Who is going to lead us out of these mountains if Mr. Thatcher has a relapse and dies?
Zach deepened his frown to a scowl. Emma Allen had struck straight at the heart of the matter. The choices were the same as always—stop and rest for her patient’s sake, or push on. But this time there was a huge difference. He was the recovering patient. And if she was right and he sickened and—
Zach gave his head a sharp shake, glared up at the darkening, overcast sky. He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. These people’s lives depended on his staying alive. He leaned forward and patted Comanche’s neck, shifted his gaze to the lofty snowcapped heights that surrounded the circular Grande Ronde plain. There was not time enough to continue on today. Those mountains were the worst of the journey. They would likely have to double the teams to haul the wagons up, maybe use block and tackle…and again to hold them back on the steep descents. As weary and worn as the animals were, that forced rest because of his illness might have been a fortuitous thing. And an early stop tonight would help, as well.
He straightened in the saddle and glanced around. There was dried grass and a good mountain stream for water. Plenty of large timber for wood. They could camp here tonight and make the long climb out of the plain tomorrow when the animals were fresh off a night’s rest. When he had rested.
He scanned the surrounding mountain walls, found what he was looking for and urged Comanche forward.
The spot was perfect. The stone curved along the narrow ledge, providing protection from the worst of the wind. He glanced up at the slight overhang above him. It was deep enough to shield him from falling snow if he crowded his bed close against the rock wall. He turned in the saddle and looked out over the basin below. There was a clear view of the entire area, he would be able to see if trouble threatened. If the Blackfeet returned.
A flash of white through the cluster of pines on his back trail caught his eye. Josiah Blake rode into view, followed by the first wagon. Zach gave a shrill whistle, waited until Blake spotted him on the ledge, then stood in his saddle, lifted his arm and circled his hand over his head. Blake turned toward the following wagons and repeated the signal. The first wagon entered the plain and swung out to the right.
Blake could handle things now. Zach urged Comanche over to the rock wall and slipped from the saddle. He removed his gear, brushed the saddle blanket over Comanche, then stood back and slapped the spots on the horse’s rump. “All right, boy, our work is done. Dismissed!”
The horse tossed his head, nudged him in the chest and trotted off. Zach dropped to his knees, yanked the ties and spread out his bedroll. He would rest until the wagons were circled and the herd massed. Time enough then to go down and set the guards in place for the night. He placed the extra blanket he had taken from the supply wagon on top of his groundsheet and stretched out on it, grateful for the added barrier it provided between him and the cold stone. The other blanket brought a warm comfort to his chilled legs.
He closed his eyes, let his mind drift. That feather mattress had sure been warm and comforting last night, not like the stone beneath him now… He shifted his weight, tugged the hatchet at his belt out from under him. Not as comforting as Emma Allen’s hand on his forehead though. Or the quiet prayer for his healing she had been whispering. She certainly had soft hands. And a gentle touch. He hadn’t wanted her to move her hand. Had stayed still, barely breathing, until she moved away. A man could get used to that kind of thing. And to the soft yielding of her lips beneath his, the way she felt in his arms…
A gust of wind whipped around the stone barrier, picked up dust and dirt off the ledge and swirled it through the air. He frowned, tugged the collar of his coat higher around his ears. That kiss had been a mistake. A big mistake. He had thought it would satisfy him to hold her, kiss her. Instead it had made it worse. Emma Allen was a woman from a wealthy family who had stated her desire to return to the pampered life she had always known. And she was a doctor. She cared for all her patients. He’d seen that. The gentleness in her touch meant nothing special. Nothing at all. Nor did he want it to. He wanted no ties to her or any other woman. He had valleys to roam and mountains to explore. Still…
He scowled, rejecting the thought, tried to summon a vision of the valley where he wanted to build his trading post. But all he could see was the look of hurt and anger in Emma Allen’s eyes when he had refused to rest as she advised. He had no need to worry about an entanglement with her. She wanted no part of him. But all the same, he’d never seen such beautiful eyes…
Every ridge had gotten higher, steeper and more difficult to climb, every chasm deeper and more frightening to descend. And the trees! So many trees the men had to cut a way through them. But it was over now. Emma donned her blue wool cape, climbed from her wagon and walked toward the group gathered around the fire by the head wagon. Zachary Thatcher was there. She had seen his tall, gaunt frame from her wagon. He had lost weight since his illness. He should—
She frowned, broke off the thought, ignored the worry and fear that haunted her for him. Zachary Thatcher did not want her advice…or anything to do with her. He had made that abundantly clear. And in a few more days he would be out of her life forever. If he accepted her offer to take Anne to the Banning Mission and then escort her on to Oregon City.
