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Dream Weaver Page 24

by Shirley Martin


  "We still have our smallpox patients. I must take care of them."

  "Well, try to get more rest, okay?"

  "Aye, doctor, whatever you say." As if attempting to throw off his despair, Christian grinned at her, his look warm and tender.

  Something told Gwen he wouldn't follow her advice. Within a few minutes, she heard talk and the clatter of boots on the puncheon floor as others gathered at the long table. After greeting the officers, Gwen returned to her breakfast, anxious to get to the hospital, well aware she didn't follow her own advice. She and Christian would both fare better if they could learn to relax more.

  He gave her a sidelong glance. "Mayhap you should follow your advice about resting, especially in your condition."

  She stared at him, nearly choking on her tea. "My condition?" He knows! her conscience told her. What had made her think she could keep this secret from him?

  "Dear love," he said, "you think I don't recognize the symptoms? As a doctor, I have seen these signs many times." He clasped her hand in his. "But with my wife, they have a special meaning."

  Gwen squeezed his hand, happy to have her news out in the open, tired of trying to keep it to herself.

  By now, every place in the mess hall was taken. Talk and laughter filled the vast room, combined with the scrape of cutlery on pewter platters. Gwen tried to shut out the background noise, concentrating on Christian and the others at her table.

  Richard took a seat across from them with a warm smile for Gwen and a curt nod in Christian's direction. "Gw--" He coughed. "Mistress Norgard. Pray don't be concerned about these few isolated Indian attacks at the fort. The savages can cause us but little harm." He dipped his fork into his scrambled eggs, his gaze on her face.

  "The Indians? I don't give them a thought," Gwen lied. "We've been much too busy in the smallpox hospital to leave time for worry."

  "The smallpox hospital," Richard mused aloud. "'Tis a rough life for such a pretty young lady." He gave Christian a hard look before turning back to Gwen, all other talk ceasing at their table. "A lady such as you should be gracing the ballrooms of London."

  "I haven't heard my wife complain," Christian said in an even voice, but Gwen could tell from a tightening of his facial muscles and the curled fist in his lap that he was one step away from losing his temper. Usually calm and cool, Christian was beginning to show the stress he'd been under for the past several weeks. Lack of sleep didn't help, either. She wondered how much longer he could continue to work under such a strain, this tremendous pressure of caring for the smallpox patients--sick and dying--that was wearing him down, both physically and mentally.

  She switched her attention to Richard. "The ballrooms of London. Don't know if I could maintain those late hours. Anyway, I like to keep busy. Stay out of trouble that way," she said with a smile, trying to take the sting from her words.

  Lieutenant Caldwell spoke up, obviously to ease the tension. "How d'you fare in the smallpox hospital, Dr. Norgard? Have you fewer cases now?"

  Christian exchanged an anxious glance with her. "If anything, our responsibilities have increased. If only we could inoculate people, we might rid ourselves of this dread disease." Caldwell raised his mug to his mouth, taking a cautious sip of the steaming brew. "I fear you have a task ahead of you."

  "Aye, but 'tis something to strive for." Christian chewed and swallowed, his mouth tight with worry. She wished they were alone so she could hold him close to her heart and tell him he was doing more than anyone could ever be expected to do. He was the most wonderful man in the world, her husband. Full of love for him, she watched from the corner of her eye as he nursed his tea.

  Despite all the hardships, all the privations of her life now, she realized she was gradually getting used to this time. In many respects she considered life better now than in the twenty-first century. There was more courtesy and civility, more thinking of others. And another thing she knew, as if she needed a reminder--she could never live without Christian. She wanted only to be with him for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  That same afternoon, Gwen worked alongside Christian in the hot, smelly hospital. She shuddered as a burst of gunfire erupted outside the fort. "Christian, did you hear that?" Her hands shaking, she set a flask onto a stand, nearly spilling the vitriol.

