“Do the best you can, Mack,” Sky said, then turned to go away.
“What’s going to happen, Sky?” He had stopped by the fire to get a cup of coffee and Rita stooped beside him. “I never saw anything like this before.” Her face was pale and for once she was subdued. “There was always a doctor and a hospital close.”
He didn’t answer, but sipped the bitter black coffee and stared into the fire. His own nerves were jumpy, and he was tired of questions that had no answer. “They’ll die, I reckon.”
She flinched at the brutality of his reply. “Then it’s like I said, isn’t it?”
He stared at her. “ ‘Like you said?’ ”
“At Chimney Rock . . .” She looked at him steadily, but there was no anger in her eyes, only sadness. “We live and we die, and that’s it, Sky. When Rebekah dies, she’ll leave nothing. All the fun she’s missed was for nothing.”
He had only half heard her. Looking up from the fire, he said, “I don’t know what to do, Rita.” The vulnerability on his face evoked a tenderness in her, and she laid a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s not your fault. Not anybody’s fault. That’s just the way things are.”
He stood up and she stood with him. There was a bitterness in his face. “I wish Pa were here.”
“He a doctor?”
“No—a preacher.”
“We have one of those,” Rita reminded him.
Sky rolled the cup in his hands and said slowly, “He’s a praying man, my pa—and so’s my stepmother. I’ve seen them pray—and things happened—things that were impossible happened, Rita!”
She asked quietly, “You still believe in miracles, Sky?”
“I don’t know what I believe, but I know what I’ve seen,” he replied through clenched teeth. “I saw my half brother dying of cholera one night—and I heard my pa and ma pray—and the next day I saw Thad running around like he’d never had a sick day.”
“Well, I don’t believe much in that sort of thing—but for your sake, I wish your folks were here,” Rita returned. Then she cocked her head and stared at him in a peculiar manner, her eyes intent on him. “You’re a pretty ‘holy’ sort of man yourself, Sky. Why don’t you ask for a miracle or two?”
He searched her face, looking for mockery. Seeing none, he said, “Don’t feel like I’ve lived the right kind of life to be askin’ for any favors from God, Rita. Always despised people who lived like they pleased, then ran to God when they were in trouble.”
“So have I—but this is a little different, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not you who needs a miracle. It’s these hurt people.”
He stared back at the fire, thinking. Finally he spoke. “I’ll go ask Brother Penny. Miracles are his department.”
He made his way back to the wagon where Rebekah lay, and was met at the entrance by Lot Penny. The preacher’s face was pale, and he seemed to have difficulty breathing. His usual piercing voice was thin and somewhat reedy, as if he were out of breath. “Brother Winslow, I wish you’d have a word with our sister.”
“Me?” Sky asked sharply. “Didn’t you pray with her?”
“Yes—but she’s asking for you.”
“Lot, this is out of control!” Sky’s voice was agitated. He clamped his hands behind his back, astonished to find out they were not steady—it was the first time something had affected him like this in years. “These people are dying!”
“I know,” Lot said simply. He looked old in the half light, and his plain features were haggard. “It’s all in God’s hands now.”
“Well, what about these miracles you’ve been preaching about? Are they out of fashion or something? Is God on a vacation?”
The anger in Winslow’s tone made Penny blink, and he said slowly, “God is always the same, Sky. Yesterday, today, and forever.”
“Then why in the name of heaven can’t we pray down some help for these people?”
“I didn’t know you were a praying man.”
“You know I’m not!” Sky shot back, the fear in him turning to anger. He knew it was unfair to blame his own failures on Lot Penny, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m just a sinner—but you’re supposed to be a Christian—a preacher even! So start praying! And I’m expecting to see something more from your prayers than wind, you hear me, Lot?”
The anger that had exploded in him like a live charge drained out as he drew the cover from the wagon and looked inside where Edith was sitting beside Rebekah. The pale yellow light of the small lantern bathed Rebekah’s face, and the sight of her shocked Winslow.
