He leaned close to her. "I'll be back."
Her eyes widened in alarm. "No," she whispered. "Don't. . . don't go."
"I'll only be gone for a short time. I'll get you some water to drink and something for your wound. I'll also bring my friend. She knows a lot about medicine."
"Promise me . . ." Her voiced was weak and fading fast, but he nonetheless sensed the urgency behind her plea.
His stomach clenched into a knot. He seemed doomed lately to making promises to the dying. Despite his reservations, he leaned closer to catch her every word.
"What do you want me to promise?"
"That you'll b-baptize her."
Startled, he drew back. "Baptize who?" he asked, glancing around.
"Elizabeth," she said faintly. Her eyes closed. With a soft gasp that he instantly recognized as the completion of God's name begun at birth, she fell limp against his arm.
He shook her gently. "Who is Elizabeth?" he asked, to no avail. The poor woman was dead.
Justin said a prayer. Lifting the blanket to cover her face, he stopped and stared.
A tiny infant lay by her side. At first he thought the child was dead, but then the baby made little sucking motions as if to nurse.
Based on his limited experience, he guessed that the baby was probably two or three months old.
He carefully wrapped the child in a blanket. He then pushed himself from under the wagon and reached for the bundle. Pulling the baby out gently, he lifted her into his arms and stood.
"Well now," he said, gazing at the tiny round face and big blue eyes. "You must be Elizabeth."
Where is he?
Sarah frantically checked under each overturned wagon. "Justin! Answer me this minute! You hear?"
She stopped to pick up the Colt Peacemaker that lay by a dead man's side. She spun the chamber to check for bullets, then held the gun to the ready.
Justin stepped from behind a wagon, and she almost fainted with relief. She'd been so certain he was dead.
"It's about time," she scolded, hiding the pistol in the waist of her pants, hiding even her relief at seeing him alive. "You like to scare the life out of me."
Spotting the infant in his arms, her jaw dropped. The baby seemed unbelievably tiny next to Justin's broad chest.
He moved the blanket so she could get a better look, and her breath caught in her throat. Except for patches of dried blood, the baby was perfect in every way, like a little porcelain doll Sarah once saw in the window of an emporium. Her mouth looked like a rose about to bloom, her wispy hair golden in color.
Cradling the baby in one arm, Justin walked with quick strides up the hill to where the horses were tethered. Sarah followed close behind.
A baby? She couldn't believe it. What in tarnation were they gonna do with a baby?
"Her name's Elizabeth," he explained when they'd reached the horses. "Her mother . . ." He didn't finish, and Sarah felt a sinking feeling inside.
In a brighter tone, he added, "Her name's in the Bible too."
Snatching her gaze away from the tiny infant, Sarah met his piercing blue eyes. "That don't mean a hill o' beans," she said, frowning. "She's still an orphan, and that gives her a tough row to hoe."
"She hasn't got a chance of making it without her mother's milk," Justin said, his voice solemn as the expression on his face.
Sarah swallowed hard and turned her head away. Never had she felt at such a loss for words. "What. . . what do we do now?"
"I need you to watch the baby while I check the other wagons. There could be more survivors," he said, though judging by the tone of his voice, he didn't hold much hope of finding anyone else alive. "I'll see if I can find some baby clothes."
She tossed her head back and boldly met his eyes. "I ain't watchin' no baby." A body who didn't know what she was doing could drop a thing that tiny . . . that unbelievably perfect.
"Sarah, I don't have time to argue with you."
"I told you, I ain't takin' care of no baby, and that's—"
Justin surprised her by thrusting the child in her arms. Without another word, he turned and walked away, a man clearly on a mission.
"Come back. You hear? Come back here!" she cried, but he kept walking and didn't so much as glance back at her.
"Oooh!"
She stared at the bundle in her arms. Fearing she would drop the infant, she sat ever so carefully on the nearest rock. Afraid to as much as breathe, she held on with both hands, as she would a piece of fine bone china that might break with the least bit of pressure.
