Always Forward

by Ginny Dye

  Abby was the first to voice the thought all of them were having. “Can we get across it?”

  Kyle sat silently for several long moments as he stared at the water. “Only one way to find out,” he finally said. He jumped down from the carriage and then looked up at Carrie. “Can you drive this thing?”

  “Yes, but you can’t walk into that water,” she said with alarm. “You have no idea how fast it is moving. It could wash you away.”

  “It might,” Kyle said casually, “but I don’t think we got that much rain. This creek is little more than a trickle on most days.”

  Carrie looked at him with suspicion. “You’ve only been here six months. How do you know Kansas so well?”

  Kyle grinned, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight. “I don’t, but they tell me most streams are usually just a trickle around here. This one is probably the same.”

  Carrie laughed, but his answer did nothing to ease her concern. “At least hold on to the horse’s bridle. It will help keep you steady.”

  “And you can handle the team if you have to?” Kyle persisted.

  Carrie frowned. “Yes, but why don’t we just turn around and go back?” As soon as the question was out of her mouth, she knew it wasn’t a viable option. The last house of any kind had been at least two hours back, and there were two other streams between them and civilization. Kyle’s silence said he knew she had answered her own question.

  “Carrie?”

  There was something about Abby’s voice that set off alarm bells in Carrie’s head. She turned to her quickly. “What is it?”

  “We need to go forward and find our lodging.”

  Carrie, frightened by the almost desperate tone, knew what she would find when she reached out her hand, but it took all her self-control to stifle her reaction when she felt Abby’s burning forehead. Her stepmother wasn’t just tired; she was sick. She looked down at Kyle. “Lead the way,” she said. “And be careful.”

  Carrie clambered onto the driver’s seat and picked up the reins. She knew both horses were willing and well-behaved; she also knew they were tired. She wasn’t at all sure they could battle a raging creek.

  Kyle looked up at her, his eyes grim but steady. “It will be fine,” he assured her. “I’m going first because it’s the only way to know what is waiting for us.”

  Carrie chose to believe it would be fine, because the alternative was simply more than she could bear to consider. “Let’s go.”

  Kyle moved to the head of the team, grasped the bridle, and began to walk toward the rushing water. He moved steadily, slowing only a little when he reached the flooded stream. Within moments, water had reached up to the footboard of the carriage and begun to flow in.

  Carrie knew their clothes were getting soaked, but their luggage was tied in to protect it from jostling, so there was no worry about it washing away. She glanced at Abby, her worry increasing as she saw Abby’s eyes remained closed. There was just enough light to see the deep lines of pain on her face. Carrie urged the horses forward as she watched Kyle stride into water up to his waist. She tensed, but he didn’t seem to be struggling.

  She breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he stepped out onto dry land and pulled the horses up the slight rise on the other side. “Well done!” she called.

  Kyle grinned, patted the horses on their necks, and climbed back into the driver’s seat. Carrie slipped back to be with Abby, and shot Kyle a look that said they had to hurry. All Carrie could do was hold Abby’s hand as they rattled on through the night made much darker by a bank of clouds that had swallowed the moon. She refused to consider Indian attacks or any of the other hazards they had been warned about. Nothing that was out there could cause her more concern than what she was feeling right now.

  Carrie bit her lip to keep from crying. It was bad enough that Abby was sick, but what made it even worse was that she had no way of helping her. In spite of her determination not to be a doctor, she thought longingly of the medicine bag at home full of remedies that could help Abby. She had been a fool not to bring anything along at all. She was so resisting the idea of being a doctor that she had put Abby at risk. “How long before we get there?” she snapped, instantly sorry because she knew none of this was Kyle’s fault.

  “We’re close,” Kyle assured her, nodding with satisfaction. “I can see a light over there on the horizon. “We’re only a couple miles away at the most.”

