Journey of Honor A love story

by Jaclyn M. Hawkes

  She nodded against him and he continued, “I’m sorry I was so rough with you. I was afraid you were going to get stepped on.” He pulled back from her and gently touched her face where the Indian had struck her. Her cheek was starting to swell and blood was crusting on the side of her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Elle. I should have been more careful. I didn’t realize it was you he was after. I thought he would try to steal the mules, not you.” He wrapped his arms back around her and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  She started to cry and he hugged her tighter, wishing he could undo the last ten minutes of her life. This probably brought back all the memories of the night she had been attacked by the mob. After several minutes of holding her tight and letting her cry, he took her hand and led her back to the wagon seat. They were loaded and ready to go and he helped her up onto the seat.

  Climbing up beside her, he pulled her tight against him with one arm and snapped the reins to the mules with the other. “Let’s get out of here, Elley. Let’s get headed for home. Hopefully, we’ll never see him again.”

  She sat tight against him for so long that his arm began to ache and she finally fell asleep there against him. She’d cried long enough that, even in her sleep, she breathed with little sobs from time to time. He was so sorry for her fear, but he had to smile when he thought back to the way she had fought the Indian. It wasn’t fear that she had been feeling for a minute there. She had been telling that brave off with pure unadulterated anger at one point. And fighting! She probably would have been just fine on her own with him when she was so mad. It was only after everything was over that she had started to cry.

  The thought of her at the hands of Filson and more like him made him want to be sick. What in the world possessed the hearts of men that they could harm a beautiful, sweet, young woman? He shook his head and pulled her tighter to his side. If he had known what had gone on, he would never have hesitated to shoot Filson. He still regretted that he hadn’t done it and that he’d made her feel like she needed to.

  He’d thought about it at length and realized she had done it for him and the others in the train. If she had been going to do it to protect herself, she would have done it weeks and months earlier. No, she had done it to protect the others. He put a hand to her soft, blonde hair. She was an incredible woman.

  *****

  Trace had told Giselle that he hoped they never saw the Indian again, but it didn’t work out that way. The very next afternoon as they topped a ridge that dropped down into a thickly wooded stream bottom, they could hear something going on down in the brush near the creek. There was crashing around and growling and finally Trace heard what he knew was the unmistakable sound of a bear roaring and huffing. A couple of times they could hear the sound of a human voice and both bear and human sounds made the stock nervous.

  Trace turned back around and pulled the wagon far enough away that the mules and cow and calf settled down, and then he tied the reins up and climbed down from the wagon seat with his rifle in hand. He turned to Giselle. “I’m going to see what’s going on. I’m probably too late, but I have to know. Stay here with Dog. I’ll be right back.”

  Twice before, he’d heard that sound of a bear, and both times he’d ended up with a severely mauled patient on his hands. The first one lived, although he would be hopelessly scarred for life. The second one didn’t.

  Carefully, Trace picked his way down through the trees until he could see what was going on below him. What he found made him glad that the sight of blood didn’t bother him too much. It was the same Indian who had tried to steal Giselle the day before. He’d obviously come out on the worst end of an attack by a bear. The bear was still there, huffing and growling around, although it was dragging one hind leg and bleeding out of its nose and mouth. The Indian lay there in a gory pile, and at first Trace thought he was dead—until he saw the brave move to curl up into a ball when the bear approached him again.

  When Trace realized the man was still alive, he raised his rifle and shot the wounded bear. On approaching the bear, he shot it one more time, just to be sure, and then he carefully approached the Indian. Somehow, the man was still conscious even though he was horribly chewed up. When Trace moved closer, he struggled to get away from him.

  Trace looked all around and wondered where the man’s horse was. He needed a way to carry the man up out of the creek bottom without injuring him further. Trace continued to look around and finally decided to carry the wounded man up the stream nearer to the ford to try to help him. Whether or not he could be saved remained to be seen, but Trace was going to give it his darndest. The physician in him would let him do no less.

  Wondering how he was going to get the guy to let him work on him without a fight, Trace approached him again and was almost relieved to realize that the man was now unconscious. He carefully picked him up and carried him down to the stream crossing and laid him out beside it and then ran back up to Giselle and the wagon to bring them down as well.

  Trace wasn’t sure how to tell Giselle that he was going to try to save the man who had attempted to abduct her, but he knew he couldn’t just let him die without trying. He hoped she’d somehow understand. As it happened, she didn’t even realize it was the same Indian until Trace had him somewhat put back together.

  On getting the wagon down, Trace went to work immediately cleaning the man up while Giselle started to build a fire and heat water without even being asked. The poor brave had been all but scalped by the bear, and the skin of his head hung in ragged strips of bloody, matted hair. His thigh was also torn up where the bear had apparently bitten him deeply and then dragged him or shaken him.

