Plains of Promise (Wyoming Series Book 2)

by Colleen Coble

  “Try not to worry,” Emmie called to his retreating back. She sighed and sat at the table. She was going to need every ounce of strength the Lord could give her. A thousand “what ifs” rang in her head. What if she lost both Isaac and Sarah? She shuddered at the thought. Even losing one would devastate her. She just couldn’t think about it. She stood up determinedly. She would keep busy and the day would soon be over. The baby would be here and soon there would be news of Isaac.

  By the time she had cleaned the kitchen, Rand was back. Jake, Morning Song, and Joel were with him. Jake had baby Gabrielle wrapped up in a buffalo robe, and her blue eyes peered up at her surroundings as soon as Jake unwrapped her. Joel had carried John over and set him down to play by a bucket of toys on the rug near the fire.

  Morning Song took off her cloak and hurried to the bedroom to check on Sarah. “She still sleeping,” she announced when she came back out. “That is good. She will need strength.”

  Emmie walked over to Jake and held out her arms for the baby. Jake kissed his daughter’s fuzzy head, then handed her to Emmie and went to sit beside his brother. Everyone seemed quiet and subdued, and Amelia’s spirit seemed to hover very near. Emmie knew no one could forget the terrible outcome of Gabrielle’s birth. As she cuddled the baby, her own baby moved for the first time in her womb. She gulped and pressed a hand to her stomach. No one noticed, she thought with relief as she glanced around the room. Tears pricked her eyes as she thought about what the future held for her and her baby. Everything was such a mess. How could even God work out such a tangled web? She sighed and stood with the baby held close. As she laid her in the cradle near the kitchen stove, she asked God again for strength to face whatever the future held for her and her baby. And for Isaac. Always a prayer for Isaac lay on her heart.

  Through the long day Sarah’s pains gradually intensified. Joel kept little John occupied while Morning Song and Emmie took turns caring for Gabrielle and tending to Sarah. Dr. Horton popped in several times to check on Sarah’s progress. “It will be a while,” he kept saying.

  Rand and Jake grew quieter and more strained as the day wore on. Several times when Emmie came out of the bedroom, she saw them with their heads bent in prayer. The wind, howling around the corners of the house and whistling through the cracks around the doors and windows, put everyone on edge.

  After supper Sarah’s labor began in real earnest. Dr. Horton tried to give her a small dose of laudanum, but she refused. She didn’t want to risk any harm to the baby, she told him. He snorted, but he put his bottle away without protest.

  Emmie was amazed at Sarah’s strength and determination. She did not let out one cry when the pains came, but only gripped Emmie’s hand tighter. Only an occasional soft groan passed her lips. By ten o’clock the doctor had settled in with them for the night. “It could be any time,” he said finally.

  Morning Song fed Gabrielle one last time and put her down for the night, then pulled up a chair beside her friend’s bed. “Baby come soon now,” she announced. She and Emmie took turns bathing Sarah’s face with a wet cloth and rubbing her back during the contractions.

  Just after midnight on Christmas Day, Sarah gave one last mighty push and a tiny baby boy slid into the world. He squalled in protest when Dr. Horton wiped the mucus away from his nose and mouth. Emmie grinned at the strong, lusty protest. She wrapped him in a bit of flannel and laid him in Sarah’s arms.

  “Isn’t he beautiful?” Sarah asked. She stroked a tender finger down his cheek. “He looks just like his daddy.”

  “I’ll get Rand now,” Emmie said. She closed the door behind her and found Rand just outside the door. Joel and John were asleep on a rug by the fire. Jake was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. He and Rand looked pale and haggard. “You have a beautiful son,” Emmie said with a smile. “Do you want to see him?”

  “How’s Sarah?” Rand asked urgently.

  “Tired, but just as beautiful as ever,” Emmie said.

  “Thank God,” Jake murmured.

  Rand shot through the door, and Sarah cried out and held out her arms to him. He went down on his knees by the bed and buried his face in her hair. She patted him and winked at Emmie as she closed the door behind Morning Song and the doctor.

  Jake’s knuckles were white as he gripped the table. “I have to go now,” he muttered almost incoherently. He grabbed his greatcoat and ran out into the howling wind.

