Obviously, his touching her hadn’t affected him as it had her. She wrapped her arms around her waist and pressed on her stomach to stop its quivering. “I came to midwife Mrs. Bentz.”
He tilted his head to the side. “That’s the only reason?”
Polly nodded. Mamadele and Jerome had sent her with plenty of money to buy a farm and start a new life as a midwife, but for now, she didn’t look any further than getting Mrs. Bentz’s babies born. Gordon’s confused look prompted her to say, “The first rule of being a midwife is to put the mother-to-be above all else, and that’s what I am doing.”
“Surely you have dreams of your own.” Gordon replaced the hat on his head. His eyes bored into hers.
Polly’s hands began to shake. She clasped them together to hide how his gaze affected her. “No. Not at this time. Why are you going to Oregon?”
“I have three reasons.” He raised his hand and counted on his fingers. “One, to preach the Word of God; two, to raise Daniel in the great outdoors, as his parents intended; and three, to farm a piece of land.” He looked up at her and grinned.
She noted that he’d not mentioned marrying or settling down with a family. But, in a way, Daniel was now his family. Maybe, thanks to her meddling, he’d decided the young boy was all the family he needed. “Those are very good reasons. Will Daniel go with you when you travel to preach?”
“I believe so. God willing, we’ll settle in a small town that needs a regular preacher and won’t have to travel much.” Gordon walked to the edge of their shelter.
Her gaze followed his out into the darkness. The storm still raged around them, but its intensity had lessened. What would it be like to know what path you were to take in life? Mamadele had laid out the path for her, but was it the path she wanted to follow? Being a midwife was a great calling, but was it her calling? All her life, Mamadele had trained her to be a midwife. Her journal encouraged Polly to press on with the same drive and love for midwifery that Mamadele had, but was this truly to be her path?
Polly looked up and found the reverend studying her. His blue eyes searched her face. Could he see into her soul? She lifted her chin. Did he know of the inner turmoil that she dealt with every day? Could he see the feelings of abandonment, aloneness, and sorrow?
Gordon searched Polly’s troubled eyes. Protectiveness and something more welled in his gut. Various emotions washed over her face. Tears filled her hazel eyes. But the moment she noticed him watching her, she seemed to lift an invisible defensive wall.
“Where is Daniel?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.
He sighed. “In the wagon.”
Her voice rose above the rain. “Alone in this storm?” She wrapped her shawl around her slender shoulders and proceeded to walk around him. “We need to get back. You need to get back.” Gordon grabbed her arm to stop her from entering the inky darkness of the storm. “He’s not alone, and we are not going back yet.” Lightning illuminated their shelter.
She swirled to face him. Her wet dress slapped his legs. “You cannot hold me here.” She jerked her arm from his hand.
He felt his temper begin to rise. “It’s too dangerous for you to go out in this lightning.” A loud crashing boom filled the air between them.
Polly jumped. Her frightened eyes searched his face. Her voice sounded small as she admitted, “I shouldn’t have come out into the storm.”
Gordon looked up at the craggy roof over their heads and silently prayed, Thank You, Lord. The sound of her wet skirt dragging on the dirt floor alerted him that she was on the move again.
She flopped down on the rock he’d recently vacated. He’d been thankful earlier when his knees had gone weak and the stone had been there to support him. Did Polly feel the same way now? Was the storm affecting her, or was it his presence? She wrapped her arms around her waist once more and rocked herself. He wanted to envelop her in his arms, hold her close to his chest, and smooth the wet hair from her wide forehead. He wanted to assure her everything would be fine. His gaze moved to her full lips. The desire to kiss away her fear urged him to move toward her.
He took a step, and then the minister in Gordon came to his rescue. “No, probably not, but I understand your need to check on the mule.”
“Her name is Beulah.” A flush filled Polly’s cheeks, and she ducked her head.
“Beulah. I like that name. My mule has a name, too.” He knelt in front of her.
