Golden State Brides

by Keli Gwyn

  She gripped the steering wheel and pointed the nose of the car south. The clock was ticking. They only had a couple more hours before they had to have the car back to the hotel. She pressed on the gas pedal. “When we get done, I’m going to go hide in the basement refrigerator, and I don’t care if Mrs. Gregory finds me. If we weren’t so rushed for time, I’d do it now.”

  “Before we hide in the cold store, I think we should stop for some ice cream at the soda fountain. I’d love to get a cold-food headache and shiver a little bit.” Natalie consulted the map. “There are six places marked on here.”

  “So five more stops.”

  “Six.”

  “No, five. I’m not stopping at Caleb’s place.”

  “Are you sure? How will he feel if he knows you stopped everywhere else but not his place?”

  She shrugged, concentrating on keeping the car in the center of the road. “He said he didn’t want to see me anymore, and the feeling is mutual.”

  “What?”

  She squinted. Heat waves shimmered on the horizon, obliterating the distance. The road worsened, bouncing and jouncing them, kicking them from rut to rut. “He won’t be hurt if we don’t call. He’ll be relieved.”

  None of the first four houses produced any subscriptions. The last one she wanted to visit lay on the far side of Caleb’s property. Was it even worth it to go that far? She checked her timepiece against the map. They could make it there and back to town in time if they hurried.

  She blinked, trying to clear her eyes. Black spots encroached at the edge of her vision. She shook her head. What was wrong with her? Was she getting sick?

  “Meghan?” Natalie gripped the door with one hand and braced her other hand on the dashboard.

  She sounded as if she were standing at the end of a long hallway, miles from Meghan. “Huh?”

  “There’s something wrong with the car. Look.” She took her hand off the dash to point at the hood. Steam leaked around the edges and through the vents in the black metal. Slowly, Meghan pulled to the side of the road and the car bumped to a stop. She turned off the motor, though it took her a couple of tries to find the ignition. Wobbly didn’t begin to describe how she felt. Maybe it was something she ate?

  “I shink…” She tried again. “I think we overheated the car.” Why did her head feel like it had been stuffed with pillow ticking?

  “Meghan.” Natalie grabbed her shoulder and shook her. Waves of nausea sloshed through her middle, and the black spots in her vision grew bigger and closer together.

  “Meghan, what’s wrong?” Natalie’s voice got slower and farther away as darkness claimed her.

  Caleb leaned forward in the saddle, relishing the breeze pressing against his chest and fluttering his shirt. Though it was a bit on the early side for his evening ride out into the desert, he’d been so restless at the house he thought he might go crazy. Joshua’s mother had come by for a visit, and he’d wanted to give the mother and son privacy. With him in the house, Mrs. Hualga wouldn’t say a word.

  His mount, a sturdy sorrel with plenty of stamina and very little speed, cantered over the hard-packed sand at a steady pace.

  “You’d be better off on a bridle path back east, teaching youngsters at some riding school, old boy.” Caleb patted the gelding’s sweating shoulder. But in another week or so, he and his corral mates would be on a train headed to Fort Riley and the next stop on their journey to the war zone.

  Pulling his mount back to a trot and then a walk, Caleb removed his hat and swiped at the sweat on his forehead. The ground sloped upward away from the river, and clumps of dusty brush dotted the landscape. The temperature hovered somewhere in the midnineties, down a dozen degrees from that afternoon, but still scorching. As they topped out on the rise, he made out the dark, wavering smudge of Needles in the distance.

  From here, he could see just how isolated the town was, a small dot on the map, an island in a sea of sand and cactus. Insulated. They protected their own, and they were none too accepting of strangers. If one hadn’t been born in Needles, or one didn’t work for the railroad in some capacity, inclusion and acceptance into the community was a fairytale wish.

  A tumbleweed bounced across the road, and the placid sorrel merely flicked his ears and studied it, never breaking stride. Caleb watched it roll and spin until it disappeared down the far side of a sandbank. He was so much like that tumbleweed. Needles hadn’t embraced him, and as soon as the war was over or the need for horse-trainers for the cavalry ended, he’d brush the dust of this town off his boots, climb aboard the train, and head somewhere else. No ties, no roots…he shook his head…no home.

