Treasured Grace

by Tracie Peterson

  “Lewis, you are always looking for trouble. I know you’re the one stirring up the Cayuse. I’ve heard your name mentioned many times.”

  Lewis wasn’t at all bothered by the accusation. In fact, he smiled. “I won’t lie to my brothers, and if you are a true brother to the Nez Perce, you won’t lie to them either. The fact is, Dr. Whitman is responsible for bringing more and more Boston men to this land. He wants the white man to take all of the land and make it into farms and ranches. He wants to push the Indian off the land and see him die.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it. I don’t believe Whitman or the government wants to see the Indians eliminated or killed off.”

  Lewis shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. The whites will soon be swept from this land, and the Cayuse and Nez Perce will once again be free of their interference.”

  “The white man is here to stay,” Alex countered. “You might as well get used to it.”

  A cold, hard laugh came from Lewis, leaving Grace with gooseflesh. This man gave off an overwhelming sensation of evil and doom.

  “The white man will stay, all right,” Lewis said. “He’ll be planted in the ground. We’ll kill them all if we have to.” He looked at Grace again. “Maybe we’ll save a few of the prettiest white women. Maybe I’ll take you as my wife.”

  “Over my dead body,” Alex said, pulling Grace behind him.

  Lewis gave him a smug smile. “That’s the idea.”

  Alex had never been so infuriated in his life. He wanted to bash Lewis’s head in. Instead, he felt Grace pull on his arm.

  “We must check on Gabriel,” she whispered almost too low to hear.

  Alex forced down his anger. It had only ever caused him trouble anyway. He certainly didn’t need to repeat his mistakes from the past.

  After taking several deep breaths, he looked down at the beautiful woman standing next to him. “Yes, you’re right. Let’s go.”

  Lewis called out behind them, making further suggestions of what he hoped would happen and how happy he could make Grace. Alex seethed but said nothing until they were back to the wagon where Gabriel was recuperating.

  “Don’t go back,” he said, stopping several yards away. “Whatever you do, don’t go back. I think it’s best that way.” He let out a heavy sigh as he gazed into Grace’s frightened face. “I think if Dr. Whitman can just show the chiefs that Joe is a liar, then everything will settle down.”

  She shook her head. “But those people are dying. They need help, and I want to do what I can.”

  “No!” Alex all but yelled. He drew a long breath and forced himself to calm down. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve benefitted them, Grace, and I know I encouraged it, but things have come to a head. If we can let tempers calm, then things will probably go back to the way they were.” He looked across the field toward the village. “There’s always going to be difficulties between the tribes and the whites so long as there are instigators like Joe Lewis. The trick will be to prove that Lewis is lying about the poisoning of the people. I’ll speak to Whitman myself, and I’m sure we can come up with some way to trap Joe in such a manner to prove to the chiefs that he isn’t reliable.”

  When they reached the wagon, Grace checked Gabriel’s leg. Alex could see for himself that the wound looked no better.

  Grace turned to her sister and smiled. “Thank you for keeping him company, Mercy. You go on back to the house and rest. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Alex helped Mercy from the wagon, sensing that Grace wanted to spare her sister from further exposure to the situation.

  Grace bit her lip. “I don’t like the looks of this.”

  “Don’t go frettin’,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “The Good Lord won’t come for me a minute before my time.”

  Grace applied salve to the wound, eliciting a moan from Gabriel. “The infection is worse, Gabe.”

  “These things got to run their course.”

  Alex edged in closer. “Is there anything I can do?” He could see the worry in her eyes. “I can change the bandage every hour if that will help.”

  She nodded. “We’ll need some hot water and vinegar. It’ll need to be as hot as Gabe can stand. We’ll soak the wound, and hopefully that will draw out the infection.”

  “Bring me the water and vinegar. I’ll set a fire just outside the wagon and keep it hot. I can see to the treatment.”

  “I can stay with him.”