  “Wait, Jake,” Emmie called, but he just kept on going. She blinked back tears—there was such pain and grief in his eyes.

  Morning Song looked at the door for a moment, then bundled the baby up. “I go home with baby,” she announced. She wrapped her cloak around her. “Send John home with Joel in morning,” she said.

  Emmie was too tired to protest at the way it would look if Morning Song spent the night at Jake’s alone. He probably wouldn’t be there anyway, she told herself as Morning Song slipped out the door.

  Rand opened the door and stepped into the kitchen with his small son in his arms. Emmie hurried to him and held out her arms for the tiny scrap. “I think he needs to be cleaned up a bit,” she smiled. She had readied some warm water and strips of soft flannel. She had Rand pull the kitchen table close to the stove to keep the baby warm and quickly cleaned the little one and popped him into a gown. He was awake but made no protest at her ministrations. She wrapped him in a flannel blanket and handed him back to his father, who took him eagerly.

  Rand gazed down into the face of his son with a look of awe and pride. “Sarah says he looks like me,” he said. “But I don’t see it.”

  “Then you must be blind,” Emmie said with a laugh. “Look at that nose. And he has your dimples.”

  Just then the baby yawned and moved his mouth in such a way that Rand saw his dimples for the first time. “You’re right,” he said excitedly. “Ma will be so excited to hear about him.”

  “Maybe your family can come for a visit soon,” Emmie said. “This may be all it takes to heal the breach with your father.”

  A shadow darkened Rand’s brow. “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” he said shortly. “Pa is determined that I give up what he calls my foolishness and come back to the farm. Ma says he doesn’t mention my name.”

  “A grandchild can change everything,” Emmie said.

  “Maybe,” Rand said with a shrug.

  There was a sound from the parlor, then Joel came flying into the kitchen. His red hair stood on end as he slid to a stop in front of Rand and the baby. “Let me see,” he begged.

  Rand grinned and pulled back the blanket to reveal the baby. “Meet your new nephew.”

  Joel gave a sigh of awe. “Can I hold him?”

  Rand passed him over to the young boy. “He’s going to be pestering you unmercifully before you know it,” he teased.

  “I’m going to be the best uncle there ever was,” Joel promised in a hushed tone. “I’m going to teach him all kinds of things, like where the best fishing spot is and how to play baseball.” He looked up from his perusal of his nephew with a sudden look of alarm. “How’s Sarah? She’s all right, isn’t she?”

  Rand nodded toward the bedroom door. “See for yourself.”

  Joel carried the baby to the bedroom as Emmie opened the door for him. Sarah looked asleep, but she opened her eyes as soon as Joel stepped into the room. She smiled when she saw her brother with her baby. “Did Rand tell you what we named him?” she asked.

  Joel shook his head. “I forgot to ask,” he said with a sheepish look.

  Sarah laughed. “His name is Joshua Joel Campbell,” she said.

  Joel gaped, then his chest swelled with importance. “Man alive,” was all he could say. “If that don’t beat the dutch.”

  Rand clapped a hand on his shoulder. “If he turns out as good a boy as his namesake, we’ll be very pleased.”

  Tears welled up in Joel’s eyes at such praise from the man he adored. “I’ll try to be a good example,” he promised.

  Sarah yaw
ned, and Emmie saw the weariness behind her friend’s smile. “It’s time for the new mama to get some rest,” she said. She shooed everyone out of the bedroom and put little Joshua in his cradle.

  Sarah smiled sleepily at her as she plumped the pillows and straightened the covers. “I did good, didn’t I?” she asked.

  “You did good,” Emmie assured her. “We’re all very proud of you.”

  Sarah smiled again and was asleep before Emmie could close the door behind her. Rand and Joel were asleep in the parlor, Rand on the cot and Joel on the rug by the fire. As Emmie crawled into her cold bed, she thanked God that He had brought them safely through and asked again that He watch over Isaac.

  fourteen

  The next few days were the oddest Emmie could ever remember. On one hand they were all so excited and relieved that Sarah and the baby were all right, and on the other they held their breath as they waited for the Sioux to make their next move. No one had to tell the women that if the Sioux chose to attack, the fort would fall. Ammunition was dangerously low and no one ventured outside the stockade except for the detail of men to keep the trench around the wall clear.

