"Danny, does your daddy have any horses?"
Danny nodded proudly. "We got Cody, he's our saddle horse, and we got Trooper and Buck, they're workhorses."
The horses had undoubtedly bolted because of the fire, along with Rob's mount and the Indian ponies. Chances were good that the Indian that escaped had rounded them up and taken them off with him.
"Were they all in the barn last night?"
"Cody was, but Pa keeps Trooper and Buck over in the back pasture." Tears flooded Danny's eyes again when he spoke of his father, and he swiped at them with the back of one grubby hand. "Pa used to keep 'em there," he corrected forlornly.
"Where would that be?" For the first time, Myles felt a faint stab of hope. Maybe the workhorses were still there.
"Not far. Just over beside the coulee." Myles glanced at the sleeping baby. Her thumb was stuck in her mouth, and she was deeply asleep. He hated leaving her alone, but taking her with him would slow him down and make it almost impossible to catch the horses—if they were still there.
"We're gonna let Missy stay here and sleep and we'll hurry and see if we can find the horses." Myles filled an old tin pail with oats and grabbed a bridle, and he and Danny hurried off.
The path led through trees, and Myles was grateful for the cover, moving cautiously and as quickly as he dared with the boy stumbling along beside him, tripping on the too long coat, until they reached an open pasture beside a pool of stagnant water, still half frozen over.
"There's Trooper. Hey, Trooper, over here." Excited, Danny forgot Myles's admonition to be quiet, and the horse heard his voice and came trotting toward them. In a matter of seconds, Myles had the bridle over his ears. There was no sign of the other horse, and Myles assumed it had fled along with the others. Slinging Danny up on the horse, they started back.
Myles was relieved to find that Missy hadn't stirred. He put Trooper in one of the stalls and forked hay to him, which started him thinking about food for himself and the children. He took dried biscuits and jerky from his bags and he and Danny chewed on them.
Again Myles cursed the loss of Rob's horse. Because of his medical bag, Rob had been carrying the largest portion of their rations on his mount. The cabin and whatever supplies had been in it were burned to the ground. Myles thought a moment and then an idea occurred to him.
"Did your ma have a root cellar, Danny?"
"Yup, I'll show you where."
The boy led Myles around the back of the cabin to a spot by the hillside where bushes grew thick, partly masking double doors flush with the earth that marked the entrance to the cool, dark storehouse.
Myles opened the doors and stepped inside, and a wave of relief poured through him. At least the children wouldn't go hungry. Inside were slabs of dried beef, jars of preserved crab apples, strings of dried berries. Apples, shriveled and dried out, were in a bushel basket along with potatoes and turnips packed in sand.
"We're gonna make a big stew for dinner, Dan."
He remembered seeing an iron pot in the ashes of the cabin fire. A hot meal would help them all survive the cold, difficult night ahead—portions of the cabin were still burning. He could use the embers to cook over.
"You know how to cook, Doc?" Danny sounded doubtful, and Myles gave him a teasing look.
"Mounties have to learn how to do most everything, don't you know that?"
"Do you and your wife got kids at home like me and Missy? 'Cause if you don't, maybe we could come and be your kids."
Myles had to swallow the lump in his throat. "That's a fine offer, young man. We'll discuss it later, but right now I don't want you worrying about where you and Missy will end up, because I promise you I'll make certain you get a place where you're together and happy."
The baby slept, and when she awakened, she sat huddled inside the bedroll, watching with big dark eyes as Myles and Danny prepared a meal.
By the time they'd all eaten, it was dusk. Myles saddled Trooper and lifted Danny up on his broad back, handing him Missy, rolled tightly into the bedroll. He swung up himself, making certain his rifle was easily available, his revolver loaded and ready on his hip. It had grown much colder as soon as evening came. It felt like snow. If they hit a bad snowstorm. . . With an effort, Myles put the thought out of his mind.
