And she still wasn’t wearing a hat; the only one she owned was that worn-out yellow sunbonnet and she refused to wear it ever again. She might even burn it in the fire one night before she died. Everything about it reminded her of the journey here and she wanted no part of those memories.
Elizabeth lifted her head high. She’d grown weary of trying to please others. She’d been orphaned young and spent her childhood being passed from household to household whenever extra help was needed. She’d never been asked to sit at the family table in any of these places where she worked, but she’d earned a measure of respect with her cooking and with her clever ways of dyeing cloth.
She was wearing her best dress, even if there was dirt on her skirt after crawling to the opening in her tent. Her hands brushed at the folds of the gray silk garment that she’d been given by the last family she had worked for. It had been damaged when they had given it to her, of course, but it was still the only silk dress she was likely to ever own. And it was twilled silk. Elizabeth had put the dress on last week when she realized she could hardly expect Mr. Miller to change her clothes for her burial.
“I never said there was anything wrong with the way you look.” The man’s eyes softened. “I just expected someone older. And not so pretty.”
Elizabeth watched in horror as the man reached out and touched her chin as through she was a child to be consoled.
“I’m hardly pretty,” Elizabeth said, a little more sharply than she intended. She moved her face slightly to discourage him, although his touch on her chin had been gentle and, surprisingly, pleasant.
She’d heard enough warnings in her life to know handsome men couldn’t always be trusted, especially not when they were talking to females who had no protectors. And this man was certainly trying to turn her up sweet for some purpose of his own. Matthew once said she looked nice, but that wasn’t the same as saying she was pretty. No one ever called her pretty and Elizabeth was sensible enough to know not to expect it. It wasn’t true.
She wondered for a moment if the man was delusional and then she remembered the fever. She always did look better when her cheeks had some color in them. Maybe the fever was already on her and she just hadn’t noticed it. She put her hand to her forehead.
“Well, I can’t expect you to help me.” The buckskin man finally said before turning to the sergeant as though he hadn’t just been smiling at her. “There’s got to be someone else.”
Elizabeth was ready to leave when the sergeant spoke urgently. “There’s nobody else. You’ve got to ask her—for the baby’s sake.”
“What—” Elizabeth looked around. Her hand dropped away from her forehead. There was no fever heat unless, of course, she was the one who was delusional. “What baby?”
There were no babies at the fort. She had asked. Mr. Miller thought she wanted to save herself the pain of seeing a living baby, but that wasn’t it. Babies were so innocent. If there was a baby around she would have asked to look at it, from a distance, of course, so as not to risk giving the fever to the little one.
She saw the buckskin man’s hand go to the bundle he wore across his chest.
“This baby,” the man said.
“Ohhh. Can I see it?”
The man started to turn the bundle toward her.
“I’ll keep back so you won’t have to worry about it getting sick.”
The man stopped his turning and looked up at the soldier. “I thought you said she didn’t have the fever.”
“That’s right,” Sergeant Rawlings said and then looked at Elizabeth. “The doctor said you’d be dead by now if you were going to get it. I was just coming over to tell you that when I ran into Jake here.”
“We can’t always time our deaths perfectly,” Elizabeth said. It wasn’t up to the doctor when she died. “I’m sure I’ll die soon enough.”
“But you don’t have the fever now?” the buckskin man asked.
“No, not yet, Mr…. ah…Mr….”
“It’s just Jake,” the man said.
Elizabeth frowned. After he had touched her chin, she should have known he had no manners. If she could be courteous when she was dying, the man could at least be polite when he stood there in vigorous health. He might dress like a heathen, but he didn’t need to act like one. A full name was not too much of an introduction to ask.
“How long do you plan to wait for this fever?” Jake asked.
Elizabeth lifted her chin. If he wasn’t going to show her the baby, he could just say so. And he could keep his hands to himself. “I’m sure I don’t know Mr….”