Rebekah’s face was white, except for her eyes, which were hollow depths of blackness sinking into her skull. Her lips were pinched together, pale and bloodless, and the look of death on her hit him in the pit of his stomach.
She opened her eyes without seeing and arched her back, raising her swollen body off the wagon bed. Her lips opened in a silent scream, but she allowed no sound to escape.
He groped for a place to sit, his legs trembling with a sudden weakness. As she lay back with a gasp, her eyes focused and she whispered, “Sky—?”
“I’m here, Rebekah!”
“I . . . want you to take care of Timmy . . . and my baby.” He swallowed hard. “Why, you’re going to take care of them yourself.”
She shook her head. “Promise me? Please?”
“Well . . .” Sky looked up to see Edith nod, and he said, “Sure, I will, Rebekah—but you can’t give up.”
“I know.” She paused and then her body arched again with pain, and Sky closed his eyes until it passed.
“You’ve got to pray!” Sky cried desperately. “Brother Penny is praying, but you’ve got to help.”
She looked at him with cloudy eyes, and reached out a hand. When he took it, she said, “Will you pray for me? And for the baby?”
He held her hand and a weakness ran through him. He would have died before praying for himself—but her fragileness gripped him, and he dropped his head and choked, “Oh, God! I know you can do anything! You are my father’s God, and he’s not here—so I’m asking you to help this woman!” His voice cracked, and he waited, then ended the prayer in a whisper. “Not for me—do it just because you’re the God of love! Do it in Jesus’ name!”
He bent his head, his shoulders shaking, and she whispered, “Thank you, Sky! “
He stood up and stumbled out of the wagon, walking blindly, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He moved away from the train and walked along the road with his head down. He didn’t come back to camp for hours.
****
The morning light was thin and gray as it dissolved the dark pockets of blackness shrouding the caravan. Here and there a few figures began stirring; every face was grim. Brother Penny busied himself around the fire making coffee. After finishing it, he poured a cup for himself and began drinking the brew. He looked up as Rita approached. “Any change in Rebekah?” he asked.
“No.”
She took the coffee he handed her, then looked up to see Sky walking along the trail. “Guess he’s been out praying for a miracle,” she remarked quietly.
Penny did not answer, but stared at her tired face and drank his coffee. “We’ve got to cut off Pete’s hand this morning.”
A shudder ran through her. “Who’s going to do that?”
“Sky said he’d do it.” Penny shook his head sadly. “That young man’s got too big a load to carry!”
They both watched as Sky stopped at Rebekah’s wagon and asked Edith something, then turned and headed for the camp. He walked up to Lake’s wagon and disappeared inside for at least five minutes; when he came out, he was holding a sack in his hand.
He approached the fire where they were sitting; his face was tense. “Seen Tom around?”
“Why, I don’t think I’ve seen him since yesterday,” Rita replied.
“Might be asleep in one of the wagons,” Penny offered.
Sky said abruptly, “Tell Riker I’ll be back soon as I can.”
&nb
sp; He wheeled and broke into a run. They watched with astonishment as he stopped, bent over the ground, and began running back and forth.
“He’s tracking Tom!” Penny said. “I reckon he thinks Tom’s lost.”
Sky carefully examined the ground, but found nothing. He changed his position, going to the far end of the trail, and almost at once found some faint sign in the dewy grass. Head down, he followed the tracks until they left the road and led into a patch of scrub timber. He lost the trail more than once, but swept back and forth until he’d found it again. The scrubby growth gave way to a fir forest, making the trail harder to follow over the carpet of needles.
About an hour later, he came upon the limp body of Lake, crumpled beside a tiny brook. At first he thought the man was dead, but then he saw the empty whiskey bottle and breathed a sigh of relief. Picking Lake up by the shoulders, Sky dragged him to the creek and—holding him by the hair—plunged his face into the frigid water.
Lake began to buck at once, and Sky yanked the man’s head out. “Wha—what’s goin’—!”
“Shut your mouth!” Sky hissed and pushed Lake’s face under again, holding the thrashing body down. Then he pulled him out and threw him down flat on his back.
