“How is Josh,” the woman asked.
“Do you really care?”
Ella nodded. “I care. Just don’t tell Mac I asked.” Marybeth looked past the woman almost fearfully. “Don’t worry. He is busy helping cut trees. I told him I wanted to see about helping take care of Danny today. The women who have been helping you have had extra work. I’d like to see my grandson, and so would Mac.”
Marybeth frowned. “I suppose Mac only agreed because he thinks Josh is going to die. Does he really think that if Josh dies I would come running back to the MacKinders? Does he think this little gesture is going to make me think he’s changed?”
Ella shook her head. “What difference does it make what he thinks? I just want to be with my grandson. Way up here, what harm is there, Marybeth? We certainly can’t go anywhere with him, and Mac won’t be through helping tie the logs under the wagons until nightfall.”
Marybeth sighed, tired of the hate and distrust. “All right. I know you at least are sincere, Ella.” She readied Danny. “If you really want to know about Josh, it’s hard to say if he’ll live or die. The wound is very bad. Cap did what he could, but now he’s full of infection. He has convulsions and vomits. He’s in a lot of pain,” Her eyes teared. “And I wish there was more I could do for him.”
“I’m sorry, Marybeth. Whether it was right or wrong for you to leave this family, I know you loved him.”
The words surprised Marybeth. She handed Danny up to his grandmother. “Ella, did Cap or Devon tell you—the bullet came from one of those new repeating rifles? That it could have been John’s?”
The woman’s eyes misted over. “Cap told us.” She held Danny close, patting his bottom. “You can imagine what Mac had to say about that. I won’t sting your ears with it. He won’t grieve because he’s positive John is alive. You know how stubborn a MacKinder can be. But I…” Her voice choked. “I have no doubt my only remaining son is dead. My biggest regret is that I let them both become what their father was, and so, God forgive me, perhaps the world is better off without them.”
The remark astonished Marybeth, and she saw the woman’s determined effort to show no feelings. “We don’t have much more reason now to keep going, except that we cannot turn back. And then there is Danny.” She sighed. “I will bring him back when he is hungry. Thank you, Marybeth.”
The woman climbed down, and Marybeth felt sorry for the years of unhappiness Ella MacKinder had suffered. Surely she had once longed for the kind of love Marybeth had found with Josh. She would not begrudge the woman whatever little bit of joy she had left in life by denying her the right to see Danny. But she worried how she would manage alone in Oregon if something happened to Josh. Would Mac find some way to get Danny away from her, like he had promised? She still had not got over the fear she felt at the memory of the look in Mac’s angry eyes, and it sickened her to think the man was probably rejoicing over Josh’s fate.
She looked down at Josh, and for the first time he opened his eyes and looked at her with a hint of recognition in his eyes.
“Josh?” She leaned closer, touching his face. “Josh, it’s me, Marybeth. Do you see me? Can you talk?”
He searched her eyes, unspeakable pain evident in his own. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, managing to whisper the word water.
Marybeth smiled through tears as she dipped a ladle into a bucket of water Cap had set inside the wagon for her. She moved an arm under his head and held the ladle to his lips, letting him sip the water. She put the ladle back when he began shaking, and she leaned down, putting her arms around his shoulders.
“I’m right here, Josh. Please hang on for me. Please. I’ll help you through this. I need you so.”
“Marybeth,” he whispered. “Hurts…everything…everything…”
“I know.” She kissed his eyes. “It will get better, Josh. Thank God you’re talking to me.” She swallowed back tears, not wanting to break down in front of him.
“What…happened?”
“You were shot, Josh, in the Indian raid. Do you remember the raid?”
He closed his eyes again, his breathing shallow. “How…bad? Can’t…move.”
“That’s just because the wound is so fresh and you’re still in so much pain,” she lied, hoping she was at least partly right. “You’ll get better, Josh. You have to—for me—me and Danny and your own child. I’m going to have your baby, Josh. Our baby. You have to get well before it’s born. We have to get to Oregon and start that ranch, remember?”
