Wings of Promise by Bonnie Leon Read Free Book Online

butter on the pancakes. “Since I didn’t help with breakfast, I’ll do the dishes.”
    “No. You are a guest, and you and Paul will need your strength. He said that you help him.”
    Kate looked across the table at him. “So, I’m to be a nurse again?”
    He speared the last bite of pancake, dipped it in a puddle of syrup, and forked it into his mouth. “Hope you don’t mind. You’re good at it.”
    A knock sounded at the door. “People are already here.” Nena hurried to open it.
    A woman and two children stood on the stoop, huddling against the cold. “We heard the doctor is here?”
    “Yes. Come in.” Nena opened the door wide and stepped back. She had the look of a child on Christmas morning. “Paul, your first patient.”
    Paul stood. “Give me one minute. I’ll get my bag.” He carried his plate into the kitchen and set it in the sink, then hurried into the front room and grabbed his medical bag.
    Nena cleared the table. “Sorry, Kate, you’ll have to finish your meal standing.”
    “I don’t mind.” Kate picked up her plate and cup and stood at the sink, where she ate the last of her eggs, took a final drink of coffee, and set the mug on the counter, then looked around, wondering what to do.
    Paul placed his bag on the table, opened it, and then turned his attention to the woman and children. “Good morning. Have a seat,” he said, nodding at the chair.
    There was another knock at the door. Nena rushed to answer it, her mukluks scuffing across the floor. Kate hovered near Paul, just in case he needed her for something.
    It wasn’t long before the entire front room was crowded with patients. Some looked well and others seemed quite ill. Kate wondered if they’d manage to see everyone in a single day. She kept herself busy writing down people’s names and recording their reason for seeing the doctor. Those who were especially ill were moved to the front of the line. Occasionally Paul needed her help to calm a child, or to hold a compress, or to assist while he sutured a wound.
    As a teenage boy moved out of the examining chair, Paul turned to a white-haired man shuffling across the room toward him. “Good morning,” Paul said. “What can I do for you?”
    His eyes suspicious, the man studied Paul. “I always go to Alex Toognak. He knows the old ways.”
    “I’m sure he’s very good,” Paul said. “You may go to him if you like.”
    The man glanced at his hands. “I did. He said I should come here.” He lowered himself onto the chair.
    Paul pulled up another chair and sat across from the elderly man. “I’m Paul Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you . . .”
    “George Chilligan.”
    “What can I do for you, George?”
    “Well, I got a lot of . . .” He glanced toward the front room. Lowering his voice, George said, “My nose runs all the time. I go through two or three snot rags a day. Can’t stop it.”
    Paul reached into his bag and took out a flashlight. “Guess I better have a look.” He tilted the man’s head back and, using the light, he checked the inside of his nose, and then using a tongue depressor, he examined his mouth and throat, and finally palpated his neck. “No sign of infection.” He thought a moment. “What do you use to light your house?”
    “Oil lamp.”
    “Whale oil?”
    George nodded.
    “Does it smoke a lot?”
    “Sometimes. They all do.”
    “That might be what’s causing your trouble. If you keep plenty of oil in it and cut the wick short, there should be less smoke. Also, I’d like you to try using a saltwater rinse. That should help.”
    George stared at him for a long moment, and then asked, “How do I do that?”
    After Paul explained the procedure, George went on his way, without a thank you.
    “Don’t worry about him,” Nena said. “He’s always cranky.”
    “I’m not worried,” Paul said with a grin. “Actually I like people who are a little rough around the edges. They make life interesting.”
    All day