  Alex took hold of her arm and shook his head. “Too many others need your help. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  Grace found Gabriel little changed by morning. His fever hadn’t abated, and his pulse was rapid. An unpleasant odor rose from the bandage. She feared from the looks of the wound that the infection had spread to his blood. If that were the case, she probably couldn’t save him. Opening the wound to clean it out again might be their only hope.

  “Gabe, I’m sorry, but I think we have to open the wound.”

  His pale face was pinched in pain, but he nodded. Grace knew he understood the severity of the situation.

  She opened her bag and took out several bottles. “I’m going to give you something to help with the pain. It will also make you sleep.” She began to mix the concoction, hoping it would be enough to render him unconscious. She knew the shock of enduring the operation awake would be too much. “You’ll soon feel very little,” she assured him.

  Once he’d finished drinking the tonic, Grace put the glass aside and looked at Alex. “I’m going to open the wound and drain out the infection.” She looked back at Gabriel. “It won’t be easy on you—especially in your weakened condition.”

  “Do what you must.” Gabriel offered them a weak smile. “I’m a tough old bird.”

  She went back to her carpetbag and retrieved a pair of tweezers and scissors. “I have to cut away the sutures,” she said, looking at Alex. “Will you hold his leg steady?”

  Alex nodded and took a seat. “What did you give him?”

  “Hemlock.”

  She saw the surprise in Alex’s expression. Hemlock was deadly if not administered in just the right dosage, but she knew what she was doing. She had administered the concoction more than once. She went to her bag and searched for the scalpel she’d bought in St. Louis from a local doctor.

  Before she could locate it, however, Mercy called out from outside the wagon. “How’s Gabe doing?”

  Grace didn’t want her little sister to witness what was about to take place. “You shouldn’t have come without my help. You’re still too weak.” She located the scalpel, put it alongside the scissors, and drew a needle and thread out of the bag as well. Then she looked to where Mercy waited. “Gabe’s very sick. I need you to go back to the house and have Hope bring me the creosote. Can you manage that?”

  Mercy’s expression grew fearful. “I can do it. I’m strong enough.”

  “No. Have Hope bring it. I might need her assistance.”

  Mercy nodded and took off much quicker than Grace expected.

  “Alex, do you still have water on the fire?”

  “Yes. What do you need?”

  She reached for a shallow pan, then added all of her instruments before handing it to Alex. “Put hot water on these. That will make sure they’re ready to use.”

  He disappeared out the back of the wagon.

  Meanwhile, Grace laid out rolls of bandages along with several bottles. She whispered a prayer for guidance. She’d never dealt with a wound as bad as this one.

  Alex returned, holding the pan with the edge of his buckskin shirt. Grace motioned to place it beside her. “Thank you.” She glanced at Gabriel, who was unconscious. “Let’s get started.”

  Alex could see the situation was grave. With the wound reopened, the smell was even worse. Gabriel had moaned and groaned until the medicine seemed to take a deeper hold of him.

  Grace remained unmoved by the horrific scene. Alex thought her strength monumental as bile rose in the back of his throa
t more than once. Neither of them spoke, and time seemed to stand still. Just as Grace finally seemed satisfied with her cleaning of the wound, Hope arrived. Unfortunately, so did Dr. Whitman.

  “What in the world is going on here? Young Mercy said that a man was wounded and Mrs. Martindale had taken it upon herself to help him.” Whitman climbed into the wagon and assessed the scene. “Are you trying to kill him?”

  Grace looked up. “I’m trying to clean out the infection. Where’s the creosote, Hope?”

  “I have it,” her sister replied.

  “Leave it out there,” Whitman ordered. He fixed Grace and Alex with a scowl. “Why was I not called?”

  Alex saw that the doctor had brought his own bag of tools. “My friend specifically asked for Grace,” he replied.

  “She is unqualified and very well may cost this man his life. It’s my opinion that leg might have to be removed.”

  “We need to draw the infection out and see if that takes care of it,” Grace countered. “We at least owe it to him to try that much before cutting off his leg.”

