Tempest in the White City Read Online Free Page B

Has it ever happened before?”
    “No.”
    “Well, I can give you some immediate relief today, but until you’re defecating at least three times a week, there are a few things you’ll need to do.”
    “Like what?”
    “I have a tea I’d like you to drink every morning. And so you know, this came on in part because of the inactivity of your new job, not to mention sitting on that train from Texas to Illinois. I suggest you begin performing calisthenics in your room or in a gymnasium. Chicago has several I can recommend. You’ll also need to eat a nutritious diet that is easily digested. Last, you’ll need to come in for daily massages.”
    He studied her. “Massages? As in, the kind of massage you gave me a few minutes ago?”
    “No, that was an exam. I needed to see if I could feel your colon through the abdominal wall, which I could. That’s a sure sign it’s much too full. Your massage will be in the same area, but it can be done through the fabric of your trousers.”
    “More’s the pity.”
    Though her expression remained stoic, a blush crept into her cheeks.
    “Who gives the massages?” he asked. “You, or a nurse?”
    “Me.”
    He pursed his lips. “What does your husband think about your job?”
    “I’m not . . . that’s none . . .” She swept a hand up the back of her hair, but the loose tendrils floated back down the minute she lowered her arm. “You also need to quit being shy about attending to your needs. Everyone defecates. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do.”
    A slow smile lifted one corner of his lips. “You’re not married, are you?”
    “Mr. Scott, you need to be paying attention to my instructions. They are very important.”
    “Hunter. My name’s Hunter.”
    Spinning around, she whisked a sheet from a nearby chair and plopped it onto his stomach. “Remove everything from the waist down and roll onto your side.”
    His jaw slackened.
    She opened a glass-fronted cabinet with shelves full of surgical instruments and withdrew a large wooden box. Inside nestled a syringe for the likes of Paul Bunyan, along with tubes and a long ivory pipe.
    “If that’s what I think it is,” he said, “you can just put it right back in that cabinet.” But his brief respite had passed, and the pain began to build again. It didn’t matter. No way would he sit still for this.
    She turned to him, back straight, face set. “You’re having an enema, Mr. Scott. It’s the only way. Afterward, you’ll have immediate relief, and then you can do the three things I’ve recommended for a period of three months. Otherwise, it will happen again.”
    “I’m leaving.” With a Herculean effort, he pushed himself to a sitting position. The room wobbled, the blood drained from his head. Billy handed him a bowl.
    This time, she didn’t stay by his side. Instead, she wrenched open the door. “Go find the Columbian Guard who brought Mr. Scott in here and bring him to me immediately.”
    Even as he retched, her words brought relief. Carlisle would get him out of here. He’d never let this woman do what she planned. By the time he’d finished, his arms trembled, his head spun, and he could hardly remain upright.
    She carried off the bowl and returned with Carlisle.
    “Get me outta here.” Hunter still sat upright, barely.
    Carlisle scratched his chin. “The doc says you’re giving her some trouble.”
    “She tell you what she plans to do?”
    Carlisle’s gaze touched the instruments strewn across the counter. “She did.”
    “Then let’s go.”
    But his friend did nothing. Just stood there. Finally, he turned to Billy. “Would you give us a minute, doc?”
    “Certainly.” She left, her woman-invented shoes making no sound.
    The door clicked shut. Carlisle rubbed the back of his neck. “Did I ever tell you my dad’s a doctor?”
    “I don’t care. Get over here and help me up.”
    “I think you ought to do what she says.”
    “You either help me out of here, or I’ll knock your