”“That we shall find out.”Jacob Stratton, diploma from Omaha College of Medicine, was enthusiastic about his prospects. His professors advised that the route to professional acumen was attendance at an established hospital, but he’d tossed himself into the vastness of the open plains where towns such as Capton Springs afforded no end of professional opportunity.The Town Fathers had assured him that his preference in cigars would be stocked by the tobacconist. The community had a Presbyterian Church. Mrs. Witherspoon’s boarding house appeared to be properly run and the proprietress certainly made a fine roast beef. The other boarders, a teacher of Latin, a traveler, and a dealer in grain stocks, seemed well-read.None of the patients requesting immediate attention seemed in imminent danger. The woman reporting palpitations of the heart exhibited no symptoms requiring a more than a quick listen with his stethoscopic tube. She’d offered to remove some of her busting, but he’d thought it. Footsteps now, I listen hard, tilting my head just a little to one side...more than two steps, one set of steps softer than the other. The sound of stiletto heels and another set slightly heavier. Are there two people here or more?The anticipation is immense. I feel, more than hear the presence of one person nearby, a slight noise, then the sudden pop of the champagne, which shocks me so that I jump, momentarily losing composure - the sound so unexpected. With heightened senses, the sound of bubbles being poured into the crystal glass, I can almost see them in my mind.Suddenly, my chin is taken firmly, between thumb and first finger and tipped back...small drops of champagne poured carefully between my parted lips. The drops taste like no liquid ever before, tingle and bounce on my tongue and down my throat. I long to empty glass after glass, then suddenly feel a gush of liquid, deliberately poured to run beyond my lips, down my naked torso, between my breasts, and it pools between my.
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