“Anne is sleeping, Hope. She’s very tired.” He brushed the back of his finger against her soft, warm cheek, comforted her as Emma slipped the cloak and pants off her.
He heard a delicate sniff, glanced at Emma and saw the flash of surprise in her eyes when she lifted the hem of Hope’s nightgown and spotted the red flannel bandages. A smile curled her lips upward, widened into a grin.
“I see Annie has been doctoring Hope.” She slipped the sleeve of Hope’s nightgown up beyond her little elbow, nodded. “Do all of Hope’s joints pain her, or is it her wrists and elbows, knees and ankles that hurt?”
He fastened his gaze on Emma’s face, not wanting to miss a nuance of her expressions. “Those you named.” Again, that little nod, as if that were the answer she expected. His heart thudded. Did she know what was wrong with Hope? Oh, God, use this woman to heal Hope I pray.
He watched her unwrap the bandages, study Hope’s joints.
“How long has she had these joint pains, Mitchel?”
“Since late September.”
She nodded, pulled Hope’s nightgown back in place, covered her with the blanket and rose. She bent over and brushed a curl, flattened by the hood, back off Hope’s cheek. “I shall be right back, sweetie. I have some ointment that will make your arms and legs feel better.”
She walked into another room, came back with a crock, a roll of red flannel and some scissors. She uncovered Hope and treated her joints, her movements deft and sure. “Do you remember, Mitchel, if Hope had a bad cold or if her throat hurt her before the fever and the joint pains started?”
What was wrong with Hope? He fought down a rising fear, thought back. “Yes, she complained of her throat hurting a few weeks before. She wouldn’t eat because it hurt her to swallow the food.”
Again the nod came. He was beginning to dread those nods.
She pulled Hope’s nightgown in place, leaned down and placed her ear on Hope’s chest, an intent expression on her face. She lifted her head, covered Hope with the blanket and smiled. “Are you hungry, sweetie?”
Hope looked at him. “Me want ’tatoes wiff bwown stuff, Papa.”
Emma shot him a quizzical, amused look.
“Potatoes with gravy.”
She laughed, lifted Hope into her arms. “The very thing I was about to suggest. With a goodly portion of meat thrown in for your papa. Tell him to come along. We’ll get you both fed, and then I shall take you in to sleep with Anne, while I take care of your papa’s arm.” She gave him a look over her shoulder and led the way into her kitchen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Can you heal Hope?” Mitchel set his cup of coffee on the table and looked up at Emma.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know of any cure, Mitchel. However, Hope’s heartbeat is steady and strong. The illness makes her uncomfortable, but it does not endanger her life.” She tossed the rag she’d used to clean his wound into a bowl of clean water and pulled a small, covered crock toward her.
He swirled the brown liquid in the cup, his head echoing with the yet she did not say aloud.
Zach drained his cup, rose and picked up the bowl of dirty, bloody water. “If there’s a way to help your little one, Mitchel, Emma will find it. I married one stubborn woman.”
“Tenacious.”
Zach grinned at his wife. “Different word, same result.”
Mitchel shifted his gaze to the hearth. The look the two exchanged made his heart hunger for what he would never have with Anne.
Zach opened the kitchen door and tossed the dirty water out on the ground. The fire flared in the draft, settled back to a steady burn when he closed the door.
Emma dipped her fingers in the crock, spread salve on his wound. “Hope also has a good appetite, which is a favorable sign. Hold your arm out, Mitchel.” She wound a clean, white bandage around his arm and tied it in place. “That wound should heal quickly now.”
She took the chair opposite him, fastened her gaze on his. “I will not lie to you, Mitchel. Hope’s illness can be a dangerous one.”
Her words stabbed deep, made his heart bleed. He clenched his hand around the cup and nodded.
“But I helped Papa Doc with several of his patients and I know it is the weak, the undernourished, the un-cared for who do not survive. Your little Hope is none of those things. And, given what little I have seen of her, I believe she has a fighting spirit. Our job will be to keep her quiet—rest is very important—and to see to it she has a reason to keep fighting.”
She smiled, rose and picked up her medical supplies. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I will go check on my two patients.”
