A Journey of the Heart Collection

by Colleen Coble

  Jacob pushed open the door and led them into a tiny parlor with a fireplace in one wall. It looked much like the home they’d left except it was even smaller. “It doesn’t look like much now, I know,” he said with an apologetic grin. “I haven’t had time to knock together a table and chairs for the kitchen yet, so we’ve been eating in the parlor. It’s pretty inconvenient for Amelia, but I told her I’d make sure I got to it this week. The Indians have been a constant nuisance. Even the wood detail has to be accompanied by armed troops. And that doesn’t always stop Red Cloud’s band, as I’m sure you noticed on the way in.”

  “Who was the murdered soldier?” Sarah asked as Jacob led the way through the minuscule kitchen toward the closed door on the far side. “Did I know him?”

  “No, Corporal Johnson was a new recruit, and he was as hotheaded as they come. We’re just lucky more weren’t killed. Some of the men have been spoiling for a fight, but I thank the good Lord that Carrington has been able to restrain them so far.” He pushed open the door to the bedroom and smiled when he saw his wife.

  She lay on her side, one arm outflung and her face pink in sleep. Her black hair was unbound and fanned out on the pillow in a silken cloud. Jacob’s face softened in love and pride as he gazed at his sleeping wife.

  “Honey. Look who’s here.” He spoke gently as he took her hand.

  Her long lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes blearily. She stared for a long minute into Sarah’s eyes, then bolted upright. “Sarah?” She looked over at Jacob, then back at Sarah.

  Sarah bounded forward and jumped onto the bed. “It’s me, Amelia. It’s really me.”

  A pang of jealousy overwhelmed Emmie as she saw Sarah and Amelia fall into each other’s arms with tears of joy. She’d always liked Amelia, but she’d grown to rely on Sarah over the past weeks. Bleakly, she knew she would have to settle for second place in Sarah’s affections. She squared her shoulders and pushed the hurt feelings away. She would not be like her brother Ben. He had allowed jealousy and possessiveness to ruin his life and Labe’s too. She’d come here alone and she could leave the same way if she had to. But she didn’t want to leave. It felt grand to laugh with friends like Sarah and Rand.

  Amelia drew away and noticed Emmie standing unobtrusively to one side. “Why, dear Emmie too!” She slipped out of the bed and ran to give her a quick hug. “How wonderful to see you. I had no idea you were with Sarah. Is Monroe with you?”

  Amelia seemed truly glad to see her. Emmie shook her head at Amelia’s question. She glanced gratefully at Sarah, who rushed in with a quick explanation of Emmie’s circumstances.

  “You poor dear.” Amelia gave her another quick hug. “No wonder you look so peaked. I am glad you’re here, though you may want to run screaming for home with two crotchety women in delicate conditions for company.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you three to get caught up on all the gossip and go find my brother,” Jacob put in.

  The women barely noticed his departure as they all three piled on the bed and began to talk at once. “We brought some fresh newspapers from back East with us—they’re only two months old,” Sarah said.

  “And I brought a magazine of new fashions Margaret sent with me. I’ve been saving it until winter settled in, but we could get it out whenever you want,” Emmie added.

  “Let’s save it until we can get together with the other ladies,” Amelia said. “You’ll love our little community. There’s Mrs. Horton, the wife of our post surgeon and surgeon in chief of the Mountain District; Mrs. Carrington, the commander’s wife; Mrs. Wands; Mrs. Bisbee; and Mrs. Grummond. They’ve been a wonderful help to me.” She slipped off the bed, picked up the hairbrush from the barrel that served as a nightstand, and began to put her hair up. “Let’s have some tea and then I’ll introduce you to the ladies.”

  The bugle sounded retreat as Isaac strode through Fort Phil Kearny. It bustled with activity as soldiers led their horses toward the stables and hurried to get ready for evening mess. Isaac thought he’d never seen a more beautiful spot than this Tongue River Valley. The Bighorn Mountains south of the valley, the Panther Mountains to the west, and the Black Hills to the east all formed a majestic backdrop to this busy little fort in the wilderness.