  Three cots away, Christian looked up from spreading a salve on a young boy's arm. "Aye, rifle shots from across the Ohio. Pray do not worry." He set the salve aside and dabbed a cloth across the child's forehead. "Our men are more than a match for the Indians."

  "But this firing has been going on all day!" Fear and desperation roiled inside her.

  "So what would you have us do?" He moved away from the patient, weaving his way among the cots until he reached her. He gestured toward the stairs. "Shall we leave the fort? And if we depart, where shall we go?"

  "Well, I--"

  "We are as safe here as anywhere else, safer, I should say. Captain Ecuyer can handle the Indian menace, I do assure you." His face gentling, he cupped her cheeks. "My dear love, try to dismiss your concerns."

  "Okay, I'll try." Might as well take a rocket ship to Mars, she thought, knowing her worries would nag her during the day and keep her awake at night.

  She was right, too, she found that evening.

  "Did you hear several soldiers were killed this morning when they went to pick apples outside the fort?" she asked Christian as they prepared for bed.

  He nodded, his eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. He turned away to hang his shirt on a peg. "Aye, it pays to stay inside the fort. Here, we can feel safe."

  Oh, no we can't! A knot of fear twisted inside her stomach as she grabbed the top of the washstand for support. Glad that Christian had his back to her, she wondered how she could ever convince him of the danger from Indians. When he saw the threat, it might be too late.

  * * *

  The Indian attacks on the fort increased with such ferocity Christian agonized how much longer the fort could hold out. Mayhap Gwen had the right of it, he fretted, trying to appear optimistic for her sake. Yet worry about his wife kept him awake at night. What if the Indians took her prisoner? Oh, God, it didn't bear thinking about.

  * * *

  Richard stood on the battlements, directing the grenadiers as they lit the fuses of hand grenades and hurled them into a nearby ditch, where several Indians lurked. Seconds later, he heard the answering explosion and hoped the grenades had hit their mark. The Indians had proved more ferociously cunning than he'd ever imagined.

  What had happened to Bouquet? With no word from the outside world for weeks, Richard had no idea if Bouquet's army could still come to their rescue...or if the Indians had defeated him.

  * * *

  Unable to sleep, Gwen tossed and turned in bed, crazed out of her mind about saving Christian's life...and her own. If they both died in the Indian siege, then why had she made her trip back in time? To know Christian's love again, she answered herself, because even death could not take his love from her.

  She pressed her fist to her mouth, vowing she would save Christian's life. God, she prayed in nighttime silence, please take care of my husband. She'd do her part by ensuring he never left the hospital, except for meals and at bedtime. She'd keep him by her side day and night, even if she had to throw herself in front of him.

  * * *

  "Hear those screams!" Gwen's breath came hard and fast, her body trembling. In the steamy August heat, she and Christian worked side-by-side, tending to patients in the smallpox hospital while the Indian attacks raged outside. The British wounded moaned on the open ground, adding to her fears. If only she could cover her ears and run, do anything to escape the heartrending cries.

  "Soldiers must be suffering terribly," Christian said as he set his lancet down. "I can't stay here to tend to the smallpox patients when those men need me more." He grabbed his medicine chest from a stand. "I'm going out to the field."

  "No!" Gwen clutched his arm. "Please don't go out there!
Don't you know how dangerous it is? You might get hurt or-or k-k-killed!” She had to keep him with her, must keep him safe.

  "What kind of doctor do you think I am?" he snapped, breaking free. "What kind of a man?" He threw her a look of exasperation, then strode on.

  Gwen caught up with him, grabbing his arm again. "Don't go! Stay here!"

  He jerked his arm back. "Gwen, for God's sake, can't you see those soldiers need me?" Grimly silent, he spun around, striding toward the stairs.

  God, please help me, Gwen prayed.

  Swallowing convulsively, she pounded up the stairs and emerged onto the grounds of the fort, several feet behind Christian.

