by Karen Baney
At first, after his foolhardy proposal, he felt awkward around Hannah. Then the major sent him to escort some of the governor’s men on a tour of the area. When he returned two weeks later, he and Hannah fell into a friendly banter when their paths crossed. She was still grieving her lost husband, though some of the bitterness seemed to be lifting. If only she would let him take care of her.
Shrugging his thoughts aside, Joshua finished his meal. As he turned to leave, one of his men grabbed his arm.
“Sir, its Mrs. Anderson,” the soldier stated.
Frantic, he looked around and saw her almost hit the ground before two cowboys kept her standing. He rushed to her side, swallowing the rising lump in his throat. Without thought, he lifted Hannah in his arms. She felt small and fragile. He ran to the post doctor shouting for Mrs. Murphy to ready a bed. It was when he gently laid Hannah on the bed that he saw it. Her dress was covered in blood.
She screamed fiercely, barely able to catch her breath between bursts of pain. Hannah clutched his hand, the pressure of her grip strong. Not knowing what else to do, Joshua stood by her side. She looked up at him with eyes full of fear. “It’s too soon,” she panted, almost as if asking him to make it stop. How he wished he could.
Dr. Murphy quickly assessed the situation and enlisted the aid of his wife. Mrs. Murphy produced a stack of towels and bandages, before retrieving some water. The doctor turned and asked Joshua, “When is she due?”
Joshua shook his head. He had no idea. It was not something they discussed.
The doctor muttered something, then Mrs. Murphy ushered Joshua outside. Not wanting to go far in case Hannah needed him, he took a seat on the ground just outside of the medical tent. The screams seemed to last forever. He lowered his head to his hands, lifting prayers heavenward. He was certain there was no hope for the child, but he prayed for Hannah, for her life.
His heart broke for the overwhelming grief she faced these last few months. First the loss of her husband. Now… He did not want to think how deeply she would grieve if she lost this child, too. He knew how it would affect him if it was his child.
Sometime around eleven at night, Mrs. Murphy laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but the baby did not survive,” she said. “Your wife is resting, but you may see her now.”
He was too concerned for Hannah’s safety to correct the doctor’s wife, though he wished what she said was true. Jumping up quickly, the numbness in his legs slowed him. Shaking each leg to get the blood flowing, he passed through the curtain. The sight of Hannah’s frail form brought a groan from his lips. Her skin was gray and her eyes appeared sunken. Perspiration dotted her forehead. Her hair had fallen loose of the normally neat chignon. Instead, it was a tangled mess—yet beautiful. Reaching over, he gently rested his hand on her head praying for the Lord to heal her. She did not stir at his touch.
Not wanting to leave, he took the seat next to her and kept his hand over hers. When did she become so important to him? He wondered as a fierce protectiveness flooded his heart. He wanted to shield her from this pain. He wanted to make life better for her. Keep her from harm.
Mrs. Murphy was at his side again speaking softly. Judging by the crick in his neck, Joshua must have fallen asleep in the chair.
Seeing dawn lighting the tent, he shot to his feet. He missed his scheduled report to the major! If he did not leave now, he would have to report for his morning duties unshaven and in yesterday’s uniform. He rushed back to his tent after letting the doctor’s wife know he would return later to check on Hannah, hoping he would be in less trouble than he thought.
Chapter 22
Hannah tried to move, but her limbs felt like giant logs, stiff and nearly impossible to lift. She saw a kindly woman grab a wet cloth before turning to face her.
As she mopped Hannah’s forehead, she said, “Glad to see you are awake. Your husband will be greatly relieved.”
Confused, Hannah asked, “Drew?”
The woman paused, looking perplexed. “Joshua,” she offered before introducing herself as Mrs. Murphy, the post doctor’s wife. “But you may call me Martha.”
