“I can’t do this.” The mere thought of laying that red-hot brand across his tender flesh made her dizzy.
Rolling to his back, Dan closed his eyes. “Any woman who can make Joe Davidson clean house can do anything.”
Smiling between her tears, she reached for the knife. The blade glowed bright red. Closing her eyes, she willed her hands steady.
Dear God, let him lose consciousness. Don’t make him go through this pain awake.
“Do it,” he whispered. “Now!” Blood gushed from the wound, drenching him and her dress.
Bringing the tip of the blade down, she mashed it to the lesion. Dan’s agonized scream as the blade singed the open flesh tore at her heart. The stench of burning flesh filled her nose, and she fought the tide of dizziness that threatened to overcome her. Struggling for breath, she bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood. She sobbed openly now.
When his scream became a low moan, she dared to look down. The wound barely oozed now. With a cry of relief, she flung the knife aside and collapsed on his now unconscious form. “I’m so sorry, darling … so sorry.”
Her prayer had been answered.
She tended the fire all night, watching Dan sleep, checking every few moments to see if the steady rise and fall of his chest abated. He would live—the bleeding had stopped. She’d changed the bandage only twice in an hour.
From the moment they’d met, she’d caused him nothing but trouble; he’d done nothing but try to help her. And now he lay near death, his face pale and lifeless, all because of her. She’d tried to settle a feud that had gone on for years, and in the process, she’d hurt this wonderful man.
Blinking back hot tears, she listened to the rain spatter on the ground outside the cavern, staring at the small fire that gave off a little warmth. She’d never been more miserable, more alone, in her life. Once her life had been simple, secure. What had gone wrong? Was God punishing her for ignoring Aunt Thalia’s wishes? Thalia hadn’t wanted her or her sisters to be mail-order brides. Why hadn’t they listened—why hadn’t she listened? Now, because of her, a man was wounded.
Why does Dan have to suffer when all he’s done is try to protect me? I don’t understand, and I don’t know that I’ve got enough faith to accept this change in my life without knowing the reason.
She threw more wood on the fire, glancing up when she saw Dan’s eyes flicker, then open. He spoke, his voice thick with pain. “I hope you harbor no thoughts of ever being a doctor.”
Dropping to his side, she threw her arms around his neck, careful not to disturb the wound. “I know the pain was awful, but the bleeding’s stopped now.”
“Careful … ,” he warned.
She gingerly hugged him to her chest. “I thought you were never going to wake up.”
“What time is it?”
“I’m not sure, somewhere near daybreak, I think.” The night had been the longest of her life.
“Is there any water?”
“It’s still raining—I’ll catch some in the hat. When it’s light, I’ll look for a stream.”
Outside, she washed the blood from the hat, then caught fresh rainfall and was back within minutes. Cradling his head, she helped him drink, tenderly blotting water that spilled from his mouth.
“Did you get my saddle off the horse?”
“No … but I will.”
He nodded, licking his dry lips.
“Is the saddle special?”
“Brother gave it to me …”
“Sleep,” she whispered when his eyes shut with pain. If only there was more she could do.
She moved back to the fire and began to doze, her dreams filled with images of dirty men who stealthily crept toward the mouth of the cave. Animals lured by the scent of blood.
Dan’s feverish mumbling brought her out of her confused state.
Though the air was cool, he was sweating profusely. She laid her hand against his forehead. He was so warm. She drew her coat up to his chin, her mind racing. He was feverish. Infection! She had no means to treat infection. What would Aunt Thalia do? Break the fever—make certain that he drank lots of water.
Stepping out of her petticoat, she used the knife to split it apart. The fabric was soiled, but she’d scrub it in rainwater and use it for fresh bandages and a sling.
When the laundry was drying near the fire, she bathed Dan’s hot face, chest, and arms, repeating the process throughout the day as his fever continued to rise.
“Lie still,” she whispered as he thrashed about on the bed pallet.
