Denim and Lace

by Rice, Patricia

  "Samantha Neely, you are not going out there in that weather with those men. It's too dangerous. You don't know the territory as they do." Alice paced the room as her daughter continued preparing herself for the outdoors.

  There was some truth in what her mother said, but Samantha had more imperative reasons for going than staying. She gave her mother a direct look. "If I don't go, Bradshaw will lead those wagons out of the mountains instead of back here. They'll be days longer on the trail. There could be sick and injured. Do you think they ought to suffer for Talbott's selfishness?"

  That appealed to her mother's nurturing tendencies. Alice Neely immediately stopped pacing and considered the thought. "The snow will most likely be down here by this afternoon. They'll have to battle it all the way down the mountain. Someone could get hurt." She hesitated. "Mr. Talbott isn't going to like it. There's really no place for anyone else to stay here."

  "Mr. Talbott will have to open up his hotel until they can make other arrangements. It's not as if he were full to brimming with guests." Wrapping a knitted scarf around her neck and head, Samantha started for the door.

  Jack brought both pairs of snowshoes before she got farther than the plaza. Her father had showed her how to use the large, netlike contraptions to hunt in the mountains in winter. Walking on top of snow was a good deal easier than sloshing knee-deep in it. She would be able to keep up with the men easily.

  She frowned as she realized Jack had wrapped himself in his heaviest coat and scarf. "You can't go. You've got to stay with Mother and the twins."

  "There ain't nobody here to bother them. You're the one needs lookin' after," he announced calmly.

  That was a crock of manure, but she didn't have time to argue with the brat now. The mules and the men were already heading out of town.

  Some of them cheered when she hurried to join them. Others looked at her a trifle sullenly, but Sam didn't care. If there were women and children out there, she meant to bring them back. Right at this moment she couldn't tell whether she did it for the benefit of the women on the wagon train, her family, or to spite Sloan Talbott. It was all one and the same to her.

  When they reached the snow line and she and Jack stopped to tie on their snowshoes, some of the men hooted and none of them waited. They sang a different tune when the two of them caught up easily and passed on ahead while the men worked to smash a trail through drifts.

  "Hey, reckon Donner could make me a pair of them when we get back?" Bradshaw yelled after them. "They'd sure be handy for settin' traps."

  Her coat was too bulky to shrug. Samantha held up her hands in indifference. "Ask Donner. Maybe aspen works as well as willow, I don't know."

  "What we need is skis," someone else yelled back.

  "That's what Thomson calls them things he crosses the mountains with. We could put the wagons on those things and slide them down the hills."

  "My uncle made some of those," Jack yelled back. "They didn't work very well in Tennessee."

  Sam pushed on ahead, leaving the men to exchange their stories. She hadn't realized how eager she was for female companionship until she found herself hurrying ahead. The burden of constantly watching over her mother and her sisters had become heavier than she knew. With other women in town, she wouldn't have to constantly monitor her family's movements. If she thought about it at all, she would have to admit that Sloan Talbott was partially right. A town full of men and four women was not the best place to live. But it was the only place they had, and she would make the best of it.

  The trek up the mountain through the snow grew worse as the day went on. They were walking through clouds by noon. Sam had to slow up and let some of the men more familiar with the landmarks take the lead. Any trace of a path was lost in the solid white blanket forming beneath their feet. She wished for something warmer on her legs and vowed to make deerskin trousers out of the next deer she took.

  Heavy gray clouds prevented any sign of the sun even when the sheets of snow opened enough to let them see the sky, but Samantha surmised the late November sun was well on its way down by the time they found the wagon train. The settlers had apparently given up for the day, not even trying to circle the wagons in such uncertain terrain. Some of the inhabitants had cleared open spaces and attempted to keep fires going, but they saw only a few dark figures near the wagons. Those few began to shout when the mule party loomed into view.

