“I remember you saying that you didn’t want to come west,” Grace said in a low voice. She glanced over her shoulder, happy to see that the men were too preoccupied with eating to care about what was being said between the women. “However, if you hadn’t come west, Eletta, I would never have met you and never known the joy of having a dear friend like you.” Grace put the nearly empty bowl aside and took hold of Eletta’s hand. “I know it’s been very hard on you. I want you to know that if Uncle Edward fails to return or should prove to be dead, the girls and I will come and ease your burden. I’ll even use some of our money to bring a few things that would make life easier.”
Eletta sighed. “I would like that. It’s so lonely here. Although I don’t wish your uncle dead.”
Grace smiled. “Of course you don’t. Besides, I can’t help but believe things will get better come spring. Sam said the Indians in this area are friendly. They might even help Isaac enlarge your cabin since they helped Mr. Spaulding build it in the first place. Perhaps you and Isaac will have a child.”
“I’ve wanted a baby since we were first wed.” Eletta paused and gave in to a spell of coughing.
“Perhaps we should stop talking for now.” Grace patted her friend’s hand. “It’s good for you to cough up the matter closing off your lungs, but I know it causes you great pain.”
“I’m all right. I feel so much better in your care and your presence. But I know you’re exhausted. For my sake, I wish you would go rest.”
Grace nodded. “I’ve been able to catch a bit of sleep here and there.” She met Eletta’s frown with a smile. “But don’t you worry. I promise to sleep tonight.”
She helped Eletta lie back, then took the bowl to the hearth. She thought of getting a bowl of stew for herself, but her state of weariness won out and she made her way to the pallet Alex had prepared for her that first night.
Isaac took out his Bible and turned up the lantern so that he could read. Alex surprised her by suggesting he read aloud. Isaac nodded, opened the Bible, and began to search. While he did this, Grace settled onto the pallet.
“I’ll get you some stew,” Alex offered.
“No, I just want to rest a few minutes and then I’ll eat.” Sitting there, leaning against the rough log wall, Grace closed her eyes and listened to the comforting words of the ninety-first Psalm.
“‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in Him will I trust.’”
Those were the last words Grace remembered. There was a fleeting memory of Alex helping her lie down, but it wasn’t until the next morning that Grace had any real conscious thought. Stretching to relieve her stiff muscles, she looked around the one-room cabin and found it deserted except for Eletta, who was sleeping soundly.
Getting to her feet, Grace felt an overwhelming sense of dread. She crossed the room to check on her friend, fearful that she wasn’t merely sleeping. To her relief, Grace saw the rhythmic rise and fall of Eletta’s chest. Her breathing was no longer labored.
Grace went back to the fire, which had been built up not long before. She saw that someone had made oatmeal and helped herself. She relished the warmth of the fire and food. The cabin was drafty and the dirt floor cold—a far cry from the pleasant home Eletta had described having back east.
As she settled in to eat, Eletta began to rouse. Grace smiled and greeted her. “Good morning—at least I believe it’s still morning. I just woke up myself. How do you feel?”
“So much better. The heaviness has lifted from me.” Eletta drew in a deep breath. “And it doesn’t hurt to breathe. How long have you been here?”
“This is the fourth day—I think. I’ve lost track. I believe the worst has passed. You’ll soon be right as rain—of which we’ve had a lot the last few days.”
Eletta nodded. “I remember hearing it.” She sat up a bit, and Grace hurried to help prop her up with pillows. “Where is Isaac?”
Grace shrugged. “I don’t know where any of the men have gone. Like I said, I just woke up and was about to eat. Would you care to join me? We have oatmeal.”
“Not just yet.” Eletta stretched and smiled. “I’m so glad you came. I’m certain I would be dead by now if not for you. It would seem both Isaac and I owe you our lives. I wish we could repay you.”
“You already have with your friendship.” Grace began to eat.
“When I first met you on the wagon train, I knew we’d be good friends. I felt it deep inside.” Eletta closed her eyes. “I have never had a friend so dear as you, and when we parted and came here, I feared I would die of loneliness. No friends. No babies to fill my arms. Just this empty land and Isaac.”
