“I have.” He eyed her as if she were a beaver trap ready to spring. “Why?”
“Because that means it is safe for you to go to the Applegate’s wagon.” She lifted her hand, tapped her lips with one fingertip and looked into the distance, feeling her way through the idea. “If you will make a sling bed for baby Isaac—as you did for Jenny—he will be warm and comfortable and able to sleep in the moving wagon.” She brought her gaze back to meet his. “And if you will break your rule and allow some of the wagons to exchange places in the train, that will solve the problem. We can have a moving quarantine.”
“A moving quarantine?”
Emma stared at him. It wasn’t exactly a sneer, but it might as well have been. She stiffened.
“And how do ‘we’ accomplish that Miss Allen? It seems to me the idea defies the very meaning of the word.”
“In ordinary circumstance, yes. But we have an extraordinary circumstance here.” She plunged ahead, too desperate to find a solution to be deterred by his touch of sarcasm. “If you place the Applegate wagon in the rear with my wagon in front of it and Anne’s wagon in front of mine, it will keep the Applegates separated from the others as we travel. Anne has had the measles so there will be no danger to her. When the train halts, we shall camp some distance behind it, thus maintaining the quarantine. That way I can care for both baby Isaac and Anne. And—”
“And what of you, Miss Allen? Have you had the measles?”
Surely that hint of concern was not for her? No, of course not. He was thinking of his wagon train. She gave a brisk nod. “Yes, I have. Anne gave them to me.” A smile tugged at her lips. “And to William. And Mother, though she was only Laina Brighton to us then. And to a dozen or so of the other children in her orphanage. We were quarantined for weeks while Papa Doc treated us.” She shook off the memories, sobered. “As I was saying, if any others come down with the measles they shall place their wagon in the rear behind the Applegates where I will be able to tend them also.”
He shook his head. “I see you have experience with this quarantine business, Miss Allen, but, as you say, this is an uncommon situation. What you propose will not work. To place the wagons in the rear as we travel makes good sense. But to have separate camps at night is foolhardy. It weakens the train and puts us all at peril. Every day we travel takes us closer to the hostile tribes. I am hoping we will not have problems with them because of a show of force, and having a few wagons camped off by themselves, thus minimizing that force, is asking for trouble.”
“As is a wagon train of ill or dying people, Mr. Thatcher.” She clenched her hands, watched his frown return, brought back, no doubt, by the asperity in her voice. Well, she could not help it! Why could the man not see reason?
“True enough. But I cannot permit your plan. It’s too risky. I haven’t men enough to guard two camps.”
Emma lifted her chin and looked him full in the eyes. “And how will you get this train to Oregon country if there are no men well enough to drive the wagons or herd the stock or stand guard?”
Zachary Thatcher didn’t so much as twitch. He simply looked at her. But some change in his eyes made her suddenly feel crowded…threatened in the same way she had that day by her wagon. It was an odd sort of feeling that shortened her breath and brought heat to her cheeks. It made her want to turn and flee.
“And if the Lundquists have not had the measles and you and your sister are left with no drivers? Have you solved that problem also, Doctor Allen?”
His voice had softened, but the tone was still resolute. She stared up at him irritated by her sudden unease and nettled that he had found a weak spot in her argument for which she had no answer.
He turned away, took hold of Comanche’s reins. “I’ll give the matter some thought. For now, I will have a talk with Applegate and make that sling bed. Meanwhile, I suggest you return to your wagon.” He touched the brim of his hat and walked away, the big roan with the dappling of spots decorating his rump plodding beside him.
The man was insufferable! Emma took a deep breath, unclenched her hands and turned back toward her wagon. Zachary Thatcher had said he would make the sling bed for the baby and talk to Mr. Applegate. At least that was something.
Emma lifted the lap desk from the trunk, set the lamp on the closed top and shifted her position to lean her back against the firm support. Her hands trembled as she took out the writing supplies and opened the inkwell. It was small wonder. If William was right, and it was God who put this desire to be a doctor and help others in her, why hadn’t He made her a man? God was supposed to know everything. And if so, He had to realize there was no other solution to keeping her dream from being unfulfilled because of the small-mindedness of stubborn, arrogant men like Zachary Thatcher!