  Now that she could see where she was going, Samantha hurried ahead of the others, Jack following close behind. They must have appeared relatively harmless because the posted guards only watched them, rifles idly at their sides. Before she could even call a greeting, a woman climbed out of a wagon, carrying a child in her arms.

  Afterward, Samantha realized she should have known better. She had seen enough women with sick children come to her mother's door to know the signs. But just knowing they had arrived in time to keep these people from freezing to death made her too joyous to pay attention to details. She waved her arms in greeting and watched as more people poured from the wagons, cheering.

  Women wept, children cried in excitement, and weary men waited in silence as the mule train came down the hill. Until Sam spoke, none knew her as female, but the instant she opened her mouth, she found herself surrounded by women.

  "Is there a doctor?" several asked. "We need a doctor. How far is it to town?" The questions flew fast and furious from there.

  Sam heard Bradshaw explaining they'd have to wait until dawn to guide them down the mountain. It didn't take her mother's doctoring instincts for Sam to know that could be too late for the fevered infant the first terrified woman had come out holding. And apparently there were others in the wagons, others too ill or injured to come out on their own. Stepping awkwardly in her snowshoes, she approached Bradshaw.

  She knew this man as one of Talbott's mine foremen. He was a burly man with an uncertain disposition. He was one of the few in town who hadn't welcomed their arrival with open arms. More than any of the others, he would follow Talbott's orders. Somehow, she had to change his mind.

  “There's sickness here," she told him when he glanced down at her with irritation. "That baby won't last through the night. We've got to get them back to Dr. Ramsey."

  He scowled. “Talbott says we're to take them down the mountain. He doesn't want any women and children around. He sure as hell won't want sick ones."

  "You want them to die?" Sam demanded. "You want their deaths on your conscience? Take the others down the mountain if you have to, but we've got to get the sick ones out of here tonight."

  A small cluster of people began to form, and Bradshaw raised his head to glare at them. The men from the wagon train had already heard the word "doctor" and were nodding in agreement with Sam. Some were already ordering their wives to wrap up the children and prepare them to be carried out. The men from the mule train glanced worriedly from Bradshaw to Sam.

  "They're like to die going back anyway," Bradshaw protested. "It's gonna be full dark soon, and the snow ain't stopped yet."

  "We've got lanterns," one of the men yelled.

  "There could be wolves and hungry grizzlies out there," Bradshaw countered.

  Sam gave him a look of contempt. "I'll shoot them if you can't." She turned to the group of men from town. "Is there anybody here willing to lead us back?"

  Injun Joe sauntered out with a disgusted expression. "Come on, get them together, and let's get going. I know the way."

  One by one the owners of the mules broke away from the crowd to help women and children onto the animals' backs. Sam wanted to hug the cantankerous Injun Joe, but his expression kept her well away. She knew he did this against his best interests, and he would no doubt be sorry for it in the morning, but for once in his life, he was doing the right thing.

  The long trek back was made easier because they went downhill with the snow and wind at their backs. Even then, many of the children wept from the cold. The woman holding the sick infant just sat silently astride the mule, c
linging to the mound of blankets that didn't make a sound. Samantha walked by her side when she could, reassuring her that there was a doctor and warmth ahead. She wasn't certain the woman even knew she was there, but she had to say something. The grief emanating from the young mother was that strong.

  Some of the women still had strength enough to ask questions, but they grew silent, too, as they began to understand they weren't heading for civilization. Only the thought of the doctor ahead kept them moving. They didn't seem aware that they could freeze to death in the bitter cold of the wagons if they stayed behind.

  Again, Sloan was right. These people shouldn't be out here. Sam didn't know who they were or where they were going, but they had no business out here in the wilderness without even the rudimentary knowledge of survival. People that foolish couldn't be much of an asset to a community, but they shouldn't be condemned to die for their ignorance.

  It was in utter exhaustion that the small band of travelers entered the town late that night. Alice Neely was one of the first to run out to greet them. She found Sam and Jack among the arrivals, gave them hugs, and moved unerringly to the woman with the infant.

