by Zina Abbott
His gaze on the injured man, Marcus nodded toward the black silk tourniquet. “That was good thinking to stop the bleeding. I see you are very resourceful, Mrs. Humphry.” Compliment accomplished. Might as well give the woman her due. He lifted the bandage and cocked his head as he studied the wound. This was no through-and-through injury that could be stitched up and watched for infection.
“Thank you, Captain. I couldn’t see where the bullet came out, so I suspect it’s still in his arm. I didn’t dare remove the wood splinter for fear it might cause the bleeding to worsen.”
Believing he had dismissed Mrs. Humphry, Marcus raised an eyebrow upon hearing her observation. He lifted the man’s forearm far enough for him to peer at the opposite side. She was right; the bullet was still inside. He apologized to the injured man for causing increased pain as he gingerly felt around. He soon realized the bullet had entered at an angle and traveled toward the elbow. He felt its hard lump in the fleshy part of the patient’s forearm. “You’re correct, Mrs. Humphry. The bullet is still in there.”
Marcus turned to address the patient. “I’ll need to do surgery to get this bullet out, but not here. Monument Station has bigger facilities and will make a cleaner operating theater with better light. I know you’re in a lot of pain, but I’ll get you some laudanum to help you until we arrive. I understand it’s only about ten miles away.”
“After his injury, Mr. Pierce indulged in a few sips of whiskey, Captain. For the pain, you see. I thought you should know before you decide on the dose of laudanum to give him.”
Marcus slowly turned to face Penelope and raised an eyebrow. He knew his voice held an edge of forced patience. “Thank you, Mrs. Humphry. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
“I-I’m not trying to tell you how to care for a patient, Captain. I apologize if my words came out that way. It’s just that I took care of my mother who suffered from cancer the last year of her life. She often drank wine to help with the pain. When the doctor recommended laudanum, he strongly advised against consuming both laudanum and spirits at the same time.” She looked down. “In case you are of the same opinion, I thought you should know.”
Marcus rolled his tongue inside his mouth as he studied her. “I am of the same opinion, Mrs. Humphry. Again, thank you.”
Penelope raised her head and pointed to Mr. Pierce’s wound. “I left the piece of wood in there on purpose. I know it will fester if it stays in there long. I did pour some of the whiskey over it to kill infection, so I hope that helps. However, the way he bled so much at first, I was afraid to remove it, especially in a moving coach.”
Marcus then leaned forward to study the large wood splinter. “That was smart, Mrs. Humphry. Normally, it might not have been much of an issue to remove a splinter. In this instance, it appears the wood might have nicked an artery. Like I said, I’ll keep him stable as much as possible and take care of it when we reach Monument station. I have a sergeant in my ambulance who took a bullet, too, so I’ll move this gentleman over with him to keep an eye on both of them while we conclude our travel for the day.”
“I’m relieved to hear that, Captain. I’ve had more experience with illness than injuries. I’m afraid my knowledge does not extend far beyond what I was able to do for Mr. Pierce.” She stopped and smiled wistfully. “Besides, I suspect, once my son wakes, I’ll have my hands full with him.”
“I’m sure you will.” He turned his attention to the injured man. “In the meantime, I’m going to take advantage of Mrs. Humphry’s quick thinking of using her sash as a tourniquet and use the other end to fashion a sling for transporting you to the ambulance. Do you feel strong enough to walk a few feet? I’ll stay with you in case you need steadying.”
“I’ll be fine, Doc.” Mr. Pierce turned to face Penelope. “Thank you for all you did for me, Mrs. Humphry.”
“I was happy to help, Mr. Pierce.”
While Marcus used the black silk sash to fashion a sling that would also serve to keep pressure on the bandage, from the corner of his eye, he watched Penelope Humphry pull a handkerchief from her sleeve and blot her face.
“Are you well, Mrs. Humphry?”