  On top of that, he had cuts and puncture wounds in a myriad of other places, and it took Trace more than three hours to stitch him and put him back together as much as he could. He had to cut the man’s hair off—and a good portion of the skin on his head as well—to try to save him. When Trace was finally finished, the Indian looked almost more frightening than when he’d started. With a tired sigh, Trace covered the wound on the Indian’s thigh with the final bandage. Honestly, if this man lived, it would be surprising. He was incredibly torn up and wounds like this tended to fester horribly.

  It was late afternoon when he finally washed his hands again and looked up and met Giselle’s eyes. She had helped him all the way through the surgery without faltering, and he was unbelievably proud of her—both for how competent a helper she was and for continuing to help even when she figured out that it was the same Indian. She began to clean up and Trace said, “We’ll need to move on before we camp. The dead bear and all the blood will attract other predators, so we’ll move on up the trail before stopping.”

  She nodded at him and he went and skinned the bear. There was no sense in wasting the hide, even though as he skinned it he found that the Indian had put up quite a fight. There were several punctures and bullet holes in the hide. Trace was sure the bear would have eventually died of the wounds.

  On an impulse, Trace also saved its teeth and claws. He was going to assume that his patient would make it and he would want these sometime. Trace cut out as much of the bear meat as he thought they could use before it spoiled and took it back to the wagon. He wasn’t sure where to put the Indian. Giselle had been wonderful about helping to save his life, but Trace didn’t want to traumatize her any more than was necessary. Finally, he rigged up a travois, attached it to the back of the wagon with two dead trees and a sheet of canvas, then gently laid the still unconscious man on it, and they pulled out.

  It was full dark when they finally stopped for the night a few miles up the trail, next to the same creek where he’d rescued the Indian. They built a cook fire and started dinner. After being so roughly handled the day before, Giselle had started to hemorrhage again. When she automatically started helping, Trace thanked her kindly—and then just as kindly, but firmly, sent her to lie down in the back of the wagon. She hardly even argued, and he knew that she was tired and worrie
d as well.

  He cooked and did the camp chores and tended to his patient. When he finally made it to bed with her, he was tired, even though they hadn’t traveled all that far that day. He lay down next to her and pulled her close to him. She stirred in her sleep and patted his hand gently and said something in Dutch before she rolled close to him and settled back. He had no idea what she’d just said, but somehow he knew that she’d just told him she was proud of him. It was the tone of her voice and the way she’d touched him, and it made him even more grateful to have her around. She always made him feel good about himself.

  Twice in the night he got up to check on the Indian, and both times he wondered if they would find him still among the living when morning came. He was grievously wounded and Trace wished for the power that Josiah had blessed Giselle with. It had been so much stronger than his medical skills that day.

  As he lay there beside her, waiting to get back to sleep, he thought about that priesthood and her church. Since they had been traveling, he hadn’t had a chance to read any more of the journal and he found he truly missed it. Sometimes while he drove, she read a book that he had come to realize was the Book of Mormon. He didn’t know much about it except that some people referred to it as the Mormon Bible, but she seemed to cherish it and he wished sometimes that she would read it aloud to him. He would have already asked her except that he knew it would tire her.

  When he woke up beside her the next morning, he lay there enjoying her warmth for a few minutes until he had to get up and away from her to keep from wanting more. He had come to realize it was a fine line he was walking, between caring for her and caring too much for her. Unless he was dead tired, being that close to her was the hardest thing he’d ever tried to do. It made for a lot of mornings where he had to get right up and get busy or he’d have gone crazy.

  As he stood at the end of the wagon and pulled his shirt on, he watched her sleep. She never seemed to struggle with sleeping beside him at all. He must not be as incredibly tempting to her as she was to him. He turned to check on his other patient with a wry smile on his face at the thought. That was probably a good thing. Both of them fighting this for each other would have been impossible.

  The Indian had made it through the night, although he was feverish and swollen beyond recognition this morning. Sometime in the night his horse had found him and was standing there with its head hanging over him when Trace came around the wagon. At first it spooked off a little, but eventually it let him catch it. Trace moved the travois to the horse instead of the wagon for fear the Indian would get stepped on with three animals tied to the wagon next to him. Trace cared for his wounds, got breakfast, did chores, and they pulled out without the Indian ever stirring in the slightest. Today would be the day they learned if he would make it or not. Trace wished again for that higher power.

  When Giselle climbed out of the wagon box to sit beside him on the seat after an hour or so on the trail, he looked over at her with concern. “Are you sure you should be up today, Elle? Are you still bleeding?”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder and laughed a little self consciously. “You always ask me the most embarrassing questions, Tracey. I guess I should be used to you by now, but you still make me blush. Yes, I’m still bleeding a little, but do I have to be stuck in the back of the wagon? Can I sit here with you for even a few minutes?”

  He chuckled at her and said, “Sorry. But you married a doctor. It’s what I do. I can’t change it. Blood isn’t really optional. I nearly lost you and don’t want to take chances again. Ya’know?”

  She put her hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry for everything, Trace. And I’m unbelievably grateful you’re a doctor. When I watch you work, it amazes me. I’m so proud of you. I’m just still a little shy sometimes is all. But I’m the very first to acknowledge that you saved my life.”