  Sam could see Talbott's cheroot appear on the gallery above them. She didn't think he would be coming down to welcome them. Even Injun Joe seemed to have disappeared now that they had reached town. People and mules milled uncertainly about the plaza. Without wagons or tents, they had no place to go. Even though the snow was lighter here, it was still too cold to camp out without shelter. Sam gave a sigh of exasperation. Someone had to take charge.

  "Mama, we'd better get the sick ones into the hotel. There's too many of them to take to the house. Maybe some of the men can move the billiard tables out of the way so we can set up pallets in the saloon."

  Alice Neely nodded immediate agreement and began leading her first few patients toward the hotel. She spoke to several other of the women as she walked, and a small train of people followed her. Sam turned to one of the miners who had admired her snowshoes and asked him to gather up some of the men to move the tables. He glanced up at the cheroot burning on the gallery, looked at Sam, shrugged, and went to do as told.

  It was a showdown all over again.

  Chapter Nine

  Kneeling beside the child lying lifelessly on the floor, Ramsey took one look, cursed, stood up, and came toward the two women waiting near the door. On the floor all across the room slept exhausted mothers, groaning patients, and a few weeping children.

  "Smallpox," he muttered in disgust. "Unless you've had vaccinations, you'd better get the hell out of here."

  "We've been vaccinated," Alice Neely replied calmly. "My husband insisted on it when the children were young. Where should we start?"

  Ramsey glanced at Samantha. “Talbott will be in here raising hell before long. You'd better get on home until the shouting is done."

  Samantha was too tired to argue. She merely picked up a water pitcher someone had carried in and went to the closest patient moaning and tossing with the fever stage of the disease. As she poured the boy a cup of water, Alice Neely turned questioningly to the doctor for orders.

  Ramsey shrugged. "There's not much we can do. I'll bleed them. You try to keep them cool. That shouldn't be too difficult. It's already cold as hell in here."

  He stomped off before Alice Neely could protest. Samantha saw her mother glancing worriedly at the doctor and knew the problem. Her mother didn't believe in bleeding a patient, and her father had called all physicians who used leeches and lancets quacks. But it was the accepted method of treatment for fevers, and Ramsey was a doctor with medical training. They weren't.

  While Ramsey started on the far end of the room with his blood-letting equipment, Samantha and Alice worked their way from the other side with cooling water and soothing words. They had only the one bowl and pitcher between them. Mothers with children tore off petticoats to make rags to dip in the bowl to wipe sweating foreheads. Some of the women were ready to succumb to the fever themselves. Only one of the men had admitted to feeling ill, and he tossed now with as much pain as fever.

  Alice gestured in his direction as she whispered to Samantha, “The disease has already erupted. We need unguents."

  Ramsey hadn't said anything about the soothing unguents needed to prevent the pustules from erupting and corroding. Sam bit her bottom lip and debated the problem. "I'll ask him. Jack's still outside. If Ramsey doesn't have anything, Jack can go over and wake Bernie. She'll know where to find your medicines."

  They had left the twins sleeping, knowing by morning they would need someone to relieve them long enough to get rest. Sam knew she ought to turn over her duties to Bernie as it was. She was too tired to move. But she kept waiting for Talbott to come down. She wanted to be there when he had the audacity to try to throw them out. She was thoroughly surprised that he wasn't here already.

  She grimaced as she watched Ramsey use his lancet to slice the skin of a young girl. She looked around for his bottle of alcohol to dip the knife in, but he just laid the instrument in the bowl with the blood he was draining.

  Frowning, Sam started to comment when her instinct warned someone had entered the door behind her. Not just someone. Talbott. He was like a malevolent force emanating vibrations of sheer anger. She scarcely had time to turn and confirm her instinct before Talbott grabbed Ramsey's coat collar, jerked backward, and sent the physician sprawling across the wooden floor.