  Black-billed magpies scrabbled in the thin dirt in search of food, while flocks of mountain chickadees chirped in the trees outside the fort. The smell of cut pine and sawdust mingled with the scent of horse and wood smoke as he made his way through the tradesman encampment. The air was fresh with the scent of imminent rain, and Isaac could see thunderheads towering like newly forming mountains to the west.

  The stockade was not yet completely finished. Its walls of hewn pine were interspersed with block guardhouses situated diagonally at the corners of the fort, and the gates were made of massive double planks with small sally wickets and a small sally port for the officers’ use. Immediately inside was the quartermaster’s yard, a cottonwood corral that housed the teamsters and their stock along with wagons, hayricks, and the shops for wagon makers and leather workers. Just beyond that was the fort proper, with officers’ row, the barracks, and the sutler’s store. He skirted the manure and mud as he hurried toward the Campbell quarters.

  Emmie opened the door when he knocked. He grinned at the startled look on her face.

  “Isaac. I thought it was Rand.” A delicate blush bloomed in her cheeks, and she avoided his eyes.

  “He sent me to fetch you two ladies. Your quarters are ready for your inspection.” He took out his large white handkerchief and carefully wiped the corner of her mouth. “Jam,” he said with a gentle smile. He wished he could kiss it off. She was the cutest little thing.

  Emmie had flushed when Isaac showed up at the door. Why did he always have to catch her at such a disadvantage? Besides, she wasn’t interested in a flirtation with anyone, no matter how attractive he was. He looked particularly handsome with his auburn hair ruffled by the wind and his face tanned from the sun. Her face flamed as he grinned at her discomfiture.

  “I’ll get Sarah.” She left him standing at the open door as she went to fetch her friend.

  “Are our quarters close to Amelia’s?” Sarah asked. She and Emmie snatched up their bonnets from the hook near the door and followed Isaac down the steps.

  “The permanent ones will be next door.”

  “Permanent ones? Where are we going now?”

  Isaac pointed toward a group of tents in a small open space near the quartermaster’s yard.

  “You’re joking, right?” Sarah stopped and looked up at Isaac in dismay. “Amelia says we’ll have snow soon. We can’t live in a tent.”

  “It’s just while your quarters are built. We’ve put a Sibley stove in for you to keep the cold away. Rand tried his best to get you something else. Jacob even offered to let you stay with them, but you saw how small their place is. This is the best the quartermaster could do on short notice.”

  Sarah bit her lip. “Well, if it’s the best he could do, then we have no choice. Please don’t say anything to Rand about my being upset.”

  Isaac glanced at Emmie. “Think you can stand it too?”

  “Of course,” she said with more certainty than she felt.

  He smiled again, and Emmie thought she saw a hint of admiration in his blue eyes, but she pushed the thought away. She didn’t want admiration or anything else from him, she told herself firmly.

  Rand was busy directing soldiers where to put the barrels of their belongings when they arrived. “I’m sorry, Green Eyes, but this will have to do for now. But it’s not too bad. See, we’ve put three A tents together to make three rooms. We can store our trunks and mess chest in one. You and I can sleep in here, and Emmie can have the next one. Joel is
going to stay with the Carringtons until our quarters are ready. There’s a stove in Emmie’s room too, as well as this one. Will you be all right?”

  “Of course. This is very pleasant, Rand.” Sarah walked through the interconnected tents with Emmie following close behind. Two army cots and the stove took up most of the space in the Campbells’ room, but Emmie would have a bit more floor area for possessions.

  “We could use my room as a parlor during the day,” Emmie said with a quick look around. She was very conscious of Isaac’s nearness as he hovered at her elbow. When he looked at her, she felt as though he was looking into her very soul. Monroe had been all about making her laugh, but Isaac seemed to care about her comfort and happiness.

  “You’ll probably spend most of your daylight hours with Amelia and the other ladies,” Rand said. “But thanks for the offer.”

