"I don't understand this 'feed the facts into a computer'. Gwen, I oftimes feel as if we're speaking two different languages. Will you speak the king's English, damn it!"
"I'm trying to." Finished lacing her dress, Gwen thought hard. "Remember the other day I told you about computers? Well, doctors and researchers can study all the records from all over the country and--and--oh, I can't explain about a computer, but it's a machine that--"
"Right-ho! Another machine." He toweled himself and jerked a clean shirt off a peg. "I fear we have strayed from the subject. We began by having a disagreement--shall we say?--about Mistress Halloway's baby."
Gwen slipped into her moccasins, balancing herself against the wall. "And that's what I've been trying to tell you. Doctors have found it's safer for a baby to sleep on his side or on his back, but not on his stomach." Could she ever make him see what life was like in the twenty-first century, how details that no one thought about in his time could mean a matter of life or death?
Looking thoughtful, Christian checked his watch, then returned it to the pouch at his waist. "We'd better hurry or we'll miss the evening meal again. We'll talk more on this later."
Just when Gwen started to relax, he waved a finger at her. "Don't ever countermand my advice again. I have enough worries with the smallpox sufferers--sick and dying--without having to worry about my wife giving contradictory advice behind my back."
"But Christian--"
"Have done with it, wife!" he said, slashing his hand through the air. "No more talk and from now on, let me give the medical instructions. You can continue to help in the hospital if you wish, but after this, pray check with me first before you give any medical advice."
She stifled her irritation--she was right, after all! She had to admit, though, that only exhaustion would make Christian talk to her like this. Hadn't he always acted the perfect gentleman around her, never scolding, never criticizing? Well, usually he acted the gentleman. But these weren't usual times. Forget it for now, she told herself. No point in making things harder for him.
* * *
"Christian," Gwen said on the way back to their room after the evening meal, "remember what the officers were saying about Indian attacks on the other forts?"
He nodded grimly. "All they talked about during the meal, and no wonder!" He made a wide gesture. "Only look at all the refugees pouring into Fort Pitt from the other forts, Presqu'Isle and Le Boeuf--"
"Venango!"
"True. Now we must feed these people, take care of them." Christian sighed. "As if Fort Pitt weren't already overburdened! But who can blame these unfortunates for seeking refuge here, when their forts are under attack or destroyed? They have nowhere else to go."
"But who can blame the Indians?" Gwen countered. "We are driving them from their land!"
"I fear there are no easy answers to this dilemma," he said. “Only warfare will settle
the problem." As they reached their room, he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Dearest, pray don't concern yourself about Fort Pitt. Captain Ecuyer is quite capable. He knows what he's doing. Fort Pitt will hold out." He kissed the top of her head. "Come now, 'tis late. Another busy day tomorrow, I doubt not."
Gwen leaned into his embrace, desperately wanting to believe things would work out. But she knew better, knew danger was approaching fast. How long before she had to save Christian's life...and her own?
Or must she watch him die?
Chapter Twenty-two
Gwen stood with Christian at the edge of a crowd, watching the Indian leaders parley with Captain Ecuyer. Men and women jostled each other for a better look, their heads moving from side to side. She felt like a helpless bystander, a witness to historical events that must enfold to their inevitable tragic conclusion. A cold lump settled in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't do a darn thing to change history.
Behind her, Christian held her lightly by her upper arms, his chest warm and solid against her back. "That's Turtle's Heart on the left and Mamaltee on the right," he murmured in her ear, "both of them Lenni Lenapes, or Delawares, I believe some call them."
He tapped her shoulder. "I wish I could stay, but I must leave to work on my records. You can tell me about the discussion later." He gave her a hasty kiss on the neck. "I'll be in our room."
Gwen watched him ease his way through the crowd, then she swung back as Turtle's Heart began to speak. Alexander McKee, one of the settlers, interpreted for Ecuyer.