  He smashed his boot on Ramsey's wrist when the doctor reached for his bloody knife. He grabbed the doctor's black bag and flung it violently into the empty fireplace. When Ramsey struggled to right himself, Talbott grabbed his collar again, pulled him up, and sent him flying again with a powerful blow to the stomach. This time, the doctor stayed down.

  Talbott bent over, grabbed the bloody bowl, and shoved it at Samantha. "Get this damn thing out of here. Bring me clean water, pitchers of it. Bring me whiskey from the bar. We'll need clean cups for each patient in here."

  Astonished, but not about to argue, Samantha asked hastily, "Unguents? Some of the pustules are erupting. If you haven't got any, mother has some at the house."

  Sloan stood and really looked at her for the first time since entering. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated with fear, but she didn't budge an inch when he towered over her. Exhaustion drew her skin tight across delicate cheekbones and shadowed her eyes. Her hair still had diamonds of snow clinging to it, but she had discarded her bulky coat to work more quickly. One of the women tending her child wore the rabbit fur now. Sloan cursed softly, thoroughly, and without compunction as she cringed from his tirade.

  "Send that damned hellion for the unguent. Get one of your sisters over here to help, and get yourself to bed before we have to treat you, too."

  Sam blinked, nodded, and disappeared from view. Sloan doubted if she was obeying his orders, or at least the ones with which she disagreed. He didn't have time to correct that. Ramsey was trying to rise and sneak out. He turned and kicked the man in the posterior just for good measure.

  "Go near that whiskey bottle for anything but medicinal purposes and I'll cut your head open with it. When she brings the water, add a dollop of whiskey to each cup and feed it to the ones still awake. We've got to keep liquids down them."

  Sloan knew that the woman at the far end of the room was staring at him, but he was beyond caring. He meant to kill Joe when he found him, but he couldn't do anything else tonight but tend to these blasted people he hadn't wanted here in the first place.

  He had known letting women on his mountain meant trouble. He'd known it, and still he'd let them stay. He was going to pay for that mistake a thousand times over, he could tell already.

  Sloan knelt beside a weeping woman rocking a silent infant. Pain and anguish rocketed through him as if it had never left. He wanted to scream with it, to shout and weep and vent the savage fury boiling in him as he gazed at the dying child. Those lifeless eyes were in a face probably no older than Aaron's had been. The image of that blo
od-shattered body came instantly to mind with just the name, and Sloan almost bent double in agony.

  He wouldn't think about it. He wouldn't think of anything. There wasn't anything he could do. Children died all the time. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't save his own son. How could he save anyone else's? Hell, he had killed his own son. Wouldn't that send these good women screaming if they knew it?

  Sloan felt more than heard Samantha's presence behind him. He took the pitcher of water and cup she handed him and sent her for a spoon. It wouldn't do much good to try to get water down an infant, but it would give the mother something to do, make her feel less helpless. Maybe the fever would break. Maybe it wouldn't. It was in God's hands now, not his own.

  He didn't believe in God, but it was easier to blame some invisible being rather than himself. He'd blamed himself for months and years, railed at fate, cursed every god in the firmament. He didn't care any longer. He just did what he had to do.

  As he worked his way around the room, dispensing cool water mixed with whiskey, rubbing unguent on skin so racked with pain that his patients screamed with the agony of his touch, Sloan realized Samantha was the shadow behind him handing him the cream, the pitcher, the rags he needed before he asked for them. He scowled, finished what he was doing, and turned quickly enough to catch her before she could dodge out of his sight again.

  He didn't lay a hand on her. He gave himself credit for that much control. He merely pointed at the door and said, "Out."

  She set her lips, seemed ready to argue, but apparently seeing something in his face she didn't like, she spun on her heel and left. Sloan turned to see Alice Neely watching him. He ignored her and went back to work, but he had the feeling he had just done something that met with her approval.

  He didn't need any woman's approval. He didn't need a hotel full of smallpox patients either. Hell, he didn't need anything or anyone at all, but he was stuck with them. All he could do for the moment was get these fool people well again and send them on their way down the mountain.