These Honored Dead (A Lincoln and Speed Mystery #1) - Jonathan F. Putnam Page 0,40

they managed to raise the carriage remains up a few inches. I grabbed the injured man under his armpits and dragged him away from the wreck. He screamed as I moved him, and I saw his right leg was bent unnaturally below the knee.

“It’s all right, friend,” I said, pulling out my kerchief and trying to stem the flow of blood from his brow. “A doctor’s on his way.” I scrutinized the man’s face, but he was a stranger to me. His clothing, though covered now with Springfield’s black loam, was well-stitched and fashionable.

Hurst squatted beside us. “What happened?” I asked.

“That hog must have ran out from an alleyway and spooked the horses,” said Hurst. “One of them broke free from his tether and in the process threw this fellow out and tipped the carriage over on him.”

Now that the horses had been calmed, the infernal squealing of the trapped animal came to the fore. “Will you please quiet that beast,” Hurst shouted over his shoulder. A moment later a shot rang out. “Someone will eat well this week,” he said.

I nodded. “What’s your name, friend,” I asked the injured man.

“Frederick . . . Julius . . . Gustorf,” he managed through labored breaths. “I . . . come from . . . Westphalia.”

“Is that near Peoria?” asked Hurst.

The man started to rise up to answer, but I urged him back to the ground. Turning to Hurst, I said, “It’s one of the old Napoleonic Kingdoms, you fool. In Europe. It’s now part of Prussia.”

I looked again at the man’s ruined carriage, strewn about the street. In a jolt, I realized it was the Lafayette-calèche carriage, the very one in which I had found Jesse’s body. Far from staying put at the Globe, as he had assured the sheriff, the owner of this grand conveyance had been hurrying out of town immediately after Jesse’s funeral.

“Where are you going, friend?” I asked the prone man.

The stranger swallowed and drew in and exhaled a deep breath. “I’ve been . . . inspecting . . . your country,” he said. His English was excellent, with only a hint of the characteristic harsh German accent. “I’m heading . . . to Alton . . . next destination. I have . . . a steamboat . . . to catch.”

“It looks like your stay in Springfield has been extended instead,” I said, gesturing toward his leg. “Here’s the doctor now. He’ll put you back together.”

Dr. Patterson had arrived, with Martha and Jane close at his heels. Patterson took a quick look at the injured man and announced, “We need to get him to my parlor at once. Speed, organize a litter. I think one of those dislodged running boards from the carriage should serve the purpose.” Without waiting for a response, Patterson strode back toward his home, the tails of his surgical coat flying out grandly behind him.

Thirty minutes later, the other fellows and I had managed to convey Herr Gustorf to the Pattersons’ front parlor, which doubled as the doctor’s surgery. It was a long, narrow room with tall windows looking out onto the street. We lay Gustorf on the couch that ran along one wall. Against the opposite wall stood a wooden bureau splattered with wax drippings. A dozen squat red candles burned brightly on the bureau, even in the midday light; this was Patterson’s attempt to burn away any disease-causing miasma.

The doctor handed Gustorf a deep purple-colored bottle. “Have a few good swigs of this,” he said. “It will help with the pain.” Gustorf leaned forward and swallowed several long pulls. Then he lay back gingerly.

“Sew up that cut on his head, Jane,” the doctor ordered, “while I have a look at his leg.”

“Yes, Father.” Jane reached under the couch and pulled out a leathern pouch. She took off her silk gloves, loosened the drawstrings of the pouch, and withdrew several needles and a spindle of silk.

“I didn’t know you also include ‘surgeon’ among your talents, Miss Patterson,” said Martha, sneaking a look in my direction.

Jane blushed slightly, though whether at Martha’s praise or her attempt to interest me, it was hard to tell. “I assist my father when I can be useful, nothing more,” she said in a very serious tone. She examined Gustorf’s forehead, where I could see he had a three-inch gash running diagonally above his left eyebrow.

“This will only take a few minutes,” Jane said to the foreigner. “Don’t pay any attention to what I’m doing. Miss Speed,