In October 1867, a young woman arrived at my Leavenworth infirmary holding a handwritten marriage proposal from a brain-injured Civil War veteran.
I returned from the barn, Caleb’s list of forgeries tucked into my pocket alongside Jedidiah Ross’s surgical ledger. The deputy was due any minute. Time was running out.
As I reached the infirmary steps, Silas Crain stepped out from behind a large oak, his arms crossed, a menacing smirk on his face. He clearly had been waiting for me.
“A word, Doctor?” he said, his voice dripping with false civility.
I stopped, my hand instinctively going to my pocket. “What is it, Silas? You’ve already done your damage.”
He chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. “Oh, I’m just getting started, Josiah. You think your little ledger, or whatever other foolish papers you’ve collected, will save your precious Sergeant Finch?”
My eyes narrowed. He was far too calm. He knew something.
“You have no idea what I have,” I countered, trying to project a confidence I didn’t feel.
Silas merely shook his head. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, Doctor. And I know you’ve been poking around with old military records. And that little nurse, Hester, she’s been asking questions around town.”
He stepped closer, invading my personal space. The air grew colder.
“Let me tell you something, Josiah,” he whispered, his eyes glinting. “This infirmary of yours. This little sanctuary for broken men. It sits on county land, doesn’t it?”
I swallowed. “Yes. It’s a land grant for veterans’ care.”
“Precisely,” Silas purred. “And those land grant commissioners? They’re old acquaintances of mine. Very… amenable to my suggestions.”
A sickening realization washed over me.
“If you so much as breathe a word about my ‘business’ in any court,” Silas continued, his voice hardening, “if you bring those frivolous claims about me to a judge, I will personally ensure that your infirmary’s medical charter is revoked. Permanently.”
He leaned in closer, his breath hot on my ear. “And those twenty injured veterans you care for so diligently? They will be out on the street by Christmas, Doctor. Homeless. Uncared for. Because of your foolish crusade.”
He pulled back, a triumphant smile returning to his face. “Think about that, Josiah. Is Thomas Finch’s paltry homestead worth the destruction of everything you’ve built here? Is it worth turning out every one of your patients?”
He watched my face, a cruel satisfaction in his eyes. He knew he had hit a nerve. The infirmary, my life’s work, my oath to these men, was my greatest vulnerability.
“The deputy will be here any minute to take Thomas,” Silas said, glancing at the darkening sky. “You have a choice, Doctor. Protect your patients, or sacrifice them all for one broken man and a lost cause.”
He turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the building, leaving me standing alone on the steps, the weight of his threat pressing down on me like a physical burden.
My hands clenched the papers in my pocket. Caleb’s list. Jedidiah’s ledger. They could clear Thomas, but at what cost?
Twenty men, my patients, my responsibility. How could I sacrifice them for one?
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