Dream Weaver

by Shirley Martin

  She squeezed Barbara's hand. "Hang in there, sweetheart. You're gonna make it."

  In another bed next to the child, an older woman with damp, stringy hair groaned and leaned over, vomiting on the floor. All the first-aid training Gwen had experienced in her twenty-first century life had never prepared her for any of this.

  Barbara pressed a hand to her forehead. "It hurts," she whimpered. "My back, too. And my skin, as if I'm on fire!"

  Gwen patted the child's cheek. So many oozing pustules covered the child's face it was difficult to see her skin. "I know, dear, I understand. And I just know you'll get better soon." But would she? Or would she die, as many already had? Gwen steeled herself not to cry as she set the basin of water aside and gently smoothed a healing salve over the child's face and arms.

  His face haggard with fatigue, Christian wove his way from one cot to another until he reached her. "I wish I could do more for these unfortunate people," he said in an undertone. "I can only make them as comfortable as possible--with your help, dear--and hope they'll survive."

  A fierce rush of love for him burst inside her. She loved him more now, this minute, than she'd ever considered possible. To think he'd often wondered how much good he accomplished as a doctor. Just look at all the lives he'd saved here in the smallpox hospital! Whenever they both had time to themselves, she intended to tell him so.

  After she cleaned up the woman's mess, Gwen headed for their room in the officers' barracks, where she slipped off her shoes and shoved them under the bed. Her eyelids drooping, she stepped out of her dress, then hung it on a peg. Clad only in her chemise, she flopped down on the bed. Despite the stuffy heat in the small enclosed room, she fell asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.

  Christian's feet dragged as he entered their room about an hour later. Directing a tender look at his wife, he sat on the edge of the bed and undressed. He cast his clothes aside, then lay back and fell asleep immediately.

  He tossed and turned in his sleep. Images flashed through his brain, of trees and cabins and red-coated British soldiers, of Indians, tomahawks, and rifles. A scene materialized. He stood with Gwen on a mountain cliff, wooded valleys spread out below them.

  An eerie foreboding made his heart pound. Afraid she'd fall from the cliff, he inched closer to save her. She reached for him, but before he could grab her, the stones gave way, sending her plunging to the ground, thousands of feet below.

  "Christian!" she cried as she fell from sight. "I don't want to leave you."

  "No," he groaned, "no!"

  "Christian, wake up!"

  Heart thudding, he jerked awake and stared wide-eyed at his wife. She bent over him, her hand warm on his shoulder, a worried look on her face. Even in the dark room, he saw the gleam of her long, flowing hair that fell to her breasts and brushed across her nipples. Agonizing over the dream's meaning, he ached to touch the silky strands, caress those breasts, erase the nightmare from his mind.

  His dear wife lay on her side, propped up on her elbow. "Darling, you've been tossing and moaning in your sleep. You must've had a bad dream. Want to tell me about it?"

  Christian's heart hammered against his ribs. He clasped her warm hand to his chest as relief swelled inside him. Through sleepy eyes, he saw his wife's lovely face, and he wondered how he could ever live without her or if he'd ever have to.

  He directed a tender look her way. "I...I dreamed you left me, that you were drawn back to your previous time."

  "God, no!" She pressed his hand to her heart. "You know all I want is to stay with you, for the rest of our lives." She laid her head on his chest, his heart pounding against her ears. "I don't want to leave you!" She raised up, speaking with determination. "I won't leave you!"

  * * *

  One evening after everyone had gone to bed and quiet had settled over the fort, Gwen persuaded Christian to accompany him past the lean-tos to an unoccupied spot by the Flag Bastion. There, they could sit and talk in private. God knew they'd had little enough time to themselves for the past week. Time alone with Christian, away from the sights, sounds, and smells of the patients--was that expecting too much?

  Christian sat on the ground with his legs drawn up, hands clasped between his knees, looking so comfortable. She'd give anything to be wearing her jeans, instead of sitting with her legs pulled close to her body, the hem of her dress stretched demurely over her ankles.

