As always, Ilsa didn’t walk when she could run. Exploring that far canyon had Ilsa nearly running herself off her feet. When they’d gotten home, they’d eaten, and Ilsa had rolled up in a blanket and gone almost instantly to sleep. Jo and Ursula were only moments behind her.
Now morning had come, maybe the day they could move home. She was sure that was what had Ursula upset.
Jo admitted she was eager for it. That narrow canyon trail back to their home could fill in with snow, and they could be trapped up here all winter.
Oh, they’d survive. There were elk, and they’d eat one of Dave’s cows if they had to. But she didn’t want to spend the winter trapped with her sisters and away from Dave. Not to mention Ma’s pies.
Ursula came out of the cabin, bundled up. She closed the door quietly, so she was thinking of Ilsa, too.
“I can tell you’re worrying. What is it?” Jo hoped talking would ease Ursula’s mind.
“The trail down will soon blow shut.”
“I thought you wanted to get away from everyone. Being trapped ought to suit you.”
Ursula crossed her arms and met Jo’s eyes. She had the sad, frightened expression she bore too often these days. “I can’t decide whether to worry about being stuck up here by heavy snow that closes the trail or getting out and having neighbors too close.”
Ursula’s voice rose nearly to a wail. “I don’t know what I want, Jo.”
“We haven’t gotten sick.” Jo was disappointed in Ursula, always fearful. That didn’t seem very Christian. “Some of Dave’s cowhands came down with a fever and rash, but they’re already past the worst of it. When Dave comes today, I’m hoping he’ll say it’s time for us to come home.”
“To a house full of strangers,” Ursula scowled.
“No.” Jo fought for patience, feeling as if she were fighting for her sister’s very soul. “You know they’re moving to their own cabin. We won’t go back until they do. We’ll have our cabin back and have it to ourselves. Why can’t you be hopeful, Ursula?”
Ursula snorted, a very dark sound.
“Dave came only for a short time yesterday, he said they were pushing hard to get the cabin finished and warm and ready for Ma and Quill. They hoped to get moved so today they could bring us home. I’m sure they had to travel slowly because Quill is still fragile and Mitch still weak, but they are both on the mend, and we’ll have our cabin back if not today, then for certain tomorrow.”
Ursula opened her mouth.
“No, stop!” Jo’s patience snapped. She held her hand up and nearly shoved her palm in Ursula’s face. “Don’t say whatever rude thing you’re planning to say. Ursula, where is your Christian charity? Where is your hope? Where is the love God commands us to show our neighbors as ourselves? Stop this. You’ve let yourself get trapped by fear. You’re not behaving as a Christian ought. Get control of your mouth and turn your eyes upon Jesus. Life and death do not matter if we belong to Him. ‘To live is Christ. To die is gain.’ You know all this, but you aren’t living it.”
Ursula’s mouth opened, then closed. She did that again, twice. Finally, her mouth closed, then her eyes, and she lowered her head until her chin rested on her chest. It might have been to pray. Jo didn’t speak. If Ursula was praying, then maybe God would allow Jo’s words to reach her. For once, maybe Ursula would hear.
The silence stretched. Jo prayed for her sister and gave God time to work.
A soft coo of a mourning dove broke the silence. A stiff breeze buffeted their well-wrapped bodies.
Jo smelled snow on the wind, and the sharp scent of pine branches. Over that, the smell of woodsmoke puffing out of the chimney in their cabin.
Slowly, so slowly Jo wasn’t sure it was even movement at first, Ursula raised her head, her blue eyes wide open and deeply calm.
“Every day. Every day, I have forced myself to come home with you from the stone building. I have this reflex in me to withdraw. I use reason and the love I feel for you and Ilsa to come back here, but inside me is something that is not reasonable, and it’s got a powerful hold on me.” Reaching out, Ursula clamped one hand on Jo’s wrist. “You’re right, Jo. ‘To live is Christ. To die is gain.’ I’ve been ruled by my fears, and that’s a sin. I’m going to find courage and change. If I live, I’ll live for Christ. If I die, it will be in the knowledge of the gain of heaven. I’m going to—”
A faint cry cut through Ursula’s confession, her decision to change. Furrows appeared on Ursula’s smooth brow. “What’s that?”