The baby peered up at her with big blue eyes, and something tugged at Sarah's heart. Never had she felt more protective or more helpless than she did at that moment.
"Poor little thing," she cooed. "You deserve better than to spend your last hours on earth with the likes of me."
She carefully laid the baby on a soft patch of grass. Beneath the blanket, the baby was dressed in a full-length gown with layers of petticoats beneath.
"Would you look at that?" Sarah exclaimed. "You have more fofarraw on you than a Southern belle." She obviously needed to be changed, and Sarah waved the unpleasant odor away with her hand.
Carefully, she undressed the baby, her heart pounding nervously. She then emptied the water in her canteen onto her kerchief and, ever so gently, washed the infant's soft pink skin.
When she was done and with no clean clothes available, she wrapped the baby in the blanket and rocked her. She wanted to sing to her and wished she could remember the lullaby her mama had sung so many years ago. All she knew were the bawdy bar songs her brothers taught her. She couldn't bring herself to sing such lyrics to this precious, sweet child. Instead, she hummed.
The baby started to cry, and Sarah hummed louder. Then the baby's face turned an alarming shade of red, and it was all Sarah could do to keep from crying herself.
By the time Justin returned carrying bundles filled with baby clothes and a generous supply of dried meat and hardtack bread, Sarah was nearly frantic.
"It's 'bout time." The instant he dumped his bundles, she handed the child over to him and brushed her hands together.
"She's probably hungry," Justin said, jiggling the baby up and down.
"We can't do nothin' 'bout that."
Justin winced as if in pain but said nothing. Instead he carefully placed the baby on a blanket he'd spread on the ground. After much fumbling with the nappy, he finally got her partially dressed.
Sarah sighed in relief. She'd held her breath the entire time he'd tried to pin the baby's britches on. Not that she could have done any better. But by cracky, she couldn't have done much worse.
Taking Sarah's hand, Justin pulled her away from the still crying child, eager to show her all that he found in the wagon train.
"Look, Sarah, a dress." He held the garment up for her to see. It was a simple blue gingham day dress with a flared skirt and fitted waist. The narrow collar, long sleeves, and hem were finished with a white band of fluted ruff. A row of porcelain buttons held the darted bodice closed.
"Matches your eyes perfectly." He shoved the dress into Sarah's hands.
The fabric felt smooth and velvety to her touch. Sarah didn't know a hog's hair about fashion, but she knew a pretty dress when she saw it, and this one qualified on all accounts. How would it feel to wear something this soft? This beautiful? This feminine?
Feeling guilty for her petty thoughts, she tossed the garment back and it fell to the ground. "That ain't gonna feed no hungry baby!" she cried.
A muscle tightened at his jaw. "I'm afraid there's not much we can do for Elizabeth," he said, his voice husky. "But that doesn't mean we can't save you. Like I said, they'll think twice about hanging a lady."
Covering her ears with trembling hands, she turned away. "A body who lets an innocent baby die deserves to be hanged!"
He grabbed her from behind and spun her around. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that."
She fell to her knees, sobbing, and he followed h
er downward.
With a choking sound he hugged her tight, burying his face in her hair. For several long moments they clung to each other, but it was no use. His arms—his strong, warm, comforting arms—could block out the past and make her forget the future, but they could do nothing to stop a poor baby's fate.
Pulling away from him, she stood. "Why, why?" she cried, tears streaming down her face. Raising a fist to the sky, she lashed out at God, at the world, at the unfairness of it all. Seeing his stricken face, she wanted to die. She laid her hand on his arm and added in a softer voice, "My being a lady won't change a thing." She glanced at Elizabeth. "Don't you see? Not a thing."
His face a mask of frustration, he plucked the garment off the ground and stuffed it into Moses' pack. "The fabric might come in handy," he said.
He then picked up the crying infant. "Come on, little one." Walking with quick, even strides, he carried the baby to a spring-fed stream.