Martha helped Hannah sit up and drink some water. Absently, Hannah placed her hand on her stomach. Her eyes grew wide when she no longer felt the bulge of pregnancy. Her breath grew shallow and her heart beat rapidly within her chest. What happened to her baby?
Martha placed a calming hand on her shoulder. With soft words she said, “I’m so sorry, Hannah, but the baby was lost.”
Tears welled in Hannah’s eyes as she sank back down into the bed. Her last connection to Drew was gone, ripping a new and deep cut into her heart. She truly had nothing left of her beloved. God had finally taken everything she held dear. Her mother. Her father. Her home. Her husband. Her child.
What kind of horrid deity could be so cruel, so heartless? Why could he not leave her alone or leave her with some hope? Why did he have to strip her of everything, leaving her an orphaned, homeless, widowed woman?
She would never trust him again. Never.
Sometime later, Hannah woke again. She heard soft voices nearby. It sounded like Lieutenant Harrison and the doctor’s wife.
“Mrs. Murphy, although Hannah is very dear to me, she is not my wife.”
Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. When Martha mentioned her husband the last time she woke, Hannah went from hope to despair in a few short seconds. Thankfully the lieutenant was setting Martha straight.
Joshua’s voice continued, “Her husband died in the mountains shortly before our party arrived at the fort. He was my friend and I have taken it upon myself to see she is cared for.”
“I see.” Martha’s voice sounded unconvinced.
“May I see her?”
The curtain parted and his gaze connected with hers. Hannah saw something more than concern in Lieutenant Harrison’s eyes before he could mask it. He sat in the chair next to her taking her hand. She did not pull away, for she truly needed a friend right now—someone to lean on. Tears threatened to form, yet again, until Hannah looked away.
“Dr. Murphy says you will need to rest for several weeks,” his voice was soft as he spoke. “I have taken the liberty of arranging for your care, so you need not worry about rushing back to work at the mess tent.”
“Thank you, lieutenant,” Hannah stoically replied.
“I am so sorry, Hannah.” The compassion in his voice nearly undid her. His fingers gently ran across her knuckles, breaking down her resolve.
“Please don’t. I don’t want to remember all God has stripped from me,” she whispered as rivulets moistened her face. She pulled her hand from his and absently brushed the blanket covering her empty womb. Looking away, she said coldly, “I’m tired and would like to rest now.”
He stood without a word. Leaning over he placed a kiss on her forehead. As he straightened and turned to walk back through the curtain, she noticed a slight slump to his shoulders. Had she wounded him by her need for privacy?
She closed her eyes and let the healing sleep work.
“Hannah,” Martha said, her voice sounding far off.
Hannah blinked several times trying to get the fog to lift. When her eyes opened fully, Martha stood by her side.
“I brought you some broth,” she said, instructing Hannah to lean forward. She propped several pillows behind her until she sat up enough to eat.
“Joshua stopped by again this morning,” Martha stated as she lifted the spoon to Hannah’s lips.
Hannah took the sip of salty liquid and swallowed. She glanced away, hoping to avoid showing any interest in the conversation. All she wanted to do was sleep forever. To be reunited with her beloved Drew and her miscarried child. She did not even know if her child had been a boy or a girl. They buried it before she could see.
“Here,” Martha said to get her attention for the next sip of broth. Returning to her previous conversation, she said, “He wanted me to tell you he would be out with the governor’s men again for the next sever
al weeks.”
Again, Hannah swallowed the broth, not commenting.
Lifting the spoon again, Martha said, “That young man seems quite concerned about your wellbeing. Said he even tried to get assigned some duties close by so he could keep an eye on you.”
Sip. Swallow. Silence.
“But, Major Willis refused his request.”
Why did Joshua insist on butting in? Hannah thought. Couldn’t he just leave her in peace? Leave her to her dark mood?
“What’s that frown for, Hannah?” Martha asked after the next sip slithered down her throat.
When Hannah remained silent, Martha did not press her further.
