“It wasn’t kindness, it was the truth.”
The softness in his deep voice stole the remaining strength from her knees. She grabbed for the saddle horn.
“This Papa Doc? Is he the one that taught you to be a doctor?”
“Yes.” She took a breath, launched into the safe subject. “Billy…William…was run over by a carriage when we were orphans and lived on the streets in Philadelphia. Mother, well, she was not our mother then, of course, she adopted us later. Anyway, Mother and Papa Doc saw the accident and took us to her home. Billy had a broken leg and a head wound.” She stared at the rain, remembering her fear when her big brother would not wake up and talk to her. “Papa Doc treated Billy’s injuries. He made him better.” Something of the wonder she had felt then returned. She smiled, stroked Comanche’s neck. “That was the beginning of my desire to be a doctor. I loved Mother, but I adored Papa Doc. I followed him all around the orphanage when he came to treat the other children.” She gave Zachary Thatcher a sidelong glance. “Mother turned her home into an orphanage. And then, when she and Papa Doc married, they took William and me and Annie to live with them in Papa Doc’s house.” Her throat tightened again. She drew a deep breath.
“He must have been a good teacher. I’ve never heard of a doctor putting someone to sleep before working on them the way you did Daniel Fletcher. I’m sorry I missed seeing that.”
His quiet, matter-of-fact tone drove the threatening tears away. Was he approving of her work? Or merely curious about the ether? She looked up. Their gazes locked, held. Rain fell outside the small, sheltered area. Lightning flashed and thunder crashed, but, suddenly, it did not matter. Something in his eyes made her feel safe. And more. She lowered her gaze and stared at his boots, wishing he would take her in his arms. The boots moved toward her. She caught her breath, looked up, lost it again. His eyes had darkened to the color of blue smoke. Something flickered in their depths. He sucked in air, pivoted on his heel and stepped over to Comanche.
“It seems everyone who comes out to Oregon country has a dream, Miss Allen. I’m guessing yours is to be a doctor.” He looked down, swiped water off his saddle.
Heat burned in her cheeks. Obviously, that moment had not shaken him as it had her. She drew her hands inside the cape and pressed them against her stomach to stop its quivering. “You have guessed wrong, Mr. Thatcher. To be a doctor was my dream. I have learned that is impossible. Men want a male doctor to care for them and their families. And no one can be a doctor without patients.”
“You have patients.”
“For now…yes. But I do not delude myself. The men on the wagon train permit me to treat their families only because there is no male doctor available. And there are those who still refuse to acknowledge my skill.” The old bitterness rose. Zachary Thatcher was one of those men. The thought steadied her when he again looked her way. “It is not my dream that brought me on this journey, Mr. Thatcher, it is Anne. You see, William was to teach at the Banning Mission in Oregon country, and when his wife became too ill to make the journey, Anne declared she would take his place. As she had been recently injured in the carriage accident that killed her husband and child, I could not let her make the journey alone and without care.”
Her words called forth a vision of her empty future with disturbing clarity, and suddenly, she knew what she would do. “Oregon country holds nothing for me. When Anne is settled at the mission, I shall travel on to Oregon City and take a ship for home.” An unexpected sadness washed over her. She forced a smile. “And what dream brings you west, Mr. Thatcher? Do you hope to found a town and build an empire?”
He shook his head, threw the trailing reins back over Comanche’s head. “Like you, Oregon country holds nothing for me. I’ll leave the founding of towns and empire building to Hargrove and Applegate and the others. It is these mountains that call to me. All I want is to be to be free and unfettered to roam them as I will.”
She nodded, smiled through an unreasonable sense of loss and disappointment. “I wish you well in your travels, Mr. Thatcher.”
He looked at her.
Her smile faded. That queer weakness overtook her again. She grabbed for the saddle horn and found his hand waiting. His fingers curled around hers, rough and warm and strong. That smoky look returned to his eyes. Her heart faltered, raced. She stared up at him, shy and uncertain, unable to breathe as he stepped close, lowered his head. Rainwater dripped off his hat brim. His lips, cool and moist, touched hers. She closed her eyes, swayed toward him. His arm slid around her, crushed her against him. His mouth claimed hers, his lips heated, seared hers. And then it was over. He released her, stepped back.