She scowled down at the blank paper in front of her, sorely tempted to write out her frustration. Instead, she took a deep breath and yanked her thoughts from her confrontation with Mr. Thatcher. She needed to write William, to feel close to him and his belief in her abilities, not spew her agitation into her letter and upset him. She relaxed her tense shoulders, adjusted the position of the desk on her lap and dipped the pen into the well.
My Dearest William,
How I wish you were here. I think of you often, knowing of your curiosity about the country and the animals so different from what we have known. The terrain is endless and bears a perfect resemblance to the waves of the sea. Antelope with their budlike horns, white throats and round black eyes peer at you from above the tall grasses. Wolves and coyotes howl at night. We do not see them by day. There are snakes in abundance. They slither from beneath the oxen’s hoofs and the drivers kill them with their whips. Do not fear, for I stay close by the wagons, as ordered. Most annoying are the swarms of insects. I have attached veiling all around my wide-brimmed straw flat to keep them from my face and neck.
The weather is hot now. The sun blazes down upon us all day. And we suffer thunderstorms, unlike any I have before seen in severity. There is hail the size of the cherries that grow on the tree in the backyard of the orphanage. Do you remember, William, when I became so ill from eating the unripe ones?
I must tell you of my patient. A toddler who injured herself falling out of the family’s wagon. I set her arm and continue to watch over her. Others reject me as a doctor. I fear there is a measles outbreak in the offing, but Mr. Thatcher ignores my warning and refuses a quarantine. In this, things are much like there at home.
I hope this finds you all well. It is distressing not knowing if Caroline’s health has improved. I comfort myself that Papa Doc is caring for her and the babe she carries. And that I shall have a niece or neph—
A fist thumped the side of the wagon. “There’s a meeting called. Come to the head wagon!”
Gracious! Emma righted the desk that had tilted when she jumped, swallowed to force her heart down out of her throat back into her chest where it belonged and frowned at the ink blotch on the paper. She considered staying in her wagon to finish her letter, then sighed and rose to her feet. Most likely Mr. Thatcher was going to tell them of some obstacle ahead tomorrow. She had better go and listen to what he had to say.
Along the circle of wagons the dying embers of cook fires winked red into the dark night, appearing and disappearing as the men and women of the train crossed in front of them on their way toward the lead wagon. Zach watched them come, found himself searching for the slender, graceful figure of Emma Allen, frowned and squatted to add a broken branch to the fire.
It was only right he should look for her—she was the cause of this meeting. But the tense knot of anticipation in his gut told him that wasn’t the only reason. He huffed out a breath, watched the dry bark smolder then burst into flames. The branch would soon be reduced to a pile of ashes and embers. He figured the same thing happened between a man and woman. Things burned hot for a while, then there was nothing left except the residue trapped within the circle of rocks that had walled in the flames. He wasn’t looking for any w
alls.
Zach brushed the clinging bits of bark from his hands and rose. He wanted no relationship with any woman, let alone one as troublesome as Emma Allen. He intended to be free of all fetters, to roam where he chose, when he chose. That was the life he wanted. And it was the life he would have once the trading post he intended to build was up and running under a hired manager. But he needed the bonus for getting this wagon train to Oregon country to make that happen. And that meant they had to push forward every day in order to get through before the snow closed the mountain passes. There simply was not time for delays.
The murmur of voices, punctuated by the lowing of oxen or the neighing of a horse, disturbed the night’s quiet. A wolf howled. A coyote yipped nearby. Zach tensed, listened, decided they were real and relaxed. He scanned the faces of the people gathering around the fire so unaware of the myriad dangers surrounding them. Moonlight silvered their features, revealed worry and concern, curiosity and puzzlement. Everyone was wondering what this hastily called meeting was about. He spotted John Hargrove hurrying toward him and stepped to meet him.