“He loves you so.”
Eletta opened her eyes and nodded. “He does, and that means the world to me, but a woman needs more. We need to nurture and share our love.” Tears came, but Eletta brushed them aside. “I do wish you could stay, but even more I long for a child of my own. After almost ten years, however, I don’t suppose I shall ever be a mother.”
“Nonsense. You’re only twenty-five. There is plenty of time to have children. Perhaps God has delayed it so you can get better established here with the Indians. We surely can’t know the mind of God and why things happen as they do. We can only trust Him.”
Hope sat in the kitchen of the mission house alongside her beloved John. She was so happy to see him recovered.
“You’ll soon be back out working with the men.” She gave his arm a squeeze as he continued winding the twine they would use to make new brooms. “But for now I’m glad to have you right here. I don’t think we would ever have gotten to know each other so well if you hadn’t taken measles.”
“Well, it seems to me to be a hard way to get to know someone.” He gave her a wink.
Across the room, Mary Ann Bridger was finishing her lunch. The young girl had become a fast friend of Mercy, who had just left to go back to class in the school section of the house. Hope wasn’t certain Mercy should go to school yet, but Mercy said she’d mentioned it to Grace without any negative response. Mr. Saunders, the teacher, had assured Hope that he wouldn’t let Mercy overdo it.
“It’s a whole lot colder today than yesterday,” Mary Ann said with a shiver. She was still recovering from measles, and Mrs. Whitman thought her too weak to attend school.
Hope took that cue to add more wood to the cookstove. “Dr. Whitman said he’d have Frank bring in more wood after they finished with the steer. I don’t think he’d mind so much if we made it a little warmer now.”
Mary Ann nodded enthusiastically. “Mercy said Teacher is keeping it warm too. He said since so many have been sick, it’s the wise thing to do.”
“I hope he’s not letting Mercy exhaust herself.” Hope reclaimed her seat at the table beside John. She’d soon be expected to help with preparations for supper, but for now she just wanted to be near him.
“She said that Teacher isn’t letting anyone who’s been sick do very much.”
A knock on the kitchen door drew their attention. Mary Ann opened the door and drew back a pace when Chief Telokite and another Indian called Tomahas entered the room. Tomahas was the one who had eyed Hope so thoroughly when she’d first come to the mission. He sent her a leering smile, which made Hope feel even more uncomfortable. John had told her his nickname was “The Murderer,” and something about Tomahas suggested he was suitably named.
Drawing a deep breath, Hope was determined to show no fear or distaste. Only that morning Dr. Whitman had performed burials for several Cayuse children, including some of Telokite’s. She felt sorry for him, but his dark eyes and severe scowl left her unwilling to offer her sympathies. Instead she took hold of John’s arm, not understanding the wave of fear and nausea that rushed through her.
“Need doctor to give us medicine,” Telokite demanded.
Since she was near the door to the sitting room, Hope nodded and went to se
e if the doctor was still in the house. She opened the door to see Dr. Whitman reading on the settee while Narcissa Whitman bathed one of John’s sisters. Mrs. Osborn had just opened the door to the Indian room, where she and her family were recovering from measles. “Chief Telokite is here with Tomahas. He says he needs medicine.”
Whitman looked up with an expression of concern. “Very well. Tell him I’ll be right there.” She saw the exchange of glances between the doctor and his wife. They looked momentarily terrified.
Hope returned, leaving the door open to the sitting room. The look she’d witnessed on Narcissa’s face made her want to flee, but instead she faced Telokite. “He said he’ll be right here.”
She hurried to return to John’s side. She hated being anywhere near the Indians. They always seemed to watch her with unnecessary attention.
Telokite headed for the door just as Dr. Whitman approached. Whitman refused to allow the chief entry into the sitting room and pushed him back. He called out over his shoulder. “Mother, lock this door.”
