Journey of Honor A love story

by Jaclyn M. Hawkes

  She was bleeding heavily again, and as Trace wrapped the babies into a small blanket and set them aside, he continued to pray, knowing he needed more than just his medical expertise to save her right now. When he came back to her, she opened her tired eyes and said, “If none of us make it, Trace, will you take the money to Brigham Young?”

  He leaned closer, thinking that he hadn’t heard right. “What was that, Elle?”

  “The money in the bottom of the wagon. If none of us make it to the valley, will you deliver it?”

  Wondering what she was talking about, he assured her, “You’re going to make it, Giselle. You mustn’t even question that, but you needn’t worry about your money. We’ll get it taken to Mr. Young.” That seemed to calm her and she closed her eyes and went right back to sleep again.

  At first light he started the regular day’s chores and went to take care of Josiah and Petja. They were no better either, and the physician in him railed at the helplessness he felt. He couldn’t get Petja to wake enough to eat and, as he fed Josiah, he asked how Giselle was. Trace felt like he had to be honest with him. “She delivered stillborn twins last night, and she’s bleeding heavily. At this rate, she won’t make it another day, Josiah. I’m sorry. In this primitive setting, there’s nothing more I can do.”

  Josiah struggled to a sitting position. “Help me to her, Trace. I will bless her with God’s power. She is meant to live. I’m sure of it. If she was supposed to die, she would have the night they attacked her. Help me to her.”

  Trace told him earnestly, “You’ll need to wear a handkerchief over your face, Josiah. If she contracts what you have, she could never fight it off as weak as she is.” Josiah nodded tiredly. Trace helped him cover his face, then lifted him out of the wagon, and carried the frail shell that was left of him to her under the cliff.

  Seated on the bedding next to her, the old man gently placed his hands upon her head and proceeded to give a blessing in his native Dutch that was like nothing Trace had ever witnessed in his life. His voice held a power that belied his present physical condition, and Trace could almost see Giselle gain strength under the feeble hands. When Josiah was finished, he was so weak that he slumped over onto his side, but his face shone as Trace lifted him to carry him back to the wagon.

  Giving her the blessing seemed to take the last of his strength from him, and before the final rays of the sun slipped behind the western horizon, Josiah too had passed from this world. Trace went to lift his body out of the wagon and, as he did so, Petja opened sad eyes. “He’s gone then?”

  Sadly, Trace nodded. “I’m so sorry, Petja. He was a good man.”

  “That he was.” Her mind seemed to wander for a second and then she said, “Please. Leave his body here with me for a while longer. I can feel his spirit still. He will be waiting for me. I must go to him soon, now that our work here is finished. You’ll take care of Giselle for us?” He was unable to speak and nodded. “You’re a choice young man, Trace. It has been good to have known you. Please tell her that we love her so. We will care for the babies for her.”

  Trace walked away from the wagon with a feeling of deep sadness, but there was something more. Petja talking about going with Josiah had been so matter-of-fact and peaceful. And how had she known about the babies? She had been completely unconscious when Trace had mentioned them, and he hadn’t heard her and Josiah speaking since then.

  He believed in a hereafter. What exactly it was like he wasn’t sure, but he truly believed that life didn’t end at the grave. But these people spoke of these things as if they had a sure knowledge, not only of what they needed to be doing here and now, but also of what they expected in the next estate.

  He washed his hands and went back to check on Giselle before starting dinner, wondering if Petja had somehow known about the babies through an unseen power that he wasn’t even aware of.

  When he got to Giselle’s bed under the cliff, she was wide awake and watching him in the dim light of dusk. He was surprised to find her so alert, but almost wished that she wasn’t so he didn’t have to tell her about her grandfather. Still emotional from talking with Petja, he uncovered her to check on her without saying anything. He wasn’t able to see how much she had bled since the last time he had changed her toweling, and he covered her back up and went to bring a lantern.