He took Missy from Danny and cradled her for warmth between the boy's body and his own and clucked to the horse.
With luck, they'd reach the fort by dawn.
Somewhere out here were Paige's captors, Myles knew, heading further east if the tracks Rob had found were the right ones.
By now the trail was cold, and with every mile he traveled toward the fort, Myles was leaving her further and further behind.
Was she even still alive, or had they left her body somewhere out on the prairie, beaten, raped, tortured . . . ?
Unbearable pain gnawed at his heart. He loved her more than life itself, and he'd lost her.
He'd failed her.
Paige, my darling, forgive me.
Now and Then: Chapter Twenty
With every mile they traveled, the temperature seemed to drop another degree.
It began to rain, and the rain became sleet and then snow.
Cold and wet even inside her blanket cocoon, Missy sobbed quietly for a time, but Danny didn't once complain.
The weather made the darkness almost impenetrable, and Myles could only hope that he was heading in the right direction.
At some point, the snow stopped and the sky cleared a little. Visibility improved. Myles, his arms clamped around the two groggy children, struggled to stay awake himself as the night progressed and the horse's steady, slow gait became dangerously hypnotic.
Once, far off to the west, he saw flames shooting skyward from some settler's cabin burning, and from then on he was wide-awake and cautious, looking out for any sign of an Indian encampment. A wind sprang up before dawn, and Myles began to wonder if Danny and Missy would survive the bitter cold. Both children were shuddering, even though he held them against his body and tried to protect them from the worst of the icy wind.
Relief spilled through him when, shortly after dawn, he saw the first sign of light from houses in Battleford.
"Almost there, young ones," he murmured. "Just hold on, and we'll soon have you fed and in some dry, warm clothes."
Danny woke from his doze and sat up straighter, looking in the direction Myles indicated.
They'd ridden another quarter hour when the boy said; "It looks like something’s on fire over there, Doc."
Myles had already pulled Trooper to a standstill. He stared, aghast, at the flames shooting high above the town, and his heart sank.
It could mean only one thing.
Just as Paige had predicted, Battleford was under siege.
Myles circled far around the town, approaching the stockade from the back. It added two hours to the trip, and it was forenoon and snowing again by the time the wide gates swung far enough open so that Trooper could slip through. The fort was filled to overflowing with settlers' horses and wagons.
"Find someone to take care of these children right away," Myles ordered as he handed Missy and Danny down from the horse and into the arms of a constable. He climbed stiffly down himself. "They need—"
"I'll take them, Myles." Carrying blankets, Clara Fletcher came running over and took Missy. She wrapped the child in one blanket and thrust the other at the constable who still held Danny.
"A policeman rode out early this morning and told us a war party was murdering settlers. We came in to the fort right away, and I just heard about Paige being missing." She cradled the child against her. "You didn't find her?" Clara's voice was fearful.
Myles could only shake his head, and Clara, biting her lip hard to keep from crying, hurried the children away.
In Batoche, the small group of Métis women gathered in the kitchen tried not to flinch at the intermittent sound of guns and cannon fire, but Paige knew they were every bit as nervous and frightened as she w
as herself. Several of them were silently praying, their lips moving as they worked.
Paige's heart ached for them. They, as well as she, had so much at stake; their sons and husbands and brothers were in the middle of the fighting.
Myles was a surgeon, and if there was fighting she knew he'd be out on some battlefield just as these women's loved ones were right now. Today, their men were in danger of being blown to bits by the cannons the English had brought in to fight the Métis army.
Lord, but she missed Myles. Not an hour passed that she didn't think of him, long for him. She'd thought numerous times of trying to escape, but she knew she could never make her way alone across the hundred rugged miles that separated Batoche and Battleford.
Besides the terrain, she knew there were now Indian uprisings everywhere. The war drums throbbed, and everyone with white skin was at risk. There had been several horrifying accounts of white settlers attacked and murdered by the Indians.