“Ilsa.” Jo’s attention was pulled from Ursula, and she turned to the cabin, then rushed forward and swung the door open.
Ilsa was lying on the bed, wrapped tightly in her blanket. Another cry came, and Jo rushed over to drop to her knees beside her little sister.
“What’s wrong?” Jo reached to pull the blanket back and gasped.
Ilsa’s face was covered with spots. Jo reached out to find Ilsa had a high fever. And even the pressure of Jo’s hand on her forehead wouldn’t wake her.
“I was a fool,” Ursula snarled.
“Get cool cloths and hold them on her forehead.” Jo pulled the covers away, fearing the heat in her sister’s small body.
Ursula didn’t move.
Finally, with the blanket pulled aside, Jo had a second to look up at her older sister, standing frozen with fear.
“Please, Ursula.” Jo leapt to her feet and rushed to get the cloths herself to dip in the basin. “I need help.”
Stumbling, Ursula went to a pitcher and poured it into a basin with shaky hands.
Jo was scared of handling this fever. She and Ursula knew too little of how to treat sickness. She needed Dave.
Jo thought of the daily delivery of food and hoped Dave came early. Then she heard the clop of hooves outside, and she raced for the door and flung it open.
Dave. Smiling and trotting toward the cabin.
Her expression made his smile melt like snow in August.
“We need help. Ilsa’s burning with fever and covered in a rash. You remember how Mitch was.”
“I’ll go for Ma and bring medicine,” Dave said, cutting her off. “I’ll be back with all I need as fast as I can ride.”
He whirled his horse around and galloped for the top of the canyon. A man of action. A man of courage. He didn’t hesitate to help, not for one instant.
Jo rushed back to the cabin to find Ursula holding a cool cloth to Ilsa’s forehead and singing quietly.
The singing stopped. Ursula looked at Jo. “When he returns, I’ll go.”
“Ursula, no. We need you here. Ilsa needs you.” Ursula had been a mother from the age of eight when their parents vanished. Then a few years later, with Grandma gone, she stepped in even more. Now she cared for Ilsa as if her little sister were indeed her own child.
It wrenched Jo’s heart to think of all that had come true about Grandma’s warnings.
“Do you remember how Grandpa went to search for Ma and Pa when they went away?”
“I remember a little.” Jo dug around for memories. “I wanted to help him, too. I just remember Grandma saying no and that was that. But I was . . . five, maybe six when they left. Of course I couldn’t go.”
“I was three years older than you, and it was foolish for me to want to help, too. But I did want to. Grandpa left, and I used to sneak off, every day after he left, and go to the head of that trail and look down. I’d think about going.”
“By yourself?”
“I was old enough to run around on my own, or at least I was allowed to. I’m not sure it was wise, but Grandma and Grandpa let us play far and wide.”
Jo remembered that. “And you and I allowed Ilsa the same freedom.” Jo looked down at her sick little sister. “We’re lucky we weren’t eaten by wolves the first week.”
Ursula managed a weak smile. “I used to run off by myself and stand at the trailhead.”
“The one Dave drove his cattle up?”
Nodding, Ursula went on. “I
’d stare at that trail, and every day it seemed to lead to somewhere more dangerous, more deadly. I would imagine only black existed beyond where my gaze could reach. Some days I imagined going down it was like sliding into the belly of a snake.”
“You were for sure too young to go down it, if you thought that.”
“I imagined Ma and Pa dead. And Grandpa was gone a long, long time. I was sure he’d been swallowed by that snake, too. After a while, instead of sliding into a snake’s belly, I was sure to go down that trail was to slide right into hell.”
Jo gasped, but didn’t interrupt Ursula. Her sister had never spoken of this before.
“It’s not sensible. I suppose it’s madness of a kind, but that’s what I see when I look down the mountain. That’s what I think is down there. And try as I might, I can’t shake the feeling of not just a chance of death down there, but a sure trip straight to hell. And until I can get over that, I can’t be around the Wardens. I can’t be around you, Jo. Your choices are terrifying to me, and all I can do is want to save you.”
