by Merry Farmer
“What the hell?” Pete Evans, their trail boss, shouted from where he was walking, farther up the line. He marched back to where the miners were beginning to fall behind. As he passed beside them, Dean straightened, dancing on the balls of his feet.
“If you will excuse me Emma, Mrs. Sutton. I have a feeling they may need me back there.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Mrs. Sutton said, as gracious as if they were in a fancy ballroom and he had just excused himself to dance the next set. You go and see to those horrid ruffians. It’s a comfort to know that we have at least one gentleman in our midst.”
Dean turned his smile to Emma. She still had her head bowed, that charming smile playing with her pink lips and flushing her face. “It was a pleasure to finally officially make your acquaintance, Miss Sutton. I hope that we’ll be able to spend many more equally entertaining hours together on the journey to come.”
With a palpable effort, Emma glanced up and met his eyes. “Yes, I hope so,” she said in a voice as soft as eiderdown.
“Now, I really must go. Good day.” He nodded, eyes lingering on Emma’s, then turned to hurry off down the line of wagons to see what trouble the miners were in now. Strangely enough, his heart felt light as he rushed to meet the confrontation.
As he jogged away, behind him he heard Mrs. Sutton say, “That’s a fine young man, Emma. And he’d make quite the catch… if you’re clever enough to nab him.”
Dean grinned like a fool. He couldn’t wait to see how clever Emma would try to be.
Chapter Two
For the next several hours, Dean had his hands full tending the cuts and bruises the miners had given each other in their fight. It wasn’t the first time he had spent the better part of the day patching up injuries that never should have been earned in the first place.
“You’ll survive,” he told Kyle Sullivan as he spread ointment on a cut over the man’s eye. It was more than he could say for the nameless battlefield patients who haunted his memory. Something about treating the restless, quarrelsome miners reminded him a little too much of his endless days spent dressing wounds on battlefields as cannons fired around him, bullets whizzed past his head, and dying men screamed for him and for their mothers.
“Thanks, doc,” Kyle grumbled.
Dean didn’t hear him. He was lost, remembering the names of those unhappy towns in Virginia all too well: Manassas, Antietam, Chancellorsville. Names that would stick with him forever. More fighting, more blood. Always blood. Pain. Useless, fruitless pain. And death. He remembered the grief in Henry Proctor’s eyes when the man died in his arms.
Dean’s hands shook as he bandaged Kyle’s head.
“Say, uh, you okay, doc?” Kyle asked.
“I’m fine,” Dean replied in a tight voice. He forced a smile and sent Kyle on his way.
Not for the first time, he turned his thoughts to Emma Sutton’s shy smile to fight off the gloom and horror of his fresh war memories. It would have been too eager of him to rush right back to her after fixing up the miners, and he didn’t want to risk her seeing the state he was in. Instead, he kept her in his thoughts for the rest of that day and through the night. The thought of her brought peace to his traumatized soul. Was she naturally shy or had something happened to make her so? If she felt more comfortable with him, would she open up? Her mother certainly seemed keen on the idea of the two of them knowing each other better.
By morning, he had decided that appealing to Mrs. Sutton would be his best bet to win his way into Emma’s good graces.
“Good morning,” he greeted them, approaching the Sutton family’s wagon as breakfast was being cleaned up.
Mrs. Sutton was the first to drop her morning chores, and Emma burst into a smile that quickly turned into a pink-faced look of shock, but it was Mr. Sutton who greeted him.
“Good morning, Dr. Meyers.” He stepped away from his attempts to stamp out their campfire and came around to offer him a hand. “What brings you around our way on a cloudy morning like this?”
Dean took the man’s hand, impressed by how he could switch from being a rugged pioneer one moment to a man of manners the next. “I came to check on your wife and daughter, to see how they are doing after the trouble those miners caused yesterday.”
“Elizabeth is fine,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet with a smile. “Alice is feeling a bit under the weather, as usual.” He leaned closer and added, “Melancholia, you know. Recently widowed. If you want to take a look at her, go ahead.”