The woman responded by dropping her hand holding the handkerchief in her lap. She looked down and surveyed herself before shaking her head. “I have bloodstains on both the bodice and skirt of my gown. Jeremy’s drool and a bit of snot from when he was crying during the attack are smeared all over my shoulder. The water stain on my skirt looks suspiciously like it came from his diaper. I’m not sure how much will wash out of this silk. Jerry tore the hat from my head, and I’m sure my hair looks a fright.” She stared at the back of the coach as she heaved a sigh. “However, Captain, we’re alive and uninjured. For the time being, my son is safely asleep beneath the bench. I am well.” She turned to face Marcus and lifted her chin. “And, no. I do not yet feel compelled to turn back.”
“I refrained from asking, Mrs. Humphry.”
“Thank you. For you see, Captain, at the risk of casting pearls before the swine, since I knew my mother’s remaining time on earth was short, I prayed about where I should go and what I should do once she passed. I knew with a child to take care of, my options were limited.”
One side of Marcus’s mouth quirked up. “So you are equating me with swine now?”
“I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“I’m aware of the source of that expression, Mrs. Humphry. I have nothing against faith in God or prayer. I will admit, since my wife died, I haven’t found much use for prayer, myself. Especially with the war starting a few months after her passing, I’ve attended very few church services since she was buried.”
“I see. I experienced those same feelings, particularly after my husband passed.” Penelope looked away and sighed. “My mother was very insistent we continue attending church—for propriety’s sake, if nothing else. Fortunately, my feelings of disappointment over God allowing my husband to die were of short duration. However, I’m aware not everyone feels comfortable listening to talk of prayer or the concept of believing in answers to prayers.”
Marcus tipped his head to the side and nodded. “Hence the saying.”
Penelope lowered her voice. “Yes. Hence the saying.” She lifted her chin. “Still, it was wrong of me to assume that you are not a person of faith. I’m sorry.”
“No offense taken, Mrs. Humphry. Please continue what you planned to say.”
Penelope scrunched her forehead and shook her head. “I’ll admit my faith is being tried. I only know, as I prayed, the only possibility I felt at peace about was to seek a husband willing to help me raise my son. I did not feel I could stay in my hometown and achieve that. Since the war, Lawrence has a dearth of men, even more so than many regions.”
“Lawrence. You’re originally from Lawrence, Kansas?”
Penelope looked down and nodded. She then sat straight and raised her chin, as if by acting confident, it would make it so. “Lawrence is filled with many bad memories for me. That is another reason I used matrimonial advertisements in newspapers to look elsewhere. I never felt good about the letters from men living in the north. For one thing, nothing came of my correspondence with any of them, especially after I told them I had a child. It was only after Mr. Layton sent his offer that I felt traveling to join him in western Kansas was the right thing to do.”
“Even though he lives on the edge of civilization, where I’m sure he’s aware it’s not as safe as he led you to believe? And he agreed to marry you and take on your son?”
Penelope dropped her gaze to her lap and bit her lip. “I didn’t tell Mr. Layton about my son. By then, I had learned the less said about Jeremy, the better. As I read letters from men seeking wives, I looked for someone who would accept me. I did tell Mr. Layton I’m a widow. From the tone of his letters, he had no qualms about me having been married before. I felt he was very open and accepting of my circumstances. He said he is looking forward to us enjoying a family together. Since he w
ants a family, I feel confident he will quickly accept my son. Even though he does live farther from settled cities than what I am used to, his last letter left me feeling very positive about my future.”
Marcus clamped his teeth together to keep from again saying something he suspected would offend. He did not wish to dispute the woman’s faith in what she believed to be an answer to prayer. However, he could not see any logical reason why God would lead her through the dangers of frontier Kansas—especially not this year, not after General Hancock’s mishandling of the Cheyenne led to the increase of native hostilities against the whites along the Smoky Hill Trail.
“I think you should have told him about your son. Most men want to know up front about something like that.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Marcus knew he should not have spoken so harshly, if at all. So much for not wishing to offend her.