"My brothers," Turtle's Heart said to Ecuyer, "we wish to hold fast the chain of friendship, that ancient chain which our forefathers held with their brethren the English. My brothers, you have let go of the chain. We have told you time and again this land is our land. We are here to give you this last warning."
Ecuyer fixed him with a stern look as he spoke through the interpreter. "My friend, you can't force us from this land. We have as much right to it as you do. Besides, we are too strong for you. I have warriors, provisions, and ammunition to defend the fort for three years against all the Indians in the woods, and we shall never abandon it as long as a white man lives in America."
Three years? More like three months! Gwen recalled the officers' continual complaints of their lack of supplies, how they always needed ammunition and other materiel. Ecuyer was bluffing, but would the Indians believe him?
Mamaltee spoke. "You speak bold words, my friend, but you'll soon find your soldiers are no match for the Lenni Lenape. Look what we and other tribes have done to many of your stronghouses to the north and west. We have destroyed them!"
His gaze covered the fort, his arm moving in a wide arc. "We will destroy this place, too, and kill every man, woman, and child if you don't follow our advice. My brother, leave this stronghouse or you will have their blood on your hands."
"My friend," Ecuyer said, "I have listened to your warnings, but I tell you the English are here to stay. But my brothers, let us not part with hatred in our hearts. We have ever been your friend, and as a token of our friendship," he said with a nod toward a soldier who held several blankets, "we want to give you these blankets. So take this gift, my brothers, as proof of our friendship," he said as the soldier handed the blankets to the Indians.
Gwen watched in amazement. How could Turtle's Heart accept the gift and even give a speech of thanks? He must be seething inside. Besides, what a strange gift... Why not give them food for their starving people?
The parley soon broke up. Gwen returned to their room and found Christian on the edge of the bed writing in his journal, an overturned crate in front of him with an inkwell on top. Even at this time of day, he needed a lamp burning so he could see in the dim light.
As the door creaked shut, he blotted the paper and glanced up. "Now pray tell me about the parley." He pushed the journal aside, a look of interest on his face.
Gwen shut the door and moved closer to the bed, then gave him a general idea of the discussion. "But Christian, something I don't understand--Ecuyer gave them blankets as gifts. Can you imagine? Blankets--in this heat!"
"God, no!" He slammed his hand down on the crate, nearly knocking over the inkwell. "Oh, no! Blankets from the smallpox hospital!" He shook his head, looking so distressed she hoped to God he was wrong. "I can't believe Captain Ecuyer would do such a thing."
She came to sit on the bed next to him, their thighs touching. "How can you be sure? They could be any blankets."
Christian rested his elbows on his knees and spoke barely above a whisper, forcing her to lean closer to hear him. "Only last night, I threw the infectious things away, giving orders to have them burned. Later, I noticed the orderlies hadn't followed my instructions and assumed they'd tend to the matter this morning. I should have destroyed them myself." Christian raked his fingers through his tousled hair. "How could I have been so careless?"
"But honey, you've been real busy." Gwen eased her arm around his waist, pressing ever closer. "Anyway, are you sure of this?"
"How can there be any doubt? I counted the blankets
last night, and there were no spare blankets, only the infected ones." He looked sick, as sick as she felt. Her stomach churned, her face heating. She swallowed convulsively, so afraid she'd spit up.
"Darling, you are not to blame," she said, smoothing her hand down his arm. "You've been doing the work of five men, tending to the smallpox patients night and day and getting so little sleep." She nodded toward the journal that lay open on the crate. "You've even managed to keep your records up to date. Besides, how could you have foreseen--?"
"I should have burned the damn things myself." He shoved the crate aside, then stood, shaking his head. By the dim light, she noted his frown, the fatigue lines that made him look far older than his years. "No point in chastising the orderlies," Christian said. "They were only following Ecuyer's instructions. But I can never forgive myself."
She sprang to her feet and rushed to him. "Please stop this! No one should blame you. No one will blame you. It is not your fault."
