The Preacher's Bride Claim

by Laurie Kingery

  They had a brief interval of peace before the bed creaked and shook from the force of his shivering. It was so fierce and prolonged that it seemed his bones must surely shatter and the teeth rattle from his mouth.

  Earlier she had been aware of the voices raised softly in prayer outside, punctuated with the occasional hymn and the soft shuffle of feet walking around the tent. Now her world narrowed to the cot beside her and the man who lay on it, fighting for his life.

  Lord, if You’re not going to save Elijah, take him Home, she prayed at one point. Just don’t make him keep suffering. I can’t bear this!

  The answer came back just as fast: Alice, you can do all things because I have strengthened you. Be still, and know that I am here with you.

  She opened her eyes to see that Cassie’s eyes were closed, her lips were moving in silent prayer.

  All right, Lord, we are all asking in faith that You heal Elijah. You know the good Elijah can do in Oklahoma if he lives. But Your will be done.

  Elijah had stopped shaking, and he lay sleeping. This had happened before—he would rest for a time after the chills, and then the fever would start to build again. In between, his breaths would come harshly, and his body would be racked with spasms of coughing.

  Wait—was it her imagination or was his breathing easier now, free of that rasping wet sound? Didn’t his color seem more normal, neither flushed nor with that icy pallor?

  Alice watched for a long time, afraid to believe her eyes, while the older woman across the bed kept praying silently, her eyes closed.

  Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she reached a hand over Elijah’s chest and touched Cassie.

  The old woman’s eyes flew open.

  “Is he—?”

  “Look, Cassie, look. I think he’s better. Listen.”

  Cassie’s eyes widened, then she bent her head to listen. “He—he’s breathing normally, isn’t he? Oh, Alice...”

  Shaking, Alice reached for her stethoscope. Both Clint and Gideon had gone outside to make more coffee, so she wouldn’t alert them until she was sure. She placed the bell of the stethoscope over Elijah’s chest and held her breath.

  The blessed sound of normal in-and-out breathing, free of all but faint traces of the congestion, greeted her ears.

  “Thank You, Lord,” she whispered, and the tears flooded her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  Cassie cried, “Hallelujah!” which made it unnecessary to call Elijah’s brothers. They came running in from outside, wild-eyed. One look at Alice’s happy tears and Cassie’s grin told them the news before they even looked at their brother.

  “He’s better?” they both asked at once, even as their eyes found the answer for themselves.

  “Yes,” said Alice in a tear-choked, shaking voice. “He’s going to be weak for a long time but yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be...” said Gideon.

  “I’ll tell the folks outside,” Cassie said, and Alice saw Gideon give a surreptitious, relieved sigh.

  “Tell them there’ll be no visiting with the reverend till I give the word,” Alice called after her. She knew how well-meaning folk could exhaust a fever-weakened convalescent. There were many in Boomer Town who loved Elijah Thornton, and she and his brothers would have to keep them at bay for a while. It was a blessed problem to have.

  Cassie insisted Alice sleep for a while after that. Though Alice protested, she sank into a boneless slumber until dawn, when the older woman roused her to say she was going back to her campsite to sleep for a few hours.

  “There’s someone who wants to talk to you,” she said with a smile broader than Alice had ever seen on anyone. She stood aside, so Alice could see Elijah. He was awake and gazing at her, his eyes tired but clear.

  Alice wasn’t even conscious of jumping to her feet and flying to the bedside. Clint and Gideon were there, too, beaming down at their brother.

  “I hear I...have you to th-thank,” Elijah said. His voice was but a shadow of its usual resonant, deep volume, and he had to pause to catch his breath, but she’d never heard a sweeter sound.

  “Not me, the Lord,” she said, again feeling the sting of happy tears. When had she turned into such a watering pot?

  “Of...c-course,” Elijah said. “But...thank you...for being His hands.”

  “Oh, Elijah...” she murmured, so happy she thought she might burst. In spite of her exhaustion, she felt like dancing through the dusty streets of Boomer Town. “Do you think you might be able to eat some broth?”

