by Linda Ford
He went on to speak more of his trust in God, but Isabelle could only think of how dreadful it would be to be missing a child, and she wrapped her arm about Mattie’s shoulders.
Dawson, perhaps feeling the same way, did the same and neither of them shifted away.
Mattie smiled from one to the other.
Isabelle tipped her head enough to see Dawson’s expression and their gazes crashed together. She knew he would move every obstacle to find his child should she disappear. She gave a tiny nod, not wanting to distract those around her. But her silent message was that she would risk life and limb for Mattie, as well.
Their gazes locked and held, full of a shared love for this child and so much more, though she feared to give words to what she thought she saw…hoped she saw.
Someone behind them coughed and Isabelle jerked her attention back to the pastor.
This feeling between them was too new for her to know what to call it.
As soon as the service ended, Mattie rushed both Isabelle and Dawson out. “I want to show you something,” she said.
Isabelle dared a glance at Dawson and, seeing his amusement, let herself be urged along. They went to the side of the church, to the small cemetery. She immediately noticed that Dawson’s jaw muscles bunched and he no longer looked amused.
“Mattie?” he warned.
“I just want to show her Mama’s grave.”
Isabelle stopped, causing Mattie to jerk on her arm.
“Come on. You want to see, don’t you?”
She didn’t care to, but could see that it meant a lot to Mattie. She turned to Dawson. “I don’t wish to intrude. I won’t go further without your consent.” Why did she feel like she asked for much more than a visit to his wife’s grave?
“Please, Papa. You heard the preacher. We ’cept our pain.”
Dawson looked stunned. He gave his head a little shake. “I don’t know what you have in mind but we’ll go with you.”
Mattie rushed ahead, and Dawson and Isabelle followed more slowly. She had to make herself clear. “If this makes you uncomfortable…?”
“I’m fine.”
Mattie had reached a simple granite headstone and fell to her knees.
Isabelle hung back, but Mattie waved her forward. She went slowly, cautiously, and knelt beside the child when Mattie indicated she should.
“The preacher said we should hope. He said we should ask God and trust Him. I’m going to ask Him right now.” Mattie bowed her head, clasped her hands together. Her lips moved but no sound came out.
“Amen.” She beamed with trust and faith and joy. “You want to know what I prayed?”
Isabelle didn’t say yes or no, half-afraid of what the child wanted.
Mattie pulled Isabelle close and whispered in her ear. “I prayed you would be my mama.”
Little did the child know that life wasn’t that simple when other people were involved. Closing her eyes against the rush of tears, she hugged the child and whispered in her ear, “God loves you enough to do what is best for you. You must believe that.”
Mattie sat back and studied Isabelle. Disappointment and hurt filled her eyes, and then she blinked and hope returned. “I know he’ll find his little boy. God will help him.”
A few minutes later they left the cemetery.
“Was she worried about the preacher’s boy?” Dawson asked as Mattie skipped away to join Grandfather Marshall.
Relieved that he hadn’t asked her to reveal what Mattie had said, she answered, “She seemed to have listened attentively to what the preacher said and trusts that God will help him find his son.”
Dawson’s eyes darkened. “I hope all the talk about God helping us doesn’t give her false hope. Sometimes we don’t get what we pray for.”
“I know.” She soothed, rubbing his arm in an attempt to lighten his mood. “That’s the trust part of the equation, isn’t it?”
She felt the tension ease from him. And her own dissipated when he smiled.
“Sounds like you were listening carefully, as well.”
“As were you, to recognize that as part of the sermon.” They smiled acknowledgment at each other then parted ways, he to take his grandfather and daughter home, she to join Sadie and Kate as they walked back along the street.
*
Hope and trust went hand in hand. Dawson mused about the words the next day as he returned to work on the school. If he could embrace both, would it give him the courage to follow his heart and court Isabelle? He had to consider more than his own wishes. What was best for Mattie? Was Isabelle’s obvious fondness for Mattie enough?
