by Norah Hess
It was growing late, the clock over the bar showing a quarter to midnight. "This will he the last dance, ladies and gentlemen," the fiddler said and drew the bow across the strings, sending out the opening notes of "Beautiful Dreamer."
"I'd like to see you again, Laura," Hunter said soberly.
"I'd enjoy that, Hunter," Laura said wistfully. He was such entertaining company. "You couldn't come to my cabin, of course, but we could run into each other sometimes." Her eyes twinkled. "Like when I go visiting Bertha. She would always give us a cup of coffee to visit over."
Hunter laughed and gave her a quick hug. "I do believe you do have some Irish in you, girl. You've got a devious little mind. What if I drop in on Bertha next Thursday around noon?"
"Make it around one o'clock. I have to make Pa's… Taylor's lunch. And I'll probably have my baby with me."
Although Hunter wondered at her slip-up, almost calling her husband Pa, he only said, "I'd like to see your little daughter. Everyone I talk to tells me how pretty she is."
"I guess you've also heard it said that Adam Beltran is her father."
"Yes, I've heard that rumor, but I could never believe that one so beautiful as you would ever have anything to do with that sneaky man. And now that I've gotten to know you, I'm convinced it isn't true."
"Thank you, Hunter," Laura said gravely, wrapping a blue shawl around her shoulders. "There are very few people in Big Pine who think that Jolie is a Thomas."
"Well, I do," Hunter said, opening the door for her. "I'll see you Thursday," he added as she left to step next door to pick up her daughter.
Ever since Fletch's threatening look had scared him off, Adam Beltran had been standing back in the pines waiting for the party to break up. He had worked UP the nerve to approach Fletch, to tell him, hoping to make him believe, that he was not the father of Laura's baby. He knew it would be difficult because he had let it go too long, and had let the village believe it.
He started when he saw Fletch leave the party long before it was over. He almost lost his nerve to speak to the big man when he saw the black scowl on his face. He could crush me with his hands, he thought as he stepped fearfully out of the shadows.
Beltran cleared his throat and called nervously, "Fletch, I'd like to talk to you a minute."
Fletch stopped in midstride and glared at the man he'd like to kill. His eyes cold and dangerous-looking, he demanded, "What could you possibly tell me that I would want to listen to?"
"I could tell you, and truthfully, that I am not the father of Laura's baby. I could tell you that I've never so much as kissed her, let alone do anything else with her."
For some reason Fletch thought Beltran was telling the truth. "Why are you telling me this now? I've been home for some time."
Adam looked away, shame and embarrassment on his face. "I liked having the men think that me and Laura had been lovers. They had all tried to get next to her, and she wouldn't have anything to do with them except to flirt a little."
"Who do you think is the father of Laura's daughter?"
Adam shook his head. "I haven't the slightest idea. She never walked out with any of the men who were always hangin' round her." He waited a moment, then ventured, "Maybe the baby is Taylor's."
When Fletch made no response, Adam said, "Now, don't go gettin' mad, but it's possible that the child's father is a married man. There's a couple blond-headed Swedes in the village."
Fletch gave a grating laugh. "Yeah, one's sixty if he's a day, and the other one is fat and way past fifty."
"Well, there are some young men with light brown hair who might have been blond when they were babies. I've been lookin' around, and there are lots of fellows with blue eyes."
Fletch found it hard to continue discussing who Laura's lover might be and said sharply, "Look, Beltran, I'm satisfied that you're not the father, so let's leave it at that."
"Oh, sure," Beltran hurried to agree. "I just thought I'd mention my ideas."
Fletcher turned and walked away without further words to Adam. He didn't know whom to hate now. Thanks to the little rat, now he'd suspect any man who had blue eyes and light brown hair. It comforted him to know, though, that he could at least eliminate Hunter O'Hara. That one was as dark as Fletch himself.
Damn the man, Hunter had his eye on Laura, and she, blast her beautiful hide, was looking back at him.
When he entered the cabin a few minutes later, Fletch also damned the blizzard that had locked him into Big Pine until spring.