She stared up at him, her heart pounding.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the day you stood on the deck of that ferry, fear and fury in your eyes, and told me you had no husband.” His voice was husky, ragged. “Now it’s done.” He turned, hoisted the keg onto his shoulder, ducked under the water and headed for her wagon. Comanche plodded after him.
His words were as rough against the exposed tenderness of her heart as his work-hardened hands had been against her skin. Emma touched her fingers to her lips. She drew a deep breath, lifted her hands and yanked her hood up, then squared her shoulders, ducked her head and walked out into the wind and rain, defying her emotions that were as raging and turbulent as the storm.
Fort Hall was a disappointment. The few log buildings hiding behind the high log wall enclosure had no windows, only a square hole cut in each mud-covered roof. And in the bastion were a few portholes large enough for guns only. But, as the captain explained, it was not meant for comfort. Its purpose was to afford the inhabitants protection from the frequent attacks by hostile Indians.
Emma pushed her bonnet back to allow the breeze to cool her face and looked up at the hill above the path the wagons were obliged to take to cross over the waterfalls below. Blackfeet Indians had been watching them every day. And they made no effort to hide the fact. Whenever you looked up, they would be there. It was unnerving. They put her in mind of a cat stalking a mouse.
She stepped around a rock following the ruts the wagons ahead were cutting into the ground, then stopped and looked back. Anne was riding the mule that had belonged to the captain’s wife at Fort Hall. The woman had been happy to trade the mule for Lady. Emma sighed. Another connection to William was gone. But it was for the best. There was abundant grass at the fort for Lady, and the mule seemed docile enough. Even if it were not, it would find its match in her sister. Anne was an excellent rider, with gentle hands and a firm seat.
Emma grinned. It had not always been so. Annie had often been thrown from her pony. But one day after Pepper threw her, she had stood up, dusted off her skirts, gripped Pepper’s reins and led him back to the mounting block, her russet curls bobbing with her every determined step. Anne had never been thrown from a horse again. Mother insisted it was the red curls.
Emma stared at Anne, her faltering hope for her sister strengthening. Anne still had red curls. She would get over her grief. She only needed something to rouse her strong, fighting spirit. Perhaps Anne would find that something when she began teaching at the mission.
Emma faced forward and started walking again. When Anne was settled, she would be free to return home and…and what? Content herself to help Papa Doc? It was as close as she would come to her dream of being a doctor. Tears stung her eyes. Anger drove her up the steep grade. If God did not want her to be a doctor, the least He could do was take this desire to be one out of her heart and give her a new dream!
The storm, the half cave and Zachary Thatcher’s kiss slipped into her mind. She set herself firmly against the thought. That was no dream! The kiss had meant nothing. He had told her his dream was to be unfettered and free to roam the mountains at will. The kiss had only been something he had to do, like…like when she had jumped off the roof of Uncle Justin’s stable onto the hay pile. The idea had taunted and tempted her. But once she had made the jump, it was
done. She had never been tempted to do it again. And that is what Mr. Thatcher had said, “Now it’s done.” And so it was. And she was not foolish enough to think or hope otherwise. She had only reacted so strongly because she was lonely and frightened of the storm. Zachary Thatcher had offered a moment of safety and comfort. That was all.
She huffed the last few steps to the top of the hill, stopped to catch her breath and look at the small valley a short distance below. There was a meandering stream, trees scattered here and there and grass for the animals. It would be a good camp tonight. She sighed, shook her head and started down the descent. How strange life was. Everything she had known had been stripped away from her. Her comfort, her life, now depended on those three things—water, wood and grass. “Dr. Emma!”
Emma lifted her gaze from the stony ground and looked down the hill. Mary Fenton was running toward her, waving her hand in the air. The girl stopped and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Miz Hargrove says can you come, she needs you. She says hurry!”