Her eyes rose once more to meet his. “What is it?”
“Rawhide.” Gordon waited for her to voice the question that sprang into her eyes.
“Why Rawhide?”
He felt the smile tug at his lips. “Because my hide was raw after riding her for a few days.”
Polly’s laughter filled the small shelter. It reminded him of butterflies landing on pretty pink flowers, graceful and soft. He laughed with her. Maybe this young woman wasn’t all salt and vinegar. Could she be another reason God sent him to Oregon? He’d always wanted a family, and this trip had already provided him with a son. Was Polly Schultz God’s idea of wife material?
At this moment, with her lips spread into a soft smile that touched her beautiful hazel eyes, he hoped so.
Chapter 6
I’m here, Idella!” Polly put her foot on the step but stopped as Idella shoved aside the canvas flaps over the tailgate of her wagon. “What’s wrong? Are you…”
“I’m fine. It’s—”
A woman’s moan came from the wagon’s interior. Polly looked toward the sound then jerked her gaze back to Idella, who was climbing out of the wagon. Idella turned and held out her arms. “Come on, Luke.”
The toddler scrambled into his mama’s arms as another restrained groan came from the wagon.
Polly whispered, “Who is that?”
“Emma Edwards.” Idella lowered her voice. “I thought it best to keep her here until you arrived.”
Polly nodded, read all the things the woman left unsaid in her expression, and climbed in the wagon. Emma lay on a soft mattress to one side, clutching her swollen belly. Her face was pinched and pale, her mouth compressed into a thin line.
Polly made her way to the side of the bed. “When is your baby due?”
The young woman gave a soft hiss and rubbed her hands over the fabric that covered her stomach. “Next month.”
Emma’s eyes closed, and Polly noted how she clenched her jaw. “Is the pain constant? Or does it come and go like cramps?”
Emma released a breath and opened her eyes. “Like cramps. I think… think she doesn’t know how to tell time.” She tried to smile through the pain.
Polly nodded, kept her expression serene. “When did the cramps begin?”
“Not long ago. I was carrying the Johnson boy. The pain doubled me over, and I had to put him down. Idella saw me when their wagon came by and they stopped. She told me to lay on the mattress. I know you aren’t my midwife, Polly, but Idella says you can help me.” Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to lose my baby.”
Polly reached out and squeezed her hand. How many times had she heard women in labor say those words? Too many to count. She answered as Mamadele would. “I cannot promise you that will not happen, Emma. But I will promise you that I will do everything I know how to keep it from happening.”
“That’s all I can ask. Thank you, Polly.” Emma grunted in pain and closed her eyes again.
“You’re welcome, Emma. What is your favorite song?” Polly moved to the end of the wagon and opened the box that held her midwife satchel. She pulled it to her and looked for the items she would need to assist Emma with the birth of her new baby. Oil, needles and thread, a special candle scented with mint, and clean rags. Everything was there, although she hadn’t planned on using them until November when Idella’s baby was due.
“‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus,’” Emma groaned. “Polly, can I stand up?”
Polly immediately moved to her side. “Of course, let me help you.”
; As soon as Emma was standing, she bent over at the waist. Polly stood by her side as the wave of pain passed. She tried to remember everything Adele had taught her. “Would you like me to rub your back, Emma? Sometimes that helps.”
A midwife does what she must to comfort and give assurance to the mother. Mamadele’s words drifted to her. At Emma’s nod of approval, Polly began rubbing her lower back. “When the baby comes, we will sing your favorite song, Emma. How does that sound?”
“Heavenly.”
Two hours later, Polly announced, “I can see the head.” She did what she’d seen Adele do many times. She poured a little oil on her hands, worked to soothe the skin that formed a perfect halo around the infant’s head, and said, “You can push now, Emma.” While Emma pushed, Polly began singing: “What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear! What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!” She listened to Idella sing along outside the wagon.
