Daliah

by Danni Roan

  “That boy needs a woman to love him,” Mrs. Hampton said. “I can see he and his pa have been on their own too long,” she continued shaking her wooden spoon for emphasis. “I think I’d best pray Mr. Gaines up a wife.”

  Daliah gaped at the older woman wondering how she could say such a thing. She was sure that if Mr. Gaines were interested in a wife he would find one. Still she wondered if he felt as alone in the world as she did sometimes. If not for her faith and the ability to talk to God, or his blessing of Mr. and Mrs. Hampton, Daliah would truly be on her own. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wrong to pray that Mr. Gaines found someone to fill that all too familiar hole in his heart.

  Chapter 10

  “Oh Daliah please come quick!” Alice Scripts cried as she hurried around the wagon in the predawn light. “Trey’s spilled boiling water all down his side, and I don’t know what to do,” the woman sniffled. “Hurry!”

  Grabbing up a wad of towels Daliah dashed after the portly woman hefting the bucket of water from a peg on the side of the prairie schooner.

  Making the turn she took in the scene where a boy of perhaps forteen struggled to get his shirt off as tears poured from his eyes.

  “Mama, help!” the boy pleaded shocked when Daliah poured the icy water over the steaming section of cloth, before grabbing the shirt and shredding it in strong hands.

  “Don’t worry Trey,” Daliah said, her kind voice soft and assuring, “everything will be all right.”

  The young man looked toward his mother, fear and doubt shimmering in his eyes, even as his mother nodded.

  “Mrs. Script will you please go to Mrs. Hampton,” Daliah said. “Tell her I need my burn cream.” Behind her Daliah could hear the woman hurry away. “What happened Trey?” she asked, as she grabbed the wet shirt and gently pushed it against the red and white mottled welts running under the boy’s arm pit and down his side.

  “Can you fix it?” he asked, his voice shaking with fear and doubt. “Ma needs my help to travel. If I can’t use my arm...” his voice faded as he swallowed hard.

  “I’ll do everything I can,” Daliah said smiling her confidence. “I’ve seen much worse and those people healed up just fine, but you’ll have to do exactly what I say. It won’t be easy.” Her bright eyes bore into his and the boy nodded pushing aside his fear and focusing on her words.

  Mrs. Script arrived holding a clay jar in her hand. “Is this what you need?” she said, her voice breaking as she saw the terrible welts and blisters on her son’s body.

  “That’s perfect,” Daliah said, taking the jar. “Now if you’ll start brewing a pot of very strong tea.”

  Mrs. Script looked at Daliah oddly confused about the request.

  “Just do it,” Daliah said firmly. “I’ll explain later,” she finished turning and carefully smearing the cold cream like substance on Trey’s injury. “This will hurt in a minute,” she said, taking the boy’s eyes with hers. “You focus on me, and we’ll get through it together.”

  ***

  Spencer reined his horse to a stop at the back of the Script wagon watching as Daliah tended to young Trey. He’d heard the young man cry out earlier and hurried to see what was wrong, but Daliah was already there. It seemed that the longer they traveled, the more people depended on her for help with injuries, illness, or even stock issues. The young woman in the floppy hat a healing hand and soft presence that put others at ease.

  The lean trail boss couldn’t help but think of how she had helped look after his son keeping him out of trouble more often than not and protecting Chad from himself.

  Scowling, he thought of Chad’s newest scrape with old Mr. Franco the night before. It had been all he could do to keep the old man from whipping the boy with his fiddle bow when Chad had grabbed the man’s elegant old fiddle and plucked the strings.

  No matter how he looked at it, Spencer knew he needed help with his son, but he would worry about that once they got safely to Texas.

  He watched a while longer as Daliah held tight to Trey’s hands while whatever was in the cream she had smeared on his burns began to work, and the boy choked on his own tears fighting the pain.

  “Just look at me Trey,” Daliah crooned. “Soon we’ll be in Texas, and you’ll be in the cold streams swimming with your friend, or riding out into the snow of the coldest winter. Why I’ve heard that Texas has springs as blue as the sky that trickle cold as an ice puddle in June.”