  Sarah and Emmie covered their dismay about their quarters with nervous chatter about the fort and questioned Rand about what he’d learned of the situation.

  “I really wish I hadn’t brought you both here,” he admitted. “Jacob says no one is allowed outside the fort except for fighting and absolute necessities. Troops escort wagon trains occasionally, but Amelia hasn’t been outside the stockade in two months. Red Cloud’s tactics seem to be constant harassment. There’s some kind of skirmish almost every day, and the Indians seem to be getting bolder in their ploys.”

  “But Amelia said some of the ladies even brought their children with them. It surely can’t be that dangerous.”

  “I think Carrington and headquarters had no idea how strongly the Sioux would object to this fort. They call this harassment the ‘Circle of Death.’ Jacob says they’re determined to drive the whites from here for good.”

  The bugle sounded mess call and Rand took Sarah’s arm. “What’s done is done now.” He steered her toward the officers’ mess hall. “But I want you both to stay away from the stockade walls, and if you’re told to get to safety, obey immediately.”

  Remembering the scalped soldier, Emmie gulped. Was it as dangerous as it seemed?

  EIGHT

  Isaac took Emmie’s arm and escorted her to the mess hall. She could feel the smooth muscles of his forearm under his coat sleeve, and she wanted to draw her hand away. To do so would have been rude, though, and it wasn’t Isaac’s fault that she found him entirely too attractive for her own peace of mind.

  By the time they ate the luncheon of ever-present salt pork and beans, reconstituted vegetables, and coffee, the first fat drops of rain had begun to fall. The clouds obscured the sun and cast a dark pall over the fort as the wind howled like a thousand banshees. The men had already left for their afternoon duties, and Emmie glanced at the sky nervously as she and Sarah left the mess hall.

  They ran for the safety of Amelia’s quarters, with the wind driving sand and cold rain into their skin like a horde of vicious mosquitoes. Soaked and chilled, they burst through the door into Amelia’s parlor. As they shook the water out of their clothes and hair, a horrendous pounding and clattering began all around them.

  “What’s happening?” Emmie cried. She’d never heard anything like it.

  They all ran to the front window and looked out on a scene of pandemonium. Horses reared in terror and soldiers fought to control them as man and beast alike were pelted with hail the size of eggs. The white missiles fell so hard they left dents in the soft ground. Several soldiers cringed beneath the blows as their hats went flying. It only lasted for a few minutes, but by the time the freakish weather was over, the post surgeon had several bleeding soldiers to attend to. One man was trampled beneath the hooves of a panicked horse.

  The three women worried about the men until Amelia spied her husband under the overhanging roof of the sutler’s store. He waved at them cheerily and gave no evidence of dismay, so they assumed everyone was all right.

  The next morning Emmie awoke with something tickling her nose. The wind howled through the tent, but she had piled on so many blankets and buffalo robes, she was pleasantly warm and comfortable. She reached up to scratch her nose and touched cold, dry snow. During the night the early snowstorm had arrived, and the wind blew the powdery fluff through the cracks in the tent openings. A thick layer of white covered Emmie and all her possessions.

  She sat up and shook the snow from her hair and bedclothes. Scrambling out of bed, she emptied the snow from her shoes. She felt oddly lightheaded as she shook her dress thoroughly and pulled her nightgown over her head. By the time she was dressed, she was shivering almost uncontrollably. As she bent over to tie her boots, she almost tumbled to the floor as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She straightened up, suddenly overwhelmed with an attack of nausea. She rushed to the chamber pot at the end of her cot and vomited into it.

  What on earth was wrong with her? She couldn’t get sick now, not with Sarah and Amelia to care for. Clutching the chamber pot weakly, she sank back on the bunk. Amelia and Sarah both felt poorly so often. Who would clean up and cook if she fell ill?