Polly supported the baby as she slipped from Emma’s body. First the little head, then the shoulders, body, and toes. Thank You, Lord. Thank You, Lord. “It’s a girl!” Polly announced for Emma and the small crowd waiting outside the wagon.
She smiled at Emma as they heard a loud whoop from outside. “Sounds like your husband is pleased.”
“Lawrence! Did you hear that? We have a girl,” Emma called to her husband.
His head came through the opening at the front of the wagon. “I sure did.” He pushed his way into the cramped space and patted Emma’s shoulder.
The young mother started to rise. “Wait for the placenta, Emma,” Polly warned her just as she’d heard Mamadele do in the past. “You can hold her if you want to.”
The baby took a huge gulp of air when Polly swatted her bottom. A tiny cry exited her young lungs, and then Polly laid the baby on her mother’s stomach.
“She’s so beautiful, Emma. You did good.” Lawrence took a small hand into his. His eyes filled with wonder.
Polly gulped down the lump that had formed in her throat at this father’s love for his daughter. Her own father had abandoned her shortly after she’d exited her mother’s body. Pushing back the hurt, Polly turned her attention on Emma. “Everything is fine, Emma. You did wonderfully.”
“I knew she was coming when I heard you start to sing. Idella told us to listen, and when the song started the baby would be entering the world.” Moisture filled Mr. Edwards’s big brown eyes. “Thank you, Miss Polly.”
“I’m glad I could be here, Mr. Edwards. May I pray a prayer of thanksgiving for your family?”
“Oh yes.” Emma smiled at her, and then she and her husband bowed their heads.
September 22, 1860. Thus far, I haven’t written in this journal about being a midwife, but today I have something to write about. Little Laura Joy Edwards was born tonight at eight o’clock. She weighs six pounds and is about nineteen inches long. She has fine blond hair and big blue eyes. I’ve never seen a papa so proud of his little girl.
You may be afraid when called to help deliver a baby, but the joy you will feel afterward will wash away all those fears. Seeing God at work, creating life, fills me with a joy like no other. I now understand why Mamadele is a midwife.
Gordon stood off to the side of the camp. He’d just finished his round of guard duty and saw Polly duck into her tent. Her face appeared pale, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. Over the last month, it seemed every woman in the train either was expecting or thought she might be. Since she’d delivered the Edwards baby, the women called on her for constant assistance.
Polly pushed the flap back and stepped out into the evening air. She lifted her eyes to the heavens as if in prayer. He waited until she reached back inside and pulled out a water pail. For the past month, he’d wanted to spend time with her, but she always seemed to be surrounded by women, children, or both. She started walking down to the river.
Gordon fell into step beside her. What was she doing? Didn’t she realize the dangers of leaving the wagon train? He knew the wagon master had warned them all to stay close. He worked to keep the irritation out of his voice as he announced his presence: “It’s kind of late to be going to the river alone.”
Her jaw worked for a moment, and then she said, “I’m not alone, Reverend. You’re with me.”
“So I am.” A breeze lifted the ties of her bonnet, and her sweet scent filled his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the minty fragrance. Sensing she wanted silence, Gordon allowed himself to be content just to be with her. The trip to the river for water would be swift, and then they’d return to the safety of numbers, he assured himself.
She surprised him by stopping at the water’s edge, sitting down, and slipping off her shoes. She unwrapped cloth from around her feet. They were swollen and red, and she dipped her toes into the water.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Miss Schultz.” He moved to stand beside her.
Polly sighed. “Really, Reverend, I don’t care if you think it’s a good idea or not.”
Patience, Gordon, use patience. He took a deep breath and tried to do as his inner voice said and find patience. “Miss Schultz…”
“And stop calling me Miss Schultz,” she snapped. “Everyone calls me Miss Polly or just plain Polly. I don’t know why you can’t do the same.”
Gordon took another deep breath. He kept his gaze on the hills around them. “Miss Polly. There is a reason the wagon master doesn’t want women out at dusk, at the river, by themselves.”
