A sick feeling washed over her. Emma swallowed hard, faced the thought that had been pushing at her all day. Perhaps she did not possess the skills needed to be a good doctor. She did not know what more to do for Anne. Or for little Jenny. Her learning was but a poor substitute for Papa Doc’s medical experience, or her feisty temperament for their mother’s patient, loving care.
“Mama? Maaaamaaaa!”
Jenny! Emma whipped around and scurried over the red box into the wagon, all speculation about her possible inadequacy forgotten at the toddler’s frightened wail.
“Shhh, Jenny, shhh. Everything is all right.” She smiled and patted the little blanket-covered shoulder. Round blue eyes, bright with tears, stared up at her. She studied their clear, focused gaze, held back the shout of relief and joy swelling her chest. The toddler’s tiny lower lip protruded, trembled. She touched it with her fingertip and shook her head. “No, no. I will get your mama for you. But you must not cry, Jenny. It is not good for you to cry.”
She turned and leaned out over the wagon seat. “Lorna!”
Lorna Lewis glanced her way, paled then sent a stern look toward her children standing by the wagon. “Don’t you young’uns move from this spot ’till I say! Lily, you hand out the biscuits.” She shoved a crock into her daughter’s hands and turned, her movements stiff as she moved toward the wagon. “Is it—is Jenny—”
Emma smiled. “Jenny is awake, Lorna! And she wants her mama.” She laughed her delight at the joy that spread across the woman’s face and ducked back inside the wagon to untie the knot in the scarf that held Jenny secure.
“You must feed Jenny only broth, perhaps some thin gruel until we see how she tolerates food, Lorna.” Emma smiled at the toddler resting happily on her mother’s lap. “And keep her calm. Do not let the others overly excite her.”
“C’n I ride in the swing bed, Pa?”
Oh dear! Emma turned around on her camp stool and looked up at the other Lewis children crowded together on the driver’s seat watching Zachary Thatcher and their father hang the sling bed inside their wagon. Had she made a mistake suggesting the transfer of the bed? What if—
“You’ll ride on that seat or walk same as you been doing, Gabe. And that goes fer the rest of you, too. Jenny’s bad hurt and this bed is special to help her get better. The rest of you young’uns ain’t to be crowdin’ round or hangin’ on it. You hear me?”
“Yes, Pa!”
Emma smiled and let her worry drain away. Joseph Lewis’s gruff orders and the children’s chorused answer left no doubt as to Jenny’s safety.
“Dr. Emma! Jenny’s—her eyes closed sudden like.”
The fear in Lorna Lewis’s voice caught at her throat.
No! Not again! Please, not again! Emma turned back. Jenny’s color was good. She lifted the edge of the blanket covering her small patient and placed her fingertips on a tiny wrist. The pulse was strong and steady. “She’s only fallen asleep, Lorna.”
“Oh. Praise be to God. It was so sudden like, I thought…”
Emma nodded, closed her eyes against a surge of relief so strong she was lightheaded. “Doctor?”
“Yes?”
“I been thinkin’ on how we can pay you for savin’ our Jenny. We ain’t got much cash money. We put about all we had into outfittin’ the wagon an’—”
“There is no charge, Lorna.” Emma opened her eyes and smiled at the grateful mother. “I am pleased to have helped.”
“All the same…” Lorna gave her a hopeful look. “Mayhap I can cook your meals?”
Emma shook her head. “That is a very generous offer. But I have engaged Mrs. Lundquist to prepare meals for my sister and me. And truly, you need not—”
Lorna’s pointed chin lifted. “We pay our way. I’ll think of somethin’.”
“Miss Allen.”
The deep voice brought a tautness to her stomach that had nothing to do with worry. Emma turned. Zachary Thatcher was striding toward her. She rose. “Is the bed ready for Jenny, Mr. Thatcher?”