Chapter Twelve
Hunter was on Laura's mind as she made up the bed and then began tidying up the family room. The truth of it was she thought about him a lot, but not in a romantic way. She looked on him as a very good friend, a friend she could relax with, speak her thoughts to whether they be serious or sometimes even foolish.
What puzzled her, made her think of him so often, was that he, unlike all the other single men in the village, acted as though all he was looking for from her was friendship.
She and Hunter had met at Bertha's pleasure house three Thursdays in a row. They had enjoyed themselves thoroughly, sitting over coffee, listening to the wild tales Bertha told about her past and present. She never mentioned names, but some of her stories about the men who came visiting her girls had Laura and Hunter holding their sides with laughter.
Laura always took Jolie and left Bertha's place first, as Hunter stayed behind another half hour. She had asked Bertha once if he used that time to visit one of her girls.
"No," Bertha answered, somewhat puzzled, "he never goes beyond my kitchen. Not that the girls wouldn't love to get that handsome devil into their beds. But he doesn't seem the least bit interested in what they offer. He's awfully nice to them, though. He sees to it that they don't get manhandled in the tavern by the drunks. The girls and I have come to the conclusion that a woman in his past hurt him so deeply that he's soured on the rest of us women."
Or maybe he still loves the woman, Laura thought, straightening up from raking the dead ashes from beneath the large grate in the fireplace.
Hunter O'Hara slipped from Laura's mind when she opened the door to set the pail of wood residue on the porch. Maida stood there, her hand raised to knock on the door. They laughed together; then Maida carefully wiped her feet before stepping into the kitchen.
"You know, Laura," Maida said, taking off her jacket and sitting down at the table, "I think that your Upper Peninsula is just as cold as my Canada is."
"Maybe it's because of the wind that blows off the lake," Laura suggested as she poured them both cups of coffee. Laura pushed a plate of cookies toward Maida and asked, "How's the gift you're knitting for Daniel coming along? Christmas is only a week away."
Maida grinned ruefully. "I shouldn't have attempted a sweater for him. He's so gosh-awful big. But I think I'll have it finished in time. I have only one sleeve left to do. Have you finished Taylor's afghan?"
"Yes, last week. I'm working on a sweater for Jolie now."
After a moment's silence Maida remarked, "I don't suppose you're going to give Fletch a gift for Christmas."
"You suppose right. Unless it's to bake him a hemlock pie."
"I do wish you two got along together," Maida said wistfully. "The four of us could get together in the evenings, play cards and cribbage. Then I wouldn't have to put up with that awful Howard person every night. Not that she bothers to talk to me and Daniel. Most of the time she acts like we're not even there as she practically crawls all over Fletch."
"He must not mind or he'd put a stop to it."
"Sometimes he does. She embarrasses him a lot with her carrying on."
Laura didn't want to talk about Milly and Fletch anymore. It was too painful. She changed the subject. "I heard that two of the trappers are down with influenza. Bertha has been taking care of them, I believe."
"That's what I heard. I hope it doesn't spread. It's very contagious, you know." Laura nodded. She knew of entire families being wiped out by the virus.
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The clock struck eleven and Maida drank the last of her coffee. "I've got to get home," she said. "I left a bowl of sourdough rising. It's probably ready to be shaped into loaves by now."
As Laura helped her friend into her jacket she glanced out the window and noted that there were several people going into the store. Fletch would be busy waiting on them. She decided she would take Taylor's lunch to him. She hadn't visited him but twice this week. He was probably feeling neglected.
Fletch looked startled to see her when Laura stepped inside the store, but he didn't remark on it. The three women he was waiting on gave her a cool, disdainful look as she walked past them, heading for Taylor's room.
"It's about time you came to see me," Taylor said. "Let me see that Jolie baby. I don't see her often enough."
Jolie began to squirm as soon as she heard Taylor's voice, and she was all smiles when Laura laid her on the cot and folded back the blanket she was wrapped in.
