Gold Rush Baby

by Dorothy Clark

  His frown deepened to a scowl. It wasn’t that he was weak willed. Not at all. He was a man of strong faith and moral integrity. But he was still a man. And Viola…

  Thomas sucked in a long breath, gave in to what he’d been wanting to do since he woke, and looked at her. She was asleep in the rocker, her head leaning against the high back of the chair, her face turned toward him. The dim light from the turned-down wick of the oil lamp on the table beside her made dark smudges of the long, thick eyelashes that rested on her alabaster skin; warmed her high, perfectly molded cheekbones with a whisper of gold and created a soft shadow beneath her full lower lip.

  His pulse quickened. He’d never seen a woman as beautiful. But it was more than her beauty that drew him. It was the mystery of her. She appeared so confident and controlled, yet there was that shadow of fear, that vulnerability in the depths of her eyes that made him want to take care of her. And there was the warmth and sympathy in her care that put the lie to her cool smiles and demeanor. He was drawn to her by everything he knew, and everything he was learning about her.

  He looked at the oil lamp, turned low so it did not bother his rest, pulled close so she could see to work. Her candle goeth not out by night. The line of scripture from the Book of Proverbs slipped smoothly into his head. How perfectly it described her considerate and unselfish nature, working at night because caring for him took up her days. He lowered his gaze to her hands, resting on the blue shirt she’d been sewing when she fell asleep. She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. How tireless she was in earning a living for herself and for others. She stretcheth out her hand to the poor: yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.

  Thomas sucked in a long breath, looked at the baby asleep in her cradle close to Viola’s chair, glanced at his medicine on the stand beside the bed and listened to Hattie’s snoring from the other room. Something akin to fear gripped him. Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. What man would ever need the riches of gold, if he had a wife like Viola?

  He looked over at her, jerked his gaze to the ceiling and clenched his hands into fists. “Don’t let it happen, Lord. You know I answered Your call to minister to the Tlingits and the men on the Chilkoot Trail. And You know that means I cannot marry. I will never again subject a wife to those harsh living conditions. I’ll not be the cause of another woman’s and child’s deaths. Keep me strong, Lord. Keep me strong, I pray. Don’t let me fall in love with Viola Goddard.”

  He prayed the words. He prayed them sincerely. But, even as he whispered them into the night, his heart was telling him it was already too late.

  Chapter Seven

  “Here is your mending, Mr. Stewart.” Viola watched him drop his payment into the bowl on the table, then stepped forward to close the door behind him. “Good luck in your search for gold.”

  She started to close the door, caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in loose-fitting work pants, leather belt adorned with tools and a billowing red plaid shirt turning onto her path from the road. “Hello, Frankie. Have you come to put in my locks?”

  The shake of Frankie’s head set her cap of short, black curls flopping. “MacDougal’s had some pressing business. Says he’ll get at them soon as possible.”

  “I see.” She hid her disappointment, stared down at Frankie, who stopped at the edge of the stoop. “Thank you for coming to tell me. Would you like to come in?”

  The black curls flopped again. “I have to get back to the church. Got some work to do so the bell tower will be ready when that bell gets here, if it ever does.” Frankie slapped at a spot of dirt on her trousers, brushed her hand against her thigh. “Seems like it’s been forever since Mack told us he’d ordered it.”

  “Yes, it’s been a while.” She stopped, unsure of what to say in the face of Frankie’s odd behavior. The fearless, self-confident woman was acting…nervous. She glanced at Frankie’s dry, work-roughened hand, now toying with the hammer handle that protruded from the wide leather belt that slung down onto her hip, heard the huge breath Frankie inhaled and blew out, and raised her gaze.

  “You busy caring for the preacher, or you got time to step out here and talk a minute, Viola?”

  “Dr. Calloway is with him. But…are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

  “Nah, this is private like.” Frankie lifted the hammer, let it fall back into place. “I don’t want anyone overhearing what I got to say. Thought maybe we could step over to them trees.”

  “Of course.” What had Frankie so discombobulated? She held her face impassive, closed the door, lifted the hems of her long skirts and followed Frankie into the shadows beneath the towering firs that grew close to her cabin.