“Arthur,” Mrs. Sutton snapped, jumping to her husband’s side and swatting his arm. She went on in a whisper. “He isn’t talking about Alice, he’s talking about Emma.”
Dean did his best to keep his grin in check as he glanced from Emma to her sister. Alice had to be older than Emma by a few years. She may have been as pretty at some point, but her face was drawn and pale, and she was dressed all in black. She sat on a barrel beside the wagon, sewing up a tear in someone’s shirt. Dean had heard through trail gossip that Alice’s husband had been killed in the war only a few months before. He wondered if the man had been someone he’d treated, someone whose limb he had hacked off in a futile effort to save him.
He pushed the dangerous thoughts away and cleared his throat. “I would be more than happy to lend my medical expertise to Mrs.—” He paused, suddenly awkward.
Alice glanced up from her sewing. “Taylor,” Alice answered, sorrow heavy in her voice. “Alice Taylor.”
“I would be happy to help you, Mrs. Taylor. That is, if I can.”
“No. No, I’m fine.” Her glance shot to her sister.
Emma was busy rinsing tin plates and packing them in a crate for the day’s walk. Her eyes were fixed on her work, but she couldn’t hide the tremor in her lips as she fought not to smile.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Dean nodded. He checked in with Mrs. Sutton. Her color was high, the same as Emma’s, but her eyes shone with eagerness instead of Emma’s timidity. “I’m pleased to see that yesterday’s upset hasn’t dented anyone’s spirits.”
He deliberately darted a look to Emma so that her mother could see it. His gamble paid off.
“Oh dear, where are my manners?” Mrs. Sutton burst into action. She left the food she was storing for some later meal and crossed the small camp to the back of the wagon where Emma worked. “Dr. Meyers has been so kind as to inquire after our well-being. The least we could do is provide him with a touch of polite company for the day’s walk. Emma, I’ll take care of that. Why don’t you walk with dear Dr. Meyers once we get started?”
“Oh,” Emma squeaked when her mother plucked a plate right out of her hands. Her cheeks were as bright as roses. Her gaze met Dean’s for half a heartbeat before her lashes fluttered down. “I… I suppose… if you’re sure you don’t need me…. That is to say, I usually—”
“Go,” Mrs. Sutton snapped. She covered her order with a light laugh. “I mean, young people shouldn’t spend all of their time in chores and duties. Go and enjoy each other’s company.” She patted Emma’s arm, then put her hand on the small of Emma’s back and pushed her toward Dean.
Dean covered his urge to laugh at Mrs. Sutton’s antics by rubbing his chin and smoothing his hair. “I’d be delighted to walk with you, Miss Emma,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”
Emma pressed a hand to her chest as though she was having trouble breathing, then laid her hand on her cheek. “I would. That is to say, I would be pleased… I… if you really want to…. I mean….” She let out her breath, the slightest frown creasing her brow for a moment as she pursed her lips. Dean had never known anyone to struggle so hard to be so charming. At last she drew in a breath and with great effort said. “Yes.”
He let his smile spread as wide as it wanted to. “Good. I’m sure Mr. Evans will give the word for us to move on at any moment.” He stood aside and gestured for Emma to walk ahead of him.
“Now just one minute,” Mr. Sutton sa
id before Emma had gone more than a few steps. She froze and her eyes went wide, as though she’d done something wrong.
“Arthur,” Mrs. Sutton hissed. “What are you doing?”
Mr. Sutton treated his wife to an indulgent smile. “It isn’t proper for two young people to walk out together without a chaperone, Elizabeth, and you know it. Not unless they’re courting. And even then, supervision is key.”
Mrs. Sutton threw up her hands. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, on the prairie, not in a New York ballroom. Honestly!”
Mr. Sutton wagged his finger at his wife. “Just because we’re away from civilization, doesn’t mean we’re away from society. Alice.” He stepped to the side to glance past his wife to where Alice busied herself with her sewing. “Go with your sister.”
Without argument, Alice got up and set her sewing aside. “Yes, father,” she said, eyes remaining downcast.