  No Meghan. He’d seen the look of disappointment, of embarrassment, when that woman had handed him that feather. Though Meghan had held out and taken his part longer than he’d thought she would, in the end the opinions and accusations of the people of Needles had drawn her away.

  As he had known they would. He’d been a fool to think otherwise. And he’d rather she turned away from him for a reason that wasn’t true than to have her know about his shameful secret and reject him because of it. He’d lived through that once with Patricia. He didn’t know if he could live through it again.

  Enough feeling sorry for himself. Things were as they were, and there was nothing he could or would do about them. He was alone by choice and inclination. Even if the town of Needles had embraced him like a long-lost son, he’d still want to move on, to be alone. It was safer, for his heart and his peace of mind.

  On the verge of turning back to the house, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Squinting against the sun and cupping his hands at his temples, he strained to see. A dark object wavered on the road ahead. Big, like an automobile, but no dust plume followed it. Who would be stopping out here in the desert in the late afternoon? It was hot enough to fry a stove lid over easy.

  Curious, he heeled the sorrel into a lope. As he approached, the heat waves resolved themselves into a dusty black car at the side of the road. Car trouble? A lost tourist? This road saw about as much traffic as the vegetable tray at a pie social. Only one more ranch lay beyond his, and Wilbur Frame was even more of a recluse than Caleb tried to be, always pottering among the rocks, prospecting for who knew what. Except for Joshua’s mother and Major Alexander, Doc was the only person who ever drove this far out of town. This car was much too big to be Doc’s battered old runabout, and Joshua’s family didn’t have a vehicle.

  Someone huddled beside the car, and uneasiness tightened the back of his neck. Something was definitely wrong. He jabbed the sorrel in the ribs, wishing now he’d chosen a more fleet-footed mount.

  The mass beside the car resolved itself into two people as one of them stood and shaded her—it was definitely a her—eyes. When she spied him, she waved her arm, beckoning him before kneeling beside the other figure once more.

  The car was big, and as he approached, he recognized it as belonging to the El Garces. The kneeling girl was Natalie Daviot. A flash of red hair from the prone figure had his heart clogging his throat. He pulled his horse up a few paces away and swung from the saddle.

  “What’s wrong? What are you doing out here?”

  Natalie, her normally pale face raspberry red in the heat, looked up. “The car overheated then Meghan passed out, and I don’t know what to do.” She fanned Meghan’s face with her hand.

  “Where’s your water?” He unclipped one of his canteens from his saddle and unscrewed the cap. Kneeling beside Natalie, he touched Meghan’s skin. Paper-dry, and her pulse leaped under her jaw.

  “We ran out.” She pointed to the empty jug on the running board. Her movements were slow, as if the heat had taken all of her energy and will.

  “That’s all you brought with you?” Cupping the back of Meghan’s head, he raised her up, gently bringing the canteen to her lips. “How long have you been out here, and what on earth possessed you to head out into the desert by yourselves without enough water to wet a handkerchief
?”

  Meghan’s eyes rolled, and she sputtered as the water hit her tongue. Mumbles that became words leaked from her dry lips. Her eyelashes fluttered, revealing her green eyes clouded and disoriented. “Lars. Hold on, Lars. I’ll get that ambulance. I love you, Lars.” She went limp once more.

  Lars? Who was Lars? A shaft of jealousy ripped through him. He’d been a double-fool. No way a girl as pretty and lively as Meghan would be unattached, and he’d never asked her, partially for fear of what she would answer. He chose to hide his disappointment behind anger.

  “What are you doing out here with no water?” His barking tone made Natalie jump.

  “We were gathering subscriptions for the Red Cross. Is she going to die?” Her eyes reddened but no tears leaked out. She was probably too dehydrated. And she had no idea of the danger they had put themselves in.