That sick, hollow feeling struck the pit of her stomach again. She paused, took a deep breath, and then another to gain control. It would not do to let her emotions show. The last thing she wanted was for Zachary Thatcher to guess how she felt about him. What was wrong with her anyway? Why was she so foolish, always desiring what she could not have? And why should she care so deeply about someone so arrogant, so… So competent and brave. And right.
She looked up at the falling snowflakes, sparkling like diamonds in the moonlight. If he had agreed and halted the wagons for the quarantine, or the other times she had asked, this snow would have caught them deep in the mountains. And she knew now how terrible and costly that could have been. The snow and ice on these dreadful, twisting trails was dangerous. But deep drifts in those narrow gaps would have trapped them…
She shuddered, started walking again. It did not matter now. Soon they would make the last mountainous descent to the Columbia River Valley. Then the emigrants had only to choose the place where they would begin building their town. She and Annie would travel on. Annie to the Banning Mission, and she to Oregon City to board a ship for home. Tears stung her eyes. She would miss these people she had grown so close to over the past months. The hardships they had endured together had formed a closeness she had never known in her friendships at home. Lydia and Pamelia and Olga and Lorna and— She would never see little Jenny and Edward or the other children grow. She would never know if Pamelia’s baby—
She stopped again, blinked the tears from her eyes. She must focus her thoughts on family and home. But they seemed so far away… And Annie would be here. And if William brought his family to Oregon country next year, she would be on one of Uncle Justin’s ships docking at Philadelphia when he was starting out from St. Louis. She would not see him, or Caroline or their baby if— Please, Heavenly Father, let William’s baby live. And please watch over these people. Please keep them safe and—
“Dr. Emma! Joseph was about to come fetch you. Come join us.”
Dr. Emma. She would never be called that again. She looked across the remaining distance at Lydia, swallowed the lump in her throat and hurried to the fire, automatically scanning faces for signs of illness, looking for any visible injury. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes.” John Hargrove cleared his throat, glanced around the people assembled then fixed his gaze on her. “We have been discussing our new town and the needs—”
“Fire that bullet straight, Hargrove—’for the target in yer sights gets away!”
There was a roar of laughter at Axel Lundquist’s taunt. Emma shot a glance at him. The grizzled farmer winked. She stiffened, shocked to her toes. She looked at Lorna Lewis who wore a huge grin.
And Pamelia—
“We have taken a vote, Miss Allen, and—”
“Oh, for goodness sake, John! We want you to stay and be our doctor, Emma! The men will all help build you a cabin. And our boys will keep you supplied with firewood. We’ll all share our garden bounty with you.” Lydia rushed around the fire to her. “Will you?”
Emma stared, her mouth gaping open. Then all of the women were crowding around her, urging her to say yes. She looked from their anxious faces to the men. Axel Lundquist winked again and nodded. Joseph Lewis gave a sheepish nod. Thomas Swinton actually smiled and nodded. And the others—they had voted for her to stay. Her heart swelled. She kept her gaze from straying to Zachary Thatcher. He had no part in this request, or her decision. He would be off roaming the mountains…free and unfettered. That thought stole her elation.
“We should like an answer, Miss Allen.”