Christian sighed heavily. "I suppose you're right. I'll try to convince myself of that, anyway."
For a moment, Gwen forget her husband's agony as the full meaning of Ecuyer's wicked deed sank in. Blankets from the smallpox hospital--hundreds of innocent people might die, thousands!
Germ warfare in the eighteenth century.
* * *
At his desk, Ecuyer held a conference with his officers. "Gentlemen, I believe we've made all necessary arrangements for the protection of the garrison and the civilians inside the fort. I've even had beaver traps set along the banks of the Allegheny. Should the Indians dare to attack, they'll receive a rude setback. Still, they may present difficulties for our people. What think you on this? Have any of you further ideas for the protection of the fort?" He silently canvassed the others, looking from one man to the next.
Lieutenant Shelbourne spoke up. "Sir, I believe--"
A scratching on the door interrupted the discussion, then a messenger entered with a letter for Captain Ecuyer. Quiet descended on the room, the only sound the crackling of paper as Ecuyer broke the seal and unfolded the missive.
After he scanned the message, the captain looked up with a satisfied smile. "Gentlemen, if the Indians do attack, 'tis good to know help is coming. General Amherst has ordered Colonel Bouquet west from Philadelphia, with two Highland regiments. Not to worry, gentlemen. Colonel Bouquet is on the move."
* * *
On a hot, sultry evening, Gwen stood in their Spartan bedroom, changing her clothes before supper while Christian worked in the hospital. He'd promised her he'd join her soon, and he'd better hurry, or they'd miss their meal, as they had on previous occasions.
From out of nowhere, memories returned, thoughts of friends and family in her other time. She wondered what everyone was doing now.
A too familiar, strange feeling crept over her. Goose bumps traveled along her arms and legs. The skin at her nape crawled with dread. She tried to ignore this sensation, to act normal and pretend everything was as it should be.
As she looked in the mirror, she tucked a few stray hairs under her cap and saw--her hair hanging loose about her shoulders, brushing her T-shirt! Her gaze scanned the length of her body, seeing herself in jeans, with loafers on her feet.
"No!" She dropped the mirror to the floor. It cracked, the glass falling loose, breaking into pieces. She pressed her fingers to her cheeks. "No, please!"
Christian opened the door and strode into the room, a frown on his face. "Gwen, what's amiss?"
She made a downward motion with her hands. "Look at me, Christian, just look at me!"
His gaze ran over her. "Well," he said, "I know you need new frocks--"
"Frock! That's just it. Look at me!" Her gaze covered her body again--and she saw her linsey dress with all its stains and mendings, moccasins on her feet. "Oh!" She stared up at him. "I thought..." She swallowed hard. "I thought..."
"Yes?" He held her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. "What did you think, darling?"
"I thought I was back in my own time again. I saw myself dressed like I used to before...before I came to this time."
Christian's eyes filled of sympathy. "You've been working so hard and--"
"I know what I saw! Don't try to tell me differently." She flopped down on the bed, clasping her hands. She paused, looking up at him. "Honey, if we could go back to my time--"
"'Tis an impossibility you speak of. I have my medical practice here. I flatter myself that these people need me, not only at Fort Pitt, but throughout the settlements." He shook his head. "I can't think of some hypothetical trip through time." He sighed. "Nor would I want to make the trip."
"But I'm so afraid, so afraid..."
"Of what, darling?" Christian crouched beside her and took her hands in his. "I'm with you now, and I love you very much." He raised one hand and kissed each knuckle. "I'll do everything possible to see no harm comes to you, ever." He looked into her eyes and smiled. "We're together, you and I. That's all that matters."
Tears filled her eyes. "But that's the problem! I'm so afraid I'll go back to my time, without you."
"No! I won't let it happen!"
She cupped his cheeks. "Sweetheart, how can you prevent it?" She brushed her hand across her eyes. "I couldn't live without you."
He sat down beside her, holding her close around the waist. "Nor I, you. I need you with me, for all time." He drew her closer to him. "I will not let you go back!"