It seemed as if everything slowed down after that. Hope watched as Whitman conversed with Telokite and Tomahas. Telokite was clearly agitated and continued to argue with the doctor in English, but Tomahas seemed content to creep about the room. He smiled at Mary Ann, then came to stand so close to Hope that she could almost feel his breath on her neck.
“This your man?” he asked, nodding at John.
Hope found it impossible to speak and breathed a sigh of relief when John spoke up. “Have you been watching them butcher the steer?”
Tomahas grunted. “No time to stand around.” He walked away from the table and maneuvered behind Whitman.
Hope watched as Tomahas dropped the blanket he’d had wrapped around him and pulled his tomahawk. Before she could so much as shout a warning, he buried the blade in the back of the doctor’s head, knocking him to the floor.
Tomahas pulled his tomahawk out of Whitman’s head in order to hit him again, but the doctor staggered to his feet. Mary Ann began screaming as Telokite joined in to kill Whitman. The doctor fought them as he made his way out the kitchen door. He had unnatural strength for a man who had taken such a vicious blow to the head.
Hope found herself unable to move. She wanted to run, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She glanced across the room to see Mary Ann open the window and throw herself out. Maybe she was going for help, or maybe, like Hope, she just wanted to hide from the gruesome display.
Hope felt John rise. She looked at him, terrified that if he interfered, the Indians would kill him as well. He reached for his pistol, and Hope couldn’t help herself.
“No!”
Just then Tomahas turned at the door and fired back at the couple. John clutched his chest and fell to the ground. Hope hurried to his side. Blood poured from his wound.
She pressed her apron against his chest. “Don’t die, Johnny. Please don’t die.”
Outside, gunfire sounded in volley after volley. She heard the screams of women and children. She felt the warm, sticky blood—John’s blood—as she tried to stop his bleeding. “We need to get to safety.” But even as she said the words, Hope knew there was no such place.
“Hope,” John whispered. He looked at her for just a moment, and then his eyes turned glassy, and Hope knew he was gone.
“No! No! Don’t leave me, Johnny. Please don’t leave me.” She rocked him close, feeling that a part of her had died with him. Gone were all her dreams of love and a life of happiness with this brilliant and gentle soul.
The door to the sitting room opened, and Hope glanced up to see Mrs. Osborn. Her eyes widened at the sight of John lying dead, and she disappeared back into the room she shared with her family. Hope heard someone tell the children to go upstairs and hide.
Hope thought of Mercy. There was nothing she could do to help John, but perhaps she might save Mercy. She gently placed his head back on the floor and picked up his gun. Getting to her feet, she saw that her apron and dress were soaked in blood.
Moving to the open door, Hope looked out upon the ongoing war. Shots rang out, ricocheting off the doorjamb. The screams of men and women alike filled the air. Hope stood rigid. She tried to move, but her feet refused to obey. Just a few feet away, Dr. Whitman moaned as his blood soaked into the ground.
Across the yard, the Indians were stabbing a man. Hope recognized him as the teacher, Mr. Saunders. Perhaps she was already too late and all of the children were dead. Otherwise why would Mr. Saunders have left them?
Mrs. Hays and Mrs. Hall came running from the emigrant house even as Mrs. Whitman pushed past Hope and went to her husband. She took hold of his arms and began pulling.
“Help me get him back in the house!” she cried, looking up at Hope.
Hope pocketed the pistol and stepped forward. Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Hays arrived and took hold of the doctor’s legs, and together the four women managed to get him back into the house. They dragged his bleeding frame to the sitting room and maneuvered him onto one of the settees.
Narcissa Whitman pressed her apron to his head. “Do you know me?” she asked, looking into her husband’s eyes.
The doctor moaned and murmured, “Yes.”
“Can you talk to me?”
Hope wasn’t sure why Mrs. Whitman felt this necessary. He was clearly dying.
Andy Rogers burst through the door, bleeding from wounds in his head and arm. He glanced down at Dr. Whitman. “Is he dead?”
The women seemed stunned by Andy’s appearance. Before they could speak, Dr. Whitman rallied.