  One night around midnight a general alarm sounded and Rand rushed out into the night. They had huddled around the fire and prayed for nearly an hour as they listened to the shouts and the boom of the howitzer as the soldiers rallied to the rescue of a corralled wagon train. When Rand returned, he grimly told them the train had brought an official notice of perfected peace, with instructions to freely make presents to the Indians. No wonder headquarters had not sent ammunition and extra troops when the colonel had requested it weeks earlier. Everyone evidently believed that falsehood.

  The weather continued to hover between minus twenty-five and minus forty. Emmie and Sarah both longed for the company of the other women in the fort, but beyond a brief visit from Frances and Mrs. Horton the day after Joshua made his appearance, no one ventured beyond their own four walls. Finally New Year’s Day ushered in a slight break in the weather and the entire fort gathered for a brief memorial service for the slain men. As Emmie looked around at the faces gathered around the parade ground, the gravity of their situation was evident on every countenance. No one knew if they would all end up as the poor massacred men, but with no one left to bury their remains and speak a last prayer over them. Mrs. Horton had to support poor Frances, who was nearly fainting from the stress and grief.

  Two days into the new year, Emmie sat at the kitchen table up to her elbows in flour as she kneaded bread. Sarah, nursing the baby at the kitchen table, looked up as a bugle call sounded. Emmie, her fingers deep in bread dough, froze as the bugle sounded the long roll that meant troops had been spotted. Her hand to her breast, she held her breath as she rose and listened more closely. The bugle sounded again and she bolted toward the door.

  “Stay there,” she told Sarah as she threw her cloak around her and ran out the door. From every home, people poured out the doors with looks of dawning hope. Jake ran past her and she grabbed at his arm.

  “Fresh troops are almost here,” he told her. “Phillips or Isaac made it through!”

  Tears of relief flooded her eyes as she ran to stand beside Frances. Even Jessica and her mother were out, she noticed. Jessica saw her stare and turned her back. The troops flooded through the gates. Emmie thought they all looked nearly frozen. Most had frostbite patches of white on their cheeks, their mustaches and beards were thickly caked with snow and ice, and they all wore a look of intense suffering. Desperate to find Isaac, she looked frantically through the milling men and horses, but there was no familiar grin or shock of red hair.

  Colonel Carrington stood off to one side, talking to the major who had led the men. After several minutes, he came to where the women were. “Phillips made it through on Christmas Day,” he told them. “It has taken this long for them to get through the blizzard.”

  “What about Isaac?” Emmie asked anxiously.

  Colonel Carrington shook his head. “I’m sorry, my dear. He never showed up at the fort.”

  Emmie caught her breath. She clenched her hands beneath the folds of her cloak. He must be mistaken! Of course Isaac made it through. He was wrong. She searched the colonel’s face, but she saw only compassion and understanding. He thought Isaac was dead, she realized. She took a step back.

  “No, you’re wrong,” she stammered. She turned and ran across the parade ground. She’d find Rand, she thought. He’d know the truth. She found him giving directions to the men assigned to unpack the stores of supplies the troops had brought.

  “Rand, I can’t find any news of Isaac,” she told him.

  He put an arm around her and drew her off to one side. She looked up into his brown eyes and saw grief. She put her hands on his chest and pushed. “No, you’re wrong,” she said. “He’s not dead. I’d know if he were dead.”

  Rand pulled her to him and held her. “You’re strong now, Emmie, and you’ve got to face the facts. He didn’t make it. He was a brave soldier, and he’d want you to be brave now, too.”

  She wept against the rough wool of his jacket, but everything felt unreal. Isaac couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t accept that.

  “Let me take you home,” Rand said. He led her across the parade ground as she walked woodenly back to their quarters. Sarah saw the look of desolation in her eyes as she came in and stood up with a cry. She held out her arms and Emmie flew into them.

  The next few days passed in a haze of grief and bewilderment. How could it all end this way? she wondered. She knew now how Jake felt when he lost Amelia. When Jake told her grimly that the plans for their marriage were moving ahead, she just nodded numbly. What did any of it matter now that Isaac was gone?