  Spencer could see that the woman’s knuckles were white as she gripped the boy’s hands keeping him perfectly still even as he jerked and bucked against the pain.

  “I know it burns right now,” Daliah continued but think of the snow in winter, the cold springs of summer, and all the things you’ll do when you join your Pa at your new home.”

  Slowly Trey began to relax as a cool breeze whispered across the prairie ruffling his hair and cooling the grease smeared on his injury.

  Daliah eased her grip on the boy as the cool air took some of the sting from the herbs in the cream she had put on the burn. She knew from experience how much the ointment stung in the beginning, but in the end, it stole the lasting pain away.

  “That’s better now isn’t it?” She said with a smile laying his hands on his knees and resting one of hers over them. “You have to keep your arm from chafing against that burn,” she said. “If your shirt sticks to it or your arm rubs it, you could end up with infection. Do you understand?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Trey said, his breathing slowing to normal again as the searing pain subsided.

  “Here’s your tea,” Mrs. Scripts said, walking toward Daliah with a mug.

  Daliah shook her head. “Put it in a pan and let it cool,” she said, lifting Trey’s arms up and nodding for him to keep them there. “You’ll need to make compresses of it for the next few days.”

  Mrs. Script looked between Daliah and her son her face pale. Walking toward the other woman Daliah took the mug from her hands and escorted

  Mrs. Script to a crate. “You sit there,” Daliah said with a smile. “You’re boy will be fine as long as you do what I say.”

  Moving away from Mrs. Script Daliah sought out the sugar heaping it into the mug and giving the brew a stir before forcing it back into the other woman’s hands. “You drink this while I check the rest of the pot.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Script said, tears pouring down her face as the danger of the moment passed and shock set in.

  Spencer watched the young woman from his hiding place for a few more moments thankful that she had joined the wagon train with the Hamptons. She had been a blessing to so many already.

  Turning his horse away from the vision of Daliah making Mrs. Script drink her tea and pouring the larger pot of tea into an open pot to cool, he moved back along the wagons checking on others.

  Daliah looked up from her work catching a glimpse of Mr. Gaines riding on down the line. The wagons would need to roll soon, and she would see to it that the Script family was ready when the call came.

  “Trey, you doing all right?” she asked smiling at the young man who looked like some odd sort of scarecrow with his arms stretched out awkwardly at shoulder height.

  “I’ll be right back,” she added with a smile. “You stay like that until I come back.” She smiled hurrying around the wagon and back to the Hamptons.

  A few minutes later she returned with Orville and together they quickly hitched the team, prepared the wagon and setting the camp to rights.

  “Mrs. Script,” she said softly a few minutes later handing the woman a cookie. “You finish this then I’ll show you how to tend to Trey.”

  “What would we do without you?” Mrs. Script said, draining her cup and taking the cookie. “You’ve been a godsend.”

  Daliah blushed slightly. No one had ever been grateful for her before. It was an odd feeling to be needed and wanted. Her whole life had been change after change, but suddenly she felt like she had a purpose.

  “You come with me and we’ll dress Trey’s inju
ry. You’ll need to soak rags in the cold tea three or four times a day and wrap it over the injury. Be careful not to burst the blisters, or cause creases with it.”

  Mrs. Script nodded listening to every word and nodding her understanding while Daliah demonstrated the skill.

  Chapter 11

  “Pa, pa,” Chad tugged at his father’s sleeve, “I’m hungry.” the boy groaned.

  “What?” Spencer asked as he looked at the slowly sinking sun. He had kept the boy with him all day keeping him away from old Mr. Franco and trouble. The day had been long and with the weather fine they had decided to push on to the next good spring and stop for a couple of days.

  “We’ll stop soon,” Spencer said, shaking his head at his own son’s appetite. “I swear you eat as much as I do.”

  “Well I want to grow up to be big like you,” Chad offered sensibly.