  Pipe clamped in his mouth, Christian looked out across the grounds of the fort, at all those ugly shacks dotting the parade ground. Clothes draped across makeshift clotheslines, boxes and crates scattered all over. He slipped the pipe from his mouth and turned back to her, the gathering twilight casting his face in shadow. She observed his features, where the fading sunlight accentuated the stubble on his cheeks but lessened the lines of fatigue etched around his mouth and eyes.

  Christian sucked on his pipe for a few silent moments, the rich fragrance of tobacco scenting the air. "Help me divert my mind from smallpox," he suggested. "Tell me about medicine in your time."

  Darkness crept over the fort as the last of daylight slipped from the sky, and the first faint stars decorated the heavens.

  She thought a moment. "So you'd like to hear about medical miracles?"

  "Medical miracles? Indeed!"

  "Well, here goes. We have machines that can take a picture of the bones inside your body," she said with a cautious glance in his direction. "We call it an X-ray machine."

  Christian scoffed. "Do not expect me to believe that. 'Tis impossible."

  She leaned back against the brick wall. "I was afraid you'd say that. But maybe—mayhap‑‑I've at least convinced you that we've done away with many diseases. Oh! that reminds me--just yesterday I saw two men on the grounds of the fort, each missing an eye. Is there some eye disease going around?”

  Christian shifted his position on the ground, a look of chagrin on his face. "Many of these men don't have enough to keep them busy, and here they are stuck within the confines of the fort where they get into fights and gouge each other's eyes out."

  "You're kidding!"

  "Pardon me?"

  "I mean, I can't believe it."

  He nodded. "Sad, but true. A couple of days ago I tried to break up a fight and got a punch on the jaw for my efforts," he said, rubbing his chin. "And my interference availed me naught."

  She leaned over and gently touched his jaw, tracing the cleft in his chin. "You didn't tell me about that."

  He shrugged, taking her hand in his and kissing the palm. "'Twas a minor thing."

  No more talk," he murmured, setting his pipe on the ground. "Everyone else should be asleep by now. This night was made for love." With infinite tenderness, he reached over to draw her muslin cap off. Whispering love words, he slipped the pins from her hair, then carefully dropped the pins into the cap. He eased her back onto the grass and spread her hair out around her, all the while gazing down at her. Twisting his fingers through the silky locks, he bent low to give her a long, hard kiss. The kiss deepened, his fingers caressing her body while he eased her dress up.

  He nuzzled her neck. "It's been so long," he said, feathering kisses to her throat. "Too long."

  Neither of them spoke. Neither needed words as they reached for each other. It seemed as if they'd been separated for weeks, months, years!

  Gwen held him close, running her hands across his hard back, her fingers kneading the warm skin. She took in his aroma of tobacco, his very masculine scent, the enticing scrape of stubble next to her cheek. The taunting pressure of his body told her of his need, a need that matched her own. How had she ever existed before she'd met him, before she'd known how wonderful love can be?

  Christian trailed kisses from her mouth to her breasts, sighing, murmuring endearments. His kisses, his caresses, became more insistent as he held her ever closer, her heart beating in time with his. She couldn't get enough of him. Her worries forgotten, she surrendered to this wonderful reality, of the here and now. Nothing else mattered but t
heir love for each other.

  Later, as night sounds drifted around them, they lay in each other's arms and stared up at the stars while lightning bugs darted about, flickering in the darkness. The night was hot and still with not even the slightest of breezes. Even then, Gwen wished she could stay in Christian's arms forever.

  * * *

  After she dismissed her class the following day, Gwen strolled in the sizzling heat past all the leantos, where breeches, dresses, and shirts on clotheslines fluttered in a light breeze. Christian would be as busy as ever in the hospital, but Gwen first wanted to visit Judith, a young mother with a new baby.

  Babies cried and children played tag among the wooden shacks, knocking over boxes and crates in their youthful enthusiasm. Squawking chickens and barking dogs added to the confusion. Cats prowled among the shanties or climbed to the top of a settler's shack to survey their domain. Cooking smells wafted in the air, not all of them pleasant.