  “S-sounds...good.”

  He drank a good bowlful, with Alice spooning it into his mouth, and his eyelids drifted shut right after the last drops. She continued to sit by his cot, so happy just to watch his chest rise and fall without the shuddering effort.

  “Alice, go on back to your tent and get some rest,” Clint said gently after a while. Somewhere during the crisis, he and Gideon had dropped the “Miss” attached to her name, and she didn’t care.

  “I’m all right...” She tried to protest, to point out she had slept some and her patient’s condition was still too fragile for her to leave, but her fatigue-fogged brain couldn’t even find the words.

  “Gideon and I will take turns watching him, and I promise we’ll call you if there’s any change.”

  “All right,” she said, “I’ll be back in a few hours. But remember, no—”

  He held up a hand. “No visitors, I know.”

  * * *

  Elijah now knew the meaning of the phrase “weak as a kitten.” He’d barely had strength enough to open his mouth to accept the sips of chicken broth Alice had offered. Now, Clint told him, she had departed for her own tent to rest awhile, and all he could do was lie on his cot in a sleepy haze and think about what had happened, and how the Lord had used her to save his life.

  He remembered snatches of the past couple days—feeling the sudden blackness coming over him at the chapel and knowing he was powerless to stave it off. The racking chills and the bone-deep, agonizing aching all through him, the sensation of his lungs being clogged with something so thick he couldn’t get a decent gulp of air, the stabbing chest pain every time he tried to. The spasms of coughing. Alice’s cool hands, bathing the fire away, her beautiful face bent low, furrowed with worry. The sound of her murmured prayers.

  Sometimes in her ministrations, she was joined by Cassie Gilbert. Other times, the faces of his brothers hovered into view over him. But always he was conscious of Jesus in their midst.

  He realized what a profoundly good woman Alice was. Any man would be lucky to have her, but he didn’t want just any man to win her. He’d given up the idea of marrying, but would the Lord release him from that and let him court her? If He did, would she consider giving up her prized self-sufficiency to become his wife?

  * * *

  Elijah’s congregation was obedient to the no-visitors rule, so they showed their love in the only way they could. Covered dishes and pots of soup began appearing that first morning after the crisis had passed, left at the campfire, most of the time deposited when Clint and Gideon weren’t even outside to receive them and thank the givers.

  And Alice brought her own offering later in the day, a bowl of egg custard with nutmeg topping—“To help you get stronger,” she said. She must have been to the Fairhavens’ mercantile tent, and bought out their supply of fresh eggs and sugar, and used Mrs. Murphy’s oven, he thought, but even the delicious custard wasn’t as sweet as the sight of her.

  The first visitor permitted the next day, when Alice deemed Elijah strong enough, was Dakota. He entered the Thornton tent shyly, escorted by Cassie and Keith, his dark eyes shining with excitement and joy. Alice was already present.

  “Preechah, you are better, yes?” he said, pronouncing each word with care. “I have cookies for you.” He held out a dish piled h
igh with them. It was obvious he had practiced the speech.

  “Lars has started working with him, teaching him some English words,” Cassie explained, with as much pride as if she were his mother.

  “Yes,” Elijah said. “I am much better. And I’m glad to see you, Dakota. Thank you for the cookies,” he said, nodding toward them, not sure how much the boy understood.

  “Cassie,” the boy said, pointing to her, plainly wanting to give credit where it was due.

  They didn’t stay long, and afterward, Elijah insisted he felt strong enough to go sit outside for a while. With Gideon supporting him, Clint walking alongside in case more help was needed and Alice following, he made his way slowly beyond the canvas walls of the tent for the first time in four days.

  They sat in the shade of the tent, but it was good to see the sun and feel its warmth. There had been times, during his shaking chills, when he’d have given an arm for its heat.

  “I want to go to chapel tomorrow,” he told Alice, who was seated on a camp chair opposite him. “Not to lead it,” he said, holding up his hand when he sensed she was about to object. “Keith will do that, as he has been doing. I already spoke to him about it when you and Cassie were talking.”

