“Thank you.” She knelt beside White Buffalo Girl and cooled her forehead again with the damp cloth. Joel settled slightly behind her. From his vantage point, he could see her gentle expression as she tended the toddler.
Marcy Ann Whitt. She’d taken his heart the first day they met outside her pa’s lumber mill. He thought she felt the same, but then Benjamin Hollingsworth had claimed her attention. And Joel had let her go.
After all, no girl in her right mind would choose a farmer raising his little sister over the banker’s son. Benjamin could offer her a life of privilege, something Joel couldn’t.
Though Benjamin certainly had made his priorities clear tonight. And Marcy wasn’t at the top of his list. What would he think if he could see her now? Strands of blond hair fell from their pins, and her cheeks were streaked with ash, probably from where she’d warmed her hands at the fire.
To Joel, she’d never looked lovelier. The girl in front of him wasn’t a mere doll to dress up and show off at fancy dinner parties, but an admirable young woman with a caring heart. Joel should have seen that before now. And he shouldn’t have given up so easily.
He could tell her about Benjamin’s refusal to come to the camp. Show her the kind of man she had chosen. But that’s not how he wanted to win Marcy’s heart.
What was he thinking? Having given up before, was it too late to try again? He squirmed uncomfortably as one thought filled his mind. If he were in Benjamin’s shoes, Marcy would already be wearing a gold wedding band on her finger.
Joel shifted again. He’d promised to stay, and he wouldn’t break his promise. But doing nothing wasn’t his usual routine. If only there was something else he could do. Something that would help Marcy heal White Buffalo Girl. Only one thing came to mind.
He closed his eyes and prayed.
Marcy bent low, her ear pressed against White Buffalo Girl’s nose. Not even the slightest breath, the quietest sigh, escaped the child’s colorless lips. Marcy removed the blankets and slipped her hand under the poultice. The unmoving chest, still warm from her futile treatment, no longer held life.
Leaning back on her heels, Marcy clasped her hands within her apron. Her prayers had gone unanswered, as if they couldn’t rise above the roar of thunder and clash of lightning that surrounded her beyond the clammy tent.
Across from Marcy, Moon Hawk let out a keening gasp before collapsing across her daughter’s small body. Alarmed, Marcy leaned forward and awkwardly embraced Moon Hawk. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that—Moon Hawk embracing her Beloved Child, Marcy embracing the mother. It might have been hours or perhaps only seconds before Joel bent beside Marcy and pulled her close to him. She rested her cheek against his chest while he wrapped his arms around her.
Only then did she taste the salty wetness on her lips and realize that tears streaked her face.
On the other side of the makeshift pallet, Black Elk wrapped Moon Hawk within his blanket.
Joel swallowed the pain that threatened to swamp him. For only a moment, he wasn’t inside the dim tent but in his parents’ room. It wasn’t a small Ponca child whom death had claimed, but his mother. The little boy he’d been wanted to scream and cry and throw things at the unfairness of life, at all the unanswered questions that tormented his heart.
He squelched the feelings by reminding himself he’d made peace with God a long time ago. Not that he had found fairness or the answers to his questions. But he’d found a faith that made it easier to live with the pain.
Sickness had taken White Buffalo Girl’s life, but now she was snug and warm in her Father’s arms. She’d never know sickness or hunger again. And she’d never have to wrestle with life’s difficult questions.
He silently prayed that her parents would eventually find the peace they needed to survive her loss.
“Let’s leave them be,” he whispered in Marcy’s ear.
She nodded, and he helped her rise. They stood near the tent’s flap, unable to give the grieving parents any more privacy than to turn their back on them.
“I failed them,” Marcy said.
“There’s nothing else you could have done. She was already ill before they got here.”
“Why couldn’t the army have let them stay in their home? They killed that child as surely as if they’d put a bullet in her heart.”
“Shh,” Joel cautioned as her voice got louder. “You may be right, but fixing blame on the army won’t do anyone any good. It won’t bring her back.”
