âIt is so predictable. Iâve heard it all before. âYouâre just a woman. What could you possibly know?â Over and over.â
âWhy do you put up with it?â Lon asked. âYou should be taken seriously.â
Mercy sighed. âHuman nature is funny. Even when confronted by the truth about the cause of the epidemic, the average male and most females refuse to believe a woman would know more than a man would.â
âBut your idea about the cause of cholera is based on what male doctors have discovered, isnât it?â
She nodded. âBut I could have gotten it wrong. I am, after all, just a poor, inferior, weak female who must always defer to men, who always know better than women do.â
Her words grated against his nerves like sandpaper on sensitive skin. Why? Was he guilty of thinking this, too? How many people would they have lost if Dr. Mercy Gabriel hadnât shown up? Was he the only one who wondered this?
He found himself moving toward this woman. He didnât want to know more about Dr. Mercy Gabriel. He didnât want to walk toward her, but she drew him. He offered her his hand to cover how confused he felt by his own reaction to herâ¦.
There is no difference between Jews and Gentiles, between slaves and free men, between men and women; you are all one in union with Christ.
âGalatians 3:28
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.
âEcclesiastes 4:11, 12
Idaho Territory, September 1868
High on the board seat, Mercy Gabriel sat beside the wagon master on the lead Conestoga. The line of the supply train slowed, pulling into the mining town Idaho Bend. Panicky-looking people ran toward it with bags and valises in hand. What was happening here? Like a cold, wet finger, alarm slid up Mercyâs spine.
She reached down and urged her adopted daughter Indigo up onto the seat beside her, away from the onrushing people. Though almost sixteen now, Indigo shrank against Mercy, her darker face tight with concern. âDonât worry,â Mercy whispered as confidently as she could.
She looked down at a forceful man who had pushed his way to the front. He was without a coat, his shirt-sleeves rolled up and his colorfully embroidered vest buttoned askew. From the flamboyant vest, she guessed he must be a gambler. What would he want with them?
With one sweeping glance, he quelled the people shoving each other to get closer to the wagons. A commanding gambler. In her opinion, an unusual combination.
âAre there any medical supplies on this train?â he asked in a calm tone at odds with the mood of the people crowding around. âTwo days ago, we telegraphed to Boise, asking for a doctor to come. But no one has. Weâve got cholera.â
The dreaded word drenched the brave, brawny wagoners; they visibly shrank back from the man. It set off the crowd clamoring again.
Mercyâs pulse raced. No, not cholera. Yet she hesitated only a second before revealing the truth about herself. Until this moment, sheâd just been another traveler, not an object of mirth, puzzlement or derision. She braced herself for the inevitable reactions and rose. âI am a qualified physician.â
Startled, the frantic crowd stopped pushing. As usual, every head swiveled, every face gawked at her.
âYou?â the gambler challenged. âYouâre a woman.â
Mercy swallowed a number of sardonic responses to this silly comment. She said, âI am a recent graduate of the Female Medical College of Pennsylvania. I also worked alongside Clara Barton as a nurse throughout the Civil War.â
âYou nursed in the war?â The gambler studied her, a quizzical expression on his face.
âYes.â Leaning forward, she held out her gloved hand. âI am Dr. Mercy Gabriel. And this is my assistant, Nurse Indigo.â
He hesitated only a moment. Then, reaching up, he grasped her hand for a firm, brief handshake. âBeggars canât be choosers. Iâm Lon Mackey. Will you come and help us?â