  As she thought of their condition, a terrible thought made her gasp. When did she have her last monthly? Another wave of nausea shook her as she slumped against the pillow and thought about it. She hadn’t had her monthly at all in August, and September’s should have arrived last week. She closed her eyes as she contemplated the possibility that she might be pregnant. It could be, couldn’t it? Tears trickled from beneath her closed eyes. Was there no end to her shame? Did she now have to bear a bastard child? Surely not. This was probably just a result of being chilled in the night—or perhaps the influenza, or maybe even cholera. Anything, even something deadly, would be preferable to what she suspected was true.

  Sarah had evidently heard her retching, for she scratched at the opening between the two tents. “Emmie? Are you all right? I’m coming in.” She didn’t wait for an answer but pushed open the flap and entered. She hurried straight to the bed where Emmie lay, bleakly contemplating how much to tell her friend.

  “I’m fine. Just a little sick feeling. It’s probably nothing.”

  Sarah stared hard at Emmie and frowned. “You’re much too pale, Emmie. Rand, please ask Dr. Horton to stop by,” she called to her husband, who hovered near the doorway. “I don’t like the way she looks. And get the fire going in the stove too, please.” She turned back to Emmie. “Now I want you to get back in your nightgown and into bed. It’s my turn to take care of you.”

  “I’m feeling much better. Maybe if I had a cracker and some tea—” Emmie stammered.

  “The very thing. That always helps me when I feel sick. I’ll be right back with some, and I want to find you snuggled in the covers when I return.” With a last admonishing wag of her finger, Sarah stepped through the tent flap.

  Wearily Emmie pulled off her clothes and tugged on her thick flannel nightgown. There was no use in protesting. Little Sarah could be implacable when she thought she was in the right.

  Sarah returned with the steaming tea and a tin of crackers at the same time Dr. Horton arrived with his black bag. He was a tall, spare man in his forties, with a balding pate and a pleasant smile and demeanor. “Well, now, what seems to be the matter, young lady? You should be up and about. That pretty face of yours is good for morale.” He set his bag down on the bed and drew out his stethoscope. Rand came in just behind him and began to poke at the coals in the stove.

  Sarah handed the tea and crackers to Emmie. “I’ll run over and get Amelia while the doctor’s with you.”

  “There’s really no need—” But Sarah was gone before Emmie could finish her protest. Rand followed her out after winking at Emmie kindly.

  “When did you start feeling poorly?” The doctor put the cold stethoscope against her chest.

  “Just this morning
.” She bent forward obediently as he placed the stethoscope on her back and listened intently. She answered the rest of his questions and lay back against the pillow as he probed around on her stomach.

  “Ah,” he said after a few moments.

  “What is it?”

  “When did you have your last monthly?”

  Oh no. She swallowed hard, then told him in a hoarse whisper.

  He nodded. “I’d say you’re increasing. The little one should arrive about mid-May.” He frowned when he noticed her obvious distress. “You don’t seem overjoyed.”

  “My husband is dead, Dr. Horton, and I have no family.”

  He nodded again. “Yes, I know. But at least you’re among friends. And I’m sure in a fort full of eligible men, you could find a father for your baby if you wished.”

  “I’m not interested in marrying again,” she whispered. The doctor raised his eyebrows at her answer, and she laid a hand on his arm. “You’ve been very kind. How long will the sickness last?”

  “Hard to say.” He stood and began to put his things back in his bag. “It could only be for a few weeks or a few months. If you’re really unlucky, it could last your entire pregnancy. But most women find it subsides after four or five weeks.” He gestured at the crackers in her hand. “Those usually help if you keep some beside your bed and nibble on them before you even get out of bed. I would suggest you stay in bed today—you’ve had quite a shock, and I can see it’s upset you. If you need me again, just send one of the men for me.” He patted her hand. “At least you won’t be alone any longer. God knows best, my dear.” With a final pat he hurried away.

  Emmie closed her eyes and a few tears slipped out from under her lashes. It was easy for him to say that God knew best. The doctor wasn’t alone in the world. She had no means of supporting herself, let alone a baby. What was she going to do? Rand and Sarah wouldn’t throw her out, but she was supposed to be here to help Sarah, not be an additional burden on her friends who’d been so kind. She had no skills, no resources. She shuddered from the hopelessness of her situation.