“I’ve never …” Marcy’s voice cracked, and new tears flowed down her flushed face.
She didn’t need to finish the sentence for Joel to know what she meant to say. She’d never tended anyone who hadn’t gotten well. But neither had she ever been called to the sickbed of someone already so close to death.
If this was anyone’s fault, it was his for bringing her out here. When he’d learned Doc was away, he should have returned to the army camp. He hadn’t needed to tell Marcy about the child.
Why had he?
The answer stared him in the face, and his neck burned with the embarrassment of truth. His motives hadn’t been totally altruistic. He’d secretly hoped for a chance to spend time with her away from everyone else they knew.
Full of his own desires, he hadn’t thought ahead of what sorrow the night might bring to her.
“I’m sorry, Marcy,” he said quietly. “I should never have asked you to come out here.”
Her gaze snapped to his, the shimmering blue of her eyes appearing dark as night as she huddled in the shadows.
“I’m glad you did. I shouldn’t have stayed away from them for so long.” She hesitated, and somehow he knew she was facing her own unwanted truth. “I think they frightened me a little.”
“The Ponca? They’ve always been a peaceful tribe.”
“Pa said the same. But…other people said other things.” She glanced over her shoulder at the unmoving family tableau at the rear of the tent. “I should never have listened.”
She turned her face into Joel’s shoulder, and he held her close. Her head fit perfectly in the space above his heart, and he wanted her to stay there forever. Snug, safe. Seeking his comfort.
He loosened his hold, forcibly reminding himself that, at least for now, she belonged to another man. A despicable man. But that was her choice—not his. It wasn’t right for him to prolong this moment when he should be getting her home.
Though that wasn’t really an option with the storm raging around them. They couldn’t even leave the tent to allow Black Elk and Moon Hawk to grieve in private.
Morning would be here soon, and the storm had to end sometime. He’d take Marcy back to her pa, back to her beau.
But he wouldn’t ignore her anymore. He wouldn’t stand by while Benjamin molded her into his own creation.
And he’d pray she found him to be the better man.
Marcy had thought sleep impossible, but it had enveloped her sorrow into restful oblivion. At least for a couple of hours.
She awakened as if from a bad dream, but any details slipped away, leaving her with only a sickening despair. Near the back of the tent, Moon Hawk lay next to the pallet. Black Elk sat beside her, his back stiff and upright as he watched over all of them.
Seeing her awake, he nodded. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t save her.”
“You tried. You cared about her. For that, I thank you.”
He stood, and Marcy rose, too, groaning at the stiffness in her body from sleeping on the ground. Black Elk opened the tent’s flap and ducked through the entryway.
Marcy pulled her shawl around her shoulders then glanced at Moon Hawk. Even in sleep, the young mother’s face was stricken with grief.
“I’m sorry,” Marcy whispered before stooping between the flaps to exit the tent. The rain had temporarily ceased, but more was coming. The Ponca couldn’t travel in this weather.
Again Marcy’s heart screamed. Why couldn’t they have stayed in their homes?
Joel came toward her, carrying a mug of steaming coffee. Suddenly self-conscious, she rubbed her palms against her apron and quickly re-pinned the long strands of hair that had loosened during the night.
Immediately after White Buffalo Girl died, Marcy had sought comfort in Joel’s arms. Now the memory embarrassed her. What would Benjamin say if he knew she’d cried on another man’s shoulder? More than that, she had felt a stirring unlike anything she’d ever known. A sense of belonging, of rightness.
But that had to be her imagination. The result of being emotionally distraught and vulnerable.
And yet…Marcy tried to imagine if it had been Benjamin who had learned of the sick Ponca child. How would he have responded? Would he have sought help?
The answer stared her in the face, daring her to admit it.
Shame engulfed her that she’d never realized this flaw in him before. She’d been too blinded by his wealth and standing in the community. Too proud to admit she didn’t really like him even though she’d persuaded herself she was in love with him.