  “I see my patient’s getting ornery,” Alice said with an amused smile. “A sure sign of recovery. All right, if you’ll agree to return here for some rest right afterward. No lingering for one of the Ferguson sisters’ endless stories.”

  “Yes, Nurse,” he said meekly, but he let her see the twinkle in his eye.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lars came to call on Elijah the next day, promising Alice as he took a chair that he would keep his visit brief.

  “You are welcome, Lars,” Alice said. “The visits from those Elijah is closest to seem to make him stronger—as does the fresh air,” she added, for they were sitting under a length of canvas Elijah’s brothers had erected so the sun wouldn’t beat down too heavily on him.

  “So what’s your sister doing this afternoon?” Elijah asked him, after Lars had caught him up on the news around the camp.

  “She is with Mrs. Murphy, teaching her how to make kartoffelbrot in exchange for slices of baked ham, potatoes and apple pie for our supper,” the Dane said.

  “That sounds like a good barter to me,” Elijah said.

  It had been an eventful day for Elijah, starting with his triumphant return to chapel that morning. He’d felt a little shaky as he had walked in, but he supposed that was normal. After all, he’d survived an illness that had killed many others. His spirits had been buoyed by the entire congregation’s evident joy in seeing him.

  “Preechah, Dakota comes!”

  Elijah looked up and saw Dakota trotting toward him, with the Gilberts following at a slower pace. The boy’s eyes were bright, his face full of the joy of living that he seemed to carry with him everywhere these days.

  Elijah took a deep breath as he exchanged a look with Alice. It was time to tell Dakota about his father. Give me the right words, Lord.

  Alice drew near and took a seat beside him while the Gilberts sat on a bench borrowed from the chapel. Dakota assumed a cross-legged position at Elijah’s and Alice’s feet.

  “Dakota, Miss Alice and I want to tell you what we were able to learn about your father,” he told the boy.

  Dakota’s face grew solemn, probably sensing from Elijah’s tone that the news would not be happy. “Dakota listen.”

  Lars translated while Elijah and Alice gently and carefully told Dakota what they’d learned from the colonel who’d known his father, watching all the while for the boy’s reaction. Elijah could see that the Gilberts were worried, too.

  Dakota was unblinking and somber at the news of his father’s fate. He paled beneath his light coppery skin, though, and Elijah saw the boy’s hands clench at his sides.

  “Lars,” Alice whispered. “Tell him it’s all right to cry.”

  “It’s not the Cheyenne way to weep,” Lars said. “I don’t think he feels free to cry.”

  “But he’s just a little boy, far from all that is familiar.” Her blue eyes were full of compassion. “Tell him his father would understand.”

  Lars did so, and Dakota murmured something in Cheyenne. Lars then translated back to the others what he’d said. “I have no mother. I have no father. I am an orphan.”

  Cassie got up and knelt by the boy. Keith followed his wife and put his hand on Dakota’s head. “You tell Dakota he’s no orphan,” he said, “not as long as he has us.”

  Dakota threw his arms around Cassie and gave way to his tears.

  After a few minutes, when the boy’s sobs had subsided, the Gilberts took him back to their campsite.

  Lars, Elijah and Alice watched them go. “He’ll be all right, I think,” Lars said, “once he has time to adjust to the news.”

  Elijah agreed. Lawson had never taken an interest in the boy that he had fathered, so he was little more than an idea to Dakota in any case.

  “But I probably ought to ride to the Cheyenne reservation in a day or so,” Lars said, “to see if I can find the aunt who raised him.”

  Elijah and Alice exchanged another look, wondering if having to give the boy up would break the Gilberts’ hearts.

  “Dakota! Dakota!”

  The three of them straightened in their chairs and listened. It was a female voice calling the Cheyenne boy, but then whoever was calling added some words in an unfamiliar tongue.

  There it was again—“Dakota!”—but softly pitched, as if the caller did not want to call attention to herself. And then they saw her, skirting the alleyway behind their tent—a Cheyenne woman, leading a paint pony, her hand cupped around her mouth to project the voice, but not its volume.

