The Courageous Brides Collection
Page 9
James rose, unwilling to have a lady stand while he sat. Whatever the manners might be out here, his would not falter.
Miss Nelson dipped her head. “I am happy to serve anyone in need, Colonel.”
“You are a credit to your father, Miss Nelson. I shall have a lieutenant see you home.”
James snapped to attention. “Sir, I request that Miss Nelson remain, and she’s agreed.”
Dropping the lady’s hand, the colonel swooped over to him like a great bird of prey. “What’s this?”
“I cannot tend both the military and native occupants of this fort single-handedly.” He worked his jaw, for it galled him to have to repeat his earlier words. He’d been beholden to a lady once before. Never again. Still…He set his jaw. “I need Miss Nelson’s help. She’s proven to be a valuable assistant.”
The colonel shook his head. “That may be true, but as I said, this is not a lawless garrison. Only married women or slaves may reside inside these walls.”
Miss Nelson lifted a hand toward the window. “Yet you’re allowing an entire population of females to stay the winter, many of which are neither married or slave.”
James clenched his teeth, biting back a smirk. Intelligent and plucky? What other qualities did she hide behind those long lashes?
The colonel narrowed his eyes. “They are captives, Miss Nelson. They do not fall into the aforementioned categories.”
James grasped the opening that might be the colonel’s undoing—though insubordination might very well earn him a night’s stay in the brig. “My understanding, sir, is those natives had nothing to do with an uprising, and in many cases, aided the settlers in escaping. You pride yourself on maintaining a lawful camp, yet I ask you, is justice served by locking up those that are as innocent as the victims of the massacre?”
“They will not be locked up, Doctor. They are free to come and go, though it is for their benefit to remain inside the encampment down on the flats.”
“And it is to the fort’s benefit if Miss Nelson remains as well.”
The colonel’s nostrils flared. A bullish snort followed. “It is for the safety of the lady that she be escorted to her home.”
“Upon my word, Colonel, I will vouch for the lady’s safety the entire time she’s here.” Immediately he stiffened. That had either been the most noble vow he’d ever given—or the most foolish.
“This is highly irregular!” The commander’s voice bounced from wall to wall.
Quite the contrast to Miss Nelson’s quiet gaze out the window. “So is that.” She indicated with the tip of her head.
“My dear.” Once again the colonel reached for her hand, patting it between his. “Life is hard here, and with winter coming on, it will only get worse.”
She lifted her chin, and James couldn’t help but marvel.
“I understand, sir, but is it not true that God doesn’t always call us to the comfortable places?”
With a long sigh, the colonel released her and turned to James. “Keep your eye on this one, Doctor, for she knows her own mind, and quite possibly the mind of God as well. I will hold you fully accountable for her as long as she’s here. Is that clear?”
He nodded, stiff and curt, unsure if he should shout a victory cry or hang his head in defeat. After the death of his parents, he’d been responsible for his hellion of a younger sister, and been glad of it when he finally handed her off to a husband.
Hopefully Miss Nelson would be easier to keep track of.
Chapter Three
A rap on the door startled Emmy awake. Rising, she rubbed a kink in her neck from a fitful first night at the fort then lit the lantern on the nightstand. Guilt had nipped her for displacing the dispensary’s steward, but after sleeping on a mattress that hadn’t been re-ticked in at least a year, she understood his eagerness to leave these quarters and move in with the smithy.
“Five minutes, Miss Nelson.” Dr. Clark’s deep voice seeped through the door. “I’ll await you by the front gate.”
Shivering, she dashed the few steps to her trunk, grudgingly left behind by Jubal. Good thing she’d fallen into bed exhausted last night, for if she’d taken the time to undress, she’d surely be frozen by now. The small hearth had given up its ghost of warmth hours ago. She donned a few more layers then with a quick snuff of the light, dashed off to meet the doctor.
Outside, a few resolute stars lingered in the predawn sky. The first brittle notes of “Reveille” marched across the compound from a bugle boy atop one of the lookout towers. Emmy drew alongside the doctor where he stood next to the massive fort gates. He snapped shut a pocket watch and tucked it away.