Emma looked over at John Hargrove, took in his frown. Poor Mr. Hargrove, obviously he disapproved. But the others… She cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes. My answer is yes.”
“I told them you would!” Lydia gave the other women a smug smile. “They were afraid you would say no, seein’ as how we haven’t much to offer you.” The women, who had stood silent and staring, broke into speech.
“Hush, ladies! We have business to conduct.” John Hargrove glared across the fire at them. “Your chattering will keep us all standing out here in this snow! Now then—” He turned toward the men. “Thatcher, we can’t offer much by way of recompense, but we want you to stay on, as well.”
Hope surged in her, vibrant, intense, unbidden. Emma caught her breath, lifted her hand beneath her cape and pressed it against the sudden, wild throbbing at the base of her throat. She turned and looked Zachary Thatcher’s way. He turned his head. Their gazes met. She lifted her chin and turned away for fear he could read her desire that he stay in her eyes.
“—At least until we get the town built up and are settled in. You know how to deal with Indians. And we’ll need your skills to lead hunting parties. We’re running low on supplies.”
“I appreciate the offer, Hargrove. But my job was to bring you to Oregon country. I’ll be moving on.”
His deep, rich voice killed her hope. She lowered her hand to press against that sick, emptiness in her stomach, looked at the women and forced a smile. “If you will excuse me, ladies, I want to go tell Anne what has happened.” She hurried away, refusing to let her emotions overcome her.
Chapter Eighteen
My dearest William, Mother and Papa Doc,
I write exciting news. We have arrived in Oregon country! I confess there were times I did not believe we would make it here as the journey is fraught with dangers, not the least of which is making almost perpendicular, snow-and-ice-covered ascents and descents such as we experienced on our last days in the Blue Mountains. At Mr. Thatcher’s direction, the men hitched up extra teams and used block and tackle attached to trees to help the poor teams that were struggling to maintain their footing haul the wagons uphill, then slowly played out the rope to keep the wagons from sliding forward and overrunning the teams going downhill. It was harrowing and frightful, especially when there were no trees near. The men would then hitch teams to the back of the wagons, and, often, themselves grasp hold of the ropes to hold the wagons back. It was very treacherous footing and many took hard falls, including the women and children, who, of course, could not ride in the wagons because of the danger. Hannah Fletcher fell and broke her wrist. Thankfully, the break was in a fortuitous position and I was able to splint it.
I can never adequately thank you, dearest William, for the medical supplies you provided. Or for praying for me. God has heard and answered your prayers. The emigrants have asked me to stay with them and be their doctor! My dream is coming true, as you said it would. I believe the Lord will bless you and make your dream come true, as well.
We are encamped by a river at the base of the Blue Mountains on a range of small, low hills covered with a growth the farmers among us call bunchgrass. They say it will provide excellent grazing and help the weary, trail-worn animals quickly regain their strength. Beyond these hills, as far as the eye can reach, are plains and mountains. Timber, well suited for building, is in abundance on the mountains. Mr. Hargrove says many back East are desirous of moving West and a town situated to “welcome” them to Oregon country will prosper. The women simply want to have this journey end. Several of the men are exploring today in hopes of finding the most advantageous location for our town. Wherever the town is placed, its name will be Promise.
Anne does not wish to tarry until the town’s location is settled. Mr. Thatcher, too, has no desire to stay with our company. He will take Anne on to the Banning Mission. I shall miss her.
Emma stared down at the words, blinked to clear her vision. And Mr. Thatcher. She would miss Zachary Thatcher. She took a deep breath against the heaviness in her chest, wiped the nib, stoppered the inkwell and set aside the lap desk. It was time. But she had promised Anne…
She rose and climbed from the wagon, brushed the hair back from her face, shook the long skirt of her red wool gown in place and looked toward her adopted sister’s wagon. Anne was on the driver’s seat facing straight ahead, her slender frame draped in her black widow’s garb. Zachary Thatcher was hitching Comanche to the rear of the wagon. She lifted her chin, turned and started up the low rise behind her wagon. She had promised Anne she would not come and say goodbye, but she would not simply let her ride away.