After Taylor had played with the baby awhile, he looked up at Laura and said with concern in his voice, "I think something is wrong with Butterfly. She hasn't been here for the past two nights."
An uneasiness gripped Laura as she remembered the two trappers sick with influenza. Was the Indian village in the grip of the virus? It wasn't like Butterfly to miss even one night's visit to Pa, let alone two nights running.
Laura stood up and put her jacket back on. "I'm going over to the village and find out what's keeping her away."
"Would you, Laura?" Taylor said, relief in his voice. "I know something is wrong."
"Maybe not," Laura tried to soothe him. "I won't be gone long. Jolie nursed not long ago and shouldn't fuss until I get back."
The store was empty of customers when Laura sailed through it and Fletch called after her, "Where are you going, leaving Jolie here for me to mind?"
Laura didn't bother to answer him, only slammed the door behind her.
Like the other time Laura was there, as soon as she set foot in the Indian village the pack of vicious dogs came bounding toward her, their hackles raised and barking shrilly. She waited for someone to call them off. When no one appeared, she remembered Red Fox saying that they wouldn't attack unless ordered to. Still, her pulse raced a little when she started walking toward Butterfly's wigwam, the barking dogs at her heels.
The village seemed strangely quiet, Laura thought as she called in at Butterfly's wigwam. Usually at this hour someone was stirring about outside. She had to call twice before she was huskily told to enter.
The first thing she noticed when she entered the dim interior was Butterfly lying on her pallet of furs, the covers pulled up to her chin. The next thing to catch her eye was the fire in its rock pit. It was almost out. The wigwam was decidedly cold.
"Stay back, Laura," Butterfly rasped when she started forward. "I have the white man's influenza. You must not catch it and take it back to Jolie and Taylor."
"Don't worry about that, Butterfly." Laura knelt down beside the bed of furs and laid her hand on the sick woman's forehead. "Whites are used to catching it in the winter and have cures for it. You have a fever. Do your bones ache?"
Butterfly nodded. "Every one in my body."
"Are any of your people down with it?"
"Yes, and they are dying like flies. Even Chief Muga is sick. The medicine man is spending all his time with him."
"When did you eat last, Butterfly?" Laura asked.
"I'm not sure," Butterfly answered weakly. "Two days ago, I think."
Laura shook her head. The woman should have been drinking a lot of meat broth. "Butterfly, after I build up your fire I'm going back to my village to bring back some food and remedies that will help you get better." She knew she must get help to Butterfly and the village as soon as possible.
"Well, that was fast," Fletch said, surprised when Laura returned so soon. "Didn't your new boyfriend want to be bothered with you today?" Again he received no answer from Laura. She had no time to exchange insults with him today.
Taylor's face turned as white as the pillow his head lay on when Laura said, "Pa, Butterfly has influenza. As you know, Indians have no inborn resistance to it. I won't lie to you, Pa. She is very ill. Many of her people have died from it. I guess Chief Muga is at death's door."
When Taylor pushed himself up to a sitting position, cursing his inability to go to the woman he loved, Laura said, "I'm going back as soon as I can gather up a piece of beef and the remedies I need to fight the virus." She paused, then said, "I don't know what to do about Jolie. I may be gone for some time."
"While you get everything together, I'll take Jolie to Maida," Fletch said from the doorway where he had heard everything that had been said. "She's old enough now to be put on cow's milk. Send Elisha over to Agnes Morse to borrow a bottle and nipple."
Laura nodded her thanks and was halfway out of the store when Fletch said, "I've got a young doe hanging in a tree outside. We'll bring that too. Venison broth is stronger than beef."
We? Laura paused for a moment. Was Fletch going with her to the Indian village? She remembered then the friendship between him and Red Fox and wasn't surprised that he would be concerned about the Indian and his people.
Hurrying up the snow-trampled path to the cabin, Laura burst into the kitchen. It took her but a few minutes to whip up a poultice of kerosene, turpentine, and lard to place on Butterfly's chest to break up the congestion there. She placed it in a basket, along with a square of woolen cloth to put under the mixture so that it wouldn't burn her skin. To help the concoction along, she put a handful of rock candy in a pint of whiskey. She would give Butterfly several spoonfuls every couple hours.