“I hope you won’t make tardiness a practice, Miss Nelson.”
His green eyes bore into hers, but there was a smile at the edges. Picking up his kit, he offered his free hand and aided her through a smaller opening cut into the wooden ingress.
The sentry’s gaze followed their movement, and he shut the door behind them.
Her steps, two to the doctor’s one, crunched on the frozen weeds, flattened by yesterday’s procession. Gray light colored the world and her mood. The closer they drew to the encampment, the slower her pace. Forgiveness was one thing. Forgetting, quite another. It wasn’t this tribe that had taken Daniel’s life, but she still felt somewhat a traitor for tending to the “enemy.”
Shoving down the feeling, she hurried ahead, surprised at how much ground the doctor had gained. “When you said you wanted an early start in the morning, you might’ve told me what time to expect. It will be a wonder if anyone’s even stirring in the camp yet.”
“Which is the best time to make our rounds unhindered, and after making diagnoses, we’ll use the rest of the day to administer treatments.”
The trail skirted the fort’s rock walls, just like her mind circled the doctor’s words, trying to make sense of them. Ahh. Of course. Understanding dawned as bright as the orange band rising on the eastern horizon. She peeked up at him. “I gather you’re accustomed to a hospital setting.”
“I am.” He paused at the apex of a sudden sharp descent in the trail and once again offered her his hand. “It’s a bit treacherous here. Hold on.”
His fingers wrapped around hers, and as they picked their way down to the river flats, he righted her when a rock gave way or her shoe caught in a dip. Each time, the strength in his grasp warmed through her gloves and burned up her arm. A base reaction, surely. His attention couldn’t mean anything, for had he not sworn to the colonel to see to her safety? Even so, she liked the way their fingers entwined so perfectly, the way his arm bumped against hers now and again, solid and reassuring.
La! She sucked in a lungful of frigid air, feeling a traitor to Daniel’s memory twice over. Better to put her mind on other things than the feel of this man’s grip.
“Why are you here, Dr. Clark?” she asked. “You don’t seem the sort of man to—”
She clamped her mouth shut. What had gotten into her to speak so freely?
He glanced down at her. “What sort is that, I wonder?”
The first rays of sun stretched across his clean-shaven jaw. His hat rode neatly atop brown hair, brushed back and trimmed since yesterday. Morning light rode his shoulders like a mantle of power. His step was confident, his manners impeccable. She leaned a bit closer and sniffed. Mixing with the acrid scent of early-morning fires rising from the camp, the spicy fragrance of sandalwood tickled her nose, just as she’d expected.
She smiled up at him. “I should think you are better suited to ballrooms and dinner parties than to a rugged outpost in Minnesota.”
He chuckled. “Indeed. You are perceptive, Miss Nelson, and very correct. My time here is a temporary yet necessary step if I’m to be considered for a fellowship at Harvard. Competition for the position is fierce. Most applicants have only book knowledge. I hope to gain an advantage by field experience.”
The trail evened out, and he released her hand. Cold crept up her arm, and she shivered.
Dr. Clark stepped up to one of the armed guards blocking a crude log gate. Withdrawing a signed pass from the colonel, he handed it over.
The soldier leaned aside and spit then gave the paper back. “Don’t know why you want to tend these animals. Ain’t worth the time, you ask me.”
“I didn’t.” The doctor’s tone lowered. “So open the gate and save your commentary.”
The soldier glowered, his skin pocked and ruddy at the cheeks. Red hair, far too long for regulation, shot out from beneath his cap. For a moment she wondered if he’d comply, but with a snap of his head, the other men set about removing the log.
The doctor turned to her with a boyish jaunt to his step. “And so the experience begins, hmm?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. He could have no idea of the apprehension churning in her stomach. Papa would want her to help, Daniel and Aunt Rosamund wouldn’t.
Still, she’d given her word.