“My God…the…pain,” was his only answer. She suspected he didn’t even understand what she had just told him. His head flopped sideways, his eyes closed, and for one panicky moment Marybeth thought perhaps he had died. She put her fingers to his neck and felt a faint pulse, then broke down into tears.
“Dear God, take away his suffering,” she wept.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The journey down the other side of the mountain seemed more taxing than the climb up. Now animals had to hold back the weight of the wagons rather than pull it, a more dangerous task. Marybeth stayed inside the wagon with Josh, praying not only for his life, but for the safety of the wagon that carried them, and the skill of young Ben Harper, whose dexterity with oxen was tested to its limit.
Marybeth ventured to look out only once, and regretted it. What she saw would have been something exciting to share with Josh, for in spite of the terrifying height and narrowness of the mountain trail, the view was so vast Marybeth stared spellbound for a moment. She tried to guess how many miles she must see, wondering if she was literally looking at Oregon in the distance. The land below was spread out like some mystical, heavenly place, with a vast valley below and more mountains in the distance. It was all purple and green and yellow, and hazy from the afternoon sun.
But there was no Josh with whom to share this amazing, once-in-a-lifetime sight, and without Josh to help her through this danger, the sight caused Marybeth’s heart to tighten and made her whole body tense up with every bump and jolt of the wagon.
It took sixteen hours to make the descent, and when the last wagon made it to flatter land, a round of cheers went up from those weary emigrants who waited at the bottom, already making camp for the night. Young Ben guided Marybeth’s wagon into position and stepped up to the wagon seat. “He make it through all right, ma’am?”
“I think so, Ben. Thank you so much. What would we do without your help?”
“You know I don’t mind, ma’am.” He removed his floppy hat and wiped his brow. “I just hope I never go through somethin’ like that again. Trouble is, Cap says there’s more up ahead. I’ll try not to think about it till the time comes I have to.” He grinned. “I’m goin’ to my pa’s wagon now. I hope Josh is gettin’ better.”
“Thank you, Ben.”
Josh heard the voices. They sounded so far away. “…hope I never have to go through somethin’ like that again.” Whose voice was that? Ben? What had they been through? Was Marybeth all right? Why did voices seem to echo in his mind, like a dream? Why did everything hurt so horribly that he wanted to scream; everything but his legs? Why couldn’t he move them? Why couldn’t he sit up? He should be on his horse, out hunting for meat. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare and be with Marybeth at the warm pond, make love to her, pick up Danny in his arms, go hunting. He had never before had such a continuing nightmare.
He felt something cool on his face, heard a woman’s voice. Someone dribbled something wet and cool into his mouth, and he swallowed. Thirsty! He was so thirsty and hot, so hot! Were they in the desert? Was that what Ben was talking about? His mind scrambled to remember where they might be, what had happened. Indians. He remembered Indians—and Anna Mae Billings’s bloody, naked body. Marybeth. She was under the wagon with Danny. And he remembered a ripping pain, a horrible burning in his back and guts, and even more horrible pain when it felt as though someone was gutting him alive. The memory brought a gasp of pain from his lips, and he felt gentle hands pre
ss against his face.
“Josh? Josh, can you hear me?”
Marybeth. That was her voice. Why was it such an effort to wake up, to speak? Something deep inside welled up, a deep need to know what was real, to wake up from this nightmare. He struggled to shout Marybeth’s name, little realizing it was coming out in a groan. Finally his eyes opened, and he looked through a haze at a woman’s face, saw by the light of a lamp that the face was surrounded by a cascade of auburn hair.
“Mary…beth,” he managed to mumble.
“You spoke to me once before, but I don’t think you remember,” she told him. “Josh, are you with me this time? Do you hear me?”
“So…hot.”
“I know. I’m trying to keep you cool. It’s the infection. If you can just hang on through the next couple of days, Josh, Cap says you have a good chance of making it. But you can’t be moved too much. That’s why you’re having trouble getting better, riding in this bumpy wagon. We’ll be at Fort Hall soon. You’ll rest better there.”