Dean exchanged a glance with Emma. She was polite as could be, and still blushing. A hint of worry clouded her expression as her sister joined them. She touched Alice’s arm and Alice nodded in silent communication. Dean’s heart warmed. Emma was charming and compassionate. She was everything he could have hoped for in a woman.
“I’ll take good care of both of your daughters, sir.” He nodded to Mr. Sutton, then to Mrs. Sutton, then turned to the ladies. “After you.”
“No, go ahead.” Alice waved Emma ahead. “I don’t want to get in the way.”
Dean glanced to Emma to be sure she was all right with the arrangement. She watched her sister with concern that she couldn’t hide before glancing sideways to Dean. For a moment, the barrier of her shyness was gone. Her eyes held far more meaning—pleading with him to be kind to her sister, to respect her—than any words could. She nodded for him to walk on and let Alice follow without argument. He trusted that communication implicitly, and did as she didn’t say.
The three of them set off at a slow pace up the line of the wagon train. Most of the families and groups traveling had already cleaned up, and the wagons at the front of the train had started to move. It was only during stops that the wagons were close to each other. As they traveled, they spread out. That way, if anyone ran into trouble or broke down, the oxen of the next wagon would have time to stop before they had a pile-up.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that fight with the miners yesterday,” Dean opened the conversation. It wasn’t what he wanted to talk about, but it would do.
“Yes.” Emma nodded. “It… it was unfortunate.” She paused, eyes glued to the ground in front of her, hands clasped so hard her knuckles were white. “The miners… they’re… they… that is to say….” She pressed her lips together, squeezing her eyes shut.
“They’re a rough lot,” Dean filled in for her.
“Yes,” she answered, then was silent.
Dean tried not to smile. This could turn into the longest conversation of his life.
Emma cursed herself for a fool as her whole body heated with embarrassment. It was a simple conversation. Nothing momentous could possibly come of it. She was smart enough not to blurt out to Dean that she loved him while discussing the weather, wasn’t she? Not even a ninny like her could make that mistake. So why had her tongue lost the ability to form words?
“Mr. Evans seems to have the situation under control now,” Dean went on.
Say something, she scolded herself. He’s not going to bite your head off. He’s just a man. A wonderful, handsome, brilliant man. And I love him, love him, love him.
She cleared her throat. “The miners seem to love… I mean, respect him.”
There, that wasn’t so bad now, was it? Part of her could feel Alice laughing at her behind her back. But no, Alice hadn’t laughed at her for months. She might never laugh again. The thought sobered her.
“I’m sure they do,” Dean replied with a nod. “Pete Evans has been taking groups of pioneers west on this trail for over ten years, or so I hear. Sometimes more than one party per summer, if he can manage it.”
“Oh?” She caught herself glancing up at Dean out of interest. Once she set eyes on the line of his jaw—clean-shaven as usual—she couldn’t look down. Not even when he turned to her and smiled. Especially not then.
“I had a chat with him about it when we first set out from Independence,” Dean went on. “He fought against the Mexicans in Texas during the war, when he was still wet behind the ears, as he says. After that, he decided he’d rather not go home. The West was calling him.” He paused for a moment before asking, “Is the West calling you, Miss Emma?”
Emma’s breath caught in her chest. It’s just a question, she told herself. Just a simple question. You can answer it. You can do this.
She glanced over her shoulder at Alice. Her sister walked several steps behind, staring out at the prairie as if searching for something she’d lost.
“I wouldn’t say the West is calling me, exactly,” she managed to squeeze out. One sentence hadn’t hurt any. She drew in a breath and charged on. “Things became rather… difficult at home, what with the war.” She checked over her shoulder again to see if Alice had heard, if the words had hurt her. “Mother and Father thought it best to get away from… things.”
When she looked at Dean, his eyes were full of empathy. “Time for a new life in a new land?” he asked gently.
Trickles of relief spread down Emma’s spine. Maybe he understood. Maybe he knew that sometimes you had to take someone as far away from a tragedy as you could so that they could become whole again.
She risked a faint smile. “Yes, something like that. The war is everywhere back home… back in New York.”