As she looked over the slipshod village of buffalo-hide teepees, her gaze followed the rise of smoke curling out the tops like pleading prayers—and she added one of her own.
Oh, Lord, please use this experience to benefit Dr. Clark and bring healing to the Indians—and to my heart.
All the pleasantness of walking with Miss Nelson vanished the moment James stepped into the internment camp. Death was in the air, as tangible as the misty vapor snorted out from the horses they passed. Moaning, coughing, retching…the sounds of suffering nearly drove him to his knees.
Clusters of teepees formed a circle on the patch of cleared ground, bordered on two sides by the confluence of the Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers. Good for fresh water, bad for flooding.
Sharp groans from the tent on his right severed his speculations. He met the eyes of Miss Nelson. “You ready?”
She nodded.
For a moment, he paused at the flap of a door. How exactly did one enter such a shelter? There was no knocker or even something solid to rap against. Ought he call a greeting or—
Another cry of pain and he yanked the flap open and dove in.
The stench inside twisted his gut. Good thing he’d not eaten breakfast. A tiny fire burned at the center, adding fumes to the noxious stink of dysentery. Beside him, Miss Nelson pressed a hand to her stomach, yet did not gag. Two women and three small children huddled on woolen blankets on one side of the tent. A disheveled elder curled into a ball opposite them, releasing another wail.
Reaching into his greatcoat pocket, he retrieved a small pad of paper and a pencil.
Miss Nelson edged closer to him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Is that all you’re going to do, scratch a few notes? Will you not examine her first?”
“No need. The odor in here and the way she’s clutching her abdomen says it all. The woman has dysentery. I’ll order clean bedding and plenty of fresh water.”
“You might want to add castor oil and ginger to that water.”
He stifled a huff, anything to keep from breathing more than necessary. “Unconventional, but not dangerous. I suppose it’s worth a try.”
Though doubtful they understood, he mumbled a thank-you to the tent’s inhabitants; then he and Miss Nelson retreated outside to the mercy of fresh air. By now, the sun cleared the horizon, washing the encampment in hope—but not for long. The pathetic bawl of a baby pulled Miss Nelson from his side and into the next tent.
He dashed after her and grabbed her sleeve, holding her back. “Stay next to me. Touch nothing.” He didn’t need to tell her to cover her nose, for she pressed her palm against her face.
The stench of death hung low and heavy, thick as the smoke suspended over the fire at the center. On one blanket, two skeletal girls clung to each other, locked forever in a perverse embrace. Sometime during the night, both had passed on. Across from them, a woman lay, staring up at their entrance, a baby crying in her arms. Both wore the first bloom of a spreading rash. Once again he drew out his notebook.
Miss Nelson wrenched from his grasp and darted ahead, grabbing a dipper of water on her way toward the babe.
His heart skipped a beat. “Miss Nelson! If that woman has smallpox, you’ve just exposed yourself.”
She didn’t so much as acknowledge him, just lifted the water to the woman’s lips while she cooed to settle the baby. He watched, horrified and helpless.
“Look closer, Doctor,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s measles.”
A growl rumbled in his chest. “Then you’ve exposed yourself to—”
“Nothing. I’ve already had it.”
Ought he rejoice or admonish? He settled for a sigh. “I’ll have an attendant remove these bodies. There’s no more we can do for the woman and her babe but let time heal and set up a quarantine around this tent.”
Miss Nelson rose, skirting the small fire. “Clearly this woman can’t care for the babe. Maybe I ought stay and—”
“While your concern does you justice, truly, you will be of more help by coming with me.” He pocketed his notes and held the flap aside. “After you.”
She hesitated, her brow creasing a disagreement. After the space of a few breaths, she swept passed him. He ducked out after her, expecting a fight.
Instead, she huddled next to his side, pale-faced and silent. What the devil?
In front of them, one of the few native men strode by, neither addressing nor even looking at them. Why would a passing captive cause her skirts to quiver so?
He guided her aside, into the harbor between two tent walls. “Is there something I should know, Miss Nelson?”