  “I got me a problem, Viola. And I don’t rightly know what to do about it.” Frankie locked a scowling gaze on her. “Remember the other day, I said I was going to challenge the sheriff to a shooting match?”

  “Yes.”

  “I missed! And I ain’t missed a shot since…well, since I can’t even remember, it’s been so long.”

  Viola stared at her. What did Frankie expect her to say? She knew nothing about shooting a—

  “I can’t figure what happened, less it’s because I was all trembly like, with Ed standing so near and all. I couldn’t seem to make my hand stop shaking a mite, and it threw off my aim.”

  Oh. “I see.” Not Frankie, too.

  Frankie grabbed hold of a dead branch, broke off a small piece and pulverized it between her palms. “I get like that when I’m around him. Get upset some in my stomach, too. I mean, I guess it’s because I want to be a deputy so much.” The expression in the blue eyes fixed on her changed to one of appeal. “You figure that’s what it is, Viola? That I just want so much to be a deputy? I mean, it couldn’t be…” the expression turned fierce, challenging “I don’t…like him or nothing.”

  Her heart sank. How could she help? All she wanted to say was, “Run, Frankie, run.” But she had to say something. “I’m sorry, Frankie, but I can’t help you. I’ve never…liked a man. I don’t know how that feels.” Memory of the soft, warm, fluttery feeling in her chest whenever Thomas chuckled popped into her head. She shoved the absurd thought away. “Perhaps you should ask Lucy and Margie—”

  “Willikers! I can’t ask them, Viola!” The words roared out of Frankie’s horrified freckled face. “They’d laugh ’til they was sick. They’re all the time telling me, ‘Just wait until it happens to you. Just wait until you go all weak-kneed and trembly when you’re around your special man. Just wait until you fall in love!’” The appeal flashed back into Frankie’s blue eyes. “It can’t be that, Viola, can it? It can’t be that!”

  She had nothing but her bad experiences with men from which to form an answer. But she had to offer Frankie some sort of help. “Well, do you want to be around him often? Do you want him to like you?”

  “Well sure. But I thought…” An appalled look swept over the freckled face. “Willikers.” It was a soft whisper this time. Frankie sagged back against a tree trunk and looked at her. “What am I gonna do, Viola?”

  At least with this she could help her. “Well, to start, you could perhaps change those baggy trousers for a divided skirt like your sisters sometimes wear. And you could get some shirts in different colors, like blue to match your eyes, and in a smaller size that will fit you better. And you could ask Sheriff Parker to help you when you have something too heavy or difficult for you to do alone.”

  “You mean act like a girl.”

  She bit her lip to hold back a smile and nodded. “At least a little, in the way you dress and such, Frankie. I think it’s the only way you will find out how you really feel about Ed Parker. And how he feels about you.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow, Thomas.” Jacob Calloway put his stethoscope back in his doctor’s bag. “I don’t want to hurry things. I know you’re feeling stronger, now that you are ea
ting and drinking and sitting propped up in bed. But that wound is not even close to being healed. Any false move could tear it open again.”

  “All the more reason for you to help me, Jacob.” Thomas fixed an unwavering gaze on the doctor. “No more waiting. I am getting out of this bed today. If you don’t help me, then I will do it myself, after you leave.”

  Jacob frowned, snapped his black bag closed. “What’s gotten into you, Thomas? I’ve never known you to be foolhardy. Give it another day. Tomorr—”

  “Today. One way or the other.”

  Jacob studied him. “You’re serious?”

  He dipped his head.

  The doctor’s brows lowered. “You leave me no choice, Thomas. But you must do exactly as I say.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ll go get a chair. If you get weak or dizzy on me, I can’t sit you in that rocker.”

  “Jacob.” The doctor stopped, looked at him. “Help me into my pants before you go. Then bring a towel to cover my chest. I don’t want Viola in here while I am sitting in a chair, clad only in my long drawers and bandages.”

  The doctor grabbed his pants off a hook on the wall, slipped them on him and left the room.