He was still pondering those questions when the sheriff strode toward him. “Can you spare some time to come with me? I could use your help.”
Jesse had been Conner’s best friend since Jesse had moved into the area with his grandmother. He hung around the Marshall place so much he was like Dawson’s third brother. “What’s going on?”
“Someone rode in and informed me they’d been by the Brown place and found the whole family dead in their beds.”
“I’ll come.” It wasn’t the sort of task a man should face alone. “Just give me a moment to inform Miss Redfield. Mattie goes there after school.”
He hurried across the adjoining yards.
Isabelle looked surprised to see him.
“I’ll be away for a little while helping Jesse—the sheriff.”
Her eyes widened. “Nothing dangerous, I hope.”
He tucked that little bit of concern into a secret vault deep inside and explained the situation.
Her eyes widened ever more. “That’s awful. What happened?”
“Jesse didn’t say. He perhaps doesn’t know yet. But I can’t let him face it alone.”
Isabelle shuddered. “Of course you can’t.” She looked about to be ill. “I hate the smell of death.”
He knew her words hid a story but he didn’t have time to ask about it. He squeezed her shoulder, felt her lean into his hand and almost pulled her to his chest. To comfort and reassure her only. Determinedly he resisted the urge, regretting the missed opportunity even as he did. With a murmured “Goodbye. See you later. Take care of Mattie,” he strode to the livery barn to meet Jesse.
His thoughts grew more and more muddled. Was she the sort of woman he should let himself care for?
*
Isabelle watched until Dawson was out of sight. Lord, give them both strength to deal with this situation. She tried not to remember seeing her parents dead in their beds. Tried not to recall the antiseptic smell of a sickroom. But the memory of those days twisted through her mind like a tornado. She groaned and tried to distract herself. It would be several hours before school let out. She must get her thoughts under control before Mattie got there.
Perhaps a walk would help.
She donned her coat against the chilly air, but as she reached for the door handle, someone knocked on the other side. She drew back, her heart pounding in alarm. It’s okay, she told herself. No one was bringing her bad news.
Unless Dawson had been hurt. Maybe an evil man was going about killing people. Or Mattie was… Her stomach recoiled.
She sucked in air as the knock came again. Her imagination, mingling with memories, was getting away from her. Calming herself, she opened the door.
One of the older schoolgirls faced her. “Miss Young asks if you will come and get Mattie. She’s sick.”
It was just like Mama and Papa.
“She thinks Mattie should lie down.”
“I’ll come right over and get her.” Isabelle almost tripped on the girl’s heels as they hurried over to the store. Without looking to the right or left, she passed through to the schoolroom.
Sadie rushed over to greet her. “The child is running a fever and feeling quite miserable. She shouldn’t be here.”
“I’ll take her home.” One look at Mattie and Isabelle forgot all about her fear of illness and rushed to her side to hug her. “Honey, you come home
with me and I’ll take care of you.”
Mattie nodded miserably and raised her arms. “Carry me.”
Isabelle lifted the child, staggering under the unexpected weight. But she didn’t want to put Mattie down any more than Mattie wanted to get down. The child clung to Isabelle’s neck, her face hot. She was a sick little girl.
Isabelle hurried as best she could, taking Mattie in through the front door to the kitchen, where she parked her on a chair, removed her coat and had a good look at her. She knew nothing about childhood diseases but certainly the runny nose, red eyes and slight cough on top of the fever couldn’t be good. “You wait here and I’ll get the doctor to look at you.” She rapped lightly on the door connecting to the examining room.
Kate cracked the door open. “Do you need something?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but Mattie is here and she’s sick. I don’t know what to do.”
“Sick how?”
Isabelle relayed the symptoms.
“I’ll look at her.” Kate stepped from the room, pulled the door closed behind her and went to Mattie. “I’m sorry you’re sick.” She felt Mattie’s forehead and pulled down her bottom eyelid. “Open your mouth for me.” Kate peered into Mattie’s mouth. She straightened and turned to Isabelle. “I can’t say for certain what it is yet, but you need to send her home.”
