6. Chapter 6 #2
"For now," she replied. "Isn't that enough?"
His gaze lingered on her face. "Perhaps it is."
That evening, after Lucy went to bed, Claudine sat in the parlor with her mending basket. Michael entered with a small wooden box, which he placed on the table beside her.
"Sarah's sewing supplies," he explained. "Some fine needles and better thread than what's in the kitchen drawer."
Claudine opened the box to find an exquisite collection of sewing implements, including a silver thimble and tiny scissors with handles shaped like birds. "These are beautiful," she breathed. "Are you certain?"
"They should be used, not stored away." Michael sat in the chair opposite, watching her examine the contents. "Like the recipe box."
Claudine understood the significance of these small offerings—pieces of Sarah's life he now entrusted to her care. "Thank you," she said softly. "I'll treasure them."
"I've been thinking about your infirmary idea," Michael said after a moment. "Tom's riding to Helena next week for supplies. He can purchase everything on your list."
"That would be wonderful." Claudine selected a shirt from her mending pile, using Sarah's fine needle to repair a torn seam. "Lucy's accident could have been much worse. Being prepared on a ranch this isolated."
"You handled it remarkably well." Michael leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Lucy told me you explained everything you were doing, that you made her feel safe even when it hurt."
"Children deserve honesty, delivered kindly," Claudine replied, remembering her own childhood fears of doctors. "Fear often hurts worse than the treatment itself."
Michael nodded thoughtfully. "Sarah used to say something similar."
They sat in companionable silence as Claudine mended. The quiet between them no longer felt awkward; it felt shared.
"I received a letter from Mrs. Porter today," Claudine said, breaking the silence. "The woman I met on the train. She's settled in Wyoming with her husband."
"Good news?"
"She seems happy. Says frontier life suits her better than she expected." Claudine smiled at the memory of her traveling companion. "She asked how my marriage turned out."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "And what will you tell her?"
Claudine considered the question. "That I've found purpose here. That Lucy is a delight. That my husband is..." She paused, searching for the right words.
"Taciturn? Reserved? Practical to a fault?" Michael supplied, a rare hint of humor in his eyes.
"Honorable," Claudine finished. "And kinder than he lets on."
Michael's expression changed, a softening she hadn't seen before. "You give me too much credit."
"I don't think so." Claudine set aside her mending, meeting his gaze directly. "You've made me welcome in your home, trusted me with your daughter, and respected my abilities. Many men wouldn't."
"Many men are fools," he replied simply.
The next morning, Claudine woke to find a small leather-bound book on the kitchen table. A note in Michael's decisive handwriting lay beside it: "For recording medical treatments. Every good doctor keeps records."
The thoughtfulness of the gift touched her deeply. Michael had listened to her ideas and supported them without hesitation. More than that, he'd anticipated a need she hadn't yet expressed.
Over breakfast, Claudine outlined her plans for the infirmary to both Michael and Lucy. The child seemed fascinated by the idea, especially when Claudine explained she could help organize supplies.
"Can I learn to be a nurse too?" Lucy asked eagerly.
"If you like," Claudine agreed. "Everyone should know basic care for injuries and illness."
Michael nodded approval. "Useful knowledge on a ranch."
After he left for the day's work, Claudine and Lucy tackled the spare bedroom, clearing space for the planned infirmary. They washed windows, swept floors, and arranged the furniture to create a functional treatment area.
"Why did you become a nurse?" Lucy asked as they worked.
Claudine smiled at the child's curiosity. "My mother fell ill when I was young. The nurses who cared for her were so kind and capable that I wanted to be like them."
"Did your mama get better?"
"No, sweetheart. She died when I was twelve."
Lucy considered this solemnly. "Like my mama died when I was little."
"Yes," Claudine said gently.
"Were you sad?"
"Very sad. But my father needed me, so I learned to be strong."
Lucy nodded as if this made perfect sense. "Papa needed me to be strong too." She folded a clean sheet with careful precision. "I'm glad you came to be my new mama. Papa doesn't look so sad anymore."
Claudine's heart swelled. Had Michael's expression truly lightened since her arrival? She hadn't noticed, but children often perceived emotional shifts adults missed.
"I'm glad I came too," she told Lucy, meaning it completely.
By noon, they had transformed the spare room into a serviceable infirmary. Claudine made a list of remaining tasks, pleased with their progress. When Michael returned for the midday meal, she proudly showed him their work.
"Impressive," he acknowledged, surveying the organized space. "You've accomplished more in a morning than I expected in a week."
"Mama Claudine works fast," Lucy declared. "And I helped!"
"Indeed you did." Michael ruffled his daughter's curls affectionately. "A fine assistant."
Later that afternoon, Claudine was kneading bread dough when a commotion outside drew her attention. Voices called urgently, and heavy footsteps pounded on the porch. She wiped her hands as Tom Harris burst through the door, supporting young Charlie whose face was gray with pain.
"Riding accident," Tom explained tersely. "Horse spooked at a rattler, threw him hard. Something's wrong with his arm."
"Bring him to the infirmary," Claudine directed, immediately shifting into her nursing role. "Lucy, fetch clean water and the medical kit from the kitchen."
The girl ran to obey while Claudine assessed the young ranch hand. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle, clearly broken. Sweat beaded his forehead as he fought waves of pain.
"I need to set the bone," Claudine told Tom. "Hold him steady."
Working with calm efficiency, Claudine examined the break. "Clean fracture," she determined. "It needs to be pulled back into alignment before I can splint it."
"Do what you must," Charlie managed through clenched teeth.
Claudine met his eyes. "This will hurt, but only for a moment. Ready?"
At his nod, she grasped his wrist and elbow, applying steady traction until the bone ends aligned with an audible click. Charlie's hoarse cry echoed through the room, but he remained conscious.
"Well done," Claudine praised, quickly splinting the arm with boards from her medical supplies. "You'll need to keep it immobilized for at least six weeks."
By the time Michael returned from the north pasture, Claudine had Charlie resting comfortably in the infirmary with his arm properly set and bandaged. She explained the treatment she'd administered, including the willow bark tea for pain.
"He should stay here tonight for observation," she concluded. "Tomorrow he can move to the bunkhouse if no complications arise."
Michael studied her with new appreciation. "You handled everything perfectly."
"It's what I'm trained to do." Claudine smoothed her apron, suddenly aware of how disheveled she must look after the emergency. "Though I'll be glad when our medical supplies are properly stocked."
"I'll send Tom to Helena tomorrow instead of next week," Michael decided. "Your skills deserve proper tools."
That night, after checking on Charlie one last time, Claudine found Michael waiting in the hallway outside the infirmary.
"How is he?" Michael asked.
"Resting comfortably. The break was clean and should heal well with proper care."
Michael nodded, satisfaction evident in his expression. "You've found your place here faster than I expected, Claudine."
"Have I?"
"The house runs smoothly, Lucy adores you, and now you've established yourself as the ranch's medical authority. Even Tom, who questions everything, defers to your judgment."
Claudine hadn't considered how completely she'd integrated into ranch life in just a few short weeks. "It feels right," she admitted. "As if this is where I was meant to be all along."
"Perhaps it is," Michael said softly.
In the dim hallway light, his features appeared less guarded than usual. Something in his gaze made Claudine's breath catch, conveying an awareness that transcended their original understanding. For a moment, she thought he might touch her, might bridge the careful distance they'd maintained.
Instead, he stepped back slightly. "Good night, Claudine."
"Good night, Michael."
That night, satisfaction over the day's work followed Claudine upstairs, but Michael's almost-touch in the hallway stayed with her longest.