  §

  Isaac stirred and licked his lips. He was so very thirsty. He sat up and stared at the fireplace across the room. Where was he? The last thing he clearly remembered was pitching into a snowbank. He had vague impressions of the dark face of an old man that swam in and out of sight and dim memories of tossing and crying out feverishly.

  A door opened and the man in Isaac’s dreams came through it. He was short and husky with a beard clear to his chest and black matted hair. He wore a faded red flannel shirt, stained and patched in numerous places, and trousers so dirty it was hard to tell what their original color had been. He squinted at Isaac, then spat a stream of tobacco juice on the floor.

  “Awake, are ye?” he said with a scowl. “What in creation were ye doing wandering around in a blizzard?”

  “What day is it?” Isaac struggled to swing his feet over the edge of the cot.

  “Don’t believe in answering questions?” the man asked. “That ain’t polite.”

  “I’ve got to get to Fort Laramie. It’s a matter of life and death.” Isaac stood and swayed weakly. He leaned against the wall until his head stopped spinning.

  “It was pert near your death,” the man remarked. “Ye was as close to freezing to death as I’d ever seen. And the fever that followed about finished the job. It’s a ways to Laramie. What’s so all fired important? I can see ye is a soldier.”

  Isaac nodded. “There’s been a bloody massacre at Fort Phil Kearney. We need ammo and men or we’ll lose the fort itself and every man, woman, and child in it.” He sat back down on the edge of the cot and leaned over to pull on his boots. “Where’s my horse?”

  “Not so fast. Ye can’t light out again without some vittles. All ye’ve eaten is a little broth I was able to get down ye. Ye would never make it past the corral.” He pointed to the table. “Sit down and fill your belly. The wind is still screaming like a banshee. The soup will warm ye.”

  Isaac eyed the steaming bowl. He was ravenous, he discovered. He started toward the table and staggered weakly. What was wrong with him? He sat down and bowed his head and thanked God for the food and for saving his life.

  When he looked up, the man was staring at him. “Ye are a God-fearing man,” he said. “I ain’t seen nobody pray since my mam pert near for
ty years ago.” He was silent a moment, then said, “My name’s Pete Sweeney but folks call me Hardtack.” He cackled and pushed the bowl of stew toward Isaac. “I reckon cause they think I’m as tough as old shoe leather.”

  Isaac picked up a bent and tarnished spoon and dug into the stew. The smell made his mouth water. “Lieutenant Liddle,” he mumbled between bites. “How far are we from Fort Laramie?”

  “ ’Bout a day’s ride on a fresh horse,” Hardtack said. “Which yer horse ain’t. He was as near dead as you. Just now startin’ to perk up some.”

  “You got a fresh horse?” Isaac wiped the last of the stew with a crust of bread and stood up.

  “Naw. I got an old mule named Bertha, but she ain’t good for much but carrying a light load downhill,” the old man said.

  “What day is it?” Isaac asked again.

  Hardtack scratched his grizzled head. “I don’t rightly know,” he said. “The days all run together out here.” He stood and walked to a faded dirty calendar nailed to the wall by the door. “Let’s see, this is the day I went for supplies and it took me seven days coming back. I found you here and that were six days ago.”

  “Six days!” Isaac broke in. “I’ve been here six days?”

  The old man continued as though Isaac had not interrupted. “January second,” Hardtack said. “Near as I can figure.”

  “I’ve got to get to Laramie.” Isaac jumped to his feet and looked around him. “Where’re my boots?”

  “Under the bed.” Hardtack pointed a gnarled finger.

  Isaac grabbed his boots and feverishly began to pull them on. “I even missed Christmas,” he muttered to himself. He’d had such special plans for Emmie. His mother’s engagement ring was hidden back in his room, waiting for the right moment to give it to her.

  “Christmas, huh?” the old man said. “I ain’t thought about Christmas since I were a boy. Ain’t no one to give no presents to out prospecting anyhow.” He shook his finger at Isaac. “Now I’m telling ye, ye can’t go nowhere just yet. Ye need to get your strength back.”