Written By Dr. Bill and Patches
Rose rapped lightly at the telegraph office door, holding a tray laden with herbs, potions and various medical accoutrements in one arm.
"WHAT?!" Came the sharp reply. Rose winced just a little bit but she was resigned.
"Patches it's me, Rose," she said to the closed door. "It's time for your changing."
There was an audible sigh from within. "Oh, sorry. Come in. The electricity is off."
She pushed the door open with her free hand and immediately turned to set the tray on the small table that stood sentinel near the door. She took a moment to arrange her various bottles and tins then looked up. Patches was not in the bed. Ella's head snapped around and she gasped when she saw Patches standing by her desk looking out he window.
"Patches!" She said rushing over to her. "What are you doing?!"
Patches turned to look at her and glared. "I'm STANDING. You know, that thing people do when they are tired of SITTING or LAYING DOWN? Geez Rose."
"You really must get back into bed," Rose said taking her by the elbow in order to guide her back to bed. But Patches was stubborn and didn't budge. "Ella said bed rest!"
"Oh to hell with what Ella said," came Patches' retort as she yanked her arm out of Rose's grip. "I’m so sick of that bed I could scream!"
Rose pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. "Well at least come and sit down so I can change your dressings."
"I'm not getting back into that bed," she stated with finality. "Not for a few hours at least."
"The chair then," Rose swept her arm toward one of the two chairs that sat in front of the little stove. Patches looked to the chairs. One was a comfortable cushioned rocker the other was a wingback. She almost smiled. She always thought of the wingback as "Bill's Chair".
"Alright," she sighed. She took up a cane that Bill had made for her due to a slight fracture in her left hip. He had stayed up the night she had come in badly beaten carving that long cottonwood branch that Johnny Longknife had given him. He had carved it sitting next to her bed, watching her through a long, rather painful, drug induced night and well into the next day. Ella had urged him many times to go to his cabin and rest, to get some sleep. He politely declined until he finally tired of her insistence. When they finally began begging him to rest his answer was to simply take a pinch of cocoa leaves between his cheek and gum. God Himself couldn't have drug him away from her at that point. After that everyone gave up trying to convince him.
Once he had gotten the basic shape the way he wanted it, and was satisfied that she was finally sleeping peacefully, he had taken the cane to the workshop where he used the lathe to work some very intricate detail on it. When he had returned to her a few hours later, she was still asleep and hadn't moved. He had set it by her bed, and allowed himself to muse that perhaps, someday, when she was much older, when her long red hair had since gone white, she might have occasion to use it again.
"Is your hip paining you?" Rose asked as Patches sat in "Bill's chair".
"Only when I lay on it,'" was Patches' grumbled answer as Rose drew the drapes and Patches undressed. Rose lit a lamp in the now darkened room, and then began unbandaging Patches' ribs.
"Your side still hurt?" She asked as she smoothed on the cooling cream she used to heal bruises. They were concerned with Patches' ribs as she'd sustained breaks to them before and the men who jumped her had kicked her repeatedly between her neck and knees. Fortunately there were no breaks this time and only one small fracture to the middle rib on the right side.
"No, its much better."
"How about your back?"
"Just the ache from the bruises, nothing more now." Patches said but her body tensed and she hissed when Rose touched the bruises along her spine.
"Uh-huh," Rose intoned in disbelief. "Are you lying?"
"Dagummit, Rose!" Patience had finally lost her patience. "Doesn't hurt nearly as bad as when you poke at it for Pete's sakes!" But she regretted her sharp tongue the minute the words left her lips and once again she sighed. "I'm sorry Rose, I'm just ...UGH!! I’m going crazy in here laying down all the time! I feel like if I don't get OUT of here for a while I'm gonna simply suffocate!"
"I understand your frustration," Rose said as she unwrapped Patches wrists, cleaned and redressed the abrasions there. "But I'm not sure you are ready for any heavy activity just yet."
Patches entire body sagged, she was so frustrated. "I just want to go outside. I’m not going to ride or run or climb trees!! I just want to go for a little walk. Get some exercise, some fresh air. Its a beautiful day!!" That at least was the truth. The sun was warm, the sky clear, and although Patches couldn't feel the spring breeze, she could hear it.
"Are you still bleeding?" Rose asked, as her fingers gently probed Patches' abdomen.
"No, that stopped yesterday early."
Rose checked her watch, then began wrapping Patches up again, fortunately only around her middle unlike last time when she had to wear a brace for almost three months. "Well, that’s a good sign," she said. "I have an idea. Why don't you set the rocker next to the window and read? You seem to enjoy reading and the window would make it seem as if --"
"I've read all my books," Patches growled slowly gaining her feet so she could dress. "I've run out of ideas of things to draw, I'm tired of sleeping, and that yarn we ordered hasn't come in yet. I JUST want to go for a walk!! Please! I promise I won't over do it! I'm not going to put myself at risk! I just need OUT for a while! Besides my legs feel like they are going to rot off due to misuse."