“Perhaps. It is too late for that now.”
Marcus studied the woman as she dropped her gaze and turned her head to the side. An attack by hostiles had not sent her cowering but, if he was not mistaken, upon hearing his last statement, she appeared to shrivel.
Penelope’s voice, when she responded, came out as a whisper. “I had to do something. With the owner of the property planning to let his son and daughter-in-law move into the house where I was living by the end of last month, I was forced to leave the only home I had known. Because most of my customers knew I must move, they started taking their laundry elsewhere. I had very little money and nowhere else to go. I can only hope the answers I received to travel west were right.”
Marcus shook his head and turned away. Sounds more like desperation than an answer to prayer that decided her. He inhaled and responded with a consoling tone. “Mrs. Humphry, I imagine the coach will be ready to continue soon. I’ll take my leave now and help this gentleman over to the ambulance. Before I go, I want to compliment you on your excellent work taking care of his injury.” He watched as she lifted her face until her gaze met his. From her expression, he guessed it surprised her that he paid her the compliment.
“Thank you, Captain. I’m happy I was able to offer assistance.” Penelope heaved a sigh, and her voice regained its usual confident tone. “While my son is still asleep, I need to step out of the coach for a few minutes. For one thing, I used my last laundered diaper for Mr. Pierce. I need to see if one of the men will help me check the three I rinsed out this morning and hung inside the boot to dry. I’ll need to change him when he wakes up.”
“Allow me to assist you, Mrs. Humphry.”
Penelope placed her hand into that of the captain as she stood and reached her foot out the door. A trace of dried blood still framed her fingernails even though she had wiped her hands on her already-stained skirt. The touch of the hand that reached for hers—freed of its leather gloves so he could treat the injured—filled her with a comforting warmth. It reassured her. Why the touch of this man—a man who had been nothing except a thorn in her side until only a few minutes ago—filled her with a sense of calm, she did not know.
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Chapter 9
~o0o~
Monument Stagecoach Station, Kansas
A s the stagecoach pulled away from the station, Penelope once again sat in the center of the bench. Thanks to the captain, I forever lost being able to sit next to the window. With the older gentleman who, until this morning, sat across from her now occupying the seat vacated by Mr. Pierce, she leaned her head against the back of the coach and closed her eyes. Ten more miles. It was not that far, compared to the distance between some of the stations. However, she felt like she had traveled one hundred miles this day. What concerned her most was, would the coming dusk deter the Cheyenne, or would they attack again? She fought back the fear that niggled at her. No. I must stay calm. I must remain confident that we will reach the next station safely.
As much as she realized that, if Jeremy continued to sleep, he would not become tired until late that night, a part of her hoped he would remain napping. When she checked, none of the diapers hanging in the boot were dry enough for use. The partial diaper she had folded and returned to her carpetbag she preferred to save in case there were other injuries on the trip. Once we arrive at Monument Station, I must be able to use those three diapers in the boot that should be dry, and I must wash the rest.
In spite of knowing it would be difficult to travel with a baby, Penelope had tried her best to prepare for this trip. Mr. Layton’s money only accounted for her ticket and food—a food budget, she now realized, that did not cover the actual cost of food sold at the stations for her alone. In addition, the food had not been as good or plentiful as she wished.
During the last few months she washed laundry, she went without food herself and held aside the money she saved to be sure she would have sufficient food for Jeremy. His canned milk, by itself, had proven costly. She only had enough for five more days. I hope Mr. Layton sells canned milk in his business or has access to a cow.
Penelope still had some dried bread Roslyn gave her for Jeremy. Her cousin said she kept it made and on hand for Emmy. Not only did it act as a snack, but when Emmy was teething, she liked to gnaw on it for pain relief. She also had an apple and a small amount of cheese set aside for Jeremy. However, it would not go far.