“Yes.” He stopped in front of her. “But what I wanted was to warn you again not to go off by yourself like you did last night. These foolhardy—”
“Foolhardy!” Emma glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping toddler, snagged her bottom lip with her teeth and flounced over to her wagon. She stepped into the shade on the other side and whirled to face the wagon master following in her wake. “I find your comment both inaccurate and insulting, Mr. Thatcher. I did not go for a pleasure ride in that storm. I went after a lost and, I assumed, injured child. And I found her!”
“Yes. By luck. It is certain it was not any measure of trailing skills on your part that led you to the child. All you did was endanger yourself.”
Ungracious words. But true. Pride kept her back stiff. “I concede the danger, made greater due to my lack of frontier skills, Mr. Thatcher. I was aware of it last night. But I am a doctor. I could not leave that child to the mercies of that storm knowing she would likely die. I had to try and find her.”
He shook his head. “No, you did not. That was my responsibility, Miss Allen. Or her father’s.” His gaze bored down into hers. “Given the gravity of the situation, Mrs. Lewis—or you—should have come to one of us. Had you gotten lost it would only have made the situation worse. I would have had two people to search for instead of one.”
Emma clenched her hands, stared up into those unflinching, unforgiving blue eyes. The man had no understanding. No compassion. “Mrs. Lewis was trying to find her child while you men were busy securing wagons or herding stock. She needed help. Her child needed help. I provided it.”
“Because of luck!” The words were all but snorted. Zachary Thatcher snatched his hat off, ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair, then slapped the hat back on his head. “Had I been informed of the situation, I would have found the child because of skill. With no danger to any other.”
Emma raised her chin. “And would you have recognized and known how to treat her injuries, Mr. Thatcher? Are your skills equal to that? Jenny needed a doctor. I went to her then, and I will go to anyone who needs my help in the future—in spite of personal risk.” His blue eyes darkened. She took a step back as he moved closer. He took another step, trapped her against the wagon.
“Have you no sense? That is feckless, thoughtless reasoning. You were fortunate this time, Miss Allen. The next time that may not be the case.”
The words were chilling. More so because of the slow, quiet way he spoke them. They brought to mind that deep hidden chasm, the many dangers he had warned the emigrants about. She tore her gaze from his eyes, stared at a brass button on his shirt. “Then should I come to danger, it will be on my head. You, sir, are exonerated of all blame.”
A strange sort of sound, not unlike a low growl, emanated from him. Emma jerked her gaze to his face. He opened his mouth, clamped it shut again, pivoted on his heel and strode away. She took a long breath, sagged against the wagon and watched him go.
Comanche’s hoofs thundered against the ground, crushing the new grass, flinging small clods of prairie soil into the air. Zach leaned forward as they climbed a rise, urged Comanche to greater speed as they pounded down the other side. Stubborn! Stubborn! Stubborn! Downright mulish! That’s what she was. The woman had no common sense! Standing there looking up at him with those big brown eyes and declaring he was exonerated of all blame if she came to harm. As if that was what worried him—being blamed. How did you reason with someone like that? “God, give me patience to deal with foolish women!”
Zach glanced up at the sun, frowned. Two hours’ travel time left today, at best. Snows would catch them for sure if they moved at this pace. His frown slid downward into a scowl. It was early—little more than two weeks out—but the Allen woman was going to endanger them all if she continued to delay the train. Not to mention she would cost him his bonus, as well. He had to make her see reason. But how?
Zach lifted his head and sniffed the air, caught the scent of
water. He slowed Comanche to a trot, headed for the slight rise on his left to look over the lay of the land and choose their camping spot for the evening. He had wanted to cross this stream today and camp on the other side, but the morning’s delay had squelched that plan.
So what could he do? If she were a man, he would have no problem. He had dealt with insubordinate troopers. But he had no jail to throw her in. And he sure couldn’t beat sense into her with his fists, though he was tempted to tie her up, toss her in her wagon and keep her there until they reached Oregon country! The woman was going to get herself hurt, or killed…or worse.