“Anyway, Joshua said he would come back to see you just as soon as he could.”
At the next spoonful, Hannah shook her head. “No more,” she said, referring to both the conversation and the broth. Shutting her eyes, she hoped Martha would assume she needed rest.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Hannah sat up, wide awake. She stared up at the ceiling begging for sleep to return. She could not handle the thoughts that were waiting on the edge of her consciousness. She did not want to remember she was alone, abandoned.
Sobs escaped from the captivity of her throat. She could control them no longer. She cried for Drew. She cried for her dead child. She cried for the loss of her dreams of a new life in this wild territory with her beloved. She cried for the past loss of her mother and of her father. She cried for her lost relationship with her savior.
She was so cold, so lonely, so desperate.
She had no one. Not God. Not family. Not her husband. Not her friends. She was utterly alone.
A light flickered on and approached closer, illuminating Martha.
“Oh, Hannah,” she exclaimed as she set the lamp on the stand next to Hannah’s bed. Then she took Hannah in her arms and rocked her back and forth. “There, there. Let it all out.”
She sobbed for what seemed like hours. Martha said nothing. She did not try to offer any advice or convince Hannah that God still cared. She didn’t recite verses about how everything would work out. Instead, she just held Hannah until, at last, the tears dried up.
Sniffling, Hannah took the handkerchief Martha handed her. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Then she lay back against the soft bed, sleep taking over once again.
Finally, four weeks later, Dr. Murphy pronounced Hannah fit enough to return home to her own tent. She was cleared to work for part of the day with the strong admonition that if she felt tired, she should rest. The man who ran the mess tent was eager to have her return under any condition. The constant flow of government men in addition to feeding the army was more than they could handle without Hannah.
Days became filled with routine again. She slept past the morning meal, still physically recovering though never emotionally recovering. Then midmorning she would wake, dress, and head to the mess tent. Hannah prepared the midday meal then helped serve it, before retiring back to her tent for rest. The other two women prepared the evening meal, but Hannah returned to help serve. As her strength increased, she increased her responsibilities.
This particular day, a Sunday, Hannah rushed from the mess tent to Charles and Martha Murphy’s tent. Since returning to work, she reserved Sunday afternoons for the couple who became dear friends. Though she was far from forgiving God for destroying her life, she felt comfort in spending the afternoon with the Murphy’s.
“Knock, knock,” she said as she poked her head into their tent.
“Hannah, come on in,” Dr. Charles Murphy greeted.
Martha gave her a warm embrace, then motioned her to a seat. “How have you been?”
“Tired,” Hannah said, smiling.
“Shall we get started,” Charles asked, opening his Bible.
Hannah inwardly cringed, as she had every week, not ready to let go of her anger. Yet, each week she returned. She did not understand her own reasoning for coming back.
Soon Charles’ deep bass voice filled the room as he read a passage of scripture. Over and over it seemed the passages Charles picked talked of God’s enduring love and faithfulness. The more she listened the more she let go of some of her distrust.
Following today’s reading Charles excused himself, giving Hannah and Martha some time alone. Martha appeared a bit nervous, shifting in her chair.
“Hannah,” she said, “I just wanted to let you know that you are not alone in your loss.”
Hannah sharply sucked in air through her nose.
Before she could respond, Martha continued, “I, too, have lost not one, but three children.” Martha broke eye contact and fiddled with the handkerchief clutched in her hand. “My first child miscarried, much like what you experienced.” Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, but held without spilling over. “Then, my second child, a son…he died of whooping cough as an infant. Sad, isn’t it, that a doctor can work to save the lives of so many, but loses his own son.”
Martha’s voice broke and the tears flowed. “It was so hard when he died. Charles blamed himself for the longest time. And I became bitter. I guess I blamed him, too. I mean, he was a doctor and had cured hundreds of infants with whooping cough with success. All except our son.”