Rose sighed and sank down into the rocker. "If you go for a walk where would you go?" She asked folding her hands in her lap and looking primly up at her friend.
"I don't know," she said honestly with a little shrug, her voice calming down some. "Not far. Go visit the horses maybe; perhaps visit Bill in the lab. Just...around, you know. Don't think a hike down the river would be a good idea, too much harsh ground down there." She looked at Rose with pleading eyes. "Please, I'm really going insane here. And I promise I wont be gone long and I'll stay close and I'll go slow and I won't get too close to the horses and I won't go shooting and --"
Rose's giggle stopped her. She stood up and handed her the housecoat that was draped on the arm of the chair. "Stop begging, it's degrading," she said. "Go and visit with Bill, I know you want to and he can take care of you if you hurt. But don't be gone long and make sure if you start to get tired you come straight back."
Patches beamed and allowed Rose to help her with the robe. "Thank you! Thank you! I PROMISE I'll take it easy!" Patches hugged her briefly then took up the cane and headed straight out the back door. Rose watched her go, making sure she was indeed going slow and being careful. She was. She shook her head a little, smiled and bent to retrieve her items. She would put them back in the hospital and then stand watch at the telegraph for a while. They were still waiting for word from the posse, other law enforcement people and with any luck, Scarlet.
Bill was so intent upon constructing the tubes for the new alarm flares that he failed to hear the soft knock on the door to the lab. His mind, although calm and smooth as always when he was working, still couldn't shove away some of the images of what Patches had gone through this last few days and he was bound and determined to make her as safe as possible at least when she was here. He had spent a great deal of time yesterday riding across the surrounding countryside and marking out game trails. He found a very distinct pattern between them and now as planning on placing a literal wall of flares in between them. The animals along the trails wouldn't disturb the tripwires but nothing short of ghosts would ever get through them without setting something off.
He had just laid the last of the tubes in a neat line when he turned around to see Patches poking her head in the door. "Bill?" Her voice was soft as she looked around for him.
"Patches!" He beamed, crossed the distance between them in less than a heart beat and opened the heavy door so she could come in. Once she was in she smiled at him and held her arms out. He gently hugged her, and then led her further into the lab. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you still be in bed?"
"I came to see you," she said as he pulled a comfortable chair over to the workbench where he would eventually continue to work and guided her into it. "Rose gave me a few hours reprieve but I had to beg to get it." She looked up at him as he leaned against the workbench. His smile told her he was indeed very glad to see her. "I ..uh..." she shrugged a little. "I've missed you. Haven't seen you since yesterday."
"Yes, well, " he said clearing his throat. "Two hundred acres is a lot of ground to cover." He spent the next few minutes describing his ride, finding the game trails and discovering the most fascinating natural patterns to said trails. "Now I'm making more," he concluded. "Want to try and get it done by tomorrow so these can go up quickly."
"Oh," she said looking past him. There must have been hundreds of tubes on the table. "Am I interrupting? Do you want me to go?"
"No, no!" He said perhaps just a little too quickly, but that was all right, Patches loved him more for it. "I would like you to stay."
"Well," she smiled at him. "Is there anything I can do to help that doesn’t require a great deal of standing? I mean, with both of us working..."
He rewarded her with the most brilliant smile she thought she had ever seen. "Yes," he said pushing himself off the bench and going to gather various powders. "As a matter of fact there is. Feel like mixing up some fireworks?" He set a few containers down on the bench and then went to retrieve more.
"That sounds like fun," she said. She never took her eyes off of him though, and for God only knew how many times, she once again thought he was the most beautiful man in existence.
"Wonderful!" He exclaimed, and then bent to kiss her quickly on the cheek. "What color would you like to make? Purple?"
She laughed. "Oh no! I'll do green. NOBODY can make purple fire like you can." Her gaze caught his and there was silence for a moment. "Mr. Wizard." She concluded in an almost reverent whisper. He blushed some and dipped his head, then looked up at her again. Somehow his hand and wandered to her hair and his fingers fiddled with it some.
"Green it is," he said then got up to retrieve more supplies.
He spent the next half hour or so teaching her how to measure and mix the various powders and charcoal. She asked intelligent questions to which he was more than happy to provide answers. Soon they were working diligently, speaking in low tones about other various theories, sharing ideas. He asked how she liked the new four-line switchboard and she sang the praises of that for quite some time. She told him of some the books she had been reading and they discussed those like scholars.
When she was feeling a little stiff, she would tell him and they would walk a few slow laps around the lab, her hand curled around his elbow, his hand placed gently on top of hers. She didn't think she ever told him but that was absolutely her favorite way to walk with him. They continued to discuss things as they walked, then when she felt she was ready, he once again guided her into her chair and they went back to work.