Memories of the mutilated bodies of settlers unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of angry hostiles flooded his head. His stomach knotted. By all that was holy, if it were not for her ill sister, he would throw Dr. Emma Allen over his saddle, heel Comanche into a gallop and not stop until they reached Independence where he would put her on a steamboat for parts east!
Emma walked beside the wagon, grateful to be spared the punishment of riding. Still, her legs were beginning to tremble in protest of the exercise. She sighed and swatted at the insects buzzing around her head. If only she could ride Traveler. But that was not possible without her riding outfit. She had no sidesaddle, and she certainly could not ride astride in this dress.
Her lips twisted in disgust. She was beginning to realize how very inappropriate her gowns were for her situation. The opulent skirts dragged against the grass, making walking difficult and tiring. And the shimmer and color of the silk seemed to attract insects. She waved her hand through the air in front of her face, putting a stop to the annoying buzzing and humming for a moment. When she stopped, the insects returned. She sighed and trudged on. If only she had not lost her riding hat in the storm, she could have rearranged the gossamer fabric that formed the long tails into a protective veil.
“Oh!”
Emma stopped, glanced in the direction of the startled cry. A woman was struggling to rise from the ground, a small boy beside her. The woman gained her feet, took a step, cried out and fell forward. Emma grasped her voluminous skirts, lifted the hems free of her feet and forced her tired legs to run across the grassy distance. She pushed her skirts aside and knelt beside the woman seated on the ground holding her foot. “What happened?”
“I stepped in a hole and my ankle turned. My foot hurts… It’s swelling.”
“Yes, I see. I shall have to remove your shoe.” Emma smiled reassurance, undid the laces and eased the shoe off to an accompanying hiss of sucked-in breath. “This will hurt a bit, but I must examine your—” The foot was drawn aside. She looked up. A flush crept over the woman’s pale face.
“You’re that doctor woman I’ve heard talk of, aren’t you?”
Doctor woman. Emma’s heart sank. She held her face impassive. “Yes. I am a doctor.”
The woman nodded. “Thank you for the kindness, but I’ll manage now.”
“And how shall you do that, Mrs…?”
“Swinton.” The flush deepened. The woman looked down and picked up her shoe. “Edward will help me. My husband said I was to have naught to do with you.”
Would there ever come a time when those words did not hurt or make her furious? Emma nodded and looked at the boy. He was too young to send to the wagons for help. “I understand, Mrs Swinton. And I have no desire to force my ministrations on you. But I am afraid you are going to have to accept my assistance. Without examining you, I cannot tell if the injury is a break or a bad sprain, but the swelling tells me it is severe. You should not walk on it lest you do it further damage. And your son is not big enough to help you back to the train.” She forced a smile and drove bitter words out of her mouth. “I am sure, under the circumstances, your husband will forgive you. You are not disobeying his edict. You have refused my doctoring skills. I will only help you back to your wagon, as would anyone. I am certain he would not want you left here helpless and in pain.”
The woman looked toward the wagons filing by in the distance, pressed her lips into a firm line and nodded.
Emma rose and looked at the boy. “I shall need you to stand just here and help balance your mother for she must not put her foot down. Are you strong enough to do that?”
The boy gave an eager nod and moved into place.
Emma moved to the woman’s side and bent to put her arm around her waist. “Now, Mrs. Swinton, place your arm about my neck and we shall rise together on the count of three. But do not put your foot down.” She reached up to her shoulder, grasped the woman’s wrist and braced herself to lift her. “Ready? One…two…three.”
“These wagons give a very punishing ride. And they are so confining it makes me restless.” Emma gave her sister a hopeful look. “Do you feel well enough to come outside and sit with me until nightfall, Anne? It is a lovely evening.”
“Perhaps tomorrow, Emma. It has been a long, wearying day and I want only to retire.” Anne reached to pull the pins from her hair, winced, gave her a wan imitation of her once-vibrant smile and picked up her brush.