She didn’t know why she bothered with the man’s manners. She just wanted him to relent and show her the baby. She’d love to see a baby.
Jake was looking at her impatiently. “If you need the full name to feel better, it’s Jake Hargrove.”
“Well, Mr. Hargrove.” Elizabeth nodded her head in acknowledgment. There. That had made her feel better. “I’m Elizabeth O’Brian and I plan to be here as long as it takes to die. Did you need this land for something?”
It wasn’t only the preserves that might interest the men, Elizabeth had realized. They could also want the very ground under her feet. God might not even leave her with that.
Except for the lone cottonwood tree, the piece of ground where she had her tent didn’t have anything on it, not after she’d pulled up the few scraggly thistles that had managed to survive the scorching heat of this past summer. There were more cottonwood trees farther up the ravine, but she doubted even a jackrabbit wanted the barren piece of land that was now her camp. Although she did know there were men who would lay claim to something just because someone else had their tent pitched on it already. Maybe this buckskin man was one of them.
“No, no, it’s not that,” Jake said and then he hesitated. “It’s you. Women are scarce out here and it’s hard for a man to find one when he needs her.”
Elizabeth blinked. “I beg your pardon.”
Sergeant Rawlings spoke up. “It’s not what you think, ma’am. It’s on account of the baby being hungry is all.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth breathed out in wonder. She knew in that moment she was going to see the baby.
Jake hesitated and then finished unwinding the furs from his shoulders.
The baby was so tiny and its eyes were shut. Elizabeth thought it must be sleeping until the baby opened its mouth and yawned. Her Rose used to yawn like that.
“There’s no one to feed her,” Jake said. “I asked all around Miles City before I came out to the fort.”
“Miller thought he might be able to milk one of your oxen,” Sergeant Rawlings said. “But it didn’t seem like it would work.”
“I should think not,” Elizabeth said as she stepped closer to the baby. She left enough room so that she wouldn’t pass on any sickness just in case. “It’s a little girl then, is it? If I could, I would feed her.”
The baby started to give a weak wail.
Elizabeth felt her breasts grow heavy with milk. “Where’s her mother?”
“Dead,” Jake said flatly and then repeated what the soldier had said, “The doctor says you’re not going to get the fever.” He looked square at her. “You’re her last hope. She’ll die without something to eat.”
“But still…” Elizabeth knew she would not have let anyone who might come down with the fever touch her Rose. This baby here was frail and reminded her of how Rose had been when she was dying. If Elizabeth closed her eyes, she could still see the image of Rose lying so still after she took her last breath.
Suddenly, the baby stopped its wail.
“I can’t…” Elizabeth started to say, but her arms were already reaching out.
God would have to forgive her if that doctor was wrong, because she couldn’t let this baby die without trying to help it.
Jake held out the baby. Elizabeth wrapped a corner of her blanket around it and bent down to go back inside her tent. She supposed the two men would just stand outside and wait, but she di
dn’t care. She had a baby to hold again.
Once they got started, Elizabeth was surprised at how easily the baby fell into the rhythm of nursing. Even when the baby had finished eating, Elizabeth just sat there for a while with the baby at her breast. The little one’s hair was black and soft. She was an Indian baby, of course, but she looked like Rose all the same.
The baby didn’t seem as heathen as a warrior would, though.
She had heard that some of the white men who came to the territories took Indian wives. She wondered briefly if Jake Hargrove had married the baby’s mother in a church ceremony.
For a moment, Elizabeth was glad Matthew wasn’t here to see her nursing the infant. From the day he had proposed to her, Elizabeth had tried to be the wife Matthew had wanted. He had married beneath himself; there was no question of that. A lady would never nurse another’s baby and Elizabeth felt sure Matthew would refuse to let her do so if he were here, especially because the baby was not white. And probably irregular in its birth, as well.
The sun was almost setting when Elizabeth opened the tent flap again. Sergeant Rawlings had gone, but the other man was still there sitting on the ground near her wagon. The Indian girl had come closer to the wagon, as well, even though she still sat on top of her pony.