  Spencer smiled ruffling the boy’s hair. “We’ll stop soon,” he repeated.

  “You could carry me back to old Mrs. Hampton,” Chad said hopefully. “She always has something good to eat.”

  Spencer stiffened in his saddle. He could take the boy back to the last wagon in the line. The Hamptons had been a blessing with the boy, but if he went there, he would need to sit with Daliah again, and he already found the young woman far too interesting.

  The more he tried to avoid her, the more he seemed to notice her every move. He noted the glint of sun on her golden locks, or the way her hips swung when she walked along beside the wagon.

  He even noticed when she seemed pensive or perhaps sad. Although she never hesitated to help others on the drive, she seemed to barely worry about herself.

  If Chad was with her, she gave him her full attention, ignoring the dust on her skirt hem, or the damp grass soaking her shoes. She had some strange quality about her that drew his eye again and again, and despite himself, Spencer couldn’t seem to ignore her.

  “Please Pa, Mrs. Hampton has the best food anywhere, and I don’t like your cookin’ so much no more.”

  Spencer chuckled calling himself every kind of a fool as he turned his horse and cantered down the line of wagons toward the end, letting the weary travelers know that they’d be stopping soon.

  ***

  Daliah lifted her eyes from the trail as the sound of a horse traveling at speed caught her ear.

  She could see young Chad clinging to the saddle horn, a bright smile on his little face, as his father rode quickly toward the wagon.

  “Good evening, Mr. Gaines,” she offered politely as he drew up along the wagon. “Are we stopping soon?”

  Spencer tipped his hat at the pretty woman who pushed her own oversized hat back on her head of golden hair. “Not long now Miss,” he said meeting her dark gaze.

  “Glory be,” Mrs. Hampton called from the wagon seat. “I’m about to climb down and lay myself in the cold ground after so long on this seat,” the old woman said, making Daliah laugh.

  Spencer’s lips pulled into a grin and his heart skipped at the lilting sound of Daliah’s laugh. She always seemed so serious and self disciplined the sound surprised him.

  “The lead wagons should be reaching the pools about now,” Spencer said. “You’ll be making camp before long.”

  “I’m hungry now,” Chad grumbled rudely.

  “You come on over to the wagon here with me and Orville, Chad,” Mrs. Hampton said, reaching for the boy. “I’ve got a cookie that’ll hold you over until we can make some grub.”

  Chad smiled brightly, knowing that his words had gotten him what he wanted once again even as his father leaned over letting the boy jump into the wagon box before swinging down from the saddle and drifting back to walk with Miss. Owens.

  “I hope today hasn’t been too taxing,” Spencer said. letting his reins run through his hands.

  “No, we aren’t moving very fast so it is easy to keep up.”

  “I saw you with Mrs. Script’s boy earlier. You did real good.”

  Daliah dropped her eyes back to the ground the rustling of her skirts and the creak of the wagon wheels the only sound for several seconds.

  “My mother taught me about burns,” she said simply. “My mother learned from her mother and I learned from both of them at least as long as I had them.”

  “How long have they been gone?” Spencer asked, the words tumbling from his lips before he realized it.

  “Mother, has been gone nearly five years, but grandmother passed before we took the trail west.”

  “I’m sorry,” Spencer said suddenly realizing just how alone this young woman was. She seemed so young to have lost so many loved ones so soon.

  “Thank you,” Daliah replied softly.

  Spencer walked along with Daliah for several more minutes his mind full of thoughts of his own loss and the shock it had been to him and his son. He’d been lost for months, wondering from place to place doing whatever it took to keep them both fed.

  Something flickered in his soul, deep in the depths and barely perceived. He would have a home in Texas. A new life and a new start for both himself and Chad. He only hoped that he could make it stick as he joined his brother. Perhaps being needed by someone else again might hold him in place long enough for his son to grow into a man.

  The wagon rolled to a stop without Spencer noticing and he continued forward until a soft hand came to rest on his arm.

