by Joyce Armor
But when she tried to move, the trap wouldn’t go with her, causing a jolt of white-hot pain. When she got it under control, she studied the trap again and realized a chain was somehow attaching it to a tree. Ah, that must be so the caught animal couldn’t hobble away with the trap. Who is the caught animal now? She carefully inched her way toward the tree and saw that Gus—or whoever had placed this trap—had tied the chain with rope to the tree. She could not believe how much effort it took and how draining it was to untie the rope. She felt absolutely spent yet triumphant when she finally accomplished the feat. Afraid to rest, lest she fall asleep again, she looked over her shoulder at the distance she needed to cover and started off.
With every movement agony, bringing tears to her eyes, she edged her way backwards, the dog joyously following, weaving in and out of the bushes and trees. It somehow made the journey better. She kept looking behind her to make sure she didn’t run into a stump or a tree and doggedly kept going. Sweat poured down her face, and her hands were scraped and cut from hitting pebbles and roots and who knew what else. Still she kept moving, albeit haltingly. Then her trapped leg hit a root and she felt her vision narrowing. She tried desperately to concentrate on staying conscious. Losing consciousness could mean death, and she wasn’t ready to die. She had to tell Gus how much she already cared for him. That was her last thought before she saw strange dots, her vision narrowed and blackness claimed her.
* * *
Gus tied his horse and left the trail where Per and the dog had. He had tracked them perhaps a quarter of a mile inland when he saw them up ahead and his heart lurched. He broke into a run and recognized in an instant what had happened. The first thing he did when he reached his crumpled wife was put his ear to her chest, feeling intense relief when he heard her heartbeat.
The next thing he did was assess her condition. She was pale, and her heartbeat was faster than normal. His trap had caught her just above the ankle and the teeth had gone through her boot into her leg. He cursed. He should have told her not to leave the path. He absently petted the little dog nudging him and then set about to remove the trap. Standing, he placed a foot on the metal plates on either side of the contraption and the trap sprung open. He set the small bar to keep it open and painstakingly moved it away from Per’s leg. Although still unconscious, she moaned.
As gently as he could, he felt her ankle and lower leg. Yep, it was broken. The bleeding through her boot was disturbing but not lethal. Quickly he looked around, found a couple of sticks and bound them around the ankle with a strip he ripped from his shirt. Then, as gently as he could, he picked her up.
“Gus,” she whispered then. “I knew you’d come.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said, hoping it was true. “Let’s get you home.”
“Don’t forget Buddy,” she said, her last word before drifting off.
She was unconscious again. There was no danger leaving the dog behind; he was leading the procession. While Gus hated to do it, the best way to get Per back to the campsite with the least amount of pain was to lay her over his saddle on her stomach. After he got her into position, he vaulted up behind her and walked the horse so as not to jar her leg. The dog trotted alongside as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
As they trekked toward the campsite, Gus looked at the happy little dog. It was some kind of mutt, not fully grown. Cute, though, with floppy ears and big brown eyes. Didn’t appear that it would be much of a watchdog, since it didn’t even bark when he first walked up to it. Might be good with the cattle later on, though, or at hunting. Buddy wasn’t such a bad name either. At least she didn’t pick one of those girly names. Where had the dog come from? It was awfully thin, so it had most likely been wandering for days. It might have come from a passing wagon train or other travelers. He didn’t remember seeing any dogs looking remotely similar on area ranches or farms or in town.
By the time they reached the campsite, Per was shivering. He laid her down by the fire pit, added wood to it, and left to take care of his horse as fast as he could. With that accomplished, he stirred the stew, took a quick taste and removed the kettle from the fire. Now it was time to take care of Per.
Vale only had one doctor, and it was hit or miss whether he would be around, as he traveled the countryside. For better or worse, Gus would be his wife’s caretaker today. The first thing he needed to do was get her boot off. He hated to ruin the boot, but there was no way around it. He certainly couldn’t pull it off. Hurrying into the tent, he moved the boxes off his steamer trunk and searched through it until he found his steel-forged scissors. He also removed a quilt from the trunk.
Per moaned as he moved her onto the quilt but didn’t gain her senses then or as he removed the splints and gingerly cut through the boot, down past the ankle. It was easier to remove than he had expected. He carefully moved her pant leg above the wounds and finally got a good look at the damage. Her leg was broken just above the ankle, but the bone mercifully didn’t protrude through the skin. She had several deep puncture wounds on either side of the leg. The palms of her hands also bore cuts and scrapes. He could not imagine the pain she had suffered moving nearly a quarter of a mile with the trap on her leg. It made him feel somehow proud to be married to such a courageous woman.
It would hurt like the devil when he disinfected the leg, but he had to keep her from moving somehow. He would set the leg first. That would probably render her unconscious if she wasn’t already. She kept drifting in and out. He went back to the tent and did more digging in the trunk, coming up with his ma’s special jar of ointment that always seemed to make cuts heal faster, his emergency bottle of whiskey and a small tablecloth that he planned to cut into strips to hold the splints in place. On his way out of the tent, he grabbed the wine bottle on the bureau.