“I don’t want to be saved. I don’t believe I need to be saved, not from nice folks like Dave and his family.”
“I know, and having me close makes everyone miserable. Not just me, but you and Ilsa, too, and the Wardens. I’m going to go. I’ll live alone and bother you no more.”
“You have to stay until we’re sure you’re not getting sick.”
Ursula lifted her head, her eyes shone like the blue at the heart of the lantern light. “You’re the one who said, ‘To live is Christ. To die is gain.’ What does it matter if I sicken and die alone?”
“Ursula, don’t say such a thing.”
“I’m going, and I don’t want you to come after me. Now, Ilsa has some of her medicine up here. There’s hot water. Brew some tea.” Ursula went back to pressing the damp cloth on Ilsa’s fevered brow.
“I will come after you. You’re my sister, and I love you. I’ll never allow you to cut yourself off from your only family. If you run, I’ll come after you.”
“So we know exactly how it’s going to be.”
“And now I’ll brew the tea.”
Ursula went back to her soothing song.
Jo and Ursula worked over Ilsa. Ilsa woke and spoke quietly to them. Her words were slurred, and they came slowly, but she was alert enough to understand she was sick, and she even gave instructions about how to steep the tea properly.
Then they heard pounding hooves.
Jo rushed to hang a pot of water over the fire to keep it warm. When she turned back, Ursula had left Ilsa’s side and was pulling on her coat with jerky motions.
“I’m leaving.” Ursula looked defiantly at Jo, then her eyes slid to Ilsa, but she wrenched them away. “You have all the help you need. I won’t stay in this cabin with the Wardens. I’m going to the stone house.”
She took her bow and knife and thrust supplies into a leather bag. Then she jerked the door open and glared back at Jo. “If you come after me, you won’t be welcome.”
She rushed out.
“Ursula, come back!” Jo reached the door to see her sister run as if chased by wolves across the open meadow. “Ilsa needs you!”
Ursula only ran faster, as if Jo’s words were the wolves.
Coward. Betrayer. Weakling.
Jo fought down the rage in her heart. She couldn’t forget it. Would never forgive this. But right now, she had no time. The Wardens, Dave and his ma, galloped toward the cabin. Jo didn’t have time to wait for them, either.
Ilsa needed her. She went back inside and closed the door with a loud crack. Then she went to help her sister. Alone.
Ma galloped behind Dave like God himself might ride. She was so loving, such a great cook. So quick with a smile and a gentle hand, that Dave forgot just how tough she was, how long she’d been tearing a living out of a wilderness. The Wardens had come to this country right after the end of the Mexican-American War. They’d loved the land and turned toward the mountains after following the Santa Fe Trail. They’d built their first small cabin when there was nothing here.
They’d lived peaceably with the Utes, the native folks who were in the area. They traded with them, learned from them. They’d built a ranch and a herd with the strength in their backs and the wits in their heads. Ma and Pa had plenty of both.
Dave galloped straight for the cabin with Ma hard on his heels. He saw Ursula rush out, then Jo on her heels. But Ursula went on, and Jo gave Dave a look while he was still too far away to know what had happened, then Jo went inside.
They swung down, lashed their hard-breathing horses to the hitching post outside the front door, and rushed for the cabin just as Jo swung open the door.
Dave halted, and Ma dodged around him, passed Jo without knocking her over, and knelt beside Ilsa before Dave could get moving again.
“Dave, bring in the supplies.” Ma didn’t even look in his direction.
He whirled toward the horses, both laden with heavy packs and filled saddlebags. Jo swung the door shut to hold in the heat and was at his side, helping him carry.
It took them two trips, but they had everything in. Jo already had a pot of water steaming in the fireplace.
“I’ve brought more of Ilsa’s tea, but I see you have given her some already. I gave more of it to Mitch than Ilsa suggested, and it brought his fever down.” Ma left Ilsa’s side to begin brewing a new cup.
She soon had it steeping.
Jo eased cool cloths onto Ilsa’s brow. “Her fever is higher than it was just an hour ago.”