Lake lay on the bank, gagging and coughing, until he was finally able to sit up and speak. When his head cleared, he cried indignantly, “You can’t do—!”
Sky pulled his gun smoothly and aimed it at the man. “If you say any more, Tom, I’ll blow your head off.”
The shock brought reason to Lake’s brain, and he sat there shivering until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Sky, what’s going on? Just because I got a little drunk—”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on, Tom!” Sky snapped, his eyes bright with anger. “There are three people dying in that camp—and you’re the cause of it!”
“Me! I didn’t shoot them—and it’s not my fault Rebekah’s having a baby in a breech position!” The words leaped out, but he shut his mouth, realizing he’d said too much.
“A breech birth? I don’t even know what that is,” Sky said softly, menacingly. “But you do, don’t you, Tom?” He picked up the sack he’d brought from Lake’s wagon, put his weapon away and pulled out a small black bag. He tossed it to Lake, who caught it reflexively, then stared at it as if it were a deadly snake. “It’s yours, isn’t it, Tom?” Sky growled.
“It—it used to be.”
“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
Lake’s face crumpled and he dropped the bag and hid his face in his hands. “No more! I used to be—but no more!”
Sky waited until the man’s shoulders stopped shaking before he moved to where Lake was slumped on the grass.
“Then why’re you carrying the bag along? Tom, what happened?”
It all came out then, the whole story. His face ashen, Lake told how he’d been drunk and killed a woman he was operating on. “I always thought I could handle booze,” he said in a thin voice. “But I killed her, just as sure as if I’d put a gun to her head myself!” He shivered. “Before, I was a doctor who was a drunk. Now I’m just a drunk, Sky. Don’t kill anybody, at least. I still keep the bag with me—even if I don’t dare use it. I don’t know why.”
“You’ve got to, Tom, and I mean now!”
“No, Sky!” Lake scrambled to his feet. “I knew you’d say that—but I can’t! I haven’t been a doctor in five years.”
“Tom,” Sky said evenly, “somebody’s got to take Pete’s hand off. If you don’t do it, I’ll have to. Somebody’s got to dig that bullet out of Charlie Gladden. You may kill him, but if I do it, he’s got no chance at all. And what do you think I can do with Rebekah? You’re murdering her if you don’t do what you can.”
For fifteen minutes Winslow pleaded with Lake but got nowhere. Finally, Sky glared at him and slowly pulled out his gun.
Anger flared in Tom’s eyes. “You think I’m afraid to die, Winslow? I’ve prayed for death for years. Go on—shoot me!”
“I’m going to shoot you, Tom,” Sky nodded coldly. “In the ankle—blow it to bits. Then I’m going to drag you back to the train and tell them about you. “
Lake flinched. “You wouldn’t do that!”
Sky thumbed back the hammer and aimed at Lake’s ankle. “I’ll do it, Tom. There are three people dying back there, and I think more of any one of them than I do of a low-down cowardly dog like you! So you’re going back, and you can amputate your own foot—if they don’t shoot you like a yellow dog first!”
Tom Lake stared at the gun that was lined up on his ankle, imagining what the bullet would do to the fragile bones. He looked up into Winslow’s unblinking blue eyes and knew that there would be no reprieve—the man would do as he said. Tom dropped his head and stared at the ground.
Sky kept the gun trained on Lake’s ankle, and knew as well that he would shoot. An icy wave of violence washed over him, for Winslow knew only too well what was at stake. He waited to let the man decide whether to live or die.
The sun was rising, and a gray squirrel ran out on a limb over their heads, chattering at them angrily before retreating inside the trunk. The sweet smell of pine and balsam was fresh in the cold air, and the creek bubbled over the stones, making tiny fists of white foam that reared up when the water hit a stone.
Finally Tom lifted his head, and there was a light in his eyes that Sky had never seen. “Let’s go.”
“All right, Tom.”