When she opened the tent flap, Jake stood up and walked over to her.
“What’s the baby’s name?” Elizabeth asked as she knelt at the door of her tent and lifted the baby up to the man.
“She doesn’t have a name yet.” Jake took the baby and began to wrap it back into the furs he wore over his shoulder.
“Oh, surely she has a name,” Elizabeth said as she stood up and hugged her blanket around her. Hoping for a girl, she and Matthew had picked out the name Rose before their baby was even born. Rose had been the name of Matthew’s mother, but Elizabeth had liked the name for its own sake, too. “She’ll sleep for now.”
“The Lakota wait to name their babies,” Jake said as he adjusted the baby inside his makeshift sling. “She hadn’t earned her name yet when she was brought to me.”
“My sister will be called the Crying One,” the girl on the pony said. “For the tears of her people.”
Elizabeth was surprised to hear the girl speaking English. Her words were not easily formed, but Elizabeth could understand what she was saying.
“Your sister doesn’t belong to the Lakota anymore,” Jake said. “She belongs to the people of her grandfather.”
The girl didn’t say anything. She just sat, facing east. She didn’t even seem to look at the man. Her face was smooth, devoid of expression.
Elizabeth had heard arguments like this before.
“Your dress is beautiful.” Elizabeth smiled up just in case the girl looked over at her. The faded yellow tones of the calico looked almost white in the rays of the setting sun. A good boiling with some of the dried marigold petals Elizabeth had in her wagon would bring the color back, though. “Your sister is fortunate to have a big sister like you to take care of her.”
“I cannot take care of her.” The girl turned and looked at Elizabeth for the first time. “She needs you.”
“Oh.”
Elizabeth saw the girl’s face crumble. Resentment and pleading both shone in the young girl’s eyes. How she must hate asking for help. And how desperately she wanted it.
Elizabeth nodded. “Of course, I—I will do what I can until some other way is found.”
“What other way is there?” Jake asked. His voice was strained, too. “The baby sickens on cow’s milk. I tried to buy some of that canned milk in Miles City—the kind they gave our men in the war—but none of the stores sell it. Most of them hadn’t even heard of it. You are our only hope.”
If things had been different, she and Matthew might have eventually owned a store like the ones that the man mentioned. That had been Matthew’s dream. They probably wouldn’t have canned milk, either, at least not in the beginning. But, in time, who knew?
Matthew always said he would tend the store while Elizabeth tended Rose. He had all those things in the wagon to sell. A fierce sadness rose up in Elizabeth just thinking about it. Those dreams and hopes were all dead. It didn’t seem fair that the peace of her passing should be disturbed with memories of things that would never come true. Matthew had died so fast, he hadn’t even had time to mourn his lost dreams.
Death had been taking its time with her, though. Without her Rose, she wanted to die. She had no family and she would not go back to being an outsider in other people’s homes. She was ready to die. She did not need two pairs of eyes watching her and demanding that she stay alive. She wished she could just close her eyes and keep them closed until she was done with this life.
But, Elizabeth admitted, the doctor in the fort had been a cautious man when he treated Matthew and Rose. A professional man like that wasn’t likely to make a mistake about the fever. She wondered if the doctor had seen the Indian baby. Elizabeth knew most people wouldn’t think it was a tragedy if one more heathen baby died, but she found she did. She had nursed this one. This baby reminded her of Rose. She wanted it to live.
“Of course, I will do what I can,” Elizabeth finally said. She looked over at the baby, snug in the man’s arms. “But if the doctor is wrong and the fever comes, you must leave. If you stay, the baby will die anyway.”
Elizabeth knew she could not bear to watch another baby die. Surely there were limits to what God could ask of any person, even of her.