Martha sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. Hannah sat ramrod straight listening intently to the tale. Who would have ever known, looking at Martha today, that she had faced such insurmountable loss?
“Then, when our third child was born, Lilly, both Charles and I were overjoyed. She was such a precious little girl. We loved her dearly. When she was three years old…she got the measles. Charles and I tended her day and night. Then one day the fever broke…it appeared she was on the mend…”
A sob caught in Martha’s throat. “The next morning, when I went to check on her, she was gone.”
Tears came to Hannah’s eyes. Martha stood and wrapped her arms around Hannah. They both cried, letting some of the sorrow flee from their broken motherly hearts.
After several minutes, Martha stepped back. Grasping Hannah’s hands in hers, she said, “I tell you these things, Hannah, not for your pity, but to help you understand that you are not alone in your grief. You have a sister here before you that has walked a most sorrowful journey and survived.”
Looking her straight in the eyes, Martha said again, “You are not alone.”
Hannah nodded numbly, not quite ready to let that truth fully sink in.
Martha released her hands. Dabbing her eyes, she said, “If you ever want to talk to me about any of the heartache you are going through, please know that I am here for you.”
Hannah nodded, trying to remain detached. “I better be getting back. It’s past time to start supper preparations.”
Martha smiled. “Go with God, Hannah.”
The words echoed in Hannah’s mind as she walked back to the mess tent. By the time she arrived, the two Mexican women already had the meal well under way. They assured Hannah that they could cover things for tonight, sending her back to her tent.
Laying down on her bed, she thought of all that Martha said. Though Martha had not lost her husband, she had lost three children. Surely her grief equaled that of Hannah’s. Yet, here she was, however many years later, a sweet compassionate woman—not a hint of grief present.
Hannah wondered if she might heal so well from this burden of grief. How long would it take?
The next evening, Hannah stayed at the mess tent after supper to help with dishes. It was the first time since… She finally felt well enough to get through the entire day’s duties.
Nearly a month passed and Lieutenant Harrison never stopped by. She did not know if he had returned from escorting the governor’s party or not. Hannah hoped he was well. She missed his friendship and hoped he would return soon.
As she finished washing the last dish, she heard a commotion outside. A rider pulled up short, just missing Hannah as she stepped from the tent.
“Where’s the governor?” he asked.
Hannah shrug
ged.
The man dismounted and headed toward the major’s quarters. After a few moments, several soldiers and the civilians working at the fort gathered around to see what news the distraught rider brought. In minutes the major and rider stepped out of the major’s tent and addressed the crowd.
“A cowboy was killed in town last night by the Apaches,” Major Willis stated.
A murmur rose through the crowd. Someone shouted, “Are you going to go after them?”
“I do not have enough men here at the fort right now to send any more out chasing savages.”
The rider crossed his arms, scowl firmly planted on his face. “Someone has to do something.”
“We will have to wait for my men to return with the governor,” Major Willis stated. He spun on his heel, reentering his tent, and closing the discussion.
After a few minutes, the agitated crowd dispersed and the rider took off back towards town.
Several days later, when Governor Goodwin returned, he appointed one of the local ranchers, King Woolsey, a Lieutenant Colonel and authorized him to gather volunteers from the area to go after the murderous Apaches.
Hannah watched from the back of the crowd as the announcement seemed to appease their anger for the time being. She wondered just how many men would show up at the meeting in town next week to organize the retaliation.
Joshua was disappointed when he returned to Fort Whipple, only to be sent out again with fresh horses. He and his men spent the better part of the month escorting the governor on his tour of the territory. When they returned to the fort this morning, he thought Major Willis would give them several days off, but instead he immediately gave him a new assignment.
The gentle lope of his horse calmed Joshua’s earlier anger at Major Willis. He hoped to check on Hannah before departing again, but the major only gave him enough time to change into a fresh uniform and gather a few supplies for the next week. There was no time to find Hannah, much less have a meaningful conversation.