"What are you doin'?" Brushing her tears aside, Sarah ran after him. She didn't want to be saddled with no baby, but that didn't mean she didn't care what happened to the poor thing.
"I'm going to baptize her, just like her mother requested." Bending over, he cupped his hand and reached into the water. Sarah gasped and snatched the child out of his arm with an indignant swoop.
"Have you gone loco? That water's cold enough to freeze the fur off a bear."
"It's only a few drops," he protested. "And it's not that cold. It just feels cold because the air is so warm."
"Hasn't this poor child been through 'nuff already? The least you can do is heat the water."
He stared at her. "I've baptized a number of people in the dead of winter, and no one ever complained about the temperature of the water."
"That's 'cuz they were too cold to complain," she retorted.
Justin shook his head as if he didn't believe his ears. "It's not that cold," he protested. Nonetheless, he started gathering up twigs and set to work building a fire.
Meanwhile, Sarah cradled the bawling baby in her arms.
Once the water had been heated to Sarah's satisfaction, Justin took the child in his arms and performed the simple ceremony. Elizabeth's cries subsided, and she latched onto Justin's finger and sucked hungrily.
He glanced up at Sarah. "As the child's godmother, do you promise to do right by her? To bring her up in accordance with God's Word?"
She gaped at Justin and shook her head. "I ain't no godmother, and don't go sayin' I am, you hear?"
"It's just you and me, Sarah. If we're not her godparents, who else is there?"
Sarah's lips parted, but she couldn't for the life of her think of anything to say.
Justin gave a grim nod. "I'm going to take that as a yes," he said. Elizabeth began to cry, and he shifted her onto his shoulder.
Sarah felt trapped. More than that, she was scared. She had escaped her own lynching, outrun more outlaws and lawmen than she cared to count, had even plunged a knife in an attacking bear, but never had she faced such a challenge as this.
"It'll only be for a short while," Justin said, as if that could make her feel any better. "Without her mother's milk . . ."
Giving up on Justin's finger, Elizabeth began crying so hard that her whole little body shook. Her face turned red as a ripe summer tomato. It was all Sarah could do to keep from crying herself. Shouldn't a godmother know what to do?
Finally she could stand it no longer. She didn't have it in her to wait around while a helpless infant starved to death in front of her very eyes. She grabbed hold of the leather horn of her saddle, shoved her foot into the stirrup, and swung herself hard onto the horse.
Justin, rocking Elizabeth, looked up. "Sarah!"
He tried to grab the reins with his one free arm, but she pulled out the pistol she'd found earlier.
He fell back, mouth open, eyes round with astonishment.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her words drowned out by the infant's frantic cries.
His face dark, he pleaded with her. "Please, Sarah." He lifted his voice to be heard. "Don't go. We can get through this together, I know we can."
Something like a knife twisted inside her. She had been prepared to stand by his side until it was time to go their separate ways, to face any adversity. She would have gladly fought Indians, outlaws, and whatever nature had to offer, but not this.
She met his beseeching eyes, then glanced down at the red-faced infant in his arms and wanted to die. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she pressed her heels into the side of her horse and rode away.
For the longest while, all Justin could do was watch until Sarah was no more than a tiny spot in the distance, his head filled with Elizabeth's frantic cries.
He didn't blame Sarah for leaving. Didn't blame her one bit. He was tempted himself to run away and leave the horrors of the ill-fated wagon train behind. But he couldn't bring himself to leave until he'd given Elizabeth's mother a proper burial. His heart squeezed tight at the thought of having to bury the beautiful child he held in his arms. If only there was a way to save her.
Never had he felt so utterly, utterly alone.
Sarah was no longer in sight, and any hope he had that she would return began to fade.
Holding the baby close to his heart, one hand cupping her tiny head, he rocked her gently. Elizabeth was clearly exhausted, and her eyes began to droop.