“It doesn’t taste very good, but it’s hot and strong,” Joel said as he handed her the coffee. “I brought back the wagon this morning. We should probably get back to town during this lull.”
She cradled the mug, breathing in its warmth. “I’m ready whenever you are,” she said wearily.
“Let’s pack your supplies.”
Cloths. A tonic that hadn’t helped. Her coat. A poor trade for a daughter’s life. But perhaps useful to the Ponca on the long trek to a new home.
“Leave them.”
Chapter Five
Gray clouds covered the skies with the promise of more rain as Marcy maneuvered around puddles of mud on her way to Joel’s wagon. Like her, he’d left his belongings—the basket, the stew pot, blankets—with Black Elk and Moon Hawk.
He was about to help her into the wagon when someone called her name. Black Elk and Mr. Jarrett, the Indian agent, hurried toward them.
“Your father?” Black Elk made a whittling motion with his hands. “He carves wood, yes?”
“He does.”
She waited for Black Elk to continue, but instead he glanced at the agent. Mr. Jarrett removed his hat. “Miss Whitt, we’d like to ask your pa to make a cross. For the child’s grave.”
Filled with compassion, Marcy reached for Black Elk’s hand. He stiffened slightly at her touch then wrapped her hand in his. His calloused fingers felt cold but strong. “Your father will do this?”
“He would be honored.”
“I’ll ride back to town with you then,” Mr. Jarrett said. “Give me a few minutes to saddle my horse.”
“We’ll wait for you.” Realizing she hadn’t consulted Joel, Marcy turned to him. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Why would I?”
“I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”
“You didn’t.”
She read the unasked question in his eyes, soft and brown as they gazed into hers. The strange sensation returned, and her cheeks warmed. She couldn’t tell him that Benjamin expected to arrange such things—and he wouldn’t like Marcy usurping his place. It never bothered her before, but now she found Benjamin’s overbearing attitude embarrassing.
Joel’s different demeanor shone a harsh light on her judgment. What she had accepted as Benjamin’s strength was nothing but swagger. Worse, she had allowed what he had—status, money—to blind her to his faults.
Another rush of heat burned her cheeks, and she turned away from Joel’s searching gaze.
Joel halted the wagon in front of the lumber mill then gazed at Marcy, who slept fitfully beside him. He hated to wake her—and not only because she’d been up most of the night. Something about the way her head pressed against his shoulder pleased him. At least for a little while, he could imagine she belonged beside him. If not for the agent riding horseback beside the wagon, Joel would have been tempted to slow Toby’s pace. Perhaps even let him stop to graze for a while.
But now they had arrived. The dreamlike quality of the past several hours diffused before the stark reality of the river, the lumber mill, the Whitt family’s adjacent house.
Again he fought the feelings rising in his heart and nudged Marcy’s arm. “You’re home.”
She murmured senselessly then smiled at him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” He hopped out of the wagon and reached up to help her down. His hands enclosed around her slender waist, and he couldn’t help smiling when she gripped his arms.
“Marcy!” Mr. Whitt called from the doorway of the mill. He wiped his hands on a stained cloth then limped toward them. “Welcome home, child.”
Marcy hiked up her skirt and ran to meet her father. After they embraced, Mr. Whitt cupped Marcy’s face in both his hands and examined her closely. “You look worn out.”
“I’m fine, Pa.”
Jarrett dismounted beside Joel. “Is that Mr. Whitt?”
“The one and only.”
“Why the limp?”
“Civil War.
“Union or Rebel?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” Jarrett looped his reins around one of the wagon wheels and moved toward Marcy and her pa. Joel started to follow when a movement behind them caught his eye.
Benjamin Hollingsworth stood in front of the mill, feet apart and arms crossed. The men glared at each other.