The brush of the hem of her long skirt across the wide planks of the kitchen floor blended with the crackle and snap of the fire, faded away as she swished out the door. Mitchel lifted his cup, drank the cold coffee.
“Sorry about that bacon.”
He lifted his head. Zach had that lopsided grin on his face.
“Emma’s still learning about the cooking part of being a wife. She tends to leave the meat on the fire a bit too long. But she makes good soup and great apple dumplings.” Zach turned, reached into the cupboard behind him, opened a wooden box with holes in the top and took out two apple dumplings. He put them on plates, added a fork, set one down at his place and slid the other down the table to him. “Best part of breakfast!”
He picked up the fork and stabbed it into the dump-ling.
“I meant what I said earlier about Emma, Mitchel.”
He raised his head, studied Zach’s now sober expression.
“Emma’s a top-notch doctor. There’s a lot of folks here in Promise that wouldn’t have made it across country if she hadn’t been on the wagon train. If there’s a way to help your little one, Emma will find it. She’s a fighter.”
The pressure in his chest eased a little. He nodded, speared a piece of apple with his fork. “It must run in the family.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Adam Halstrum worked for me at the mission, ran the gristmill. He and his son stole some furs from the Cayuse, and when he learned they were coming after them, he decided to use the Cayuse children Anne was teaching as hostages so they could escape. Anne warned him off, and when he tried to take them anyway, she shot him…in the shoulder.”
“Good for Annie!” Emma swept into the kitchen, a frown on her face. “What sort of person would put children in harm’s way to save his own life? I shall have to write home about that.” The frown turned into a smile. “Mother always said you couldn’t push Annie, you had to coax her. She insisted it’s the red curls.”
Zach laid his fork down, grabbed the pot and poured more coffee. “I didn’t ask before, figured it was none of my business, but this Halstrum—is he the one who sliced you?”
He shook his head. “No. It was a Cayuse warrior named Eagle Claw. He ambushed me on the trail. But Halstrum had a part in it. It was all the same day and all for the same reason, because Halstrum and two trapper friends of his stole the Indians’ furs. The Cayuse figured I had a part in it, and they wanted blood for revenge. They burned and looted the mission.”
“That’s why you were afoot in the mountains?”
His face tightened. He nodded, took a sip of coffee before he could speak. “Chief White Cloud warned me the Cayuse would attack if I left before Halstrum got back from his trip to sell the furs. It was the first I learned about his thefts.”
The weariness washed over him in an overwhelming wave. “I told Anne, warned her we had to carry on as usual but be ready to leave in a moment, and that we would have to walk in order to hide.” He looked at Emma, saw a glint of tears in her eyes. “Your sister is one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. She made those clothes so Hope would stay warm and dry in the snow. And she baked biscuits to take along. And when Halstrum tried to take those Cayuse children, she shot him. Then she took Hope and hid in a cave while the Indians tortured Halstrum and his son and raided and burned the mission.”
&nbs
p; He swallowed, cleared his throat. “Eagle Claw ambushed me the day the Cayuse were taking their revenge.” He shook his head, rubbed his dry, burning eyes to stay awake. “Our fight ended when we fell off a cliff. I knocked my head, and lost the whole day. By the time I made it back, there was nothing but charred wood, and hot coals burning where the snow couldn’t reach them. I—I thought I had lost them both. And then Anne came out of that cave carrying Hope in her arms—” He shook his head, put his elbows on the table, lowered his head into his hands and toppled sideways.
Zach shot out a hand to brace Mitchel, rose and stepped behind him, slid his arms under Mitchel’s armpits and dragged him back from the table. “Hold the chair, so I can get a grip on him, Emma. I’ll help him in to lay him on the rug in front of the fire. Then I’ll ride into town and talk with Hargrove and Lundquist and some of the others. When I tell them that story, they’ll want to help, too.”
Emma nodded, wiped the tears from her eyes and came around the table and gripped the chair. Zach leaned down, draped Mitchel’s uninjured arm over his shoulder, grasped Mitchel’s wrist then straightened and grabbed him around the waist. “C’mon Mitchel, let’s get you in the other room.”