“What’s going on, Thatcher?” The older man’s bushy gray eyebrows fairly bristled with indignation. “What is the purpose of this meeting? And why was I not informed? As the one who formed this train I expect—”
“Calm down, Hargrove.” It was the voice he’d used to deal with insubordinate soldiers and it had the same effect. John Hargrove looked angry, but he held his tongue. Zach threw balm at the resentment. “There’s no need to get riled. I would have told you about the meeting had there been time. I appreciate your coming forward to stand with me. It’s always good to show a united front.”
“Indeed. Indeed.” The eyebrows drew close over John Hargrove’s deep-set eyes. “That, of course, is my purpose.”
Zach nodded, swept his gaze over the assembled people, spotted the fire reflected in a shimmer of silk. She was standing off to one side, next to a wagon, her frilly dress incongruous among all the other plain, sensible gowns of wool or cotton. Another reason not to allow his attraction to Emma Allen free rein. The woman was totally unsuited to life on the frontier. He shifted his gaze toward the wagons, noted that there was no one else coming and stepped forward into the light of the fire. The murmuring stopped. An expectant hush hung on the air.
“I called this meeting because we have a problem that needs to be dealt with quickly.”
“A problem… Must be Injuns… What kind of problem… Must be somethin’ he discovered when he was scoutin’ the trail… Is it Injuns…” The questions and speculations shouted out in dozens of voices collided in the air, made an undecipherable din. Zach gave a shrill whistle, held up his hands. The clamor stopped.
“The Applegate baby has the measles.” The words hung in a sudden, dead silence. “You all know what that can mean. But with your cooperation we are going to do our best to head off an epidemic.” He swept his gaze over the crowd. “First off, I want those of you who have had the measles to come to the left side of the fire, and those of you who have not had the measles to come to the right side. Mothers, some of your children may be too young to remember, so you help them get to the right place. And don’t be concerned, you will not be separated from your family. This is only so we can know how to go on with our plan.”
There was a general muttering. People exchanged glances. A few started to move. He looked at Emma Allen. She was frowning, looking perplexed.
“Hold on, Thatcher!” The words rang out. People froze in place and looked toward Tom Swinton. “My wife says she was holding the Applegate baby earlier, and he hasn’t got any spots on him. How do you know he has the measles?”
“Dr. Allen examined him.”
“That woman charlatan!” Tom Swinton snorted. “I’m not having any part of this, lest a real doctor says that baby has the measles. We’re going back to our wagon. Come along—”
“That is your right, Mr. Swinton.” Zach raised his voice to carry over the muttering that had started with Tom Swinton’s declaration. “But if you take your family back to your wagon, you hitch up and move on. You will no longer be allowed to travel with this train.” He looked out over the people. “And that goes for any of the rest of you, as well. Make your choice now.” His tone left no doubt he meant what he said.
Emma Allen stared at him, her mouth agape. No one moved.
“Come with Mother, Edward.” Pamelia Swinton’s soft words carried clearly on the frozen silence. Zach fixed his gaze on the woman. She took her young son by the hand, grasped the limb she was using for a cane and hobbled toward the right side of the fire.
“Pamelia, I forbid—”
The woman stopped, drew herself up straight and faced her husband. “Not this time, Thomas. I obeyed your order to have nothing to do with Dr. Allen when I injured my foot and I still cannot walk on it. I will not take the same risk with our son’s life, nor with the life of the babe I carry.”
Her words galvanized the women in the group to action. In a flurry of movement they herded their children where they should be and took up their own places. The men exchanged looks with one another, shrugged and followed. Tom Swinton strode off to his wagon. Pamelia looked up at him. “Thomas stands on this side also, Mr. Thatcher.”
Zach nodded, slewed his gaze to his left and took a head count of those that had already had measles. Twenty-five people—fifteen of them men or boys old enough to drive wagons, herd stock or stand guard. Garth Lundquist was not among them. He searched faces, settled his gaze on Josh Fletcher. The boy was young, only fifteen or so, but he was strong, sensible, and good with oxen and rifle. Better, perhaps, than Garth Lundquist with the rifle. He looked back to his right. Twenty vulnerable people, the majority of them children. Several of the families were split between the two sides, which complicated matters. He did some rapid calculating in his head, cleared his throat. Make this plan work for their sakes, Lord.