Joel looked away first. The fight wasn’t between them—at least not yet. Marcy had given him no indication she felt anything for him other than friendship. Unless she decided otherwise, their days would probably fall into the same routine as before. Formal nods at the general store. Perhaps a greeting at church.
What happened at the camp bound them together, but only in memory.
And not a pleasant one.
Perhaps even the polite nods would be a thing of the past. Would Marcy want to stay away from any reminders of what had happened at the camp? That’s what he would be to her—a reminder of a child’s death. The child she could not save.
Mr. Whitt caught Joel’s gaze over Marcy’s head, and Joel shook his head. Before Mr. Whitt could respond, Jarrett introduced himself, shifting to make room for Benjamin as he joined the group. “I have a favor to ask of you, Mr. Whitt.”
“What would that be?”
“The child’s father has requested a cross to mark the grave.”
“You’ll do it, won’t you, Pa?” Marcy asked. “I already told Black Elk you would.”
“Black Elk?” Benjamin practically spit the name. “Sounds like you all got real familiar out there. Guess that happens when you spend the night with Indians.”
“You disapprove,” Marcy said, her voice flat.
“You should never have gone out there. What if you get sick? No telling what kind of diseases they’ve got.”
Before Marcy could reply, her father pulled her close. “I’d be honored to provide the cross. When do you need it?”
“As soon as possible,” Jarrett replied. “The captain has agreed to wait till after the funeral to resume the march, but he doesn’t wish to delay any longer than necessary. The grave is already being dug.”
“Guess I better get to work then.” Mr. Whitt patted Marcy’s cheek. “Go to the house, daughter. Get some rest.”
“I’ll rest after the funeral.”
“You’re not going to that,” Benjamin said with a snort.
She looked at her pa and the other men, her eyes wide with alarm. A flush crept up her throat and face as her gaze settled on Joel. “You won’t go without me.” It was part question, part statement.
“I need to check on Sadie, but I’ll be back for you if you’re sure that’s what you want.”
“It is.” She graced him with a smile and headed toward the house.
“Guess I better get started on that cross,” Mr. Whitt said.
“Thanks for bringing her home, Joel.”
“Happy to help out, sir.”
Mr. Whitt and Jarrett headed for the workshop. Once they were out of earshot, Benjamin rounded on Joel. “You shouldn’t encourage her in this foolishness.”
“It’s her decision. Not mine and not yours.”
“My future wife does not socialize with Indians.”
“You and Marcy are engaged?”
“We have an understanding.” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I should string you up for taking her out there. Letting her stay there the whole night. Though perhaps you had your own reasons for that.”
“You could have been with her. If you’d gone to the camp yesterday, I would have stepped aside.”
“Already told you. I had other plans.”
Joel pressed his lips together and tamped down his rising anger. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft. “You should be proud of her. She tried real hard to save that child.”
“But she didn’t. So there was no need for her to have tried, was there?”
The man had no decency.
Joel’s thoughts whirled then cleared with startling clarity.
Benjamin didn’t love Marcy.
He wanted her, but he didn’t love her.
The revelation calmed Joel’s spirit. Turning on his heel, he headed for the wagon. If he could see it, surely Marcy could, too. All he had to do was wait.
Chapter Six
After Joel climbed onto the wagon seat and drove away, Marcy let the curtain drop. She wished she’d heard the conversation between him and Benjamin. From their expressions, it hadn’t been a good one.
She shouldn’t have asked Joel to take her to the funeral. Pa would go to be sure the cross got set correctly. She could go with him. Or if she wanted a different escort, then why not ask her fiancé?
Asking Joel had simply seemed right. Perhaps it was because he had been with her throughout the long evening and night. He’d been the one to comfort her when White Buffalo Girl died. It was only fitting for them to attend the funeral together, too.
She glanced out the window again. Benjamin stood in the front yard, arms crossed as the wagon disappeared from sight. He glanced at the house, the lumber mill, and back at the house. In a few short strides, he was knocking at the door.
The Courageous Brides Collection Page 3