  Returning with the light, he pulled the linens back again and still found no blood. None at all. He was surprised and asked her, “Have you been up and changed these?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “No. You told me not to move and I haven’t.”

  Marveling, he pulled her blankets back up and tucked them around her. How had she gone from bleeding so heavily to nothing in a matter of minutes after Josiah’s blessing? It didn’t make sense medically and he shook his head, trying to find a logical reason that didn’t include the obvious explanation that Josiah really had used God’s power to heal her body. She noticed his expression and asked, “Is something wrong with me?”

  Hesitating for a moment, he finally admitted, “No. Not at all, in fact. Your grandfather gave you this amazing blessing and you quit bleeding almost immediately. It… It seems like a miracle. I’m not sure what to think of it.”

  Smiling tiredly at him, she closed her eyes again. With them still closed, she said, “Christ performed a lot of miracles using the same power. Where is your faith?”

  He looked at her and wondered that same thing for a moment. Knowing he had to tell her, he said, “Giselle, I need to tell you something.”

  She opened her eyes again and looked at him almost serenely and he felt even worse about what he had to say. Before he figured out how to break the news to her, she asked, “Did my grandfather die?”

  His eyes met hers and he nodded. “He did. I’m so sorry, Giselle. He loved you so much. Giving you your blessing was the last thing he did.” He was watching her, wondering if he should tell her that her grandmother believed she was right behind him.

  Tears quietly began to slip down her face, but her voice was peaceful when she replied. “He did love me. He was the only one who didn’t think I was foolish to join the Church back in Europe. He and my grandmother. I almost hope that she goes as well. She’ll be so lonely without him.”

  She tried to wipe her tears away with her hand and he handed her a handkerchief and admitted to her, “She believes that she’s going to be going with him. I don’t know what that means, but she was talking about it.”

  Giselle released the smallest of sighs. “I believe the veil is much thinner than most of us ever dream. Maybe she knows something that we don’t. If she goes, I will miss her, but she’ll be in a much better place. Someday, when there’s another temple, I will have them sealed for all eternity. Theirs was a wonderful and true love. It would be a shame to end it at death.”

  Watching her talk about all this, Trace wanted to ask her a thousand questions about what she meant, but he didn’t want to upset her further or tire her anymore. He sat with her for another minute until she closed her eyes again, and then he went to finish the evening chores and dinner. He fed Giselle before going to see to Petja, but he was unable to rouse the sweet, elderly woman to feed her. He lifted Josiah’s body out of the wagon and prayed silently to himself for divine intervention to save both Petja and Giselle.

  When morning finally came, Trace was grateful to know that Giselle hadn’t hemorrhaged any more and, in fact, she was far more alert and clear-eyed than she had been since he’d found her collapsed on the wagon those days ago. His gratitude was short-lived though when he went to feed Petja and found that she too had departed this world during the night.

  With a heavy heart he went back to tell Giselle and then began to dig a grave to bury them. As he dug, he tried to figure out how best to prevent Giselle from coming in contact with her grandparents and their belongings in hopes of preventing her from getting the same illness they had died from. Knowing that he could launder their bedding but not Josiah’s oil skin slicker, Trace chose i
t to wrap their bodies in for burial.

  With Giselle looking on from her bed, he gently placed the older couple and the tiny stillborn bodies in the grave and prayed over them before replacing the cold, gray earth over top of them again. He piled rocks on top and put a wooden marker with their names and the date burned into it. He could hear her crying softly as he did it, and when he was finally finished, he washed his hands again and came to her to gently stroke her hair.

  Finally, he helped her sit up and held her for several more minutes as she cried. He knew that not only was she mourning their loss, but she now felt all but orphaned. He’d read enough of the diary to know that her family back in Holland had disowned her when she had joined the Mormons and that, other than her grandparents and himself as her husband of sorts, she was alone in the world.

  At length, she even voiced what he knew she’d been thinking. “They were all the family I had left. To my parents I am dead since I chose to join the Saints.”