“It certainly is.” His expression grew grave for a moment, painting his handsome face with anxious shadows.
Her heart went out to him. A dozen questions popped to her mind—about what caused that look, about what he knew of the war, where he had come from, who he was before, who he was now. She swallowed all of them.
Dean cleared his throat and stood straighter. “So, what waits for you out West in Oregon, Miss Emma? Have you been corresponding with some lonely farmer looking for a bride by mail?”
Emma’s heart slammed against her ribs. Did he really think that? Would he think less of her because of it? Was he teasing her?
She pressed a hand to her chest and forced herself to stop being a ninny. It was just a question.
“I’m hoping to become a teacher,” she said. “I’ve heard that there are more and more schools all through Oregon. Whether Father decides to settle in Portland or some smaller town, I’m sure I’ll be able to find a position.”
“Is that what you want? To be a teacher?”
No, I want to be a wife. A doctor’s wife.
She cleared her throat. “Yes. I… I love children. I would like to be around them.” It wasn’t a lie. In fact, she wanted to be around his children… as their mother.
Dean’s smile grew. “I could see yesterday that they like to be around you. You were very good with Sadie, even when she brought you that snake.”
Leftover fear tightened Emma’s throat. She made a strangled sound before saying, “You saw that?”
Dean laughed. It was a gentle laugh, like leaves in the trees. “I happened to catch her presenting it to you, yes.”
“Oh.” Dread bit at Emma’s stomach. He would think her a horrible scaredy-cat or a complete ninny or worse. She pressed a hand to her burning cheek.
“Why don’t we go see how little Miss Sadie is doing today?” Dean asked. “I’m sure she would love a visit from her future favorite schoolteacher.”
Was he trying to get rid of her? Had he grown bored of her company? Did he not want her to be the mother of his children?
Blast it, she scolded herself, he isn’t like the others. He isn’t going to dip your braid in the inkwell and put frogs in your lunch pail. Give yourself a chance.
“That would be lovely,” she said.
“Good.” Dean held out his elbow to her. He wanted her
to take his arm, to touch him.
Emma stared at his elbow with wide eyes. Her heart flipped in her chest. She checked on Alice. Her sister was a few yards farther behind them, lost in her own thoughts as she walked. “Alice, we’re going to visit Sadie Pickett to see how her foot is healing.”
It took Alice a few moments to realize she’d been spoken to. She glanced up, blinked, then nodded. It was as much of a reaction as Emma was going to get. She smiled and dared herself to take Dean’s offered arm.
His tight look of concern for Alice melted into a smile as he fell into step with Emma beside him. Then he leaned even closer to ask, “Is she all right?”
Between the heady joy of walking so very close to Dean’s side, her hand on his arm, and concern for Alice, Emma forgot to be shy. “She’s much better than she was at first,” she said softly.
“Better?”
She nodded. “When we first got word that Harry had been killed, she was inconsolable. She wouldn’t get out of bed, much less leave her room. She wouldn’t eat. They were very much in love, you see, but he was just a common soldier and not an officer. Harry knew that would put him in the worst of the fighting, but he swore he had to serve the Union anyhow.”
Dean’s expression clouded with pain. “I knew too many men, too many boys like that.”
“Did you fight in the war?” she asked, heart racing.
Dean shook his head, growing even graver. “Not fight. The army needed doctors, surgeons, as desperately as they needed soldiers. I waged my wars away from the front lines, but they were just as terrible.”
Emma’s chest went tight at the thought. It was Dean’s turn to be shy and silent. She could feel the tension in his body, see the torment in his face. No self-doubt in the world could stop her from squeezing his arm more tightly. That small gesture seemed to perk him up. At least it brought his smile back.
“Here we are,” he said, nodding to the wagon they approached.
The gate at the back of the Picketts’ wagon had been let down. Sadie and her younger sister sat with their feet dangling off the edge. Sadie’s foot was still bandaged, and the rest of her looked cleaner than usual. She sat, slumped and glum, but at the sight of Emma and Dean approaching, she brightened.
