Ambush at Willow RunChapter 9
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The trip back to Willow Run was uneventful, a fact for which I was grateful. Here I was, carrying about $1,200 in my money belt—all I needed was more excitement! Shit! I like excitement, but that kind I don't need!
But, now I had an unusual problem, at least, unusual for me. I had TOO much money. Scattered in coffee cans around the house, I had nearly $1,500. That was way too much money for a doctor to accumulate on short notice, but I was really uncomfortable just leaving it lying around. I would like to put it in a bank, but that raised other problems. First off, I would have to find a banker I trusted that much. Bankers have a bad habit of taking depositors' money and using it for speculation, particularly in land and cotton. They get overextended and along comes another financial panic; the bank goes under and the depositors' money is gone forever. On the other hand, now was a good time to invest in land in Texas if you had the stomach for it. People were losing their farms and ranches right and left, mostly because they couldn't pay their taxes. You could pick up land real cheap, provided that you were willing to throw people out of their homes. Well, I wasn't, so I figured that I would never get real rich.
My second problem was what name to use for the deposit account. If I used Amy Horton, people would want to know where an honest doctor got all that money. If I used Jake Esposito, I would be stuck with using that name for all of my bank business, and I wasn't sure I wanted to do that. I don't know what to do, I'll just have to let it stew for a while.
At least, the local banker in Willow Run was honest and not too prone to wild speculation. His bank had survived several panics and the war, but Mr. Silverstone was getting old, and I didn't know how much longer he could run the bank. His son had been killed in the war, so he had no one to take over for him. I'm pretty good at managing money; maybe I should find some man to front for me and start my own bank.
Well, that sort of thinking would have to wait until later; right now I would just have to buy a strong box and bury my fortune somewhere in my back yard! Man, another bounty like this and I could retire. Maybe I should become a full time bounty hunter—I loved the feeling I got when I was in mortal danger! Dammit, sometimes I hated the restrictions I had to put up with by being a woman!
Well, I still had laundry to do, so I better get at it. I finished the laundry and had it hanging on the line in time for it to get dry by dark, so I was pretty well pooped. I had rested enough by the time I finished supper that I thought I would go into town for some socializing. I put on my Jake Esposito outfit and headed for my favorite saloon and a little poker.
None of my poker buddies were around, but there was a game going on which needed another player, so I joined in. I was real lucky and came out ahead by about $12, most of it in gold; the rest was in Mexican pesos. When I was ready to leave, I stood the table a round of beer and was cheered for being such a good fellow. I went to bed that night feeling a lot better than I had when I had started the laundry that day.
The rest of the week was spent in routine, either as a doctor or as a housekeeper. I was getting sick of that damned housekeeping routine, so I looked into alternatives. The most obvious thing to do was to hire a woman to take over the housekeeper's duties for me, but then I would have to be careful with how I operated as Jake Esposito. I knew that it could be a problem, but I decided, "What the hell, I can't face any more laundry days!"
Saturday had come, and I had taken all of the routine I could stand for the week, so I decided to spend the day and evening relaxing in the saloons of Willow Run. I dressed as Jake and reached the first saloon about mid-morning. I spent most of my time at the poker table with my friends in a penny-ante game; I began to wonder if I had become addicted to poker. By noon, I was the big loser and out 76 cents.
The other guys left for home and I dropped by a little Mexican restaurant that had recently opened in Willow Run. It was run by a middle aged man and his wife, recent emigrants from across the river. She was the cook, and he worked the counter and acted as the waiter. The restaurant was full and doing a brisk business, with a line of people stretching out the door waiting for seats. I was lucky; I looked in through the front window and saw a friend who was already seated. He waved me in to take the empty seat at his small table, so I had no compunction about pressing in ahead of the rest of the line of waiting customers.
I had just gotten seated when there was a great commotion at the door, and two burly men barged in and demanded seats. They were both drunk, much more drunk than one would normally expect this early on Saturday, and could not be reasoned with. The proprietor tried to calm them down, but to no avail. Suddenly, one of the men drew his bowie knife and stabbed the Mexican proprietor in the belly and ripped upward. The wounded man sank to the floor without a sound beyond a muffled grunt. Without thinking the matter through, I drew my gun and shot both of the bastards dead on the spot.
I rushed to the wounded man and saw that the wound was terminal, but he would live for several hours, maybe as many as 24, in considerable pain once he regained consciousness. I made a quick compress from a piece of his shirt and called to my friend to fetch a buckboard. My intention was to take the man to my house and shoot him full of morphine to ease his pain. I knew that I had no chance of saving his life.
The wife had come running out of the kitchen at the sound of gunfire, so I told her the situation and what I planned to do. She burst into tears and fell to her knees beside her husband, but nodded to me to do what I could to ease his pain. In very short order, my friend returned with the buckboard, and we managed to get the man transported to my examination table. I told my friend that I would wait for the doctor, and he could go back to town to explain to the marshal what had happened.
The wounded man began to stir, and I knew that I could not wait any longer before injecting the morphine. His wife was in the room and I knew that there was no way to get her to leave. I just thought to myself, "To hell with it!" and got out the syringe and needle and prepared them for the injection. I opened the small safe I used for drugs that I didn't want stolen and removed a bottle of morphine. Out of habit, I swabbed the man and injected the morphine, enough to kill any pain he might start to feel.
The woman looked closely at me and said, "You are not a man; you are the woman doctor!"
I started to deny it, but realized that would be futile. In resignation, I nodded my head and turned back to caring for her husband. As I worked, I said, "Mrs. Lopez, please don't tell anyone what you know. Acting the part of a man does not make me any less of a woman or a doctor. If you tell on me, I will surely lose all of my patients; they will be afraid of me, thinking that I am crazy."
"You are a good person and a good doctor. I won't tell. Thank you for helping my Juan. He was dying of a kidney disease, that was why we left our farm in Mexico. The doctor there told him that he would not live another 6 months, and he was trying to set up a business that I could run after he died. I hated the restaurant business, but I loved him too much to tell him that. Now I can quit and find a job as a housekeeper for some rich gringo. Oops! ... I didn't mean to say that!"
I said, "Don't worry, Mrs. Lopez, I'm not offended. I'm looking for a housekeeper, are you interested in working for me?"
"Oh, yes, that would be perfect! That way I could go a little way toward paying you back for the kindness you have shown to Juan. When can I start?"
"As far as I am concerned, you already work for me. I will pay you $25 a month, room, and board. Is that satisfactory?"
"Yes, that will be fine. And call me Lupe; Mrs. Lopez just doesn't sound quite right for a housekeeper."
"OK, Lupe. You should call me Mr. Esposito whenever I am dressed like this and other people are around; otherwise, call me Jake. Call me Amy or Dr. Horton at other times. I want to continue being both Dr. Horton and Jake Esposito for as long as I can get away with it.
"Now, I should go change clothes. I don't want anybody else to see me doctoring while I am dressed as Jake. I'll be right back."
As I came back from changing clothes, there was a knock on the door and Lupe answered it. It was the marshal checking up on the condition of my patient. I led him in to see Juan and left Lupe with Juan while the marshal and I went into my office. "Marshal, that man is going to die in the next few hours, and there is nothing that I can do for him, except keep him full of morphine so that it won't hurt so much. Will you find a Catholic priest and send him here?"
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