The sound of mules braying and wagon wheels rumbling spurred her on. She reached the top of the rise and turned. Zachary Thatcher sat beside Anne, the reins held in his hands. Hands that had once held hers. She swiped at her tears, wrapped her arms about her torso and watched the man who held her heart drive her adopted sister away. She watched until the hills hid them from her sight, and then she turned and started back down the hill, a horrible empty ache where her heart had been.
“Look what I found, Dr. Emma!”
She started out of her thoughts, looked down at David’s pudgy hand and forced a smile. “What a lovely stone, David.”
“Yeah, it looks kinda like a heart.” His hand lifted. “You c’n have it, Dr. Emma. I’ll find another one.” He thrust it into her hand and raced off.
Emma opened her hand, looked down. A stone heart to replace the one she had lost. She lifted her gaze to David, who now squatted beside his brother, examining something on the ground in front of them. Dr. Emma. She was a doctor. Her dream had come true. It was enough. She would make it enough. She blinked, blew out a long breath and continued down the hill.
Emma pulled the desk onto her lap and unstopped the well. She had to hurry now. The men would be leaving soon. She kept her gaze from the words she had already written, dipped the pen in the ink and continued the letter.
I have learned much and, I pray, gained wisdom on this long, grueling journey. I believe I am the stronger for it. I know my faith has grown. How could it be otherwise? God has answered my prayer to be a doctor in a way I could not imagine.
A few of the men are going to ride to Fort Walla Walla and there hire Indians with canoes to take them down the Columbia River to Oregon City for needed supplies. They will carry with them my small bundle of letters to send on their way to you. I wonder often if Mr. Broadman carried my first bundle of letters safely to St. Louis. I hope that my letters have reached you and that Traveler is safe and well and waiting for you, dear William, at cousin Mary’s. Shall I confess to you the terrible selfishness I have discovered in my heart? Having made this long, punishing journey, and thus being well acquainted with the deprivations and dangers thereof, my heart still longs for you to come to Oregon country next year. I do not, for one moment, wish you or yours harm, and my best advice would be that you stay home. But, what joy it would give me to see you again!
Now I must close for the men are ready to leave. I pray one of Uncle Justin’s ships will have reached port during our long journey
and there will be letters from you all waiting for me. My heart aches with loneliness for all of you. I long to receive news of you.
My dearest love always,
Your Emma
Emma addressed the letter, affixed the wax seal and placed it with the others. A length of narrow blue ribbon from the dresser tied them into a neat bundle. All was now ready for the men’s departure. She placed the lap desk back in the chest and climbed from the wagon.
Controlled chaos greeted her. Once again, the women were taking advantage of the day off from traveling to clean their wagons, their clothes and bedding. Washtubs steamed over fires strung out along the river. Furnishings, clothing and food supplies littered the area around each wagon.
Except for hers.
She glanced at her wagon and an odd sort of dissatisfaction, a sensation she had never before experienced, gripped her. The extent of her cleaning was the quilt and blankets she had hung out to air over the boxes, crates and barrels of supplies off-loaded from Anne’s wagon and stacked in the driver’s box. A woman alone did not require the prodigious amounts of supplies and possessions that cluttered and crowded the wagons of those with a family. A woman alone did not make a mess. And a woman such as she did not know how to clean, or cook, or do the wash or any of the other myriad tasks these other women, some much younger than she, did so effortlessly.
She frowned, wrapped her arms about herself and stared at the other women. She had agreed to stay and be the doctor in their town. And she was alone. She had better learn how to take care of herself. Because, other than her doctoring and shooting skills, she was useless here on the frontier.
I will observe, or I will ask. I may be a pampered woman, but I am not unintelligent, only untaught in these matters. And I will rectify that very quickly.
Prairie Courtship Page 17