"You've got some mighty fine tonsils," he said, soothingly. "Reminds me of old Mrs. Spindlemeyer. She sang at our church last Christmas and her voice nearly raised the roof." Just thinking about his church in Boston made him feel even more depressed, but since his voice seemed to have a soothing effect on Elizabeth, he continued to talk. Not about his church. Instead, he found himself talking about Sarah.
Calmed by his low, soothing voice, Elizabeth's cries stopped altogether, and her little body grew still.
". . . and there she was, up to her chin in mire. You never saw such a sight." He chuckled softly to himself. He glanced down at the infant in his arms, noting with satisfaction that she was sound asleep.
Moving ever so slowly, he spread a blanket beneath the shade of a tree. Taking care not to wake her, he laid her down. Elizabeth cried out once before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep again.
Justin stood watching her. Never did he feel so helpless.
"Now what, God?Now what?"
He knew he was close to the Kansas border, but according to his map, he was still miles away from any town or forts. He doubted there were any farms or homesteads. But first things first. If by some miracle Elizabeth survived this ordeal, he wanted to be able to tell her that he gave her mother a decent burial.
He pulled his spade from the mule's saddle, picked a spot a short distance from the sleeping child, and began to dig. The sound of approaching horses made him freeze, a shovelful of dirt in his hand. His mouth went dry. He spun around. Three horsemen headed his way, riding fast.
Dear God . . . no! Please don't let it be Indians.
Eleven
Sarah rode away without looking back, her heart so heavy she could hardly breathe. Blizzard's hooves flew over the buffalo grass, pounding the ground and kicking up dust. Prairie dogs scattered from the path and popped into the nearest holes.
Never one to stand around, she had to do something. Anything. There had to be a way to save that poor babe. But how?
Hot tears streamed down her face.
She hated to leave Justin alone, but standing around and watching some poor baby die was more than she could bear. She'd seen enough people die to last a lifetime, but never before had she witnessed the death of someone so young.
Digging her heels into the side of the horse, she rode hard through the valley, blinded by tears. Normally, she would never think of riding through such an area without scrutinizing every rock, every shadow, every indentation in the ground as George had so patiently taught her. Today she didn't care a pig's tail about her own safety.
There had to be something. A
farm, a town.
Never had she felt so utterly helpless, so completely unworthy. The youngest in her family, she'd never had to take care of anyone, never knew what it was like to be needed. And the moment someone needed her, what did she do? She panicked!
Think, Sarah, think!
She rode until she came to a grove of trees clustered along a sparkling stream. She dismounted and let her horse drink from the cool waters. Falling to her knees, she cupped her shaking hands and splashed water on her tear-stained face.
She closed her eyes, but all she could see was Justin's face as she rode away, the baby's desperate cries ringing in her ears.
If only she were a praying woman—
She glanced upward, then lowered her head. Justin believed in miracles, and if ever she needed one, it was now. Bracing herself with a deep breath, she began to pray as she had heard Justin pray so many times before.
"Dear heavenly Father, Almighty God, Creator of heaven and earth . . ." She stopped. What came next? She couldn't remember.
She threw up her hands. This was a waste of time. The words sounded foreign—meaningless even—to her ears. She jumped to her feet and paced back and forth. She gazed at the sky and wondered if heaven really existed, if there really was a God.
"Are You up there?" she called. "God, are You there?" She listened, but all she could hear was the distant song of a bob- white and the sound of rushing waters.
She fell to her knees again and lifted her hands upright. "God, I've only asked You for a couple of things in my life. I asked You to save my papa, but he died anyway. I asked You to save my ma, but You didn't see fit to help her. After that, I never bothered You again. I figured You were too busy for the likes of me.
"Maybe You still are, but I'm not askin' for me. I'm askin' for that little babe who doesn't deserve to die. She needs Your help. God. If You answer this one prayer, I promise I ain't never botherin' You again. I'll. . . I'll act like a lady, I will. I'll use proper words, and I ain't never gonna to throw myself at. . . anyone.
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