Setting the items at her feet, he checked the pulse on her neck. As he did so, she opened her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was ragged. “I shouldn’t have gone off the trail.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It’s my fault. I should have told you not to leave the path.”
“Let’s blame it on the animal that was supposed to get caught in the trap before me,” she croaked.
He chuckled in spite of his fear and helped her sit up a bit. “Here. You need to drink some of this.” He put the wine bottle to her lips.
She coughed a little. “What, no glass? This must be dire.”
“Do you want a glass?”
“No.” She put her hand over his on the bottle and took a big swig. Then she jerked and winced in pain. “The stew!”
“It’s fine, Per. I stirred it and took it off the fire. It’s ready. We’ll have some after we’re done here.”
He gave her several more swallows of wine over the next 15 minutes. “It’s almost time to take care of things.”
“That sounds omnibus…ominous.”
“Have another drink.”
He helped her drink, and then she put her hand up, signaling no more. She had drunk almost the remaining half of the bottle. He aided her in lying down again.
“I have to set your leg.”
“It’s broken?”
“Yes, just above the ankle.”
She took a deep breath. “I figured. Okay. Go ahead.”
He stood. “I need to find some better splints first. Just relax.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait here,” she said.
He smiled. She was so brave. He hurried over to the load of logs he had prepared for the ranch house. Piled to the side were boards he had shaped for framing the windows. He had decided to put small windows in the outdoor privy and thought the boards for framing those would be the right length for splints. He moved a couple layers of boards and found what he needed, then sprinted back to his injured wife.
She was smiling. How could she be smiling? He began cutting strips from the tablecloth.
“Gus. Gustavus. Gussy. My Gus.”
Oh, the wine.
“You’re not
much of a drinker, it appears.”
“No sirree. My father drank himself to death when I was seven. I didn’t want to go down that road. I could love you, Gustavus.”
No. No, no,no,no,no. There will be no loving in this relationship. He decided to ignore the comment. No sense in upsetting her, and besides, she was feeling emotional and was obviously a little drunk. She didn’t mean it. And she didn’t say she did love him, only that she could love him.
He broke off one of the sticks he had originally used to splint her leg and put it in her hand, closing her fingers around it. “Bite on this while I set your leg. I know it will be hard, but try not to move. It’s going to hurt, and I’m sorry for that.”
Her eyes were kind of glazed over, and he wasn’t sure she heard him or comprehended. And then she looked at him with such trust it almost killed him. She could be crippled for life, and it would be his fault. How could she show such faith in him? She put the stick in her mouth.
He gently grabbed ahold of her heel and ankle. She winced. “On the count of three. One…two…”
He yanked on the foot without waiting for “three” so she would not tense up, and she screamed through the stick before passing out, just as he thought she would. Her jaw went slack, and the stick fell to the ground. He brushed a little dirt off her lips before feeling along her leg. Gus nodded to himself, satisfied the bone had come together properly.
Before he could splint it, he needed to disinfect the wounds along her leg and hands. He found her lemon soap on the bureau and washed and dried all her wounds. Then he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured generously on each injury, stabilizing her leg as he did so. As he expected, she moaned yet didn’t come out of her stupor. Thankfully, she didn’t move much either. He dried the wounds and covered them in salve. He decided he had better bandage the wounds so the splints wouldn’t get particles in them. He hurriedly headed back to the steamer trunk, remembering the bottle of carbolic acid his mother swore by, hoping Per wouldn’t move while he was gone.
He wet a strip of the tablecloth with the carbolic acid and wrapped it around her leg several times. Because the wounds on either side were symmetrical, he was able to cover them all with one strip and still have enough length to tie it. Then it was time for the splints. Carefully, he placed the two boards on either side of the leg and began securing them with the cloth strips. If he only had a third hand, the job would be easier. When he was done, he sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.
The dog, which had been sleeping on the other side of the fireplace, trotted up and put his head in Gus’s lap. He picked up Per’s little Buddy and petted him. “She’ll be all right.” He hoped. Lord, it would be at least a week before she could even be upright. And at least a month after that before she could put weight on the leg. And when she can walk, she might want to just walk right out of here and keep on walking. Wearily, he moved the pup off his lap and stood. He headed off to the tent to get a blanket for Per and some pillows to prop her up so she could eat when she awoke.
That happened about an hour later. In the meantime, Gus had eaten, pleased that the rabbit stew was good. He also had made a separate pallet for Per. Until her leg had had sufficient time to knit, they couldn’t risk him kicking her or jarring her in the night. He made certain she was lucid before propping her up so she could eat some stew herself. He had let the wounds on her hands dry before bandaging them. She was a sight, with her hair loose and frightfully tangled, her hands bandaged and her leg propped up on a pillow.
She declined his offer to feed her and had no trouble feeding herself, but she didn’t eat much. He thought she was most likely still a little woozy from the wine. Now might be a good time to have their talk. He took the stew bowl from her and put it down for Buddy, who was much more enthusiastic about consuming it than Per had been. Gus poured his wife a cup of water from a pitcher he had filled earlier and handed it to her. She sipped while staring at him warily.