  Sunlight glinted off the fort's brick walls, forcing her to shield her eyes against the glare. Her calico frock clung to her skin, and she grabbed a handkerchief from her pocket to dab across her forehead. Minutes later, she stopped by Judith's ramshackle lean-to where the eighteen-year old stood outside, draping diapers over a clothesline. What in the world was she doing out here now, hanging up diapers after giving birth only last week? Where was her husband? Not getting into a fight with another settler, she hoped.

  She squinted in the bright sunlight as she stopped to greet the young mother. "Judith, how's the baby?" She looked around. "Must be asleep because I don't hear him."

  "Aye, ma'am, the baby's sleepin'." Judith wiped her hand across her shiny forehead and tucked strands of long hair behind her ears. The young mother looked so pretty, with her clear skin, auburn hair, and green eyes. Gwen wondered how long she'd keep her looks, stuck out here in the frontier, working from dawn to dusk, with none of the modern conveniences and a new baby besides.

  "Here, let me help you," she said, reaching for the remaining diapers the young mother held, then draping them across the clothesline, one by one.

  "Would you like to see the baby?" Judith asked with an eager smile.

  Gwen smoothed her damp hands along her hips. "Wouldn't want to trouble you, but I'd love to see the baby."

  "No bother, ma'am. Pray come with me." They both ducked under the clothesline, and Judith pushed a blanket aside at the entrance to the shack. Gwen's gaze covered the tiny space, crammed with boxes. It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dark, but finally her gaze settled on a tiny baby who slept inside a large wooden crate, lying on his stomach.

  "Why did you place him on his stomach?" Gwen whispered.

  Judith looked puzzled. "Your husband told me to set him on his stomach when he's sleeping. Said it's better for his di-di–“

  "Digestion?"

  "Aye, that's it. Dr. Norgard told me 'tis better for his stomach, said the baby won't have so much gas."

  Reluctant to interfere with her own husband, still Gwen thought the baby's life the most important consideration. "That position can be dangerous--no, I don't mean to alarm you, but a baby can die...suffocate if he sleeps in that position. Happens only once in a blue moon," she hastened to assure the mother, "but it can happen."

  Frowning, Judith glanced at the baby, then at her, and back to the baby. "But the doctor said..."

  "In this case, I must disagree. Honestly, I don't mean to frighten you, but babies have been known to die when they sleep on their stomach."

  "Oh!" The young mother wrung her hands, her worried frown deepening. "Do you think I should wake him up to turn him over now?"

  "I'd let him sleep for now. Next time you put him to bed, place him on his back or on his side with something braced behind him to support him."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  After several minutes of small talk, Gwen said goodbye, sorry for such a short visit but anxious about Christian working alone in the hospital.

  In the blistering heat, she headed for the hospital again, praying they wouldn't lose any patients this day.

  * * *

  The next day was as busy as all the other days. Gwen stood in the stuffy smallpox hospital, wiping her hand across her sweaty forehead. While she applied a mustard poultice to a young boy's foot, she looked across the room and saw Christian holding a little girl's hand. A sickening feeling settled in her stomach as she noted the lines of fatigue around his mouth and eyes, the way he continually pushed the hair back from his forehead. Weaving her way between all the beds, she reached him as he closed the child's eyes.

  "Nothing more I can do for her," he said in a voice heavy with sorrow. He pulled a blanket over the child's face. "If only I could save them."

  She touched his arm, trying to give him what little comfort she could, aware her consolations didn't help much. "But sweetheart, you've done so much good here. Look at the lives you have saved. And remember when we first met, you told me you often wondered how much good you were doing. Honey, you've made all the difference in the world here."

  He sighed. "Wish I could believe that."

  "You have! But for now, why don't you call it a day--"

  "Why don't I what?"