She wiggled her toes in the water. “I’m sure there is, Reverend. But you are with me now, so I’m not alone.”
Why was she being so stubborn? Did she really not understand the dangers? Using the same steady tone he used with Daniel, Gordon tried again: “See the hills all around us?”
Polly nodded without looking up.
“They are full of Indians who are watching our every move right now.” When she didn’t answer, Gordon knelt on one knee beside her.
In a soft voice, Polly whispered, “Don’t look now, Reverend, but we’ve been joined by the Indians.”
“What?” Gordon moved to stand, but she held on to his arm.
“Lower your voice,” she hissed and then in slow motion began pulling her feet from the water. She used one of the cloths she’d wrapped around them to dry off. “To our right, we have company.” Polly slipped her feet into worn shoes, and slowly they stood.
Gordon felt the presence of the Indians now. He took her elbow and held his head high. With no gun, no horse, and a woman at his side, he knew they were in trouble.
As silent as shadows, Indians surrounded them.
Chapter 7
The scream welled up in Polly’s throat, but no sound came out. Within moments of the arrival of the Indians, Gordon was on the ground. He’d wake up with a knot on the back of his head the size of a cantaloupe.
Her mouth had been stuffed with something soft and then bound so that she couldn’t scream. Her hands were tied behind her back, causing her shoulders to begin a slow ache. She faced her captor. What were his plans?
The dark eyes returned her stare. He didn’t seem angry—if anything, his expression appeared sad and almost hopeful. Then he picked her up and tossed her over his back, much like a sack of potatoes.
His shoulder blade in her stomach cut deep with every step he ran. But at least her feet were off the hard-packed ground. She’d been foolish and brought this upon herself and Gordon. Tears stung the back of her eyes, but Polly refused to allow even one to fall.
Would the wagon master send someone out for them? Or would their rush to get over the mountains cause him to leave them behind?
Polly twisted and raised her head to see where they were going. She counted six men running in the dark, the moonlight their only means of seeing. Gordon’s head bounced against the back of the brave who carried him. His eyes were closed. Why hadn’t they left him and just taken her? What evil plans did these men have for them? She shuddered at the thought.
Her head ached as blood continued to pound in her temples. They seemed to go on forever. Every part of her body began to protest, with the exception of her feet, she thought irrationally. She felt sick, the pounding in her head more than she could stand. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on Mamadele. What would she do in this situation? Would they ever see each other again?
Several times throughout the night, the braves stopped and set them down to rest. They never allowed Polly and Gordon to talk or communicate. She hated what was happening to them but could see no way to escape. Just when she felt as if her head might stop pounding, they would pick them up and move on.
When the sun peeked over the horizon, they stopped. The man set Polly down on the ground and held her arms to steady her.
Gordon’s captor did the same. A small trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. “It’s all right, Polly.”
With her mouth gagged, Polly couldn’t answer, so she nodded. The brave tears she’d held earlier slid down her face as she realized this was all her fault. The Indian took the gag out of her mouth and wiped her tears. She looked up to find his gaze also filled with sorrow.
She cleared her throat and then asked, “Why did you do this?”
He didn’t answer but walked around behind her and untied her hands. She rubbed her wrists. They were in a small camp close to another stream of water. Polly counted ten tepees and saw there were about thirty horses in a corral off to the right of the camp. One tepee stood off by itself.
A woman’s scream pierced the air.
Polly jerked as the horrors of what might be going on in the tepee rushed into her tired mind. The Indian began pulling her in that direction.
“Stop!” Gordon yelled and jerked against the two men who held him.
The Indian ignored Gordon and continued to pull Polly forward. She looked back and saw that Gordon had been forced to kneel on the ground. His panic-filled eyes followed her. Polly dug her heels into the hard ground and twisted against the hand that held her.
Where the Heart Is Romance Collection Page 10