  Carrie took notice of the fact that the house could be seen from two miles away, something not even conceivable in Virginia, and then she turned back to Abby. The only thing she could do was wet a bandana with cool water to wipe Abby’s face, but it seemed to be offering at least a little relief. She tried to push down the fears of what could happen if Abby was seriously ill, but she knew she couldn’t slip into the dark space of remembering Robert and Bridget’s deaths. She had to stay in the present if she was going to make a difference.

  “Carrie,” Abby said weakly, forcing her eyes open.

  “I’m here, Abby,” Carrie replied soothingly. “Just close your eyes and rest. We will be there soon.”

  Abby shook her head, the effort causing her to grimace. “My bag,” she whispered. “My bag.” It seemed that was all she was capable of saying before her eyes drifted shut again.

  Carrie had no idea why the bag was so important, but she reached for it where it was lashed onto the back of the wagon just above the water line from their trek through the flooded creek. She untied it quickly, wondering why it weighed so much more than her own, and then laid it on the seat and opened it. “My medical bag!” she gasped. She looked at Abby and saw her eyes were open again.

  “I thought you might need it,” she gasped before she went limp.

  Carrie leaned forward to test Abby’s pulse, relieved when she found it weak but steady. The fever and the long day had simply become too much for her to bear. She continued to bathe Abby’s face, and prayed for the house to appear soon while she formulated her plan. She wouldn’t know for sure what was in the medical bag Abby had brought until she had light to examine it, but she trusted there was something that would help.

  ********

  Carrie breathed a sigh of relief when the carriage finally pulled to a stop in front of a simple log house. A light glowed steadily in the window. She prayed whoever lived here would let her bring a sick woman inside. She didn’t know what was wrong with Abby, but she knew she needed medical attention quickly.

  What if you kill her, too?

  Carrie tensed as the question reverberated through every part of her being. She pushed it down, along with thoughts of Robert and Bridget. Fear had crippled her for four months since their deaths, but she couldn’t afford to be crippled right now. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened and outlined a man’s shape.

  “Is this the Marlton residence?” Kyle called.

  “Are you the suffrage folks we were told were coming through?” the man called. “You’re awful late.”

  “You’re right,” Kyle said apologetically. “The storm and swollen creeks delayed us.”

  “Come on inside,” the man invited. “We made some room for you. It will be tight, but we’re going to make it work.”

  Carrie stepped from the carriage and approached the house. She needed to tell him about Abby, but she also needed to discover why his voice sounded so distraught. She was slightly alarmed by his appearance when she was close enough to see him clearly. A tall, gangly man, his face was tight with stress, and his eyes gleamed with something bordering on panic. “Is everything all right here?” she asked quietly.

  “No. Three of my kids are sick.” He shook his head. “We put them in a back room. I know this probably isn’t the best place for you to be staying, but there isn’t another house for miles and it is getting real late.”

  Carrie took a deep breath. “What’s wrong with your children?”

  “I don’t know,” the man admitted. “They were doing fine this morning, but then they got a fever
and just kept feeling worse.”

  Carrie nodded as she thought quickly. “The woman with us is sick, too,” she revealed. “Abby Cromwell is my mother.” She took a deep breath, breaking the vow she had made to herself. “My name is Carrie Borden. I am a doctor. I can help everyone if you will let me.” She could feel Kyle’s surprised eyes boring into her back, even as the man’s face went slack with relief.

  “A doctor?” he exclaimed as he stepped aside. “My name is Stanley Marlton. Please come in.”

  Carrie stepped into the house and looked around. “Kyle and I will be fine on the floor, but is there a bed for my mother?”

  Stanley nodded quickly. “She can sleep in my bed. It’s in a curtained off area next to where my kids are.”

  Carrie analyzed the situation in moments. The little house was home to Stanley, his three sick children, and four more who stared back at her from the kitchen table. The home was crowded, but looked clean and orderly. She locked eyes with the oldest child, who looked to be in her late teens. She didn’t see a mother, but now was not the time to ask about it.