He struggled to see her better. “Where…are we?”
“We’re over the mountains, well past Sublette’s Cutoff—on our way to Fort Hall. Cap says in another three weeks we’ll be in Oregon Territory.” He felt her kiss his cheek. “Oh, Josh, I love you and need you so. Please, please get well, Josh. Remember your promise? We’re supposed to be together, Josh.”
He could tell she was crying. How he wanted to hold her, but even the minimal effort of raising his arms brought excruciating pain. Why? This was something different from anything he had ever suffered—different from the arrow wound he had taken down in Texas, different from the bruises he had after the fight with John MacKinder. MacKinder! He had to protect Marybeth from them. He couldn’t just lie here like this. He tried to rise, heard his own scream, felt Marybeth pressing on his shoulders and heard her yelling for someone to get Cap. Now he felt the sickness coming, heard Marybeth crying, tasted blood and bitterness in his mouth.
“Cap, he tried to get up,” Marybeth was saying.
“You crazy fool,” Cap was telling him. “Take that towel out from under his head, Marybeth. We’ll put a clean one there. Throw that one out and Florence will take care of it. Let’s look at the bandages.”
The next several minutes were filled with pain, as familiar voices, Cap, Aaron, Marybeth, talked about a wound being infected and discussed cutting him open again. Him who? Himself? No one was going to do any such thing! He wanted to reach up and grab Cap and tell him so, but his body was useless. All he could do was scream at them to stop touching him, stop moving him around, but his protests came out only as horrible moans and mumbled abuse, as pain caused him to cuss out Cap and whoever else was probing at him. He searched for the worst words he could think of, that, unknown to him, were shocking to Marybeth.
“It’s just the pain talkin’,” he heard Cap tell someone. The man chuckled. “Ain’t the first time I’ve been called them names. Look at it this way, Marybeth. At least he ain’t dead.”
“Oh, Cap.” Josh could hear her tears. How he wanted to comfort her.
“I’m hopin’ he can hold out till we reach Fort Hall,” Cap was saying. “That way, once I cut into him again, he won’t have to be moved.” Someone wrapped his middle tightly with something. “Marybeth, I ain’t brought it up since that first night, but I’m tellin’ you again, you can’t stay at Fort Hall. There are men there who will watch after him. It ain’t safe for you to stay there alone through the winter, especially with a baby comin’ on.”
A baby? Whose baby? Did he mean Danny? Surely not. Comin’ on could only mean a new baby. Was Marybeth pregnant?
“No! I won’t leave him, Cap. I won’t!”
“You ain’t got a whole lot of choice. What if he dies after all? You’d be left there alone all winter, have a baby out here in this wilderness with nothin’ but a bunch of no-good men to help you. You’d have to wait for a new wagon train to come along to take you on to Oregon—travel with complete strangers. If you go on with us, you’ll be safe, among friends, people who care about you and Danny, womenfolk who will be able to help you when you have the baby.”
Have the baby. It was true then! Marybeth was going to have a baby, his baby! And here he was unable to raise even a finger. What in God’s name had happened to him? Marybeth needed him, and he was useless!
“Cap, you can’t ask me to leave him. You can’t.”
“Honey, if he lives, you know damn well he’ll come chargin’ out to Oregon as fast as he can ride. We can send messengers back here in the spring to find out what’s happened to him. He’ll understand, Marybeth. If he was in his right sense now, he’d be tellin’ you exactly what I’m tellin’ you. He’d want you to go on, Marybeth, stay with people who love you and care about you, people who will watch out for you. Hell, you don’t even know for sure if John MacKinder is dead or alive. You can’t be caught out here alone. You think real hard on it, Marybeth. You’ll see I’m right. You’ve got little Danny to think about.”
Someone fussed more with him, and he heard more tears. Then he sensed the men were leaving. Someone sponged his face again. “Oh, Josh, they want me to leave you at Fort Hall. I won’t leave you; I won’t. You’ll need me so very much the next few weeks, maybe months. I love you so much, Josh. Please, please get better.”