  “I’ve got to get Meghan back to the house, and I need your help. Get my horse.” He lowered Meghan’s head once more and tipped the contents of the canteen over her hair and splashed her face and throat. Natalie drew his horse close. He wanted to curse his weak leg as he contemplated the logistics of getting Meghan onto the horse and mounting behind her.

  But it had to be done. If he didn’t get her temperature down, she was going to die.

  “Unhook that other canteen.” He tucked his hand behind Meghan’s shoulders and scooped behind her knees with his other. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled against the side of the car. Heat from the blistering metal shot through his thin shirt, and he jerked away. “Help me get her into the saddle.”

  Between them, they managed to get her situated, though she was no help at all. She lolled and sagged, unconscious and unresponsive. Using the running board as a mounting block, he scrambled up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning her back against his chest.

  Though he hated to leave Natalie behind, he had no choice. His horse couldn’t carry three, and he had to get Meghan to help as soon as possible. “Don’t leave the car. Stay in the shade and make sure you drink the entire contents of that canteen. I’ll send someone back for you as soon as I can. Don’t stir a step, you hear me?”

  “Just take care of her. I’ll be fine.”

  The ride to his house, though less than two miles, seemed to take forever. Thankful for the sturdy sorrel who seemed not to notice his double burden, Caleb prayed as he hadn’t prayed in a long time.

  Please, Lord, don’t take her. She’s so young and full of life. She hasn’t hardly even started to live, and she’s got such big plans. Please, Lord, don’t take her.

  His prayer muscles were as atrophied as his left leg. Though he had long ago asked Jesus to be his Savior, he had a hard time not resenting the fact that God had chosen to send infantile paralysis his way and cut him off from the love of a family. Since Patricia’s rejection and the move to Needles, there were some parts of his heart that were as dry as the desert around him. His spiritual life had been gathering dust.

  A wavy blur appeared in the distance, resolving itself into house, sheds, corrals, and garage as he approached. Thankfully, Mrs. Hualga and Joshua still sat on the front porch. He rode straight to the nearest corral and swung down. Meghan toppled off into his arms.

  Joshua pounded across the dirt yard. “What happened? What’s Meghan doing out here?”

  “Get the truck out of the garage. The hotel car broke down on the road and there’s another girl out there. I need you to drive out and get her. Ask your mother to come here and help me with Meghan.” He hitched her higher into his arms. “And open the corral gate.”

  Not bothering to hide his limp, he crossed the corral to the sunshade and lowered Meghan, clothes and all, into the water trough. Getting her cooled off was his first priority. Her hair floated in the water like red seaweed, and her face was deathly pale.

  Mrs. Hualga stooped beside him and put her hand on Meghan’s chest. “Her heart is racing.”

  “What else can we do?” He looked up into her brown, impassive face, so like Joshua’s.

  “Keep her there. I will be back.” She padded toward the house.

  The truck sputtered to life and rattled out of the garage.

  “There’s another girl, not as bad off as Meghan, but she’s going to need help, too.” Caleb called after Mrs. Hualga, who raised her hand in acknowledgment but kept walking.

  Something nudged him between the shoulder blades, and he turned on his knee. His horse clopped over and stuck his muzzle into the trough. Caleb grabbed the reins and pulled him away. After running in the heat like he had, the last thing he needed was a bellyful of water. He should be walked until he was cooled off, rubbed down, and brushed. But there wasn’t time. Meghan came first.

  “Lars?” she whispered.

  “Can you hear me?” He cupped the back of her head, wiping her cheeks and forehead with his wet fingers. “Meghan?”

  No response. Even her lips were white. Her freckles stood out, and her skin was as silky as a baby’s. His suntanned, work-roughened hand seemed so coarse in comparison. But she was so still. So deathly still.

  Who was Lars?

  Mrs. Hualga returned. “Bring her to the house.”

  He lifted Meghan, streaming water and still unconscious, into his arms. He jerked his chin toward his horse. “Please tie those reins to the fence. I’ll take care of him when I get her inside.”