* * *
Days later, a new worry tormented Gwen. Busy from morning to night, forgetting to apply her protective sponges, she'd missed last month's period. This month's was late, too, and now a tell-tale nausea sickened her, not to mention an overwhelming sleepiness that made her want to lie down and sleep for the rest of the day.
After her class this morning, she flopped down on the bed, telling herself she should hurry to join Christian at the hospital. She raised her hand to her swollen breasts, the nipples tingling. She swallowed convulsively, determined to fight her sickness.
Torn between telling Christian of her pregnancy or keeping it a secret until the Indian danger was past--if they survived the Indian menace--she decided to keep the news from him for now. He had enough on his mind without worrying about her condition, while the Indians threatened them from outside.
Another fear jolted her, making her catch her breath. What if she got sent back to her own time, without Christian and pregnant with his child? She gripped the edge of the bed. No! She wouldn't let that happen. She must stay with her husband, in the here and now.
But it's not up to you, her panic-stricken brain screamed.
* * *
The next morning, the smell of smoke jarred Gwen from a sound sleep. She jerked up, her breath coming in gasps. Oh, God, where was the smoke coming from?
She shook Christian's shoulder. "Christian! I smell smoke!"
Mumbling in his sleep, Christian turned onto his back, then opened his eyes, the sheet twisted around his naked body. "What's amiss?" he asked in a raspy voice.
"Smoke!" She jumped out of bed. "What shall we do if the Indians burn the fort? Where can we go?"
Heavy-eyed, Christian raised up on his elbows and sniffed the air. "There are still many houses within the fort's environs, George Croghan's, for one." He sighed, sinking back onto the bed. "Poor Mr. Croghan. 'Tis hard he worked to build that house, but he probably isn't living there now. He owns another one near Carlisle."
"But don't you understand? We've got to leave! If the fort is on fire--"
"The fort is not on fire." He spoke slowly and distinctly. "Believe me, the British won't let the Indians get close enough to even attempt it." He reached for her wrist, drawing her back to bed. "Pray don't worry about the Indians. They can do us but little harm while we remain inside the fort."
She sat down on the bed next to him, pushing her hair back from her face. "You seem quite calm," she said in a shaky voice. "Calm? I suppose so. I'm not going to worry about something beyond my control, especially when I
know Ecuyer and the entire garrison can handle any Indian threat." He drew her closer, easing her down on the bed. "Please, darling," he whispered, "I don't want you to be concerned. Now, if I'm not mistaken, we must arise soon. But we still have time to ourselves, so let's not waste it."
Christian leaned over her, feathering kisses on her face and neck. He kissed her mouth, hard and long, his hand moving along the curves of her body.
She responded to his kisses, his caresses, loving him so, wondering how much longer they would have together, to make love. To live.
Chapter Twenty-three
Christian sat down beside Gwen in the soldier's mess hall, speaking without preamble. "I always admit it when I'm wrong."
Gwen peered at him as she buttered a slice of bread. "Wrong about what?"
"I've come to see the wisdom of your advice to Judith Holloway," he said, cutting a slice of pork. "I realize having a baby lie on his stomach entails a certain amount of risk. 'Tis wise to have the baby sleep on his back or his side, a fact I'll remember in future."
"So, Dr. Norgard, could I share your medical practice? And the fees, of course." She paused, the bread halfway to her mouth. "Good idea, don't you think?"
"I believe you're doing as well as any doctor, with all the help you've given me in the smallpox hospital." Frowning, Christian rubbed his hand across his forehead. "I wish there were some miracle that could help me save every one of my patients. Another one died last night, you know."
Gwen nodded, as dejected as Christian. "You're doing as much as any man could do. And honey, while we're speaking of medical advice, I have some for you. I wish you wouldn't work so hard and would eat better, too." As she spoke, she ran a worried glance over him, observing the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of exhaustion etched around his mouth. "And another thing--try to get more sleep at night."
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