"Drink this, Gigette, it will settle your stomach." Madeleine handed a potion she'd just mixed up to Marguerite, Riel's very pregnant young wife.
Marguerite—everyone affectionately called her Gigette— had already bolted twice for the outhouse, nauseated from the tension created by the battle taking place less than 20 miles away.
Her baby was due in another month, and Madeleine was concerned about the nausea. Childless herself, Madeleine was fond godmother to dozens of the village's children.
"Gigette, it's not good to strain so at this stage, the petit enfant needs to spend these last few weeks safe inside you, is that not so, Madame la docteur?" Madeleine smiled at Paige, her plain, dark features revealing the affection that had sprung up between the two women in the month since Paige's arrival at her door.
Madeleine had never once treated her as a prisoner. Rather, the older woman acted more like the loving mother Paige had never had.
Paige managed a reassuring smile in return, even though she was seriously concerned about Gigette's baby. She was fairly certain that Gigette, Madeleine, and several of the other Métis women had pulmonary tuberculosis, as well as some of the children playing quietly in another part of the house.
She'd done what little she could for them, educating them about the disease, stressing the need for healthy food, plenty of rest, fresh air, and most of all, the meticulous sterilizing of all dishes and utensils used by the affected person to prevent the bacteria from spreading.
Yet even as she listed the treatments, she realized how impossible it was for these poor people to abide by her suggestions; already, many of them had lost their homes to the invading army, and food was in dangerously short supply.
It made Paige furious to hear of houses burned and looted, food supplies stolen, possessions taken. In her opinion, the English army had a great deal to answer for in its treatment of the Métis homesteads. The familiar feelings of frustration and helplessness haunted Paige, but there was absolutely nothing else she could do for the sick Métis women and children— antituberculous drugs were still a long way in the future.
"It's best if you can go full term, all right," she agreed now with a sorry attempt at a smile.
The smile was difficult for several reasons—her concern over the battle, Gigette's pregnancy, and also the fact that her own stomach was anything but stable this morning. But then, it hadn't been good for the past three weeks.
She wondered if perhaps there was a virus going around, causing the nausea from which she and Gigette seemed to be suffering.
The other women hadn't been affected, however. They moved efficiently around the table and the stove, stirring pots and kneading dough, their faces somber.
The kitchen was overly warm, filled with the smells of bread baking and beans cooking, smells which should have been pleasant, and instead made Paige's stomach heave.
For the past several weeks, Madeleine Dumont had gathered the women together every day like this in order to prepare whatever food they could devise, tear sheets into bandages, wash and mend warm clothing for the ragtag group of soldiers her husband had organized into an army.
For the women, the waiting was unbearable. Working together this way made it marginally easier.
The battle taking place today wasn't the first the women had waited through. Since Paige's arrival in Batoche, she'd treated more battle wounds than she could count, including a gaping four inch gash in Gabriel Dumont's forehead which she'd had to stitch up without benefit of anesthetic—the meager supply of chloroform she'd brought with her was being hoarded for the worst of emergencies. Gabriel had borne the pain in silence, with stoic bravery. Paige had never encountered men as physically tough as these Métis.
The wounds she'd treated were the results of skirmishes the Métis had with the English they considered their enemy. Paige had watched, sickened, as the men carried home their dead comrades from these encounters—already, six men and a boy had died, and the conflict seemed only to be accelerating.
The battle today was taking place barely 20 miles away, at a gully called Fish Creek, and Paige knew this was much more than a skirmish. The English army was advancing on the town of Batoche, and Dumont, with the Indian and Métis volunteers who had been pouring into town, was attempting to stop them.
She must check her meager medical supplies and get the women to cut and sterilize more dressings as soon as this debilitating nausea passed.
For a week now, scouts had arrived at the big white house in Batoche where the Dumonts and Paige were staying with Riel and his family.
