America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 155 Paradise Valley Welcomes a New Life

Only when Dr. Grayson occasionally went in and out did the door hinges make a dry, short creaking sound.

"Click." The door lock clicked softly.

Everyone's eyes were instantly fixed on the door.

Margaret came out.

In just one day and one night, she seemed to have aged ten years. Dark circles were under her sunken eyes, her face was bloodless, and her lips were dry and cracked.

She held a copper basin in her hands, the water inside was murky, with chillingly deep red blood clots and strands of dark tissue floating in it.

Dozens of eyes were fixed intently on her, silently and frantically pleading for an answer.

Margaret's gaze slowly swept over her husband James's extremely tense face, over her son Tom's steady expression, and over the doctor with his head down in the corner.

Her shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, and she shook her head very slowly and heavily.

It was a movement that drained all strength, a movement that proclaimed that hope was being extinguished.

The deathly stillness froze!

James felt a violent wave of dizziness and his stomach churned. He clung tightly to the cold wall to keep from collapsing.

No one spoke. Only heavy, suppressed breathing rose and fell in the suffocating silence.

Margaret, carrying the heavy basin of blood, turned around, her back hunched, and pushed open the door to hell once more.

The door closed behind her, shutting out the unknown darkness inside and completely extinguishing the last glimmer of light outside.

Dr. Grayson sighed deeply, finally stood up, and walked towards the door. His assistant silently opened his briefcase and took out the instruments that gleamed with a cold, hard light.

"Wait!" Tom hissed, his hand, as strong as an iron clamp, gripping the doctor's shoulder. The doctor stumbled, his face drained of color.

"How confident are you?" Tom's voice was extremely low, yet it sounded like it was wrapped in ice.

The doctor swallowed hard, his eyes darting around: "—This is the worst possible outcome, but right now—we can only save the mother—"

Tom's fist clenched instantly, his knuckles cracking painfully. "Can you guarantee the adult's safety?"

"No!" the doctor blurted out, his voice trembling.

The word "cannot" was like a spark thrown into a powder keg!

Tom's right hand swiftly pressed onto the gun handle at his waist, the cold metallic touch spreading from his fingertips.

"Young man, this—this is God's arrangement, we—" the doctor tried to exonerate himself with faith.

"Fuck God!" Tom's inner rage almost burst out.

A doctor who doesn't think about saving lives is instead researching how to communicate with God!

Just at this critical moment, the sound of approaching hooves suddenly rang out from outside!

A fierce glint flashed in Tom's eyes. He tossed the doctor a "Stay here and don't move!" and darted out of the room!

"Where is he?" He spotted the panting Zach at a glance.

"The covered wagon behind!" Zack pointed to the distance.

Tom rushed to the wagon like a whirlwind.

The car door opened, and two women got out.

The man in the lead was about thirty or forty years old. Although his clothes were not fancy, he had a calm and scholarly air about him. Behind him was a young woman in her early twenties who was carrying a heavy wooden box.

"Zack! You didn't pick up the wrong person?!" Tom's voice carried an undeniable pressure.

"Absolutely right! Tom! The telegram code matches perfectly!" Zack assured him urgently.

Tom didn't have time to investigate further; his gaze was fixed on the older woman: "There's a girl in labor inside! Go and help her!"

Catherine was clearly taken aback by the sudden order, and instinctively took a half step back: "I just came to look after the pregnant woman—"

"I don't care what anyone else tells you!" Tom stepped closer, his tone resolute. "Now! Do as I say! Go in and save them!"

The chilling aura emanating from him instantly filled Catherine with suffocating fear: "No—send me back! I want to leave!"

"I don't have time to waste with you!" Tom's voice suddenly rose. "Listen, go in! Save her, and I'll pay you three times the reward! If you can't," his gaze swept over her and his assistant, chillingly cold, "you'll both be carried out with her!"

Catherine's face instantly turned deathly pale, devoid of any color.

"Did you understand? Go inside!" Tom's command left no room for argument.

Catherine trembled; under the piercing gaze of those cold, emotionless eyes, all her courage to resist vanished.

She took a deep breath, resigned, and said in a hoarse voice to her assistant, "Take the suitcase—come inside with me."

When Tom brought the two strange women back to the oppressive delivery room, all the light focused on them.

"Tom, who are they?" Father James asked first.

"Doctor!" Tom uttered two words.

These two words were like a ray of light cast into the darkness, instantly igniting a flame of hope in everyone's eyes!

But Catherine felt like she was being pricked by needles; those gazes were too intense, too urgent, making it hard for her to breathe.

"Go in!" Tom's voice rang out again.

Catherine bit her lower lip; she could clearly feel the murderous aura emanating from the man behind her.

If I dared to turn around and run away, I would definitely be splattered with blood in the next second!

She had no choice but to bite the bullet and push open the door.

Time flowed in the dead silence, each second seeming to be stretched out.

Suddenly, the door opened again!

Catherine emerged, her hands stained with glaring blood, her face ashen. She met Tom's unfathomable eyes and spoke with difficulty, "I—I tried my best."

Everyone was shocked!

Tom's voice was cold and hard: "That's not the truth. Tell me! What other options are there?!"

Catherine showed no embarrassment at being exposed; instead, she displayed a resolute determination: "Open her abdomen! Cut open her stomach and take the baby out! This is the only way for her to live!"

"No way!" Tom refused without even thinking.

Open abdominal surgery?

What's the difference between that and sending someone to their death?

Given the poor hygiene conditions of that era, postoperative infection almost guaranteed a death sentence!

"Then I really can't do anything!" Catherine's voice was filled with despair. "The mother is already unconscious! If we delay any longer, she'll be beyond saving!"

Tom's gaze suddenly turned to his father, James.

James certainly knew what being stabbed in the stomach meant; on the battlefield, out of ten soldiers whose stomachs were ripped open, not one would survive!

You can choose not to do it—or you'll lose one or two lives!

As for forceps? That male doctor already tried it, and the results were disastrous!

Those few seconds felt like centuries.

James finally nodded heavily.

Tom's gaze returned to Catherine's face, and he spoke slowly and deliberately, with a blood-stained vow: "Remember my words! If she lives, I'll pay you handsomely and send you back safely! If she dies..."

His voice was icy, "You'll all lie down and get out with her!"

"Bandits!" Catherine spat out the two words through gritted teeth, then turned abruptly and rushed back into the room with a tragic air of desperation.

The door closed, leaving behind an even heavier and more desperate wait.

Disembowelment—that really means entrusting your life to some vague and uncertain luck!

Time has never felt so long.

Outside the door, there was a deathly silence, as if even the sound of a heartbeat had been frozen.

suddenly!

"Wow--!"

A loud, vibrant cry from a newborn baby pierced the silence like a thunderclap, crashing into everyone's eardrums!