  Determined to allay her fears, he reminded her, “You’ve got me, Elle. And soon you’ll be back with the other Saints in Zion. Just a few more weeks.”

  She looked up into his eyes and didn’t say it, but he knew she was thinking that she didn’t really have him. Theirs wasn’t a real marriage no matter how much they both tended to ignore that fact. At times like this it was hard not to face the reality. He wanted so much to reassure her, but wasn’t sure how to go about that.

  Finally, he leaned and kissed her gently on the forehead. Maybe theirs wasn’t a real marriage, but he wanted her to know that their friendship certainly was real. “Let’s worry about the future later, Giselle. For now, I’m here and we’re together and we’re going to be all right. Today is a bad day, but we’ll get through it.”

  He met her eyes steadily and finally he saw her decide to join him in taking one day at a time to make it through. He hugged her again, smoothed back her tousled hair and gently helped her lie back down. He brought her breakfast, sat with her while she ate, and then spent the day doing wash and getting ready to leave in the morning to try to catch up with the others. He carefully scrubbed anything that Josiah and Petja had been near and then rearranged the wagon to try to make a bed so that Giselle would be as comfortable as possible while they drove. He put all the bedding he could under her in hopes of protecting her fragile body from the many jolts from the bumpy ride.

  He planned to sleep in the wagon with her nights to share his body warmth now that the weather was so cold, and it was good that he did so because it began to rain that evening and they would both have been miserable trying to stay warm and dry apart. Holding her that night, listening to the rain on the canvas wagon cover, he knew she was crying again and pulled her close. He didn’t know how to help her get through this other than to make sure that she knew he was there for her.

  Somehow, helping her helped him, but sometimes holding her body close to his was the hardest thing he’d ever done. She was a beautiful, desirable girl and the only way being that close didn’t make him crazy was to remind himself that she was his patient. Remembering how fragile her body was just now was the only way that he could keep from wanting more from her than just her body heat, and sometimes even knowing she was physically fragile didn’t quite stop him from needing her.

  When he woke up next to her in the early morning, he had to get up immediately and get right after the morning chores in order to keep his head straight. Then, when he went to help her down from the wagon so that she could refresh herself, she had to loosen the bodice of her dress to accommodate the fact that her milk had come in. He kept having to remind himself that he was her doctor and that she was obviously miserable so that he wouldn’t think about how good she looked. He felt terrible for thinking about her that way, but he was far too human to be able to ignore her femininity.

  On the way to milk the cow, he stopped by the stream to bathe in the frosty water in order to get himself under control, and then struggled to milk with hands that were stiff with cold. He grinned a self deprecating grin as he worked. This journey with just the two of them might be a lot more than he’d bargained for.

  Chapter 9

  They set out. Trace went at as fast a pace as possible knowing that they had four days to make up to catch the others. Not only that, but the others were already traveling as fast as possible and he was carrying a very fragile cargo. He glanced back at her through the wagon cover. Fragile and beautiful. Even deathly ill, she was exquisite lying there. How was he ever going to keep his distance?

  Actually, it turned out to be easier than he thought it would be. Giselle was so weak that the only time they were together was when he brought her food or when they were lying beside each other at night. By then he was so tired from pushing hard from dawn to dark that it wasn’t quite as difficult as he had assumed it would be. He tried to be up and moving by the time it started to get light and then drove until it was full dark before stopping.

  For most of a week, Giselle lay still in the back of the wagon while he drove, but one morning he was surprised when she slowly climbed over the box to come and sit by him on the seat. She looked tired and drawn, and she only stayed for an hour or two before climbing back to lie down again, but from then on she spent more and more of each day sitting with him while he drove. By the time they were a little more than half way between Fort Laramie and South Pass, the famous gateway through the Rocky Mountains, she was spending several hours a day sitting there beside him.