When he shoved her coat aside, Hope patiently drew it back over him, knowing a chill at this point could mean death. Late in the afternoon, she broke sticks from the bushes at the mouth of the cave and wedged them into crevices in the cave wall. She patiently washed more of the petticoat and hung the strips to dry. Unsaddling the horse, she gave it water out of the hat, then lugged the heavy hand-tooled leather saddle into the cave.
When darkness fell, she was able to cleanse Dan’s wounds again and apply fresh bandages.
A couple of times he opened his eyes, but she wasn’t sure he recognized her. Was she doing enough? Sitting beside him, she studied his features in the firelight. He had a strong face, well defined, ruggedly handsome. He knew what he was about—a man with a purpose in life. What had he told her? He wanted to buy some land in Virginia and farm it. Farming sounded very nice.
Dan Sullivan was exactly the kind of man Aunt Thalia would approve of: a good man, a godly man. Hope had seen his faith, experienced it. In many ways he was making her stronger in her own beliefs. At least he made her stop and think; that was something.
Her thoughts turned to the man she’d promised to marry. Somewhere tonight, he was waiting for her, wondering about her. Poor John. If only she was able to send a note, explain why she hadn’t arrived on the stage more than four weeks ago. Did he know about the stagecoach robbery? Had he wired Aunt Thalia and inquired about his intended bride’s whereabouts?
Her gaze focused on the man lying beside the fire. Oh, God, I’m not questioning your wisdom—truly I’m not.
If only she’d met Dan before—no. Events happened for a reason. Papa had taught her that. But if she was going to start relying on her own faith instead of Papa’s, she must trust that God watched over her.
“Grow up, Hope. It’s time you took responsibility for your life,” she murmured, getting up to bathe Dan’s face again.
Why would she think Dan would even want her after all the trouble she’d caused? At this point he probably prayed for the hour when he could hand her over to another man.
The thought stung. She gently smacked his sleeping form. “How dare you think that. I’d make you a good wife. You’d see, I’d be everything you ever wanted and more.”
Outside, darkness covered the earth. A gray drizzle replaced the earlier downpour. Toward daybreak even the drizzle gave way to watery sunshine.
Dan was resting easier now. Hope bathed his face and arms, coaxing him to drink from the hat between parched lips. When he was restless, she soothed him in low tones, reassuring him everything was all right.
She told him stories of when she was young—of the time Papa cut the wrong Christmas tree and brought it home. She and her sisters, Faith and June, had popped corn and made colorful paper chains to hang on the fragrant cedar boughs. But the tree that year was so small Hope had cried. She’d had her heart set on a tall, rather splendid pine that was twice the height of the parsonage ceiling. Papa had dried her eyes and promised that next year they’d either get a taller ceiling or he’d let her have whatever tree she wanted, provided he could get it through the door.
Her thoughts drifted aimlessly. Luther and Harriet. What were they doing tonight? Had they retaliated by stealing something from Lyndon? Were they mad as hatters at Dan and her?
Well, she hadn’t given the pig back. And she certainly wouldn’t have given Fawn permission to let it loose if she’d known what the girl was planning.
Had th
e world gone mad?
Weren’t Christians supposed to be different from unbelievers? Fawn had said her family believed in God, yet Lyndon stole from his own brother. Papa had contended that a Christian wasn’t perfect, sinned just as hard as the next person, but a Christian was bothered by the fact and tried harder not to sin. Would Lyndon realize that family was far more important than a pig?
During the long hours in the cave, she read from Dan’s Bible. She had part of Genesis memorized, except for all the begets. Dan would be proud of her.
The sun shined warm as Hope moved to the mouth of the cave, her face lifted toward the heavens. Her strength was ebbing; she hadn’t slept in two nights, and she didn’t think she could go on.
“I can’t do this, Lord,” she whispered. “I haven’t enough faith—I try, try so hard, but I can’t hold on to you. You just keep slipping through my fingers. Please strengthen me, Father; grant me powerful faith—like David’s faith as he faced Goliath—so I can be of benefit to this injured man.”