She averted her gaze, focusing on tugging her coat sleeves well past her wrists. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, Doctor.”
He frowned. “Yet you tremble.”
“It’s cold.”
“It’s more than that.” Setting down his bag, he lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to quit fussing with her sleeves. “Tell me.”
A sigh deflated her. Around them, the sounds of fires being stoked and waking children increased.
Lifting an eyebrow, he cocked his head, an effect that oft’ times worked like a charm. “Either you tell me now, or I suspect we’ll have an audience very soon.”
Her eyes flashed. “Very well. If you must know, I was betrothed once. Daniel was a surveyor, the best, really. Which is why the government sought him out. He was on a project west of here. Pawnee country.”
Her words slowed like the winding down of a clock, the last coming out on a ragged whisper. “He never came back.”
Pain twisted her face, the kind of agony he witnessed when imparting the news of a loved one’s death. But this time, a distinct urge settled deep in his bones, to gather her in his arms and hold her until the pain went away. He clenched his hands, once again feeling helpless—and dug his nails into his palms.
“Perhaps he will come back.” He regretted the platitude as soon as it left his lips.
Her pain disappeared, replaced with a dark scowl. “You do not understand the Pawnee, Doctor.”
Morning sun angled between the tents, lighting the complex woman in front of him. No wonder she took the suffering of others to heart, for it was a familiar companion.
He reached for her then lowered his hand, suddenly ashamed. “I am discovering, Miss Nelson, there is much I do not understand.”
Chapter Four
Emmy paced at the front gate, working a rut into the dirt. Overhead, the late-November sun was lethargic, the entire world washed of autumn’s brilliance. It was the brown time, the dead…as if color packed up its bags and fled before winter arrived.
Glancing over her shoulder, she squinted along the parade ground toward the colonel’s quarters, past soldiers scrambling for inspection. The door that’d swallowed Dr. Clark an hour ago remained shut. She lifted her eyes higher, over the roof, where a cloud of smoke rose from the river flats below. She’d dallied too long already.
Despite the doctor’s instructions to wait for him, she turned to the sentry. “Could you let Dr. Clark
know I’ve gone ahead?”
Morning light caught the fuzz on his chin. The man-boy could hardly be more than sixteen. “Sure, miss. Not like him to be late, eh?”
Her lips quirked. “Over the past three weeks, I daresay we’ve both learned he’s punctual to a fault.”
“Truth is”—the sentry’s gaze shifted side to side, then he stepped closer, lowering his voice for her ears only—“I’d rather take a whoopin’ than live through another one of Dr. Clark’s tongue-lashings. But don’t tell him I said so.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” She mimicked his conspiratorial stance. “For I quite agree.”
She strolled through the gate—already open for the day—accompanied by the soldier’s laughter.
The trail didn’t seem as long anymore. She might even wager on her ability to trek it in the dark. This was the first time, though, that no strong arm steadied her on the descent. She missed that. And, surprisingly, she also missed the doctor’s banter, stimulating as the black coffee served for breakfast. A frown tugged her mouth as she sniffed. Neither was the air quite as sweet without the hint of his sandalwood shaving tonic. Yes, though this be the same path, this time, everything was different.
Her balance teetered on some loosened sandstone, as unsettling as her rogue thoughts. She threw out her hands, her father’s bag nearly flying from her grasp. Pausing, she negotiated her next step and the curious attachment she felt to the doctor. Working long days, side by side, it was only natural to grow accustomed to a person’s ways. Surely that’s why she missed Dr. Clark’s presence this morn.
That settled, she picked her way down the embankment, praying all the way that Private Grainger wouldn’t be on sentry duty today, especially without the doctor at her side. The newly built walls of the encampment towered in front of her, and she smirked at the irony of the timbers. The very people group who attacked whites now needed to be protected from them.
She scurried ahead, her heart sinking to her stomach when she saw the shock of red hair shooting out from beneath a private’s cap. A feral smile lit his face, one that would surely visit her nightmares. She held out her pass as a buffer.