“I shall leave a dose of laudanum should you need it to sleep.” Emma pulled a tiny, cork-stoppered vial from her pocket, placed it on a trunk holding teaching supplies and climbed from the wagon. She closed and latched the tailgate, straightened the end flaps of the cover that fell into place. A canvas curtain that effectively shut her out of Anne’s life. She sighed and turned away from the wagon toward the openness of the prairie. William was right. She could not heal Anne’s grief. It was an impossible task. Yet she could not simply give up and let Anne perish of a broken heart. There had to be something that would make her want to live again. And she would not rest until she found that something.
She strolled on without direction or purpose, musing over possibilities, found herself near a thin band of trees, plucked a leaf from a low-hanging limb and absently shredded it as she worried over the problem. If only she could find some spark of interest in Anne for something. But she kept to herself day and night. Spoke to no one—
“Miss Allen.”
Emma jumped, turned and stared at the stocky young man striding toward her. “Good evening, Mr. Blake.” She glanced toward the distant wagons. “Is there a problem?”
“Not if you turn back.” A smile curved a line through Josiah Blake’s dark, stubbly beard. “Night’s about to fall and you’re getting a mite far out for safety.”
She glanced at the setting sun, the darkness under the trees beyond the reach of its gold-edged rose and purple-colored rays. A shiver slid down her spine. “Are you speaking of Indians?”
“Always a possibility. More so the farther west we travel. But there’s other dangers—wolves and such.”
Her skin prickled. Her imagination placed the beasts among the trees, skulking through the deep grass all around her. “Thank you for coming to warn me, Mr. Blake. I did not realize how late it is getting, or how far I had wandered.” She started back toward the wagons, grateful for his presence as he fell into step beside her, but still frightened enough her feet itched to run. The band of trees along the stream now seemed a menace instead of a cool comfort from the sun.
“I was sorry to hear your sister’s ill, Miss Allen. She’s fortunate to have you to care for her. I mean, you bein’ a doctor and all.”
His words soothed the ache in her heart over her inability to help Anne out of her grief—eased her hurt from the Swinton rebuff earlier. She turned her head and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Blake. You are most kind.”
Zach watched Josiah Blake approach Emma Allen, saw them exchange words, then walk together toward the wagons. She would be safe now. Good man, Blake. Though his second-in-command had been a little too eager to accept the task he’d set him.
Zach scowled, edged through the trees and stalked back to the wagons to set the night guards. Emma Allen was a beautiful woman and that could become a major problem. There were quite a few single men on this train. What was she doing wandering off by herself this time of night a
nyway? Strolling around as if she was in some park back in Philadelphia without a care in the world.
He glanced back, saw Blake had escorted her safe to her wagon, caught the smile she gave him before he walked away. The second one. She’d never smiled at him.
Zach let out a disgusted snort. That could only be counted as a blessing. Emma Allen was nothing but trouble, and he’d wasted enough time watching out for her safety. He aimed for the herd and lengthened his stride. It would not happen again. He had enough work to do.
Chapter Six
Emma bunched her dressing gown to make a pad under her knees, pushed her long, thick braid back over her shoulder and delved into the trunk to sort through the material she had purchased for gowns before she boarded the steamboat and began this journey. She was not going to suffer another day of torment from those voracious insects. The veiling she bought to trim her hats would—What was that?
She slipped her fingers between the hard, smooth object and the pile of household linens it rested on, took a firm grasp and tugged it out from under the stack of fabric.
“Oh, my!”
Emma rested back on her heels, staring at the un earthed treasure in her hands. Light from the lantern flame danced in reflected golden luster across the waxed wood of the small lap desk. She placed it on her knees, ran her fingertips over the smooth, polished surface, felt the minor scar a sharp object had made in the wood.
A coyote howled, the sound mournful in the night stillness. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted.
She rose, carried the desk to her bed, propped up her pillows and positioned herself with her back braced against the sidewall of the wagon. The circle of light from the lantern sitting atop the water keg fell across her knees. She raised the slanted top of the desk, touched the stationery inside, lifted a pen and swallowed hard as tears welled. How precious the most ordinary things had become. These were her connection with her loved ones at home.
Prairie Courtship Page 6