  Her gaze covered the open ground, and she saw--her worst nightmare! Arrows from the banks of the Allegheny zipped through the air, hitting soldiers at the ramparts. Howitzers banged out shells that arced across the river and exploded on the other side. Blood-curdling shrieks from the Indians told her they'd found their target. And God! the women and children in their crowded barracks cried, their heartrending screams blasting her eardrums.

  Fear and horror engulfed every cell of her body. Tears filled her eyes. She covered her ears, hoping to block out the sound of gunfire, the screams! Fear paralyzed her. How could she endanger herself? Trembling uncontrollably, she knew she had no choice. She repeated those words again and again. No choice. She had to save Christian's life and her own. Her mind made up, she started across the field, then stopped as an arrow zipped close by her.

  "No!" She pressed her hands to her head. She couldn't do it...could not go out to the open field. You must, her conscience reminded her. You must go.

  Countless minutes later, she dashed for the open field. Her heart thudded every step of the way.

  Captain Ecuyer grimaced on the ground, an arrow piercing his left leg. His squire--tall, husky Salathiel Albine--knelt beside him, easing him to his feet. An arm braced around

  Ecuyer's waist, Albine led the limping captain away.

  Several yards from her, a young soldier writhed on the ground, moaning with pain, an arrow gouged in his stomach. Blood pulsed from his wound and soaked the earth. Gwen stopped and pressed her hand to her mouth. Faint and dizzy, she bent over double and took deep breaths.

  "Gwen, come help me!" Christian rushed to kneel beside the soldier, setting his medicine chest on the ground. "Where are the orderlies?" he shouted. "This man should be taken to the hospital!" As Gwen neared him, he spoke in quiet tones. "I'll have to cut the arrow out and stop the bleeding. An abdominal wound..."

  In her haste to join Christian, Gwen tripped on the soldier's leg. She stumbled against her husband as an arrow whizzed their way.

  "Ahh!" Christian fell to the ground, the missile stabbing his shoulder.

  "Christian!"

  Another shaft zinged into the dirt beside him. In her nightmares, she'd always seen Christian with an arrow through his heart. Now, he'd suffered only a puncture wound, the arrow lodged above the collarbone.

  She sank to the ground, taking deep breaths. Christian was saved--either by luck or divine salvation. No matter what, her stumble had saved his life! If their luck held, they'd both survive this Godawful day.

  Silently thanking God, Gwen turned to say something to her husband. She saw his unmoving form, his eyes closed, as if...as if..

  "No!" Gwen knelt beside him to examine the injury--only a flesh wound with soft tissue damage. The arrowhead had torn all the way through his shoulder and gone partway out the other side, surely no mortal injury. Then what was the matter with Christian?

  "Christian, say something!"

  Silence.

  "Oh, God, please!" Nausea roiled in her stomach. She swallowed convulsively. Her hands shaking, she reached into his medicine chest to retrieve the clippers, then cut the arrow as close to the back of his shoulder as possible. After tugging the arrow out from the front, she tore off a piece of her petticoat to staunch the bleeding. One quick breath followed another. She wadded the dressing into a bandage and pressed it against his wound. Then she tore off more material and wrapped it around his shoulder to hold the dressing in place. A simple wound and an easy remedy. Then why did Christian lie so still, his face chalk white? Why, why?

  "Christian!" Gwen bent over to listen to his heart...and found no heartbeat. She grabbed his wrist and felt...panic. No pulse! He'd suffered only a flesh wound. Why wasn't he up and moving about by now?

  Memories from her twenty-first century life flashed through her mind. She remembered a seemingly healthy basketball player, dead of a heart attack. She recalled soldiers who'd died from physical stress during basic training. And don't forget the Russian ice skater, dead of a heart attack during practice, she reminded herself.

  "No! Please, no!" Dear God, she had failed! Gwen rocked back and forth, tears streaming down her face. Never again would Christian hold her close and whisper love words in her ear. Never again would she hear his dear voice, see that wonderful smile that made her so happy to be alive, to know he loved only her.

