiting out here?"
"I didn't forget," Dr. Pope said, stepping into the corridor and pulling the door shut behind him.
"How is she? Will she be all right?" Livvy inquired anxiously.
"I'd say so. She'll need complete bed rest and a lot of care, but she's young and healthy. I expect her to recover."
"And the baby?" Louise asked.
"We'll know in a few minutes, but my informed guess is the baby will not survive. You said this was a full-term baby, but it isn't. She's only seven months along. Being eight, maybe nine weeks premature, plus the fall …"He shook his head.
"That's impossible," Livvy stated flatly. "This isn't a premature baby. It can't be."
"Mrs. McCord, I've been delivering babies for thirty-five years. I know how far along a woman is, and I know the difference between a delivery and a miscarriage. This is a miscarriage." He spoke with the full authority of his title and experience. "Whichever one of you is going to assist, we'll begin now." He pushed open the door and walked back into the bedroom.
"Seven months," Livvy whispered. "No wonder she didn't want a doctor." Her eyes rounded, then narrowed. "You and I didn't understand what we were seeing. We dismissed a miscarriage because it wasn't possible." Hot color rose in Livvy's cheeks, and her shoulders stiffened. "She damned near got away with this. It wouldn't surprise me if falling down the stairs was no accident."