  He thought about that for a minute and then admitted to her, “But I didn’t, Elley. You were so out of it that you didn’t know, but I think if it had just been up to my medical skills you would have died. I was doing the best I could, but you were still fading on me. It was Josiah who saved your life.”

  He looked at her honestly. “I hate to even admit that, but it’s true. If he hadn’t been able to get the bleeding stopped, I’m afraid I would have lost all five of you. That was my worst day of being a doctor ever. Four died and the fifth would have.” He shook his head sadly. “I miss your grandparents. And I only knew them for a short time. I’m sure it’s much harder for you. They were remarkable people.”

  A single tear escaped her eye and rolled slowly down her cheek. “I miss them too. I always try to remind myself that they’re in a wonderful place.”

  He drove for a few minutes and then asked her, “How do you know so surely where they’re at, Giselle?”

  He could feel her looking up at him before she answered. “Our Father in Heaven reveals the things we need through His prophets, Trace. He knows we need to understand His plan for us. He has always spoken through his prophets, and now He does again.

  “I know that sounds strange. I didn’t believe that there was a prophet again at first, but now I know there is. It’s the most comforting thing I’ve ever experienced. The prophet here on earth is the greatest of all gifts. Knowing God’s will, without doubting, is incredibly precious to me.”

  He glanced down at her. How would it be to feel as sure about eternal principles as she did? There was such a sweet, calm intensity about her sometimes that it left little to question. Her knowledge came across with such a sense of sureness. He didn’t doubt her when she was like this. It would have been impossible. Her honesty and faith carried a spirit of its own.

  He had more education than most people the world over, but that was nothing compared to her faith. He’d have gladly traded his years of learning for her knowledge about God. He decided that it was time he understood some things like she did. “Tell me about the power Josiah used when he blessed you. What do you have to do to have it?”

  “The power my grandfather used is God’s power, the same power that Christ used when he walked the earth back in biblical times. Grandfather held the Melchizedek Priesthood. He received it from another priesthood holder who had the authority to give it to him. Men who are baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and are worthy, can hold the priesthood and administer priesthood ordinances using it. It’s the exact same organization, using the same power as Christ’s original church organization with the first twelve apostles like Peter, James and John.”

  He had to question that. “How could it be the same power? Wouldn’t that original authority have been lost after this many years? That was more than eighteen hundred years ago.”

  Nodding her head, she agreed with him. “That’s why it all had to be restored.”

  He remembered reading in Josiah’s journal about how the original church was restored, but he hadn’t equated that with original power and authority. He thought about all these things as he drove with her sitting quietly beside him. He got so involved with his thoughts that he didn’t even think to encourage her to lie back down before they stopped for their nooning. When he helped her down from the wagon seat, he noticed the blood on her dress, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to embarrass her, but after she had eaten, he was insistent that she stay lying flat for the rest of the day.

  His Indian patient didn’t regain consciousness that whole long day as they traveled, and when Trace bedded the camp down that night, he was discouraged, thinking the man probably wouldn’t make it through the night as rough a shape as he was in. When Trace climbed in next to Giselle, she was awake and picked up on his discouragement. When he explained, she put a gentle hand on his chest as she lay beside him. “You’ve done your best, Trace. Let’s give it over to God now and trust that He will do as he sees fit with this man. God is in control and He can do anything. Will you pray with me?”

  He covered her folded hands with his and she prayed simply a
nd fervently that the Indian would be healed if it be God’s will. When she ended her prayer, she patted him gently again, laid her head on his chest, and got so quiet that he thought she had gone right to sleep. With her this close, sleep for him was decidedly elusive. In fact, if she hadn’t been lying right on him, he probably would have gotten clear up and gone back out to the fire.

  As it was, he lay there, struggling to think of something other than how good she felt and how wonderful she smelled. When she spoke to him again more than a half hour later, he was surprised. He’d thought she was long asleep. Her sweet voice and her breath on his skin did nothing to allay his struggle.

  “Trace? Are you still awake?”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah. Why?”

  “I just wondered. I’m awake too. I can’t sleep for some reason tonight.”

  He chuckled at her softly. She seemed honestly perplexed about that. He wasn’t perplexed. He knew exactly why he couldn’t sleep.

  Chapter 10

  That night they heard wolves again for the first time in weeks, and she rolled over tight against him. She seemed to go right back to sleep again, but he wasn’t that lucky. For the second time that night he tried to focus on anything but her.

  It had taken him long enough to drop off to sleep both times that night that he was still tired in the morning, and probably would have still been in bed at sunup if he hadn’t heard Dog growl. He got up and slipped out of the wagon to see what was going on. He was pleasantly surprised, actually. Dog was growling at the Indian.

  He was awake—if you could call it that. His eyes were as open as he could get them, as swollen as his face was, and even though he was still feverish, his eyes were clear and he was with it enough to be afraid when Trace came to check on him. Trace could tell he had no idea what to think when Trace approached him to touch his forehead to feel how hot he was.