“Remember she wrapped up snow in heavy cloth, then packed it around Quill’s head? I did that for Mitch, too. I brought a cloth we can use for that.”
“I’ll get it.” Dave grabbed for the cloth and was back outside. He needed to help. He needed to do something, anything, to push back his fear.
He shaped the snow into a long, thin tube a little fatter than a snake, long enough to wrap from ear to ear over the top of Ilsa’s head, and brought it inside.
Ma supported Ilsa’s shoulders while Jo coaxed the tea down Ilsa’s throat.
“Mitch is better now, isn’t he? He didn’t have the most dangerous kind of illness, what your worst fears were?”
Dave had told her that, but she needed to hear it again.
“No, he didn’t have that, and she doesn’t have smallpox, either. I’m sorely afraid you will catch it, too, Jo. And Ursula.” Ma glanced over her shoulder at Dave. They’d both seen her run when they’d ridden up.
“She ran. She ran like the worst kind of weakling and coward.” Jo kept her words gentle as she cradled Ilsa’s head when Ilsa tried to turn away from the bitter tea.
“She waited until she knew help had arrived.” Dave packed his tube of snow while he fought down the impulse to rage against Ursula. She was too adult to do something like this.
“Her fears got the better of her.” That was as kind as he could be.
“And they shouldn’t have. It’s during hard times that we test ourselves, find out what kind of people we really are.” Jo sounded disappointed, but she was quiet about it. Dave could see she was furious inside, but she didn’t want to upset Ilsa.
Dave brought the packed snow to his ma.
“It’s about more than how Ursula is feeling. What if she gets sick, and she’s away from here, alone? She won’t survive, not out in the cold with no one to care for her.” Ma’s eyes met Dave’s.
“I’ll go. I’ll drag her back.”
“No,” Jo said. “Not yet. She was fine this morning, and she’ll head for that stone building we found. She can build a fire there. And she can bring down a hog or a deer to eat. She’s only in trouble if she gets sick. We do have to check on her soon. Right now, though, let’s care for Ilsa.”
26
Mitch the Itch.
Dave had given him that nickname about an hour after Mitch woke up with no fever.
Mitch was getting ready to make a fist and start swinging when Dave went riding off
to deliver supplies to the Nordegren women.
Then he came tearing back with the news that Ilsa, that little pest, was sick. Dave went off with Ma, and left Mitch and Pa, neither of them feeling well.
The guilt was killing him, sitting in the brand-new cabin, safe and warm while his exhausted Ma and Dave doctored someone. “It’s my fault. I had no idea I was sick. I don’t remember anyone on the train who had a fever or spots.”
Pa wasn’t up to pacing, but he did hoist himself out of his chair to get coffee and a plate of the eggs Ma had just finished scrambling, then set aside to run off.
“It’s not your fault, Mitch. You know that. It puts me in mind of Jo telling us her grandpa always stayed away awhile when he’d been to town. I’ve never considered such a thing. We don’t head into town that often. Maybe we oughta build a little cabin off a fair piece from our house.”
Mitch shook his head. “So, riding to town gets every man stuck in a cabin by himself? That would make the idlers offer to run for supplies, and it’d make the hard workers who can’t stand sitting around refuse to leave the ranch.”
Pa was quiet awhile. “Not that different from spending time in a line shack.”
Mitch decided food was an idea with merit, so he filled a plate and sat across the table from Pa. “I see no sign of spots on you or Ma or Dave, but what if you didn’t catch it right away? You could still get sick. Of the four of us, I’m the one we’re sure isn’t contagious anymore. I should’ve gone to take care of Ilsa, not Ma and Dave.”
“All those blisters have dried up and scabbed over. If you’d stop scratching, those scabs would heal up.”
Just talking about it made him have to fight to ignore the itch.
“I should have gone.” Mitch took his plate to the sink, then Pa’s, and washed them good. Then he got them both a cup of coffee and a slice of the cake Ma had made yesterday. They ate while Mitch stewed.
When he was done, he made up his mind. “I can’t go now, because that leaves you here alone.”
Pa lifted his head from his cake, and their eyes met. Pa didn’t talk, but Mitch knew two things.
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