  “You can help my brothers and sister?” the girl asked.

  Carrie immediately liked her direct gaze. “I believe I can. What is your name?”

  “My name is Bridget.”

  Carrie gasped and felt herself sway slightly before she could regain control.

  “Ma’am?”

  Carrie somehow managed a smile when Bridget’s voice broke through the roaring in her head. “I’m sorry. I must be more tired and hungry than I thought.”

  A little boy who looked to be about ten jumped up from the table. “We got some cornbread and buttermilk left over from dinner,” he said brightly. “Bridget is a real fine cook. Would you like some?”

  Carrie wasn’t sure how she was going to survive hearing the name Bridget over and over, but she knew she would have to. “I would love some,” she said, “but first we need to get my mother in the house, and make sure everyone is taken care of.” A movement at the door made her glance in that direction.

  Stanley stood there, Abby held securely in his arms as if she weighed nothing. He strode in and deposited Abby’s limp form on the bed. Carrie bit back her panic, and then turned to go get her medical bag from the carriage. Kyle walked in the door just then and handed it to her. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her emotions jumped from dread to relief and back again, as she felt the familiar weight in her hands.

  Bridget beckoned to all the children. “Go sit down somewhere else. Mrs. Borden is going to need this table to work on.”

  “Please call me Carrie,” she said as she set the bag down and began to pull things out. Her eyes widened at the vast array of herbal and homeopathic medicines. Where had Abby gotten all this? As she laid it out on the table, she realized Dr. Hobson must have put it together. It was the only possible explanation. Abby had known better than to let them come to the western wilderness without medical supplies. She breathed a prayer of gratitude as she sorted through everything and chose several small bottles. She turned to Bridget. “Please show me where the children are.”

  Bridget pulled aside the curtain next to the bed where Abby lay. Three small children gazed up, their faces flushed, and their eyes filled with fevered misery.

  “Hello,” Carrie said softly. “Who do we have here?”

  The smallest, a little girl with blond curls, gazed up at her. “I’m Camille. I’m four.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Carrie murmured, relieved to discover that while the little girl was definitely sick, the fever did not yet appear high enough to be dangerous.

  One of the little boys managed a weak smile. “I’m Abraham,” he said shyly. “I’m six.” He tried to smile again, but the best he could manage was a whimper. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “I know you don’t,” Carrie said soothingly. “We’re going to fix that. Can you tell me what hurts?”

  “My head,” the boy answered. “It hurts something fierce. So does my throat.”

  Carrie almost sagged with relief. She had been afraid of cholera, but the symptoms didn’t support that. She was fairly certain she was dealing with the flu.

  “And how about you, honey?” she asked the third child.

  “I’m Belton. I’m eight.” His eyes gazed into hers with fierce intensity. “You can help the younger ones first,” he said bravely.

  Carrie’s heart swelled with emotion as she laid a hand on his forehead. He had a fever, too. “Does your throat hurt?”

  “Real bad,” he agreed. “Are we gonna die?”

  Something about the stoic acceptance in his voice told Carrie he had experienced death before.

  “No one is dying, Belton,” Bridget snapped.

  Carrie recognized the fear in her voice as well. She reached down and gripped Belton’s hands. “Your sister is right. No one is going to die.”

  “You promise?” Camille whispered. “Baby James already died. And then Mama died. And then Mary died,” she said sadly.

  Carrie’s heart almost broke, but she managed to smile tenderly as she pushed back hair from Camille’s damp forehead. “I promise,” she said. She looked up when she heard Stanley step to the opening in the curtain. “Have you been to town recently?”

  Stanley nodded. “Two days ago. The kids like to go in, so I take them once a month.” His forehead creased. “Did they get sick there?”

  “I think so,” Carrie informed him. “We were there the last two days. My mother started feeling badly this afternoon, and your children got sick as well.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I think everyone has a bout of the flu.” Fear sprang into Stanley’s eyes, and Carrie heard Bridget gasp.