Isabelle’s heart stalled and refused to start again. The skin on her face grew taut. “You suspect something.”
Kate began to say something, then closed her mouth and shook her head. “She needs to be home, where she can rest properly. Go get Dawson.”
Isabelle left Mattie slumped on the chair and drew Kate into the other room. “He’s gone with the sheriff.” She explained the situation.
Kate sighed. “More work for Father. Listen, Isabelle. Mattie might have measles. She can’t stay here. It’s far too communicable.”
“Measles? How dangerous is that?”
Kate smiled. “Children get it. So do adults.” She grew concerned. “You’ve had them, I hope.”
“Yes, I remember,” she answered, her thoughts on Mattie. “I’ll get her home. Can you stay with her while I rent a driver and a buggy to take us?” She headed for the door even before Kate responded in the affirmative.
Never mind being taught that a lady didn’t run in public. Isabelle lifted her skirts enough to ensure she wouldn’t trip and ran as fast as she could to the livery barn. “I need a buggy and a driver.” She could barely speak as she panted from the exertion.
“Huh? I don’t have anyone sitting around waiting to be hired as a driver.”
“Mattie Marshall is ill.” She’d not say it might be measles for fear it would be reason enough to be refused. “Her father has gone with the sheriff and I have no other means of getting her home. Of course, you could just rent me a buggy. I can learn how to drive on the way out there.”
He snorted. “Never mind. I’ll find someone.”
“Excellent. Have them pick us up at the doctor’s house.” She didn’t wait to hear any more but hurried back to the house.
Kate had settled Mattie on the couch in the other room, pulling the drapes to darken the room. As soon as Isabelle returned, she gave her instructions. “Tell Annie to keep her in a dark room. Keep the fever down. Give her water to drink.”
Isabelle shivered, hoping Kate wouldn’t notice. She shouldn’t be so relieved to turn Mattie over to Annie’s care, but ever since her parents’ deaths, sickrooms and doctor’s office odors had filled her with such dread she could barely function.
The clop of horse hooves stopped in front of the house. Kate looked out. “Your chariot awaits.”
Isabelle bundled a blanket around the child and carried her to the buggy. She managed to get her aboard and, despite Mattie’s protests, drew the blanket over her face. “Kate says to protect your eyes against the light.”
Mattie snuggled into Isabelle’s arms on the trip to the ranch. The driver helped her down. “Wait while I take her to her aunt. Then I’ll need a ride back.”
She carried Mattie inside and through to the kitchen, where she lowered her to a chair. “Annie?” she called.
Grandfather Marshall hobbled in on his two canes. “What’s going on?”
She explained Mattie was sick. “Kate thinks it might be measles, so she couldn’t stay there. I have instructions for Annie.” The young woman had still not made an appearance. “Is she not home?”
“She went upstairs after dinner and hasn’t come back down. She must be sewing or something. Run on up and fetch her. I’ll stay with little Mattie.”
Isabelle had some notion of the layout of the upper floor from her previous visit when she had tucked Mattie into bed. A day full of promise and possibility. How quickly both had narrowed. She stopped at the top of the stairs. “Annie.”
A groan came from one of the rooms.
“Have you hurt yourself?” Isabelle hurried into the room without knocking.
Annie lay on her bed, curled into a ball, shivering and moaning.
“You’re ill.” Isabelle squatted by the bed for a closer look. Annie had red, watery eyes, a fever and a dry cough. “You have the same symptoms as Mattie.”
Annie blinked as if to bring Isabelle into focus. “Where’s Mattie?” she croaked.
“Mattie’s just fine. Don’t you worry.” She pulled the shades to darken the room. “I’ll be back in a bit.” She took the stairs at a pace she’d never before used.
“Grandfather— May I call you that?”