  The woman spotted them a heartbeat later and leaped onto her mount, clearly intending to flee. She was quick, but Lars was quicker and caught hold of the paint’s reins before she could drum her heels into the horse’s flank.

  Elijah heard him say some quick words in Cheyenne, clearly a reassurance by tone. At the sound of her language in his mouth—a startling thing, Elijah imagined, given Lars’s most un-Cheyenne pale blond hair and light eyes—her eyes grew large as silver dollars. She stared from Lars to Elijah and Alice and back at Lars again.

  Lars spoke to her again, his voice calm, as if he were speaking to a wild creature. “I told her I spent much time among the Tsitsistas, learning to track, learning their ways,” he translated for Elijah and Alice.

  The woman wore a long buckskin dress, and her feet were shod with fringed leather boots—typical clothing for a Cheyenne woman. She was perhaps a few years younger than Lars—not newly a woman grown but certainly at the height of her attractiveness, with long, loose hair black as the deepest hour of the night and eyes to match, her high cheekbones proclaiming her proud heritage.

  “I told her my name is Lars, or Gaurang, as a band of her people called me,” Lars went on, after he spoke to the Cheyenne woman again. “She will know it means ‘Man of Fair Skin.’ I won’t tell her the other name they called me, ‘Corn Hair,’” he added with a grin. He didn’t bother with his surname, as his was too complicated and cumbersome.

  The woman pointed to herself and spoke. “I am Winona Eaglefeather,” Lars translated for her. “She named a band of Cheyenne that I knew of from the reservation but that had lived at some distance from the one I stayed with. She says she seeks Dakota, her nephew, who has run away from her village.”

  Alice gasped.

  Lars allowed his smile to broaden as he nodded. “I will tell her that he is here in this tent city.”

  Her relief was obvious, but unlike a white woman, she did not weep or cry out with joy. Her eyes shone like polished obsidian as she spoke.

  “She says her heart rejoices,” Lars translated, “and begs that we will tak
e her to him.”

  Alice jumped up. “Please, may I fetch the Gilberts back here?”

  Elijah knew she wanted to spare him the quick walk to the Gilberts’ campsite. He was tired, he admitted to himself.

  As Alice dashed away, Lars explained to Winona what was happening. He told her Dakota had been caught stealing food by one of the townspeople.

  Elijah saw the Cheyenne woman’s eyes flash with fury at being told that the man had struck Dakota, but Lars assured her that Elijah and Alice had quickly intervened to stop the beating.

  Winona flashed Elijah a look of gratitude and said something.

  “She says some whites are good to the Indian, but some are not,” Lars explained. “I will tell her about the Gilberts and that Dakota has been staying with them, and how the older couple loves him. And I will tell her about Dakota’s father’s fate.”

  Elijah watched a succession of emotions flash across Winona’s eyes, and when Lars had finished explaining, she spoke again, her tone angry.

  “She says the earth has lost nothing without Richard Lawson walking in it,” he said.

  Inwardly Elijah had to agree, though he regretted the man’s wasted life.

  “Lars, please tell Winona that Dakota will need her now more than ever and that he will be very glad to see her.”

  They heard footsteps, and looked up to see Alice and the Gilberts returning, with Dakota leading the way, a curious expression on his face.

  Recognition between the woman and the boy was instantaneous. He dashed into her embrace.

  Her eyes tightly shut, Winona ran her fingers over the boy’s skinny back and stroked his hair, speaking in a voice hoarse with emotion.

  “She says ‘Dakota, where have you been?’” Lars said. “‘I have been searching everywhere for you! I was so worried. Why did you leave, saying nothing to me?’”

  Dakota uttered a spate of words.

  “He said, ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Winona, I did not mean to distress you. I had to find my father! Four Bears taunted me that I had no father—at least not one who would claim me—that my father was nothing but a white smoke that floated wherever the wind blew. I thought I must prove him wrong.’”