  She licked her cracked lips and brushed a wet strand of hair from her face. "Why don't you stop for today. God knows, you've done more than most men would be willing or able to do." She observed--not for the first time--the dark shadows that circled his eyes. "Might be better for you to rest now and then, rather than keep on to the point of exhaustion. Besides," she said as she forced a smile, "soon it will be time for the evening meal, and you know we missed that yesterday."

  Wiping his hands on his breeches, he nodded tiredly, his gaze covering the crowded room where the sick and dying moaned. "Aye, you have the right of it. Only let me visit a few of the villagers on the grounds of the fort. Then I'll go to our room to change for the meal." He laughed without humor, looking down at his stained shirt and breeches. "When did I last change my clothes? I can't remember."

  * * *

  Clad only in her chemise, Gwen dipped a wash linen into the basin of lukewarm water, giving herself a sponge bath as best she could. Oh, would she love a nice, cold shower, or better still, a long soak in a bubble bath with perfumed bath water, talcum powder, and all the works. She closed her eyes in dreamy delight.

  Just the same, a sense of pride filled her. She'd learned to manage quite well in the eighteenth century, doing without so many luxuries she'd taken for granted in her own time. Why, if she weren't careful, she might even get used to life at this time. As long as she could be with Christian, that was all--

  The door banged back and Christian strode into the room, looking mad as a pit bull with PMS. "What do you mean by countermanding my instructions to Judith Halloway?"

  "Counter--?" She thought hard, at a loss to know what he was talking about. After so many days and nights with little sleep, she could hardly think. "Oh--you mean about the baby."

  "Aye, the baby." Christian closed the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. Arms folded across his chest, he tapped his fingers against his arm. "I'm waiting."

  She dropped the cloth in the water and reached for a towel, trying to calm her thudding heart. Oh, oh, now she'd done it, made him angrier than she'd ever seen him. At the same time, Gwen caught his gaze on her and became aware of how her full breasts thrust against the thin material of the cotton chemise. It occurred to her that it would be a simple matter to divert him from his anger, but she decided not to practice her feminine wiles on him now. That wasn't her style. Far better to meet him on his own ground--calm logic.

  "Any day now, Gwen."

  "Yes, yes, I'm thinking." She dried her arms and legs, glancing over at him. "How can I begin?" she mused aloud. "Well, doctors nowadays--"

  "Nowadays?"

  "In my time, I mean. Doctors have discovered it's safer for the baby to sleep on his back or his side. He's less likely to die from sudden infant death syndrome."
>
  "From what?" Christian snapped. Pushing himself away from the door, he strode toward the bed. He perched on the edge, his face pinched with anger and exhaustion. His unshaven cheeks appeared even darker in the oil lamp's dull glow, his long hair falling past his shoulders, instead of secured in back.

  "Sudden infant death syndrome," Gwen repeated. "SIDS for short." Gwen tossed the towel aside and grabbed a cotton dress from a peg, the only clean dress she had left. Somehow, she'd have to find time to-- She brought her mind back to the discussion. "Doctors have discovered that newborn babies are more likely to die when they lie on their stomachs. They can smother to death." She eased the dress past her hips and began to lace the bodice. "Haven't you ever heard of babies dying in their sleep?" She stopped with her hand midway down the bodice, waiting for his answer.

  "Once in Philadelphia I dealt with such a case," he said as he closed his eyes for a moment. He opened his eyes and peered up at her. "But who's to say why the baby died? Another doctor and I examined the baby, and we found no apparent cause of death."

  "That's it, Christian! That's just it! Doctors in your time don't have the sophisticated methods of examination and don't keep such careful records--"

  "I keep a record of all the cases I treat, as did the doctor in Philadelphia." He rose and drew his shirt over his head. He hung the shirt on a peg and wrung the washcloth out, then sponged his face, his voice muffled through the cloth. "I'd say I'm as conscientious as any doctor."

  She watched the play of muscles along his broad back and arms and wished they could postpone the evening meal for more sensual pursuits. Besides, she didn't like any kind of conflict.

  "I'm sure you are conscientious," she said, "but it's so much different in the twenty-first century. Doctors can gather da--information from all over the country and feed the facts into a computer and--"