Once green and purple were done, they each worked on yellow, and Patches commented that she thought it was fascinating that each of the different chemicals had a different sound. Bill explained that it was due to mass and weight and by the time he was done she knew exactly what it was, what it did, and what all it could be used for. It wasn't until hours later, when the piles of powders had grown to enormous heights that the talking died down and they were both comfortable in the silence, simply enjoying the fact that they were together doing what they both loved doing.
They were nearly done when suddenly Patches said, "Ah! Dagummit!"
Bill looked up to see only the top of her head and the back of her wrist pressed to her eye. "Patches? What’s wrong?" He asked as he rounded the workbench and knelt down next to her.
"Got something in my eye," she said blinking rapidly for a moment then squeezing her eyes shut. They were already beginning to tear.
"Does it burn?" He asked placing his fingers gently under her chin and lifting her face toward him. Some of these chemicals could do real damage to eyes.
"No, it's just gritty," she said. He looked at her face and suddenly realized they were both literally covered in charcoal smudges.
"Probably a bit of charcoal," he said. "Keep your eyes closed and try not to move them." She obeyed having heard him say that on more than one occasion, and simply leaned her head back and relaxed. He was forever concerned about the sensitivity of her eyes, and they seemed to be a magnet for the slightest irritant. He had spent a goodly amount of time developing special drops for her eyes just for that reason and he always kept some handy. Besides, her eyes were so deep green, so incredibly expressive and so unbelievably beautiful he couldn't bear the thought of anything hurting them.
She heard him walk to the sink and thoroughly wash his hands, heard him move to the self that contained the bottle of her eyewash, heard him go to the cupboard for clean towels, then walk back over to her. She smiled to herself. He took such good care of her she was almost overwhelmed with it and she loved him so much it hurt. She was always afraid that she wouldn't be able to reciprocate this care but he never complained and she was always there for him when he needed her. Fortunately he seemed to always need her, even if it was just for company.
After a few minutes she felt him lay a towel across her chest. This was a habit with him and he'd done so ever since the first time he had "doctored" her eyes. He was always worried he'd get her shirt damp, but he never did.
"Alright," he said. He was so close to her she could hear his heart beating, her absolute favorite sound. "Now just relax and let me open your eye." She nodded, just the slightest of movements and took a deep breath. He could literally see every muscle in her face relax.
He took a damp cloth and wiped away the smudges that were close to her eye then gently placed his fingers on it. Ever so gently he spread his fingers, opening her eye and he watched as her pupil contracted making her deep green iris larger and somehow brighter. He saw the offending material immediately, a tiny black speck on the white near the tear duct. Carefully and slowly he flushed out her eye, one drop at a time, until he was certain that the grain of charcoal was gone.
"Do the other too please," she asked softly as he started to move away. He smiled and she shrugged, a tiny movement of her shoulders. "It feels good." He complied and washed out her other eye.
"How's that? Better?" He asked as she raised her head. She blinked some then looked up at him.
"Much, thank you," she returned. He stood and went to the sink then came back with two damp towels. He knelt in front of her once more and pressed one of them into her hands so she could at least wipe away some of the charcoal from her hands. He took the other towel and gently began cleaning her face. She didn't mind him doing this; in fact it felt rather good, the cool, soft cloth and his gentle touch.
"You know," he said suddenly. "I could do this for the rest of my life."
"Do what?" She asked glancing up at him.
"This," he said his voice gone soft; the voice of contentment. "This day, this work, you and I."
"Hmmm, me too," she agreed absently. At the moment she was working at a particularly stubborn spot on the palm of her hand. There was silence for a moment as Bill wiped away a smudge on her forehead.
Later he would tell her that he had no idea what he would say. The words simply came out with no apparent rational, planned thought on his part. "Patches?" He said as he lowered the towel. "Will you marry me?"
She gasped softly, her eyes snapped to his as if they were electro magnets suddenly turned on, locking with his, immovable. He watched as almost immediately tears began to well up in them, turning her bright eyes into livid pools. Seconds later the first tear fell and he noticed her lower lip was quivering. A small sound escaped her throat; as if she were desperately trying to say something but her vocal cords had been choked off. And then she froze.
"Patches?" He asked suddenly unsure. He had dreamed of what of her reaction would be for months, but none of his fantasies had anything to do with tears. He thought she'd give him that smile he loved so much, jump up and fling her arms round his neck hollering "YES!" at the top of her lungs and practically choking him. He thought she would simply kiss him, hold him and whisper "Yes, oh yes". He even thought that perhaps she might just look at him and say "Absolutely" as she did when she agreed whole-heartedly with anything he might say or do. Dear God, what if he'd been wrong in thinking she felt the same for him as he did for her? What if he had somehow offended her? It would break his heart into a thousand shards if she said no, if she didn’t love him. For some inexplicable reason he felt that now was the "right time" he had been looking for, but what if he was wrong?