Resentment swelled within her. Papa had always said to expect the unexpected. She’d gotten on that stage full of hopes and dreams, her thoughts only of John. Her future had seemed rosy and bright. Today she was falling in love with another man and wondering if she or he would live to see another day.
Toward dawn the third day, Hope was startled awake by the horse. Her eyes flew open, and she wondered what had disturbed it. A wild animal?
The horse neighed softly.
Reaching for the rifle, she crept to the mouth of the cave and peered out. Daylight illuminated the small clearing. The horse, definitely upset about something, suddenly reared. Hope heard the rein snap. Seconds later, she heard the animal thrashing off through the underbrush.
Bounding to her feet, she ran outside, foolishly thinking she could somehow catch it. A twig snapped, and she whirled.
A cougar, the size of Aunt Thalia’s fainting couch, crouched near the mouth of the cave. Its yellow-eyed gaze held hers captive, its tail slowly twitching.
Dan was in that cave—unprotected, alone.
Helpless.
Swallowing against her rising hysteria, Hope lifted the rifle and took careful aim. She fired twice. When she dared to open her eyes, she saw the tail end of the cat bounding off through the underbrush.
Sinking to her knees, she dropped the gun and stared at the spot where the cougar had been not two minutes ago.
Throwing her head back, she addressed God in a way that would have sent Papa in search of the biggest hickory switch he could find.
“I can’t stand anymore of this! Faith! I need faith!”
When she came back into the cave, Dan was sitting up. He glanced at her, his face flushed, his hair tousled, a heavy growth of beard covering his face.
“You look nice.”
Cradling his head in his arms, he muttered, “Why are you yelling at God?”
She propped the rifle against the cave wall. “I’ve tried talking. He isn’t listening.”
Lying back down, Dan closed his eyes. “Come here.”
She moseyed closer, feeling ashamed of herself. Reaching for her hand, he gently pulled her down beside him. Holding her close, he said softly, “God doesn’t respond to shouts.”
Emotions overcame her, and she broke into tears, sobbing against his good shoulder. It felt so wonderfully good to have someone hold her, someone to help worry for a moment.
“I’m sorry—it’s just that you’re so sick, and I had to hurt you so badly, and then there was this big cat that scared off the horse—”
“Cat?” He stopped her, his voice guarded now. “Big cat?”
“Yes—cougar. I shot at it. It’s gone.”
“That’s what woke me—where’s the horse?”
“Gone.” She cried harder at his frustrated groan. “I’m no good at anything; I’m just a mess.”
“No,” he said, patting her back tenderly. “You’re not a mess.”
She cried harder, allowing the fear and frustration to pour from her eyes.
“Think we should pray about this?”
She nodded, snuggling closer to his warmth. He always knew the right thing to do.
In a voice weak in energy but strong in conviction, he softly asked for God’s help. “Father, forgive us when we don’t rely on you. It’s been a rough week, God, and our faith has been tested to the limits. Watch over us; make us ever mindful you’re still here running the show.”
“And, Father, I’m really sorry I yelled at you,” Hope whispered. “I’m just a mess.”
Drawing her closer, Dan buried his face in her hair. “He knows you’re sorry, but he likes to hear it.”
“How did you get so nice?”
“Practice.”
She felt his weak grin.
“Well, I’m going to practice harder.”
“Go to sleep. Unless I’m mistaken, it’s still very early.”
Right now, leaving the comfort of his arms was unthinkable, but he needed rest.
“I’ll be close by if you need me.”
“Hope?”
“Yes?”
“Try to keep out of trouble until I can get over this …” His voice trailed as sleep once again claimed him.
She moved away, settling where she would be close if he needed her. She had plenty to keep her busy—there was always Genesis… .
The fire burned low. Outside, a new dawn was breaking. Finches chirped in nearby trees; tender shoots of new grass pushed their heads through the damp soil. God’s world woke to a new day.