Lydia? Had there been an accident? Emma lifted the front hem of her skirt and ran.
Chapter Thirteen
“I am here, Lydia!” Emma put her foot on the bottom step, stopped and stared as Lydia Hargrove shoved aside the canvas flaps over the tailgate of her wagon. “What is wrong? Are you—”
“I’m fine, I—”
A moan, quickly broken off, came from the wagon’s interior. Emma glanced toward the sound, then looked back up at Lydia Hargrove.
“It’s Ruth Applegate.” The older woman’s voice lowered. “I thought it best to keep her here ’till Mary found you.” She climbed out of the wagon, turned and held out her arms. “Come to Auntie Lydia, Isaac.” She lifted the toddler out, held him close. “Time for me to start the cook fire. I’ll keep Isaac with me while you talk with his mama.”
Emma nodded, read all the things the woman left unsaid in her expression and climbed in the wagon. Ruth Applegate was sitting in Lydia Hargrove’s small rocking chair, clutching her abdomen. The young woman’s face was pale, her mouth compressed into a thin line.
Emma picked a path through the various trunks and household items and knelt in front of her. “Are you in pain, Ruth?”
The young woman nodded, gave a soft hiss and rubbed her hands over the fabric covering her stomach.
Emma watched Ruth’s eyes close, noted how she clenched her jaw to hold back an outcry. “Is the pain constant? Or does it come and go like cramps?”
“Like cramps.” Ruth released a breath and opened her eyes. “I—I think it’s the baby. It feels like when Isaac started to be born.”
Emma nodded, kept her expression serene. “When did the cramps begin?”
“Not long ago. When I was carrying Isaac up the grade. The pain doubled me over and I had to put him down. Lydia saw me when their wagon came by and they stopped. She took Isaac and bid me sit in her chair. I asked her to send someone for you.” Ruth’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to lose my baby, Dr. Emma.”
Emma reached out and squeezed her hand. “I cannot promise that will not happen, Ruth. Babies have a way of choosing their own destinies. But I will promise you I will do everything I know to help you.” She looked the young woman straight in the eyes. “Will your husband let me come to your wagon to care for you?”
Ruth looked down at their joined hands on her stomach and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Emma. You saved Isaac when he had the measles. And even told me what to do for James when he got them so bad, but he—he won’t…”
“I understand, Ruth. Here is my first instruction.” The young woman’s gaze shot to her face. Emma smiled. “Do not distress yourself. It is very bad for the baby. We shall manage.” But how? She thrust the worry aside. “My second instruction is this…no more work.”
“But—”
“There can be no buts, Ruth. You must go to bed and rest. You will do no more cooking, no more walking. You cannot lift or care for Isaac.”
Ruth’s eyes filled with tears. “Dr. Emma, that is impossible. James will nev—”
“Nothing is impossible, Ruth. It may be difficult, but not impossible. I will give it some thought and—ah!” Emma clapped her hands together and smiled. “Olga Lundquist prepares my meals and Anne’s. I will simply give her more supplies from our stores and have her cook them for your family.” And increase her pay.
“And I will care for Isaac.” Lydia Hargrove stuck her head and shoulders into the end of her wagon and grabbed hold of a large iron spider.
“Oh, Lydia, I cannot—” The tears slipped down Ruth’s cheeks. “Isaac is getting so…rambunctious.” There was worry, but also a touch of pride in her words.
Lydia snorted. “I’m not so old I can’t handle a toddler. He’s settin’ out here, quiet as you please, diggin’ in the dirt with my spoon. The matter is settled. Caring for your little one pleasures me. And I will cook your meal tonight.”
“Oh, but I—how will I ever repay you both!” Ruth covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
“Bosh!”
Ruth jerked her head up.
Emma gaped at Lydia.
“You stop that nonsense, Ruth Applegate! Our husbands drug us along on this journey, and it’s up to us to help each other survive it! There’ll be no talk of repayin’!” She withdrew her head and shoulders and disappeared.