  Thomas watched him head for the kitchen and took a deep breath. It was done. All he could do now was hope he was making the right decision. And ask God for strength. He closed his eyes. “Almighty God, You know my frame and You know my heart. I cannot stay here longer, Lord. It is painful seeing the baby every day, knowing I am guilty for my own wife’s and child’s deaths. And last night laid bare the growing feelings I have for—”

  “There is no need for a towel, Doctor. I have made him a shirt of a loose design that will fit overtop of the bandages.”

  Thomas opened his eyes, looked toward the door. His heart gave a small kick as Viola entered. She was followed by Jacob Calloway, carrying a slat-back chair.

  “The shirt is right here by the rocker.”

  Thomas tensed. It couldn’t be.

  Viola went to the basket on the floor by the rocker and pulled out a shirt.

  It was.

  Thomas stared, then looked away from the blue shirt in her hands. The shirt she had been working on when she fell asleep last night. The shirt she had been staying up late to make for him. He clenched his jaw. How could he wear that shirt? Every time he looked at it, every time he felt it against his skin he would remember the way she looked last night. But how could he not wear it? How could he refuse her gesture of consideration and generosity? By telling her he didn’t want the shirt because he was falling in love with her?

  “All right, Thomas, let’s get you out of this bed. I have to get back to the clinic. Watch closely, Viola.” Jacob came to the edge of the bed and leaned toward him. “We will do this in stages. First, I am going to help you sit up straighter, then, without twisting your torso, I want you to slide your legs, one at a time, over the side of the bed. After that, I will help you turn. Now put your arm around my shoulder. Ready? Here we go.”

  Jacob’s arm tightened. Thomas braced himself, completed the maneuver and found the pain bearable, but his head was woozy. He sat on the edge of the bed, hung his head and took a deep breath.

  “Dizzy?”

  “A little. It’s getting better.”

  “Rest a moment, then we’ll get you on your feet. Viola, where’s that shirt?”

  “Here.”

  “Put it on him.”

  “No. You do it, Jacob.” The bile pushing at the bottom of his throat kept him from protesting further.

  “I have to steady you, and it’s all part of nursing, Thomas. Come ahead, Viola.”

  Thomas swallowed, watched Jacob’s brown shoes and trouser legs move to the side, and Viola’s long, green skirt take their place. There was a rustle, a softness brushing against his ears. Dark blue fabric fell in front of his face, shutting off his view. A soft, warm hand brushed against his bare right shoulder, eased in his arm. The fabric moved, slid down to cover his back and fell away from his face. He caught the faint scent of roses and lifted his head, looked up into Viola’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  She nodded, finished adjusting the fabric across the top of his shoulders and stepped back.

  “Ready to try and walk, Thomas?”

  There was a small, swift intake of breath. He gave Viola a quick, reassuring smile and shifted his gaze to Jacob. “I’m ready.”

  “All right. Rest your arm on my shoulder, but do not use it to lift yourself. Use your legs. I will steady you. And don’t try to walk. Stand still until you feel steady and strong enough to move. If you get dizzy when you stand, tell me and sit back down. Ready…stand up.”

  Help me, Lord. Thomas leaned forward, straightened his knees, then his body. Pain shot from his shoulder into his arm and chest. He clamped his jaw tight, fought a surge of light-headedness. The sharp pains subsided to a heavy throbbing. He drew in a long breath and looked at Jacob. “Let’s walk.”

  “I-if you no longer need me, Doctor, I will go finish feeding Goldie.”

  Thomas looked at Viola, read sympathy and fear in her eyes. Was she concerned for him? He frowned at the conceit embodied in the quick rush of pleasure that thought gave him. Viola had a tender heart. She was concerned for everyone. He settled that thought firmly in his head and took his first step as she hurried from the bedroom.

  “So how’d he do?” Hattie gave Goldie another bite of mashed egg. “Is he walkin’ by hisself?”

  “I don’t know. The doctor didn’t need me after I helped put Thomas’s shirt on him, so I came back to finish feeding Goldie.” Viola rubbed her palms against her long skirt. “He was standing up when I left.”