Inside, Bible folded across her chest, Hope slept, feeling safe in God’s love for the first time in a long time.
Chapter Ten
By the fourth night Dan was well enough to travel. Hope wasn’t convinced that his strength was sufficient for the long walk ahead of them, but the meager rations she’d been able to supply had dwindled to nothing. If they didn’t move on, some lone hermit would one day discover their remains in the cave.
“What should we do about the saddle?”
The look on Dan’s face confirmed her fears: the beautiful, hand-tooled leather saddle was one of his prized possessions—perhaps his only prized possession.
“My brother made it for me. Gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday.” His eyes caressed the worn hide that must have held memories too numerous to count. Days of idyllic youth; months, even years, served in the war. Hope wanted to hold him, cry out at the injustice of it all. He was too weak to carry the saddle, and she didn’t have the strength to oblige.
“I’ll carry it,” she said. She couldn’t bear to see it left behind because of her. If it took everything in her, she would carry it.
“You can’t carry it. Help me get it on my right shoulder. I’ll carry it.”
With considerable effort, they got the heavy saddle on his back. Hope hurt just looking at him. “You can’t carry that all the way to Medford.”
“I’ll carry it as far as I can. It’s the best we can do.”
Was he hoping for a miracle—someone to come along and carry the saddle for him?
Hope wasn’t. She was about to give up on miracles. God was putting every obstacle imaginable in front of them, and for what purpose?
“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked as they started off. Twilight settled over the verdant hillsides, and a warm breeze ruffled bare tree branches. Daffodils pushed their heads up through the ground, and crocuses bloomed by the roadside.
“The map’s in my saddlebag.”
And the saddlebag was at Luther’s. Dan hadn’t had time to go back and retrieve it in their hasty getaway.
“So what are we going to do? We have no money, no means to buy either a horse or a map. We don’t know where we are or how far we still have to travel.”
“We’re not more than three or four miles from the Bennetts’. I looked at the map shortly before we met up with Luther and Harriet. Medford is to the east, maybe another thirty miles.”
“Thirty miles!
” Hope’s heart sank. “That’s a long way to walk.”
“It could be less, Hope. I’m just not sure.”
He bent low as the weight of the saddle sapped his strength. Men had it worse than women, Hope decided. They had to act strong, no matter how they felt. Women, on the other hand, could whine.
“How are you?” she ventured, keeping an eye on his pace.
“Top of the world. How about you?”
“Same.”
They traveled by back roads, hoping to go unnoticed. Hope halfway hoped that someone would come along; Dan could put the saddle in the wagon and he could claim it later. It seemed like hours before she heard the welcome sounds of a stream.
“Water.”
Dan forged the way through the undergrowth, trampling a path to the water. Throwing the saddle aside, he dropped to the ground and flattened himself to the bank, drinking in the cold, clear water.
Hope quickly joined him. She drank until she had to come up for air. “I’ve never, ever tasted anything so good.” She dunked her face beneath the water and emerged, sputtering.
Dan was sitting up, trying to remove his right boot with his right hand.
“Here.” She leaned over and removed it for him. Her eyes located the holes in his socks. The cloth had rubbed away, and blood oozed onto the fabric. “Blisters.”
That’s all he needed—blisters and a gunshot wound.
“I wish I had some butter to rub on them.”
He grunted. “If I had butter, it wouldn’t go on my feet.”
She lay down, rolling to her back. Overhead, stars twinkled in a cloudless sky.
Butter—and hot biscuits. Eggs and ham. Hotcakes and rich maple syrup. They hadn’t eaten a decent meal in days. Dan refused to admit it, but he was weak, half-starved. The heavy saddle was taking its toll on his energy. How much longer before he was forced to leave it behind?
“I’ll carry the saddle for a while.”
“You can’t lift the saddle, let alone carry it.” He lay back, easing his shoulder into a comfortable position.
“I’m hungry,” she admitted, more to herself than as a complaint.
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