Sally moves to the top of the stairs, where she can see both men down below, shedding their coats and hats.
“I can’t tell you what a relief it is to hear that you’re the one who’s been seeing to my Margaret,” says Archie to the doctor as Sally hurries down the stairs.
Dr. Foushee demurs, then gestures toward the parlor. “Such a mess we’re all in.”
Sally hopes that the doctor can convince Archie to amputate the leg, so when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she plays along with the little routine Archie’s established, even though it seems better suited for a garden party than a surgical appointment. “How do you two know each other again?”
“Through Tom, I suppose,” says Archie fondly.
“Tom Marshall?” Sally asks.
“No, no. Tom Ritchie. He owns theEnquirer.”
“He’s my son-in-law,” Dr. Foushee explains.
“Ah,” says Sally. Her late sister’s husband, Spencer Roane, is a cousin of Ritchie’s, but she’s not sure what good it will do to mention it.
“Tom wasn’t there, was he?” Archie asks.
“No, no. Now he is, of course. Trying to conduct interviews. But he and Isabella were at a dinner party last night, thank God.”
“I bet he’s having a time of it,” says Archie. “Are they saying anything about the cause?”
“Not yet,” Dr. Foushee admits. “But he’ll get to the bottom of it, you can be sure.”
“Dr. Foushee,” says Mrs. Cowley as she joins the party. “So good to see you.”
Sally is ready to get on with things, so she gestures toward Margaret, and Dr. Foushee traces a path across the parlor to give Margaret another look.
When he lifts the quilt that covers her mangled leg, he shakes his head and says, “Let’s get her into the kitchen.”
Mrs. Cowley scurries ahead of them to clear a path, and Sally stands by as the two men lift her friend into the air.
“Grab my bag, will you, Mrs. Campbell?” Dr. Foushee says as he steps over a Mrs. Cousins, who lies prostrate in the middle of the room.
“You were going to bring an extra man?” says Sally.
“None to be found, I’m afraid.”
By the time they enter the kitchen, Mrs. Cowley has cleared the table and wiped it down with a damp rag.
“Do you have a sheet?” Dr. Foushee asks her.
“They’re all in use,” she says, and the doctor shrugs and directs Archie to set Margaret down on the bare wood. Their timing is off, so when theylower her onto the tabletop, her leg jars and she lets out a cry of discomfort.
“Be careful,” Sally whispers, but if they hear her, they do not pay her any mind.
Sally hands Dr. Foushee his bag, and while he roots around in it, he addresses her directly. “I trust you’ve discussed the patient’s options with her husband.”
Sally clears her throat and makes a point of looking directly at Archie. “I have. But perhaps it would be helpful if you went over everything with him again.”
She listens as Dr. Foushee runs through the options, but her brother-in-law just stares at the gleaming bone, and she can tell he isn’t hearing him.
“I don’t think she’ll be very happy without the use of her leg,” says Archie to the room at large.
Dr. Foushee doesn’t even try to argue, just nods agreeably and says, “So, we’ll set it.”
Sally has to do something. She takes Archie’s hands in hers. “Brother, friend, listen to me. This decision you’re making—it’s potentially the choice between life and death.”