The man chuckled. “Beats calling me ‘old man.’”
“Do you know if Annie has had the measles?”
He rubbed his chin, a gesture so like Dawson’s that Isabelle smiled despite the seriousness of the situation and allowed herself a moment of missing Dawson. He’d know what to do. He’d be calm and steady, not all flustered as she was.
“You know,” Grandfather said, “I don’t believe she has. Why do you ask?”
“Because I think she has them now. She’s upstairs with a fever.” A sick child, a sick woman and the only other adult was a crippled man. She could not in good conscience leave them. Mentally girding up her loins, she knew she must overcome her fear of illness and stay with these people until appropriate help arrived.
“I’ll send the driver away and take care of Mattie and Annie.” Did the words sound as solid and sure as she hoped, or did they reveal her trepidation?
She returned to the waiting driver. “I don’t need a ride back. Would you take a message to the doctor’s daughter? Tell her I’m remaining here until…” How long before anyone returned? “Until further notice.”
He agreed to do so and she handed him some coins, not having any idea if she’d paid too little or too much, but he seemed happy enough as he drove away.
Back inside, she helped Mattie upstairs, found a nightgown and helped her change into it then tucked her into bed under a light cover and drew the shades. Ignoring the fear fluttering in her heart, she trotted back to Annie’s room, did the same for her and went back downstairs at a rate that left her breathless. Explaining what she needed, she located a basin with Grandfather’s help, and clean washcloths and towels, and she carried them, along with a jug of water, back up the stairs.
Annie seemed the sickest, so she went to her first. Isabelle insisted the woman drink a glass of water then dampened a cloth and washed her face.
“Why are you here?” Annie asked.
“I brought Mattie home. She’s sick, too.”
“I need to take care of her.” Annie groaned and tried to sit up but sank back. “I’m dizzy.”
“I’ll take care of her. I promise.” At least until help came. But how long would it take Dawson to help Jesse? She shuddered. Death and illness hovered in her mind like dark shadows.
“You rest.” She drew a sheet over Annie and hurried to Mattie.
Mattie sobbed into her pillow.
Isabelle sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the child into h
er arms. “Honey, what’s the matter?”
“I thought you had gone. I thought everyone was gone.” Each word rode a sob.
“I’m not leaving you until your papa comes back.”
Mattie’s arms tightened about Isabelle’s neck. “Don’t go. Not even when Papa comes. Promise me.”
Isabelle hesitated. How could she give such a promise? This was not her home. She wasn’t good around illness, and most of all, Dawson might resent her intrusion. It was one thing to have the child coming over after school, and even being granted permission to talk about her mother. Quite another to move into his house even temporarily.
But wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to spend time with him? To be needed? Wanted?
“I promise I’ll stay until you feel better.” Even if someone told her to leave, she would stay until she fulfilled that promise.
Chapter Twelve
Dawson rode beside Jesse as they returned to town. With no sign of sickness or injury to any of the dead family, Jesse had looked at the chimney. “Just as I thought. It’s blocked.” And the odorless fumes had killed them all.
“At least they didn’t suffer,” Dawson said, finding a sliver of relief in that fact. It didn’t, however, make the details left to deal with any less difficult. They had to take care of the bodies, make sure any stock was tended and a dozen other necessary tasks.
He couldn’t wait to get back to town and Mattie and Isabelle. He’d hug his little girl close and allow himself to accept whatever comfort Isabelle offered. Would she touch his hand as she had before? Smile with eyes so gentle it reminded him of Mattie’s comment, soft as kitten fur. Maybe she’d even make him hot cocoa and serve him cookies.
By the time he’d helped Jesse with turning the bodies over to the undertaker, who was also the blacksmith, he ached for the solace of family. It didn’t even seem odd to him that he thought of the doctor’s house and not the big Marshall house on the ranch.
He used Jesse’s quarters behind the jail to wash up, hoping he did not carry the smell of death with him.