  “I want all of you out of here. I will bleed him and then see to closing that wound.” Whitman’s eyes narrowed. “I am gravely disappointed that you did not heed my commands in these matters. If this man dies, it will be on your conscience.”

  Grace shook her head. “If you bleed him, he will die. He’s already in a weakened state. You will only make matters worse.”

  “Leave at once. Do not make me call for assistance.”

  “Grace stays,” Alex said without concern for offending the good doctor. “Gabe asked for her help and hers alone.”

  Whitman refused to be cowed. Alex had seen him take just such a determined stance against the Indians when the need arose. “I am a trained physician,” Whitman said, his voice calm and even. “I realize you have done what your friend asked, and I can see that Mrs. Martindale has done her best. Now, however, you need a doctor who has been carefully trained and has known years of experience. If you won’t allow me to work, I will get some men to force you to leave.”

  Gabriel grew restless, whether from the agitated voices around him or the pain. Whatever it was, Alex knew they couldn’t continue to argue while his friend needed help. He touched Grace’s shoulder. “We might as well let him do what he will and then do what we can to see that Gabriel survives it.”

  “But bleeding him will kill him.”

  Alex glanced at Dr. Whitman, who was already tying a belt around Gabriel’s arm just above the elbow. He hated conflict and knew his anger was barely under control. If he didn’t leave now, there was no telling what might happen.

  “Fighting won’t help Gabe, and Dr. Whitman will simply bring in others to interfere.” Alex felt a heavy burden settle over him as he acknowledged the severity of the situation. He had known ever since uncovering the wound that Gabriel’s recovery was questionable.

  Grace looked at him with an expression that Alex had once seen on his brother’s face when he failed to live up to his expectations. She thought him a coward. Alex wanted to assure her that he wasn’t, but now was not the time. He moved to the back of the wagon.

  He heard Grace heave a sigh. “Very well, Dr. Whitman. We will do it your way, but at least allow me to stay and assist you. You will need someone to hand you bandages and such. And if he wakes up, you may appreciate me giving him more hemlock.”

  “Stay if you must,” the doctor replied, “but do nothing unless I tell you to.”

  With that, Alex departed the wagon. Hope stood just outside. The look on her face was one of grave concern.

  “I’m really sorry. I was visiting with John at the mission house when Mercy found me. Dr. Whitman overheard our conversation and demanded I take him to Gabriel. It’s all my fault.”

  Alex shook his head. “No. It’s not. It’s mine.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the wagon. “It’s all mine.”

  Chapter

  9

  Another day passed with Gabriel barely clinging to life. It was clear to Grace that he would soon be dead. The bleeding had left him weaker than before, and because Whitman wouldn’t allow her to further treat his wound, the infection had worsened. The doctor announced he would amputate, but Grace knew it was unnecessary. The blood was poisoned now, and Gabriel’s entire body was shutting down.

  “I won’t let you take off his leg,” Alex said emphatically. “We both know he wouldn’t live through it, and if he’s going to die, he’ll do it with both legs.”

  Whitman shook his head. “You’ve no one to blame for his condition but yourselves. This is a high price to pay for pride.” He climbed down from the wagon, shaking his head. “It’s all in God’s hands now.”

  Grace looked down at Gabriel with a sadness she’d not felt with her husband. It was funny that she should feel so attached to this man she’d only just met.

  “Lord, it has always been in Your hands, but I do wish You would let him live. Gabriel seems such a kind man . . . and he loves You.” She sighed. Even men who loved the Lord died.

  Gabriel awoke from time to time throughout the night, but he was clearly confused and spoke in garbled, nonsensical sentences. Whether the effects were from the infection or the herbal tonic she gave him, she didn’t know. All she knew was that life was most unfair.

  Alex stirred and opened his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know. Morning.”

  He stretched and reached out to touch Grace’s arm. “Why don’t you go have some breakfast? You’ve hardly eaten in days, and if you don’t, you’ll come down sick as well.”