  Hattie squinted up at her. “Well, mayhap you should sit down. You look a might peaked.”

  “I’m fine. It’s only… It bothers me to see people in pain.” Like one of the girls, when Dengler’s men had finished beating her as punishment for some infraction of his rules. She drew a breath and stepped to the table. “I can finish feeding Goldie now. You can go back to your knitting.”

  Hattie spooned another bite into the baby’s mouth. “The egg’s almost gone. I’ll finish. Whyn’t you make yourself a cup of tea and rest a bit?”

  Viola shook her head, brushed back a curl that escaped and tucked it into her snood. “As long as Thomas or Goldie doesn’t need me, I think I’ll go outside for a minute and get a breath of fresh air.” She turned away from Hattie’s curious gaze, walked to the door and stepped outside. She didn’t need any questions.

  A breeze caressed her face, played with the wispy curls at her temples and forehead. She walked out into the yard, sniffed. There was a hint of rain riding the breeze. She turned and looked toward the harbor. Dark clouds were gathering. In Treasure Creek, just as in Seattle, the storms came from the direction of the water. White light flashed across the sky in the distance. She stood and watched the flickering brightness, heard a distant grumble. She liked thunderstorms. In Seattle they meant fewer customers. Here, in Treasure Creek, it seemed as if God was washing the earth clean.

  The wind picked up, fluttered the puffed fabric at the tops of the long, tight sleeves on her white shirtwaist, rippled the dark green tweed of her long skirt. She lifted her face to the sky, felt the moisture, more mist than rain, as the wind blew the storm closer. Wash me, God. Wash me clean and make me forget.

  Thunder rumbled louder. The mist gathered into drops and pattered against the dry, colored leaves littering the ground at her feet. Lightning snapped. Close this time. The back door opened.

  “Viola, Doctor Calloway is fixin’ to leave. He wants to talk to you.”

  “All right, Hattie. I’m coming.” She sighed, turned and walked back to the house, still carrying the guilt and shame of the past on her damp shoulders.

  Chapter Eight

  Viola took a breath to steady her voice. “Is there anything more, Doctor?”

  Jacob Calloway pulled open the door and shook his head. “No more instructions as to his
care. I wanted him to take another day of just walking a bit with my help, but Thomas is mule stubborn and insisted on sitting up today. However, I do not want him sitting in that chair for more than a quarter hour this first time.” He gave her a concerned look. “I have patients waiting and cannot stay. Thomas is a gentleman and will not want you helping him. But that wound is only beginning to heal, and cannot be strained, you must help him back into bed, Viola.” He stepped through the open door and hurried off toward his clinic.

  She closed the door, sagged back against it and closed her eyes, the doctor’s words ringing in her head. She couldn’t do it. She could not offer herself as support for Thomas. He would have his arm about her shoulders. A shudder shook her. Perhaps Hattie could—no. Hattie was too short.

  A sharp rap echoed through the room, vibrated the wood behind her shoulders. She gave a startled yelp, jerked erect. The door opened, slammed against her as she turned. “Ugh!”

  “Viola?” A narrow boot was jammed between the door and the frame, followed by a red clad shoulder and a mop of short, dark curls. “You all right, Viola?”

  “Frankie?” Viola pulled the door fully open, stepped back and rubbed her banged elbow. “You startled me.”

  “Well I’m sorry I pushed in like that. But I thought something was wrong when you yelled out.” Frankie grinned, lifted a paper bag she clutched like a weapon. “I was ready to knock any owlhoot over the head with your locks.” Her gaze shifted. She smiled and nodded. “Hello, Hattie. Good to see you up and around, Preacher.”

  Preacher? Viola whirled. Thomas stood just outside the bedroom doorway, his face pale, his mouth pressed into a tight line. He looked about to pass out. “Thomas! What are you doing? You’re not supposed to get up.” If he fell… She ran to him, grabbed his good hand, ducked, then straightened with his arm draped across her shoulders, her free arm behind his back. “You must get back to bed. Are you able to walk?”