“I’ll help.” Emma reached for Mitchel’s other arm.
“No, Emma. He’s too heavy for you. I don’t want anything to happen to that little filly of mine you’re carrying.” Zach gave a lunge.
Mitchel moved his feet, half walked, half stumbled along, collapsed with a yawn onto the rug by the hearth in the parlor.
Emma ran into the bedroom, brought back a blanket and spread it over him. She watched Zach shrug into his jacket, then went on tiptoe and gave him a kiss. “Whatever you men decide, Zachary Thatcher, you make certain it means Mitchel Banning will stay here in Promise. That baby needs care, our town needs brave, good men like Mitchel, and that man loves my sister!”
“Yeah, that was sort of plain.” Zach returned her kiss and hurried out and closed the door.
Emma leaned back against it, looked down at Mitchel Banning, shook her head and smiled. “Thank You, God. You sure are working it out in a mysterious way, but I think Annie is going to have her dream.”
She lifted her gaze to the wood and beam ceiling, lifted her heart in faith. “That leaves William, God. And I sure don’t know how You’re going to fulfill his dream of coming to Oregon country and teaching the Indians when the mission has been destroyed, but I have learned to trust You to work everything out for the good.”
She patted her swelling stomach under her skirt and headed for the kitchen to clean up the breakfast dishes and start some soup for supper.
Anne stirred, yawned, felt the softness of a mattress beneath her and bolted upright. A shaft of bright sunlight poked her in the eye. She turned her head, looked around the strange room. Where was she? Hope. Where were Hope and Mitchel?
She shook her head to try and clear her thoughts, threw back the covers and slid out of bed, her heart pounding. She would worry about where she was and how she had got here later. She had to find Hope, take care of her. Was she hurting or hungry? Soft fabric slipped down her legs.
She jerked her gaze down, stared at the yellow cotton nightgown, the white ribbon ties on the bodice, the hem that pooled on the floor at her feet.
“There you see, sweetie, I told you Annie was awake.”
Emma. Tears welled, spilled out of her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She looked up, saw her sister at the door. Hope, dressed in her white nightgown and blue blanket pants, was in her arms. She burst into tears.
“Oh, Annie, don’t cry.” Her sister’s arm came around her shoulders and pulled her close. Emma’s cheek, warm and soft and blessedly familiar, pressed against hers. “Hope is fine. Mitchel is fine. And so are you. You’re all safe now.”
She nodded, wrapped her arms around Emma and rested her head on her shoulder.
“Me hurt.” Hope wiggled between them.
She drew back, took Hope into her arms, suffered another rush of tears at the feel of the toddler’s small arms sliding around her neck, her little head burrowing against the side of her neck. She hugged Hope close, swayed side-to-side, looked at her sister. “I was s-so afraid for her, Emma. She’s not w-well.”
The tears flowed again. She sank down on the side of the bed, forced a trembling smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t s-seem to control my tears.”
“It’s little wonder after what you’ve been through.” Emma sat beside her. She felt the warmth of her sister’s arm come around her again and leaned into its comfort. “Though Mitchel did say you are one of the bravest people he’s ever known.”
Emma drew back, fixed her brown-eyed gaze on her. “Annie, did you really shoot that man?”
“I did.” She stiffened her back, jutted her chin. “And, after what he put us through, if I had it to do again, I wouldn’t aim for his shoulder!”
Emma burst into laughter, hugged her tight. “Welcome back, Annie.” Her voice choked. “Mother was right about those red curls of yours. Now—”
She looked up as Emma rose and held out her arms.
“Let me carry Hope, Anne. You hold up that nightgown so you don’t trip over it, and we’ll go to the kitchen and get you something to eat. You are looking downright gaunt, my little sister.”
She surrendered Hope, rose, lifted the hem of the nightgown and followed Emma out the bedroom door.
“And then—” Emma glanced over her shoulder at her “—when you are finished eating, we will see about altering some of my dresses so you have something to wear. Your black gown was quite stained, and torn and tattered beyond decent repair. I threw it away.”