Lake picked up the bag and trudged out of the glade with Sky behind him. The squirrel popped his head over a branch, his bright beady eyes inquiring; he came down and frisked his tail, staring down the trail where the two disappeared.
By the time they got back to camp, everyone knew that Lake had left and that Sky had gone after him. The people had gathered together in a group, and as the two men approached and stepped into the center, a quiet fell across the company.
Tom Lake looked haggard as he stood in the middle of the circle and looked around. His face was puffy and his eyes were bloodshot; nevertheless, they saw that something had changed.
“I used to be a doctor,” he announced in a clear voice that carried easily over the area. “Then I began to drink, and killed a woman I was operating on. That’s when I became a real drunk.” He let that sink in, then added, “I haven’t been a doctor for five years, but I’ll do what I can.”
Al Riker stepped forward, his tired eyes gleaming hopefully. “Lake, help my boy. He’s bleedin’ bad!”
“I’ll do what I can, Al. No guarantees.”
“I know, Doc,” Riker replied quickly. “Just do what you can.”
“Is there someone who can help me?” he asked.
“Yes. Edith,” Sky said quickly. “Karen, go get her and then you stay with Rebekah.”
When Edith arrived Lake began. There was a new authority in his voice as he gave orders. “Edith, give Pete ten drops of that laudanum. By the time I finish with Charlie, he ought to be ready.”
In twenty minutes Lake had extracted the bullet from Charlie’s stomach and stopped the bleeding. “It’s a good thing I got in there,” he said quietly to Edith, who was helping him. “That bleeder would have killed him today.” He treated the wound, then went to amputate Pete’s hand.
The operation on Pete Riker took much longer, but those who watched saw that the man knew exactly what he was doing. After it was over, he said to the Rikers, “He’ll have a good stump. I left a good cushion of muscle, and it won’t be long before he’ll be able to wear a hook.”
Mrs. Riker began to weep, and Al said in a husky voice, “Thanks, Doc!”
Tom said quietly, “Sorry to be so late. Should have done this before.”
Sky had stood by during the procedures. Now he accompanied Lake as they hurried toward Rebekah’s wagon. There was admiration in his face as he said, “Well, Tom, you’re a slow starter—but you’re a real sure-shot once you let the hammer down.”
“I feel like a man again, Sky!” Then he added soberly, �
��It’s not going to be so easy with Rebekah, Sky. It’s a little different from digging a slug out.”
“You’ll do fine, Doc,” Sky reassured. “You were born for it—a natural!” He dropped a hand on Lake’s thin shoulder. “An angel unawares, as the Good Book says!”
Lake grinned in embarrassment. “Nobody ever called me that before—an angel unawares.”
“Well, you’ll do till one comes along—now do your stuff!”
Lake had been right, for Rebekah had not been as easy to deal with as the others had. All day long the train sat still, the men and women milling nervously around, asking each other unanswerable questions.
At suppertime, Dave sat by the fire with Sky, Rita and Karen. The four of them were absently picking at their dinners when a cry tore the air and all of them scrambled to their feet.
“That was a baby!” Dave exclaimed.
Edith came out of the wagon and ran toward them, crying, “It’s a girl!—and Rebekah is fine!”
Sky pulled his gun out of his holster and emptied it into the air with a yell—then stood stockstill and looked around with a sheepish expression on his face. “That was a dumb thing to do!” he muttered.
Rita had a wondering smile on her face. “Well, I guess a little salute for a miracle isn’t too foolish, Sky.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE LAST FROLIC
Fort Boise was no better than Fort Laramie or Fort Hall—but it was on the last leg of the Oregon trail, so there was a lighter spirit on the train as it rolled westward toward the Blue Mountains.
A hint of winter was already in the winds that came down from the north, though it was only mid-September. As wagons wound around the crooked trail, Edith and Sky marched along, keeping pace easily with the plodding oxen. Since they had left the South Pass, this had become a habitual thing, for with sick people in the train, Sky had found her to be capable of judging the speed of the march.
The Reluctant Bridegroom Page 17