  “I think we’re here Mr. Gaines,” Daliah said quietly, looking up from under the brim of her hat with a smile. “Won’t you stay for dinner?”

  Chapter 12

  Spencer took a seat by the fire next to Mr. Hampton and tried to concentrate on the old man’s conversation, but every movement around the fire was a distraction.

  Daliah’s presence seemed to fill the camp fire as she worked to help Mrs. Hampton prepare the evening meal that would be shared with others.

  Further into the small clearing, Mr. Franco was tuning up his fiddle, and a feeling of cheer seemed to permeate the circle of wagons around the glistening spring.

  The laughter of children told Spencer that the families were beginning to relax, and he sighed as he mentally counted out the days before they got to Texas.

  “Mr. Gaines, Mr. Gaines?” Orville Hampton called. “How long did you say?”

  “What?” Spencer pulled his mind back to the conversation with a shake. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked sullenly.

  “How much longer until we get to this town in Texas?” Orville asked.

  “Oh, maybe three weeks if we make good time, four at the outside.”

  Mr. Hampton smiled. “I’m looking forward to setting up house once we get there. I always enjoyed working with my hands, and I’m not past it yet. I can still wield a hammer as good as anyone. I even brought one of the smaller sawmill blades along under the wagon, so we can set up a mill right quick.”

  “From what I hear there’s need of men and women who aren’t afraid of hard work,” Spencer said. “Other than my brother’s ranch there isn’t much of a town, and folks are hoping that our wagon train will change the progress and tone of the location.”

  “Bit rough huh?” Orville asked, leaning in conspiratorially. “Back when me and Olive started out, things was pretty rough there in Smithfield too, but bit by bit folks made a go of it and look at our former home now.”

  Spencer smiled, gazing around him at the families getting ready to eat. There were only about ten wagons all together very nearly split between single men and families. They had each set out on this journey to find something new, and he hoped it worked out for everyone.

  From his brother’s latest letter, he knew there was plenty of land to be had in the unnamed town, and that skilled labor as well as trades were lacking from the rolling hills and low fields of the area.

  “I think there’s plenty of opportunity for anyone willing to put a hand to hard work,” Spencer continued. “My brother’s ranch is growing. He and his men have been collecting rough cattle from the area and building a herd. They’v
e already put in a cabin and a few huts and a good barn at his place. I think there’s money to be made if folks will try.”

  Mr. Hampton nodded his head a bright light in his dark eyes. “It ain’t easy starting over, or even starting out,” the old man said, “but at least we have a chance, and with a little effort and a load of prayer, we might just turn our new home into something.”

  Mr. Hampton turned toward the fire and smiled at Daliah as she gave something a stir in the large dutch oven. “What you makin’ tonight?” he asked with a grin.

  “Olive is reheating the stew from last night, so I decided we needed something sweet. I’m making brown sugar dumplings just like my mother used to make,” she said with a smile.

  “That sounds mighty good,” Mr. Hampton said, patting his stomach, “this long travel day seems to have left me hollow as an old stump.”

  Spencer looked up meeting Daliah’s eyes with a grin. The Hampton’s had big hearts and their kind and giving nature set everyone at ease. It was no wonder that Daliah fit in so well with them. He wondered if she would stay with them after they arrived in Texas, or if one of the single men in the train would get around to courting her.

  A flicker of something akin to jealousy raced through his middle like hot lead, and he shoved it away with a growl. He didn’t need a woman in his life. He only needed to get Chad settled, still something deep inside seemed to wriggle like a butterfly still trapped in its cocoon as he thought of Daliah marrying one of the men they now traveled with.

  “What’s brown sugar dumplings?” Chad asked hurrying to the fire as if drawn there by a string. “I want some,” he added reaching toward the heavy pot.

  “No,” Daliah cried, grabbing the boys hand before any harm could be done. “It’s very hot Chad,” she said softly, pulling the now irritated boy to her. “You could burn yourself and besides if you open the lid too soon you’ll ruin everyone’s dessert.”