Anne stood by the fire holding Hope, soaking up the heat and ignoring the questions about Mitchel that begged to be asked. His whereabouts and his affairs were none of her business.
She glanced down at the soup Emma was ladling into a bowl from the iron pot on the crane. It looked good. It was hard to believe Emma had made it. Domestic skills had never interested her sister. All Emma had ever wanted was to be a doctor. And all she had ever wanted was to be a wife and mother. Phillip had destroyed that dream with his love of racing horses.
Until now.
She frowned, changed the direction of her thoughts. “I can’t seem to get warm. I can feel the heat of the fire, yet I’m shivering. It’s very annoying.”
Emma pushed the crane back to dangle the pot of soup over the fire and carried the filled bowl to the table. “You haven’t been eating anything but biscuits, Annie. And few of those. And you’ve been trudging over snowy mountains in frigid weather for days. It’s not surprising you feel cold. The shivering should go away when you get some hot, nourishing food in you. Come and eat.”
“Me want some.”
Anne studied the toddler’s eager expression. “I guess eating nothing but biscuits and dried apples the past few days has improved Hope’s appetite. Mitchel said she ate very little at home.”
“Until you began fixing her special meals to coax her to eat.” Emma smiled and ladled soup into a small bowl. “Her first request when she woke was for ‘’tatoes and brown stuff.’”
“Me like ’tatoes and bwown stuff.”
Emma laughed and put the bowl on the table. “Well, you get soup tonight, little one. Now come sit with me and let Anne eat.”
Hope frowned. “Me not little, me Papa’s big girl.”
“Wonderful. Big girls eat all their soup.” Emma carried Hope to the table and settled the toddler on her lap.
Anne sat in the chair closest to the fire, her gaze fastened on Hope.
“What is it, Anne?”
She lifted her gaze to Emma, shook her head. “I don’t know. At the mission, Hope was so listless. All she did was lie in bed. And she cried often. She was not like that on the journey. And now, she acts so…different.”
Emma nodded, helped Hope manage the spoon that was too big for her little hands. “Mitchel said she had a Cayuse nanny. Perhaps, Hope didn’t understand her words. She
is a very smart, very social little girl. It sounds as if she was enjoying being in the company of you and her papa on the journey.”
“Then it’s not— You haven’t—”
“No, Annie. There’s nothing I know to do beyond easing her discomfort and keeping her quiet and rested. The rest is in God’s hands.”
“Does Mitchel know?”
“Yes. But I also told him some of the children I visited with Papa Doc improved vastly and led quiet, but normal lives. I am trusting that Hope will be one of the blessed ones.”
Trusting, yes.
What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.
She let the prayer rise from her heart and picked up her spoon.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anne lifted the hem of the nightgown from the floor and followed Emma into the parlor. The soft, cotton gown brushed against her legs, a flash of brightness with every step. Yellow, a happy color. Simply looking at it lifted one’s spirit. A smile tugged at her lips. She would make Hope a dress of yellow with warm, matching pants.
She shook her head, clenched the cotton in her hands. Hope was not hers. Mitchel would be moving on and Hope would go out of her life. She pressed her lips together, lifted her chin. Nonetheless, no more black widow’s garb for her. She was free of wearing those somber, depressing clothes that forever reminded her of her loss and sorrow. Emma had no black dresses for her to alter.
She looked around the room searching for distraction from her gloomy thoughts. Pride surged through her. The emigrants must think very highly of Emma’s doctoring skills to have built her such a fine, large cabin, with its added-on kitchen, and the good-size bedroom or two.
She stared at the second door a short distance from the open one to Emma’s bedroom. No doubt it was her room for treating patients. Her sister’s dream of being a doctor had come true.
She glanced at the stone fireplace throwing warmth into the cozy room and— Cozy. She paused, swept her gaze over the oil lamp sitting on the mantel beside a small stack of books, the two wooden pegs protruding from the stone above it. She gave a passing thought as to what purpose the pegs served, then glanced at the blue settee sitting at a right angle to the fireplace, the two padded chairs facing it, the rug that covered the plank floor between them. Where had Emma gotten such fine furniture?
Frontier Father Page 18