  It was Camille who cleared up why there were so afraid. “You said we wouldn’t die,” she cried. “My mama died from the flu. So did Baby James and Mary. I reckon we’re gonna die, too.”

  “No one is dying,” Carrie repeated firmly. “In fact, I think you’ll feel better by morning,” she said cheerfully. “You probably won’t feel like running around for a couple more days, but you won’t be as miserable as you are now.”

  The look on Stanley’s face remained skeptical, but he seemed desperate to believe her. “You can really help them?”

  “I can,” Carrie said confidently, not bothering to question her certainty when the last four months had been a haze of belief that she could never help anyone again. There was no time to analyze feelings when she had Abby and three sick children counting on her for help. She turned to Bridget. “Do you have a garden?”

  “Yes.”

  “Onions?”

  “Yes,” Bridget replied, though her gaze said she had no clue why Carrie was asking. “I have a basket here in the house that I dug up this morning.”

  “Good,” Carrie said. “I want you to cut eight of them into thick slices.” She raised a hand when she saw the question forming on Bridget’s lips. “I’ll explain later. For now, I just need you to do it.”

  Bridget snapped her lips shut and turned away to do what had been requested.

  “What can I do?” Stanley asked.

  “I need four glasses of clean water,” Carrie replied. “Is your well a good one?”

  “Probably the only good thing about this disaster we call a farm,” Stanley said wearily. “I’ll be right back with a fresh bucket.”

  Carrie pulled out the bottle of Gelsemium that Dr. Hobson had packed. Her earlier research had told her the homeopathic remedy best represented flu symptoms, so it was the best medicine for her patients. When Stanley put four glasses of water on the table, she put several drops in each one and stirred them.

  She handed the first glass to Kyle, who had been watching quietly the whole time. “Please lift Abby up and give this to her very slowly. Even if she is still unconscious, she will have automatic swallowing instincts if it goes in slowly enough.” She put the other three glasses on a wooden tray Bridget had pulled down from the wall. “I’ll take care of the children.”

  �
��Here we go,” she said brightly as she entered the curtained off area. “I want each of you to drink this. It will take a few minutes for it to start having an effect, but then you will want to go to sleep.” She saw alarm spring into Camille’s eyes. The little girl had probably watched her mother and siblings go to sleep and never wake up. “There is nothing to worry about,” she said softly as she pulled the little girl into a warm embrace, knowing how badly she needed reassurance. “I promise you are going to be all right. When you wake up in the morning, you’re going to feel better.”

  Camille’s eyes filled with trust. “I believe you,” she whispered. Then she looked over at her sister. “Why is Bridget cutting up onions?”

  Carrie smiled. “Because we are going to put them on your feet,” she said in a mysterious voice.

  “Our feet?” Belton demanded. “Why?”

  “It’s magic,” Carrie said, maintaining her mysterious tone. “The onion will suck all the flu right out of you.”

  Belton eyed her skeptically. “I’m eight,” he reminded her. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

  Carrie laughed, appreciating the intelligent shine in the little boy’s eyes. “The onion is a natural remedy that truly does take fever and sickness from your body,” she said in a more serious voice. “I use it on many of my patients. It works every time.” She watched the suspicion slowly fade from Belton’s eyes.

  “Okay then,” he finally said.

  Stanley stepped forward with four pairs of socks. “I imagine you will need these.”

  “Thank you.” Carrie reached for the plate of onion slices Bridget had prepared, placed them on the soles of all the children’s feet, pulled the socks on, and told them to lie still.

  She moved to Abby’s bed and did the same thing, trying to bite back her concern that she had not regained consciousness. She knew the long day in the carriage, combined with a searing hot sun and a case of influenza, had sapped everything from her. She fought her fear as she told herself she should be grateful Abby was still asleep, because that was the most important thing for her healing, but still the whispers besieged her. You let them die. You let them die.