"The English have gathered an army," the scouts reported fearfully. "It is said they have five thousand men, nine cannons, and a new weapon called a Gatling gun which shoots twelve hundred bullets a minute. They are even now marching across the prairie toward Batoche."
Gabriel and Louis listened without comment, and when the scouts were gone, they argued late into the night.
Paige had come to know Gabriel Dumont and Louis Riel. The two men made no effort to be secretive about their plans, and consequently Paige easily overheard the battle plans and strategies they argued about constantly.
The two strong leaders didn't agree at all with one another. Dumont felt the only hope the Métis had was in guerrilla type attacks, based on Indian methods. The Métis, masterful hunters of buffalo, knew the terrain intimately, and knew how to disappear into it. The approaching army, purportedly led by some aging retired British general, was unfamiliar with both Indian tactics and the rugged terrain. Despite their overwhelming numbers, Gabriel felt they could be defeated.
Riel, a mystic who put his faith in God and prayers and was squeamish about battles, refused to consider this type of warfare.
"We may be in danger of firing on our French-Canadian friends among the troops," he told Gabriel.
"But they have joined with the English to kill us, Louis," Gabriel roared in frustration.
"They are still our brothers," Riel insisted with a twisted sort of logic that eluded even Paige. "I have prayed to God. We must wait until the soldiers attack us. Then, with God's help, we will win."
Riel was a fascinating man, a brooding, serious dreamer who never seemed to sleep. Paige had heard him pacing at all hours of the night.
She had trouble sleeping herself. Her loneliness, her fear, and her longing for Myles were strongest at night. Missing him was a constant ache inside of her, and in the darkness she couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever see him again. Reason told her she'd be lucky to come through the rebellion alive.
Although she knew the Métis would never deliberately harm her, she also knew from her history lectures that there would be a fierce battle right here at Batoche, that the Métis would lose, and that there would be many fatalities.
Tired, but unable to sleep, she lit a candle and went to the kitchen one night to warm some milk. She found Louis sitting at the kitchen table composing a speech. His hair was rumpled, his handsome, somber face lined with fatigue. He smiled at her.
"Ahh, Madame. Sit down, tell me w
hat you think of this." He read her a rousing speech he'd written while she warmed two cups of milk, handing him one, praising his words honestly; he was a gifted orator.
"Please, Louis, can't you tell me what's happening at Battleford? You know my husband is there."
He sipped his milk, and for long moments she didn't think he was going to answer. Then he sighed and said, "Our brothers, the Cree, have joined the Assiniboin. The ways of the Indians are not our ways. Battleford is under siege by the Indians."
God help her, she'd known. She'd told Myles it would happen, but it didn't make it easier to bear. Tears filled her eyes, and Louis silently reached across and patted her hand.
She burst out, "Why can't you stop this now, Louis? You have the power to stop it. Believe me, it's only going to get worse. There are so few of you, you must know that in the end you can't win. Give up now, before it becomes a full-blown tragedy."
She tensed, expecting him to explode, to roar at her with all the passion she'd heard in his voice when he addressed his faithful followers.
Instead, he smiled a sad smile and shook his head. "I have prayed," he said simply. "And you and I both know there is no other way."
Since her arrival in Batoche, Riel had talked to her many times, asking her about the life she'd had in the future, about exactly how she'd come to travel through time. He asked repeatedly about her knowledge of the rebellion and its outcome. Paige had always been honest with him, repeating the scanty facts she remembered, always terrified that he'd want to know his own fate.
To her immense relief, he didn't ask. Paige had a feeling he knew.
Instead, he'd said with a quizzical smile, "So how did your people in that time view this rebellion of ours, this struggle of the native people of Canada against a government that wouldn't listen?"
She told him that he was regarded as a hero in her time, and that had pleased him a great deal. She told him about the claims of native people in the late 1900s, the slow but successful way in which they were reclaiming their heritage.
Now and Forever: Time Travel Romance Superbundle Page 30