“As I said earlier, we have a plan. Dr. Allen proposed a way to quarantine the sick to protect the rest of you as best we are able while still continuing to travel. I concur. Therefore, there will be a change in the formation of the train tomorrow. Listen carefully for your new place. The two Applegate wagons will be in the rear. The two Allen wagons will be next in line so Dr. Allen can tend the sick. In front of them will be those families who have all had the measles and are in no danger. That would be the Hargroves and the Suttons. In front of them will be the Fentons, the Swintons, the Lundquists, the Fletchers and the Lewises. The lead wagon maintains its place. No one is to leave their assigned position.”
He fixed his gaze on the burly young man standing at the back of those on his right. “Garth, you will stay with your family, help out with herding the stock of those who are in quarantine.” He slid his gaze left. “Josh, you are to take over as driver for Dr. Allen.”
The boy looked at his father, received a nod and squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”
“What happens if one of us gets sick?”
Zach slid his gaze over the crowd, sought out the questioner. “If anyone in your family gets sick, your wagon goes to the rear of the train and the quarantine continues.”
Axel Lundquist nodded. “Sounds like this thing might work.”
There was a murmur of agreement.
“It will as long as you all stay in your own wagons with your own families until the disease has run its course and the danger passes. Of course, those driving for the owners of the wagons in quarantine will have to stay at the rear of the train. They will not be allowed to go to their family’s wagon during the quarantine period. I will provide a tent for them.” He allowed himself another glance at Emma Allen. She looked astounded. But there was a warm glow deep in her lovely brown eyes that made his heart beat faster in his chest.
Emma made a last pass with the strip of fabric under the arch of Pamelia Swinton’s foot, brought it back over the top, wound it around the ankle again and tied it off. “That should help relieve your pain, Mrs. Swinton. But you mu
st not put your weight on your foot until it is healed. When you use it, it sprains it all over again.”
“Thank you, Dr. Emma. This time I shall heed your warning.” Pamelia Swinton glanced up. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to sound disrespectful, Dr. Allen. I have heard Lorna Lewis call you Dr. Emma and it slipped out.”
Emma laughed. “I like the sound of Dr. Emma. It is…friendlier than Dr. Allen.”
Her patient smiled and reached for her stocking. “Then you must call me Pamelia.”
Emma nodded and reached to help stretch Pamelia’s stocking over the thick winding around her foot and ankle. “Pamelia, did your husband say at the meeting that you held little Isaac Applegate tonight?”
“Yes. He has been so fussy and fretful he is wearing Ruth out. She wearies quickly since she’s been with child. And I was sitting resting my ankle anyway so—” She stopped tugging at her stocking and looked up. Her face paled. “Edward. Mr. Thatcher said there is to be a quarantine to keep us safe…” Tears glistened in her eyes. “Have I endangered Edward?”
Emma looked at the fear in Pamelia’s eyes and wished there were some way she could erase it. “There is no way to tell, Pamelia. But Edward is a fine, strong boy. I believe he will be fine if he does come down with the measles. He will be uncomfortable, but fine.” She made her voice calm, reassuring. “Of course, you must let me know if he becomes fevered. Or if he has the sniffles, or a cough.” She smiled and picked up Pamelia’s shoe. “I am afraid this will not fit over the bandage. Have you some boots you can wear until your sprain is better?”
“Yes. And if they do not fit, I shall borrow one of Thomas’s.” She placed her hand on the edge of the tailgate and pushed herself upright, took a firm grip on her branch cane and reached for her shoe. “Thank you again, Dr. Emma. My ankle feels better already. I am sorry I cannot pay you now, but the money is in the wagon. I…I suppose now you shall have to wait for your fee until after the…the quarantine.”
Prairie Courtship Page 8