  Christian was dead.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Free of earthly limitations, Christian rose above the ground, higher, higher, higher. He looked down and saw Gwen kneeling over his body, mourning his death! Even from a distance, he heard her anguished cries, saw tears streaming down her face. Unspeakable sorrow clutched at his heart, the realization that he must leave her, never to see her again. Gwen, my dearest darling, my only love.

  Whisking through a long tunnel, he traveled faster than he'd ever imagined possible, a journey outside normal dimensions of time or space. At the end of the tunnel, a brilliant light bathed him. Its ethereal quality imbued the radiance with a soothing effect, as if to say, Your worries are over.

  His heavenly journey ended, and he found himself in a vast meadow blanketed with flowers of unbelievably beautiful colors, where a celestial chorus welcomed him. The exquisite music surrounded him, enclosing him in a cocoon of loving warmth.

  A man in a white robe greeted him, linking his arm with Christian's. Gleaming light emanated from this person, as if he were drenched in sunlight. "I'm your Spirit Guide, Matthew," the blonde man said with an engaging smile. "Let me show you around."

  Christian looked in all directions. "But wh--where am I?"

  Another warm smile. "You'll see."

  Arm-in-arm, they walked a short distance through the meadow, until a shining white building appeared. Countless marble steps, grandiose statuary, and fountains graced the magnificent building's entrance. Majestically imposing, the structure reminded him of drawings he'd seen of Greek and Roman temples, but this building overshadowed any other structure, real or imagined.

  Sweet-smelling flowers in a myriad of colors embellished the meadow, a rich medley of color and scent, an experience far beyond anything he'd ever known.

  It will take forever to climb these steps, Christian thought, but soon they arrived at the entrance. A gleaming white door swung open at their approach. He and his guide stepped inside the building, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. As they approached a room--one of many--another door silently opened, and Christian looked around in surprise. Doors that open by themselves?

  "The Hall of Wisdom," the guide explained.

  The spacious room appeared empty, every wall a luminous white, and surrounded by pillars, with marble benches lining each wall.

  "Come with me." Matthew led him to a far wall, a brilliant gold curtain stretching from the ceiling to the floor. The guide pulled a cord, and the curtain opened with a soft swishing sound. Beyond the curtain, Christian saw...nothing.

  The guide tapped Christian's shoulder. "Look down. What do you see?"

  He looked down--and gasped. There below him revolved a large sphere in a clear blue sky. Some portions of the sphere appeared green, but most of it was a bright blue.

  He turned a bewildered gaze to Matthew. "Wh--what is it?"

  "Don't you recognize it? That's your planet, Earth."

  He remained motionless, u
nable to remove his gaze from the planet. "I had no idea it looked like that," he said, swinging back to Matthew.

  "A heavenly learning experience." Matthew grinned, taking him by the arm. "Come, I have other things to show you." Within a heartbeat, he found himself in another room, this one filled with a row of large paintings on a far wall, one painting after another, scarcely leaving a bare space on the wall. The guide led him closer, moving along until they reached the first picture. Matthew spoke. "Look well," he said. "What do you see?"

  "I can't believe it!" Not a painting, but what was it? His gaze covering every inch of the picture, Christian considered it finer than any rendering he'd ever seen, as real as the room where he stood. The picture showed a weak, emaciated man who lay in bed, blood running from his mouth. Beyond him stretched a row of similar beds, each one occupied by a fellow sufferer.

  He turned to his guide. "I've heard of this malady, although I've never encountered any sufferers in my practice." And why are you showing me these images? he wanted to ask.

  "Tuberculosis," Matthew said. "A lung disease."

  He nodded. "Ah, yes, I understand, but I've never heard that term before." A world of emotions clashed inside him, joy and sorrow, hope and fear. If there were some way he could help these people, ease their suffering...But no, that wasn't possible when he was destined to remain here for eternity, away from all the people he'd known and loved.

  The guide showed him several more pictures, each one revealing a multitude of people who suffered from various diseases. Two words dominated the collection: cancer and AIDS.

 

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