“No, Andy.” The doctor gasped for breath and closed his eyes.
“I’m a widow,” Mrs. Whitman moaned, and Hope thought for a moment she might faint.
At the sound of more gunshots, John’s little sister Elizabeth hurried to the window. “Mother,” she called to Mrs. Whitman, “Mother, they are killing Mr. Saunders.”
Narcissa left her husband and hurried to the window. “Joe Lewis, are you responsible for this?” she cried.
Hope thought her mad to worry about such things. Why did it matter who was responsible? The fact was they were all going to die.
A shot rang out, hitting Mrs. Whitman under her left arm. Hope thought Mrs. Whitman was dead as she slumped to the floor, but within a moment she was righting herself again. She staggered toward the collection of people who still stood by her husband. “This will kill my poor mother,” she murmured.
Nathan Kimball, Harriet’s husband, had shown up at some point, but Hope couldn’t say when. Along with Andy, he was suggesting that the women get upstairs.
“At least there we can form a defense,” Kimball said.
Hope backed away, inching into the kitchen. She felt numb—no fear, no pain. The sounds of the attack were nothing more than a dull humming in her ears.
Several Indians rushed into the house and pushed Hope back as they made their way into the room. They were calling out, demanding that those who had barely managed to get upstairs come back down.
One of the Indians, named Tamsucky, began to climb the steps. He called out with promises to help Mrs. Whitman and the others. He begged them to come downstairs, as they planned to burn the house to the ground.
Hope crossed the kitchen in a stupor and stepped outside. She pressed her back against the wall of the house. Just a few steps away was the door to where the children met for school. Mercy would be there. Hope inched her way along the wall. She had to know if her sister was still alive.
She hadn’t made it far when Andy and Joe Lewis emerged from the house carrying a settee. On it was Mrs. Whitman. Apparently Tamsucky had been able to convince those upstairs to leave the house. Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Hays hurried past the men and headed toward the emigrant house. For what purpose, Hope couldn’t imagine. Perhaps the Indians had decided to call a truce and now the killing would stop.
But this thought no sooner came to mind than the Cayuse began firing at Andy Rogers, and Joe Lewis dropped the settee. Mrs. Whitman fell into
the mud, and Joe Lewis fired his gun at her writhing body. The other Indians fired at her as well. Andy stumbled against the edge of the house and fell facedown.
Hope slid down against the wall, unable to comprehend what she was witnessing. It was too much. Her mind couldn’t take it in or make any sense of it.
She thought of Johnny lying dead just feet away in the kitchen. It was then that she remembered his pistol. She pulled it from her pocket and cocked it. Da had showed her once how to fire such a weapon. She clutched the piece tight and put the barrel to her chest.
She thought only a moment of Grace and Mercy, then pulled the trigger.
Chapter
13
I think Eletta is well enough that we can head back in the morning,” Grace told Alex. Being away from her sisters for nearly a week was starting to weigh heavy on her mind. “She’s much stronger, and with the extra help you and Sam gave Isaac in cutting wood and providing venison, they should both be settled for a while.”
Alex nodded. “We’ll be ready.” He looked at Sam. “Are you still planning to head back to your village?”
“Yes. I’ll leave you at the place where the river forks. I feel uneasy and want to make sure that Sarah is all right.”
Grace broke the news next to the Brownings. Eletta begged her not to leave, but Grace knew she had to go. “I’ve left my sisters at the mission and need to get back to them. Mercy has just recovered from the measles, and Hope is in love.” She smiled and patted Eletta’s hand. “Besides, Alex told me last night that there’s a definite taste of snow in the air.”
“I don’t wish to be parted from my one and only friend,” Eletta said, fighting back tears.
“Nor do I, but we will write to each other often.”
Eletta nodded. “Yes. That shall have to sustain me.”
Grace considered for a moment. “You aren’t strong enough to travel just yet, but perhaps when you are, you and Isaac could come back to the mission. Maybe in a couple of weeks. You could spend Christmas there. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Treasured Grace Page 13