  “No. I don’t want to leave him just yet.”

  For a moment he looked as though he might argue with her, but then he shook his head. “I’ll go get you something. I could stand to stretch my legs anyway.” He maneuvered past her and out the back of the wagon.

  Dipping a cloth in water, Grace shivered. It had stormed the night before, pouring down an icy rain. At dawn the land had been covered in fog, and the sight of it left her feeling strangely unsettled.

  She touched the cold cloth to Gabriel’s head. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. I wish I could have done more.”

  The old man opened his eyes, but from the look of it, he had no real understanding of where he was.

  Grace offered him a smile. “Would you like a drink of water?”

  “Little Bird,” he whispered.

  Grace looked around, thinking perhaps he saw a bird. Earlier there had been several kingfishers on a nearby fence. Perhaps one of them had lit on the end of the wagon.

  “I don’t see any birds, Gabriel. It must have flown away.”

  He surprised her by reaching up to hold her hand. For a dying man, he was surprisingly strong. “Little Bird, I . . . love . . . you.”

  Grace remembered his Indian wives. Could it be he had mistaken her for one of them? She’d never thought to ask their names.

  Gabriel pulled her hand to his chest. “You’re . . . my heart.”

  His words touched her deeply. She couldn’t imagine any man feeling such love for her. She found herself almost jealous of a woman who had died long ago.

  “Oh, Gabe.” Tears came to her eyes, and she did nothing to pull away, even though the damp cloth she held was saturating Gabriel’s shirt.

  “How’s he doing?”

  Grace turned to find Sam standing at the end of the wagon. She shook her head, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s not good.”

  Sam climbed into the wagon. “Alex said he’d be right here.” He took a seat at the end of the bed. “Can I do anything?”

  “Gabe is dying.” She shook her head, and the tears flowed. “I’ve done everything I can, but he just grows weaker and weaker.”

  “It’s Whitman’s fault,” Alex declared as he strode up to the wagon. He looked at Grace as if daring her to deny it. “If he hadn’t bled Gabe, it might be a different story.” He hoisted himself up one-handed and stretched out a small cloth bundle to Grace.

 
She didn’t want there to be any more fighting or tension. She was weary beyond words and sadder than she’d been since losing her mother. “Dr. Whitman only did what he’s been trained to do. I think the infection was too far gone. It’s my fault. I just didn’t realize how bad it was.”

  Alex’s expression softened. His dark-eyed gaze penetrated her heart. “No. You did everything you could.” He put the bundle beside Grace, then returned to his place at the head of the bed. “We can stay with him now. Once the end comes . . . Sam and I will take him home and bury him there.”

  Gabriel had relaxed his hold, so Grace slipped her hand from his. “I don’t think it will be long.” She wiped her tears with the hem of her apron. “Who is Little Bird?”

  Alex gave her a sad smile. “His first wife. Why do you ask?”

  “He was talking to her.” Grace felt a sob rise up and fought it back. There would be time for tears later. “He thought I was Little Bird.”

  “He loved both of his wives, but he loved Little Bird more,” Alex said, looking back at his friend. “Maybe now he can finally be with her again.”

  Grace saw Sam nod and remembered that Gabriel had spoken of leading both of his wives to an understanding of eternal life in Christ. She nodded and forced a smile. “It was that way for my mother and Da. My mother never got over losing him.”

  She got to her feet. “I need to go check on Mercy and some of the others, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’ve given him something to ease the pain, so he shouldn’t be too uncomfortable. I don’t think it will be long now.”

  Alex and Sam kept vigil over their friend through the day and into the night. Grace came by from time to time to check on Gabriel, but they all knew there was nothing to be done, and Alex finally told her to go to bed. When she didn’t argue, he knew she was as tired as she looked.

  Waiting for someone to die wasn’t something Alex had any experience with. It wasn’t that there hadn’t been death in his life. There had been too much, in fact. But those people had died quickly—without even knowing they were breathing their last. At least he hoped it had been that way.