Emma laughed, she couldn’t help it. Lydia Hargrove looked as if she would like to use that spider on her husband and James Applegate, instead of cooking with it. If only Ruth had some of that spunk. She turned back to her patient.
“All that remains is to get you to bed.”
Ruth put her hands on the rocker’s arms and started to rise.
Emma shook her head. “I said no walking. I will go find your husband.”
“And everything will be all right if Ruth goes to bed?”
Emma met James Applegate’s skeptical gaze. “I did not say that, Mr. Applegate. But she will almost surely lose the baby if she does not.”
“Almost.” The man’s brows drew down into a frown. “How long does she have to stay abed?”
“I cannot answer that question with any certainty.”
“Seems there’s not much you can say for certain. Too bad there’s not a real doctor here.”
Emma clenched her hands, fought to keep her voice calm and pleasant. “Not even a man doctor could answer your questions, Mr. Applegate. These things are a matter of nature.”
“Not havin’ a man doctor handy, it’s hard to know the right of that.” He raised his hand and stroked his beard, looked off to the west. “With these steep climbs, the extra weight will be hard on the teams.” He looked at her again. “She can stay abed three days.”
“Three—”
“But if the way gets too steep, an’ the teams start to struggle, she will have to walk.”
Emma clenched her hands, fought to keep her voice even. “If you are agreeable, Mr. Applegate, there may be a solution to your problem. Ruth can stay in my wagon, where I can watch over her.” She tried to hold them back, but the words popped out anyway. “My brother bought extra teams.”
She need not have worried about her acerbic comment. He merely nodded and stroked his beard. She could almost see him weighing his dislike of her against his team’s well-being. At last, he lowered his hand and deigned to look at her. “All right. I will be along shortly to carry Ruth to your wagon.”
Emma lifted a small pile of clean rags out of the red box, closed the lid and turned to look down at her patient. “Are you more comfortable now?”
“Yes. The cramps have stopped.” Ruth gave her a hopeful look. “Perhaps I should go back to my wagon.”
Emma shook her head. “I do not want to dishearten you, Ruth, but I also do not wish to give you false hope. It happens this way sometimes. The cramps stop, and then start again. I am hoping that if you stay abed for a few days, things will be fine.”
Ruth nodded, fingered the ribbon adorned with embroidered rosebu
ds that separated the bodice from the skirt of the nightgown she wore. “This is fine work. Too fine. My shift—”
“Is not warm enough for these cold nights. I do not want you taking a chill.” Emma placed the rags on the dresser to have close at hand should they be needed for spotting, then set a pail close by for discards. “You should cover up.”
Ruth pulled the blankets and quilt that covered her legs up to her chin. “It sure feels strange goin’ to bed without cleanin’ up supper and puttin’ Isaac down to sleep. I hope he don’t give Lydia trouble. He can be stubborn…”
“I am quite certain Lydia is equal to the task.”
“Yes. I’m sure she is…”
Emma studied Ruth’s unhappy face and reached for her wrap. “I am going to see if Anne needs anything before I retire. I shall check on Isaac on my way.” She gave the worried mother a smile and glanced toward the tailgate. She could not get by the bed to open it. She stepped to the front of the wagon, scooted across the lid of the red box and climbed out onto the driver’s seat. Moonlight flooded the world in silver. A shiver coursed through her. The night air was cooling fast.
She closed the flaps tight, then climbed down and hurried toward the Hargrove wagon. She was almost there when Zachary Thatcher came striding out of the night toward her. Her stomach fluttered. She stopped and pulled her wrap more tightly around her shoulders, ignoring, as best she could, the betraying quickening of her pulse at the sight of him. He stopped in front of her, dipped his head in greeting.
“Matthew Hargrove said you wished to speak with me, Miss Allen.”
“Yes.” She braced herself for his reaction. “Ruth Applegate is with child and a problem has developed. She is in danger of losing the baby.” She gave him an imploring look. “She must have rest, Mr. Thatcher. We cannot travel tomorrow. Or—” She stopped, stiffened at the shake of his head.
Prairie Courtship Page 13