“What?”
“You’re about to tell me something I don’t want to hear.”
How did she do that? He didn’t want her reading his mind. “I just want to let you know what to expect about your injuries and how we’ll go on from here.”
She set the cup down and leaned back. “Tell me.”
“I set your leg, as you know. The bone needs time to knit. It means you have to be extremely careful about not moving it, at least for a week. I’ve heard that milk is good to promote bone growth and also nuts and seeds. I brought the milk cow home, so you’ll have plenty of milk. I think I have some nuts in my trunk. I’ll see about finding seeds.”
“I’m just supposed to lie still for a week?”
“I made a separate pallet for you in the tent.”
When she started to protest, he put a hand up. “We can’t risk me kicking you in my sleep. It’s just for a week or so.”
She sighed. “All right.”
“I’ll put you in the tent in the evening and bring you out by the fire in the daytime. I think sunlight or at least light should be good for you. Uh, I’ll need to carry you to…uh…do your business and anywhere else you want to go for that week.”
She looked like that appealed to her as much as the trap clamping onto her ankle did. Then she shifted her focus. “I’ll go crazy if I don’t have anything to do.”
He thought about that. “I have several books in my trunk. You can write letters, although they won’t get posted for another three or four weeks. You also can help with some of the meal preparations, such as chopping vegetables. And throw a stick for Buddy. It’s only for a week.”
“All right, I won’t whine. Much.”
He laughed. “I’ll take the dishes to the creek and wash them. There’s enough stew left for a meal for us tomorrow—it was very good, by the way—and to feed Buddy tomorrow, too. Do you want to go to bed now? It’s early, but your system has had quite a shock.”
“If you don’t mind, I just want to stay with you for a little bit longer.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, and poured them each a cup of coffee.
They talked about his plans for the ranch house and where it would be, which included the spot where the tent was now staked. He also planned to build a barn and a privy before winter set in, which gave him at least five months, even if they experienced an early winter. As they talked, Buddy wove in and out between them, pouncing on the occasional bug, making Per laugh. As she described how she had discovered the mutt, he barely heard that part of the story as he pictured her naked in the stream, her nipples hardened in the cold water. He began thinking that although he couldn’t sleep with her, perhaps they might bring each other some satisfaction while they were awake. As she was chattering on, he was mentally stripping her. But not loving her. Never loving her.
Chapter 5
The week Per had to remain stationary was the longest week of her life. She gained an all new appreciation for anyone who was bedridden or unable to move every part of the body. She read Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s The Story of a Bad Boy and The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens. She also spent hours studying Gus’s book of maps. It was fascinating to see just how far she had traveled from Elizabethtown to Oregon, but even that couldn’t eat up the endless hours of the day.
Gus was kind and thoughtful, although abrupt at times. She could tell he was chafing at needing to stay at or near the campsite and couldn’t wait until she could release him from that obligation. He had been fashioning her a crutch, and today was the day she could finally get upright—with restrictions, of course. One fall off the crutch on the unsteady ground and she could be bedridden for who knew how long. She wasn’t going to risk it. Still, even sitting in a chair or on a log would be an improvement over lying down.
The leg was not nearly as painful as it had been, and her hands were just about healed. Gus had taken off the splints several times over the week to check on and treat the puncture wounds, which had gotten infected initially but at this point were coming along nicely. Now
that she could move more, surely she could entice her husband to enjoy some more consummation. He looked like he yearned to at times. At other times he looked like he didn’t want to want to. She had a dim recollection of saying something about love when he was setting her leg and supposed that must be why he was struggling. Why didn’t he want to be loved? Or was it that he didn’t want to love her back?
“What are you doing up?” He held out a cup of coffee, which she gratefully took.
He looked so handsome and rugged in his black trousers that hugged his behind and a blue and black plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up as usual, exposing those beautiful muscular forearms. He had several days’ growth of beard, which only made him look manlier. The thought of those finely dressed society fops compared to this specimen of maleness was laughable.
“I’m not up. I’m sitting in a chair. You said I had to lie down for one week. It’s been a week. Or a year. I’m not sure which.”
He chuckled. “I finished your crutch, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to use it. The ground isn’t level.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.” She took a sip of coffee. “Just like I like it. Thank you.”
“I have to check the traps and I may have to hunt today, depending on what I find. We’re almost out of meat. And I’m going to start on the foundation of the cabin, so I’m going to have to move the tent.”
She smiled. “Just let me know what I can do to help.”
“Per…”
He started to say something she knew she wasn’t going to like, and she held up a hand to stop him.
“I need to be useful or I’m going to have to break something, Gus.”
He admired her for her determination yet felt irritated at the same time. He understood her frustration; he was a terrible patient himself.
“Do what you can to pack up the tent, and see what you can come up with for supper. I should be back by early afternoon.”
He went to his steamer trunk then and rifled through it until he came up with a pistol, a five-shot pocket revolver.