Chapter Two
It was night when Jake Hargrove returned from the fort and laid himself down on his buffalo robe. He was bone tired. He’d stood off Indian raids and packs of starving wolves, but he’d never been more worried than he was now. He had no idea how to keep the baby alive if this Mrs. O’Brian wouldn’t stay with him through the winter. The men he’d talked to inside hadn’t been encouraging; they’d said she was one powerfully stubborn woman and she was set on dying.
Still, for now, she was doing what she could for his niece, Jake told himself. And a woman needed to be stubborn to survive in this land so he didn’t begrudge her that. He just needed to turn her mind around to match his. That was all.
He could see her tent clearly in the moonlight from where he lay. He’d put his bed a few yards from it. The baby was sleeping inside the tent with the woman and Spotted Fawn was lying next to the wagon, close enough so she would hear if her sister cried. The two girls hadn’t slept that far apart since Red Tail, his half brother, had brought them to him, begging him to raise his daughters in the white man’s world so they would live.
Jake had accepted the girls, knowing there was no other way for them. Sitting Bull and the rest of the Lakota Sioux were starving in Canada. Once Red Tail had said goodbye to his daughters, he had gone back to do what he could for the rest of his tribe. He told Jake not to expect to see him again in this life.
Jake put his rifle next to him on the ground. He’d checked earlier and seen that the woman had a rifle in her tent, as well. It had to be the one the blacksmith said he’d given her when she refused to stay inside the fort, claiming the noise and dirt were troublesome to her.
When Jake first heard about the woman, he was surprised no one had made her go into Miles City and take a room at the new hotel there. The bare land around here was no place for a woman from the East. The town was on the other side of the Tongue River, but it was only a few miles away from here.
Of course, now he knew the men at the fort had tried to reason with her. When Jake had talked to the blacksmith, Mr. Miller had said it was all he could do to get the woman to promise that she would run to the fort if she heard a warning shot being fired. The blacksmith didn’t look Jake in the eye when he told him that. They both knew a raiding party could be so quiet there would be no warning shot, at least not one that would do the woman any good.
Not all of the Sioux had fled to Canada after their battle with General Custer. Some of the younger braves were still in the territories, their hearts set o
n vengeance and thievery. As determined as they were to kill all of the white people they could find, these renegades were also looking for extra horses. That was one reason why Jake kept his rifle close. The easiest place to find horses was to rob an army corral, which meant they would need to come to the fort. Once the raiding party got to the fort, the loaded wagon standing outside would be a temptation. As would the woman inside the tent.
Jake shook his head just thinking about that woman. She should be sitting in a parlor back East somewhere. He didn’t know what her husband had been thinking to bring her out here; she didn’t belong in a land like this. But, as surely as Jake knew she didn’t belong, he wasn’t going to suggest she go back. Now that she was here, he was going to ask her to stay with him for the winter.
She likely hadn’t faced up to it yet, but she had a problem as big as his. She couldn’t winter where she was. The winds from the north had been damp lately and that meant winter would come early and it would bring enough snow to bury that makeshift tent of hers. At least, she would be warm and dry if she was with him and the girls.
Unfortunately, for the woman to stay with them, Jake would need to marry her. He’d known that before he met her. Miles City was an unforgiving place these days and he had the girls to consider. They were already viewed with suspicion because of the color of their skin. They would be true outcasts if people found out he was not married to the woman living with them. And, there would be no way to keep the woman a secret. He’d be a fool to even try.
Of course, when he’d first heard of the widow, he’d assumed she would be older and practical enough to make an arrangement with him. Jake looked up at the sky searching for stars. He hadn’t counted on Mrs. O’Brian being young or having eyes that made him want to protect her from things he didn’t even see.
The truth was he couldn’t even protect her from the things he could see coming. He and the girls were going to have a battle finding acceptance in Miles City and any woman he married would be in the battle with them. There was no limit to the mean-spiritedness of human beings and Jake figured his little family was going to see their share of it this winter.
Calico Christmas at Dry Creek Page 2