One question that had not been answered was whether or not the stagecoach would continue the following morning and reach Pond Creek by nightfall. With an injured passenger, would it wait until Mr. Pierce was well enough to continue the next day, or would they leave him behind and continue without him?
From what she had been able to glean, Monument Station was the final destination for the doctor and his ambulance. The thought left Penelope with a sense of loss. She shook her head to rid herself of the sentiment. The man was far too demanding. What right did he have to tell her what to do? Except for the rare occasion when they talked while he saw to Mr. Pierce, he annoyed her. By tomorrow night—the next day, at the latest—she should meet her intended husband. Only one more day after this one, and she would arrive at her new home.
Penelope looked down at Jeremy, who had been awake for some time. He had wet his diaper to the point it overwhelmed his soakers. She had no dry diapers. After removing the diaper and soakers, she wrapped them in a piece of oiled cloth and, avoiding Mr. Keller’s gaze, tossed them under the seat. She then set the folded wool blanket on the floor and parked her bare-bottomed son on that. Spreading his gown—the hem also damp—over him—taking care to cover the front of him—she handed him a soft, stuffed dog she had fashioned from fabric scraps.
Much to Penelope’s relief, Jeremy amused himself by first peeking over the bench at the other passengers, and then peeking under while showing everyone his dog. Thankfully, a few of the men played his game and the rest ignored him without making rude remarks. I can’t wait until I have my own home and can care for him properly. The few times he decided to pull himself into a standing position, she prepared to grab him if he fell. Instead, the rocking motion of the coach must have left him unsteady enough on his feet that Jeremy decided by himself to return to the floor. It was only his attempts to crawl under the bench she prevented. Several of these men are already annoyed that he is along; I cannot let him crawl over to them and try to climb into their laps.
Not long before the sun set, Penelope heard the sound of the coach horn announcing their arrival at the station. She closed her eyes and sighed. One more day behind me.
Penelope placed her palms on either side of Jeremy as she leaned forward to peer out the center windows—first one side, and then the other. What is this place? Her eyes widened as they passed the tops of two adobe houses sunk deep into the ground. All she could see of them were windows high in the walls just under the eaves of sod roofs about a two feet or less off the ground. Each structure had its own stone chimney, the top of which she would be able to reach with her hand.
Mr. Tucker enlightened all in the coach. �
��Those two dugouts are the barracks for the soldiers. Those windows are used for gun ports as much as light and air. Main building, which is surrounded by a ditch and high stone wall, is up ahead. We’ll drive through the gate to the side, and they’ll use the tunnels to take the mules to the corrals.” The man craned his head out the window to study the elevated wood structure. “Hmm. Looks like they built wooden walls around the kitchen shack. It was open last year when I was here.”
Eyebrows raised, Penelope turned to the speaker. The main building is enclosed in a wall? Tunnels to take the stock to the corral? What kind of place is this?
She decided the man seemed to know of what he spoke, for soon the stagecoach traveled through a narrow opening between a solid sod wall on one side and the end of a rock wall on the other. Off to the side, Penelope saw what appeared to be the entrance of a cave. She shuddered. I never want to go inside a dark cave again.
Next, lantern light and men’s voices coming from the building to her left reached her through the window. The sound and movement of someone opening the coach door startled her, and she involuntarily twitched. She snapped her head to the right to see the shotgun messenger.
“Welcome to Monument Station. Final stop for the day, gentlemen and Mrs. Humphry. Everyone out and follow me up the stairs to the dining area.”
All of the men, except the older passenger to her left, bounded out of the coach using only the built-in rod that served as a ladder step. By the time the messenger retrieved the wider stool from the boot, the older gentleman stood.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I’ll step over this center bench and get out of your way. May I help you with anything?”
Penelope responded with a smile. “Thank you. If you don’t mind taking my carpetbag in, I’ll appreciate it.” At least, that is not wet. “After you leave, I’ll gather my son and the rest of our things before I follow you inside.”