  His leg radiated weakness, and afraid he would stumble and drop her, he shuffled his foot along the ground, not daring to lift it lest it buckle under him. He’d done too much today, taxed his twisted limb too far. Soon it would be a knot of cramps and twitches. If Mrs. Hualga noticed his halting gait, she said nothing. He got Meghan into the house and into his bedroom. Mrs. Hualga had pulled back the thin blanket, and Caleb lay Meghan on the sheet. Joshua’s mother bustled in and elbowed him out of the way.

  “What can I do?”

  “See to the horse. Then bring water and newspaper and thermometer. You have ice?”

  “I do.” An old-fashioned icebox that went through ice at a ridiculous rate. He usually bought a block of ice when he went into town for groceries, then raced like a madman back home to get it into the insulated compartment in the top of the icebox before it turned to water. Thankfully, he’d gotten groceries the day before. There should be at least half a block left. A block tended to last about three days, and after that, he made do with powdered milk and canned vegetables and fruit until his next trip to town.

  “Bring broken ice.”

  He tended to his horse, stripping the saddle and bridle and haltering the animal. Tying him to the fence in the shade, he left a single bucket, a quarter full of water where the horse could reach it. When Joshua returned, he’d send him out to finish the job. He swung by the tool shed for a hammer.

  Working the pump in the kitchen, he filled a pitcher and a bucket with water. The box of medicaments on the linen closet shelf gave up the thermometer. Outside his bedroom, he tapped on the door. “Here’s what you wanted. I’ll bring the ice as soon as I can.”

  Please, Lord, don’t take her. Why isn’t she waking up? Why was she so stupid as to be careening around the desert in that car? It was that quilt. That stupid signature quilt. She was like Don Quixote, charging around, heedless of danger.

  He hefted the dripping block of ice out of the icebox and set it on a kitchen towel. Wrapping it tightly, he picked up his hammer and smashed away until he’d reduced the block to manageable chunks.

  “I’ve got the ice.” He tapped on the bedroom door once more. A rattling rumble came through the open front door down the hall. Joshua returning with Natalie. Mrs. Hualga called for Caleb to enter. She straightened from the bed, studying the thermometer she’d just removed from Meghan’s mouth.

  “What does it say?”

  She shook her head. “It’s bad.”

  He studied the glass tube. The mercury hovered near the one hundred and four degree mark. His mouth went dry.

  “Newspaper?” Mrs. Hualga took the i
ce bowl from him.

  “I forgot it. I’ll be right back.” Meghan lay swathed in wet sheets. Her bare arms and lower legs stuck out, and her lashes fanned her cheeks. She was so still, he had to concentrate for a moment to make sure she was breathing.

  “Go get the newspaper.” Mrs. Hualga’s sharp voice uprooted his feet.

  Joshua and Natalie came up the front steps, the boy with his arm around the young woman’s waist. Caleb snatched the newspaper off the front hall table. “Bring her in here. We can treat them together.”

  Natalie’s face was still an alarming shade of red, and more worrisome, she wasn’t sweating a bit. Mrs. Hualga tut-tutted, sent the men from the room, and took over.

  Caleb leaned against the wall and took his weight off his left leg. “Thank you for bringing Miss Daviot.” He scrubbed his hand down his cheek. “I pray they’ll both be all right.”

  “Ma’s dealt with heat sickness before.” Joshua stuck his hands into his back pockets, shifting his weight. “Anything I can do?”

  For a moment Caleb couldn’t think. His entire being was focused on Meghan. “I left my horse tied up in the corral. He should be cooled out enough to turn in with the other horses. Then I want you to drive to town and get the doc. Stop by the hotel and let someone know where the girls are and that we’ll bring them and the car back as soon as we can.”

  The bedroom door opened once more. “Come, I need you.” Mrs. Hualga grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

  Natalie lay beside Meghan, draped in damp sheets. She gave a weak smile and raised her fingers an inch off the bed. Meghan didn’t stir.

  “More water.” Mrs. Hualga was a woman of few words. She held up the bucket. “And towels.”