To help cure the influenza, Laura added to the basket a small bottle of quinine. A teaspoon of it added to a glass of water should also help bring down the fever. The last thing she put in the basket was a pot of clear beef broth she had planned to make soup with.
Laura didn't know how the word had spread so fast, but when she stepped outside, Fletch was waiting for her, a dozen of Big Pines' population with him. She knew from the women's pale faces they were frightened of an epidemic that could take half, or all, of their families.
"Don't go bringin' their sickness back with you," Milly said sullenly, angry that Fletch was going off with Laura.
"What are you talking about?" Fletch glared at her. "Two of our trappers are already down with it; have been for a couple weeks. They probably took it to the Indians."
The mothers' pinched faces looked more frightened at this piece of news, and they huddled together when Fletch and Laura struck off toward the Indian village.
Laura deliberately led the way along the narrow path in the high snow. Had Fletch been in front with his long strides she'd have had to practically run to keep up with him.
They hadn't gone far when the threatening skies that had hung overhead all day opened up and great white flakes of snow began to fall. There was a stillness in the air as it fell silently and straight down. Neither broke the silence with talk.
When they arrived at the village, the dogs were waiting. Laura had the feeling they were in the same spot where she had left them earlier. Again, no one appeared at their wild barking. Was Red Fox ill, she wondered, or was he with his father, Chief Muga?
Butterfly was in much the same position in which Laura had left her. Laura hurried to feel her forehead, then the pulse in her wrist. The pulse was fast and her brow burning hot. Taking off her jacket, she looked at Fletch. "Will you please add some more wood to the fire, then bring in some more? You'll find where Pa stacked it behind the wigwam."
After Fletch had stirred up the fire and left to bring in more wood, Laura placed the tin pail of broth on some red coals to heat, then returned to Butterfly.
She drew the covers down to the sick woman's waist and laid back the blanket-robe she wore. When she had placed the woolen square and poultice on Butterfly's chest, then covered her up again, she found that the broth had warmed. She filled a small gourd cup f
rom the pail, then added a teaspoon of quinine.
Laura had lifted Butterfly's head and was holding the cup to her lips when Fletch entered, his arms full of wood. "How is she?" he asked quietly.
"She's very ill and burning up with fever. Will you please bring me a pail of snow? I'll rub it on her face and hands, try to keep the fever down. There's quinine in this broth. It should start working in about half an hour."
Fletch picked up a wooden bucket, recognizing it as coming from their store. He stepped outside and within seconds had it packed full of snow. "I'm going over to Red Fox's wigwam now," he said, placing the bucket next to Laura. "I want to see if everything is all right with him and his family."
Laura nodded and began to smooth the snow over Butterfly's face. It melted almost immediately on touching her burning-hot skin. She next formed a small, firm snowball and laid it on Butterfly's dry, cracked lips. Butterfly lifted a hand and eagerly held it there, sipping at the water that thawed and dripped from it.
Laura lost count of time. The snow had melted in the pail and she was now able to dip a piece of cloth into its icy coolness and properly bathe the hot flesh.
She had given Butterfly a second dose of quinine when Fletch and Red Fox entered the wigwam. The Indian looked tired, but not unwell. So far he hadn't been hit by the virus.
"How is your father?" Laura gave him a tired smile.
"His fever has finally broken and the congestion in his chest is loose now. The medicine man says he will not die."
"I'm sure that you, and your people, are happy about that," Laura said, wringing out the cloth and bathing Butterfly's arm. "Are your wife and children well?"
"Yes. All is well with them so far." Red Fox knelt down beside her. "How is my sister responding to your care?"
Surprise flickered in Laura's eyes. She hadn't known that Pa's lover was related to Chief Muga. "She's no worse." She dropped the cloth back into the water. "I think she may be a little better. Her skin doesn't seem to be as hot as it was before."