He thought about what he had heard, realizing even as he struggled with full consciousness just how badly injured he must be. Now he remembered Marybeth saying something earlier about his being shot. Was he that bad, that they had to leave him at Fort Hall? He couldn’t be moved? If that was true, Cap was right. Marybeth couldn’t stay buried in the mountains for the winter, not with Danny, and not if she was going to have a baby. What if he died? Cap had said he might. If he did, the baby Marybeth was carrying was all that would be left of him.
He longed to talk to her, to tell her he agreed with Cap. But for the moment the words were too difficult. He had drained his meager strength trying to fight Cap, screaming out in pain. Forcing out enough air to speak now was impossible.
“Marybeth,” he managed to mutter. “Love…you.”
“And I love you, Josh. I love you so. Please hang on.” Oh, if only he could hold her.
John stayed hidden in the trees for a while as he watched the cabin. Smoke curled slowly from its stone chimney. He watched one man come outside and get some wood. He wore a heavy bearskin coat and a floppy hat. His hair was long and mingled into a shaggy beard.
John dismounted, shivering against the cold air, realizing he had to find shelter soon. Each night seemed colder than the last, and he remembered stories he had heard about winters in the mountains. He would rather have followed the wagon train into Oregon, but now he was afraid. Although he celebrated watching Josh Rivers go down under his gun, he was afraid that if he made an appearance too soon, someone might put two and two together, especially someone clever like Cap or Devon. They were all friends of Josh’s. They would be eager to find his killer, and the Indians who had attacked the wagon train didn’t carry repeating rifles. Those John had watched had only one or two old muskets. Someone like Devon probably knew that. Was there a way to tell a bullet hole from a musket ball hole? Had Josh lived long enough for them to remove the bullet and see what kind it was?
One thing he was sure of. No man lived through being shot in the back. Either way, he decided not to show his face until spring. By then his parents and Marybeth would be settled somewhere in Oregon. The wagon train would be broken up, everyone would have gone their separate ways, and Marybeth would not be surrounded by so many do-gooders. She would be alone and vulnerable, and lonely.
He walked cautiously toward the cabin, leading his horse by the reins. He told himself that if the man inside gave him trouble, he could just shoot him. After his brother and Josh, killing was becoming easier for him. It still amazed him how easily one man could get away with such things out here. He was beginning to like this country. It by God fit him—big, wild, strong. He could learn a
lot living out the winter here. His arm would heal completely, and when he showed up in Oregon, Marybeth would see he could be just as skilled at survival in this land as Joshua Rivers. She would be surprised to see him, and he would tell her stories of killing bears and surviving a horrible winter, whether the stories were true or not.
He was not so sure how he felt about Marybeth or Danny any more. Part of him said to hell with the whole thing. He had got his vengeance on Josh Rivers, which was what he had wanted more than anything. But there was a principle involved that had still not been settled. Marybeth MacKinder had given herself to another man. She had taken Danny away from the family. She had not turned to him after Dan’s death the way he was sure she would have. She was a bitch of a woman who still had not learned a woman’s place, and her hateful spurning of his love and his desire for her had left a burning need deep in his gut to prove to her he was the only man for her.
He kept his rifle in his hand as he tied his horse and went to the door, knocking on it.
“Who’s there,” came a gruff voice.
“I’m a man who’s lost his way—need a place to winter. Can I come in and get warm?”
“Door’s open.”
John slowly opened the door to see the man sitting in a chair with a rifle pointed at him. “Set the gun aside till I hear your story, mister. Out here it don’t always pay to be too neighborly.”
John carefully laid his rifle on the table. He guessed the man to be perhaps close to fifty. But he was so hairy it was hard to tell, and it seemed that men who lived out in these parts aged faster. “My name is John MacKinder. I had a little problem with a wagon train I was traveling with to Oregon. They left me on my own.”
“What was the problem?”
“That is my business; but I have become lost and am afraid to try going on until spring. I need a place to stay for the winter. I saw your cabin.”
“Close the door.”
The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition) Page 104