  Trace had known there was an Indian following them. He hadn’t mentioned it to her, but it wasn’t long before she figured it out. They didn’t really openly discuss it, but they both began to be more diligent and careful. Dog was great about keeping them informed when the dark skinned prowler was around, and so far he didn’t appear to be up to anything too sinister, but Trace knew enough about Indians to know that they were in for trouble. Trace assumed the brave was simply biding his time, waiting for a chance to steal their stock or goods from the wagon. He didn’t realize that it was his wife he was after.

  He figured that out fast one morning when Giselle was at the nearby stream washing her face while Trace hooked up the mules in the half light before dawn. Dog began to growl and, as Trace turned to investigate, he heard Giselle start to scream. She only got a split second of sound out before it was cut off abruptly and Trace and Dog both ran for the creek bank.

  The Indian had her by the waist and his other hand was over her mouth as he attempted to drag her onto his horse with him. He’d have had her and been long gone except for the fact that Giselle was fighting him like a wildcat. Just as Trace reached the top of the bank, she must have bitten him, because the Indian winced and let go of her mouth, switched hands at her waist, and then hit her across the face with a closed fist.

  The blow knocked her head back, but rather than settle her down, it only served to make her madder and she screamed again. This time it was in anger instead of fear, and she began to fight even harder. Trace could hear her cussing the brave out in her native Dutch as she fought with him. Dog tore into the Indian’s horse and then latched onto the brave’s foot as Trace reached them.

  The Indian let go of Giselle to pull a knife on Trace as he kicked at the dog on the other side. Giselle lost her footing in the rocks when he let go so suddenly, and she almost fell under the horse’s hooves. Instantaneously, Trace reached for her, throwing her away from the horse as he deftly deflected the brave’s knife blade and pulled the man from the horse’s back.

  In a series of quick moves that felt like a death dance, Trace evaded the blade and moved further from Giselle before pulling his own knife from his boot. He heard Giselle gasp, and he glanced at her as the Indian brushed by him with his knife. He was grateful that she seemed to understand that he needed her to get back, and that Dog knew to stay with her as Trace focused once again on the desperate warrior in front of him.

  Trace was taller and bigger and had the greater reach by far. That, coupled with the fact that he wa
s more skilled with his blade, made for a short-lived fight. Literally within seconds, he had the Indian on his face with a knee in his back. The long, greasy, black hair tied with feathers was in his fist with the knife poised above the brave’s brow. Trace struggled to control his anger. Normally slow to rile, seeing Giselle fighting for her life with this savage had made his blood boil instantly. A grown man treating a sweet, young woman like this made him furious! He almost wanted to run him through!

  When he could finally speak without wanting to end it all right here and now, he told the brave angrily that he was a medicine man and that it would offend the Great Spirit for a medicine man to kill a warrior. He added that it would be the worst kind of bad medicine for the Indian to harm either Trace or Giselle, and that he was to leave them alone or Trace would call on the spirits to harm him. Still furious, the words literally ground out and Trace found it almost hard to speak the dialect.

  When the Indian didn’t respond, Trace shook him and let the knife draw a drop of blood. Still the brave didn’t react, and Trace wondered if he was speaking the wrong language and tried a different dialect. Finally, the brave answered back in the first dialect in a voice full of anger, and Trace’s fury raged through his veins again. He threw the Indian aside and gestured to Giselle and roared, “She is mine! Don’t you dare come near her again! If you ever come back, I’ll offend the Great Spirit and kill you anyway!” He waved the long bladed Bowie knife and kicked the brave soundly. “Get out of here before I change my mind!”

  With a face devoid of expression, the Indian stood up, glanced at Giselle, and got on his horse and galloped away. Trace stood still for a moment, still battling his fury, trying to calm down enough that he wouldn’t frighten Giselle any further when he went to her. He turned to her and searched her face for a moment before wrapping her in a hug. In a voice that was infinitelygentle, he asked, “Are you okay?”