“I don’t care what Abner Marsh thinks, Thomas.” Lydia Quinn raised up on her right elbow and looked across the bed at where her husband lay staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t want you involved in any trouble.” She swallowed hard and lay back down. “There’s something I haven’t told you.” She paused, drew a deep breath, and plunged ahead. “Marjorie Grant invited those Indian women to quilting a few weeks ago. At first I didn’t want to say anything because—well, Violet gets so little chance to socialize, what with her feeling so conscious about her hump and all. I just didn’t want to disappoint her and she seems to enjoy Marjorie’s boys so.” ‘When her husband did not speak, Lydia dared a sideways glance. “Now, Thomas, I know what you’re thinking and I’m sorry. But I just couldn’t tell Violet we couldn’t go back. I didn’t think it would do any harm. We never saw their husbands at all. It was just the women. At first we hardly even talked.”
Thomas snorted, but said nothing.
“It’s true. We just weren’t comfortable. But even Harriet Baxter stayed. And Marjorie would read the Scriptures.” Lydia stopped again, trying to collect her thoughts. “I don’t know how to tell you, Thomas. But something just happened over that quilt. I don’t expect you to understand what it means to a woman here on the frontier to have friendship—to work together to make something beautiful. Men don’t seem to need that kind of thing. But women do, and it just feeds our souls to work together like that.” Lydia paused. “Don’t you laugh at me, Thomas.”
“I’m not laughing, Lydia,” Thomas said gently. “I know you and Violet have been lonely. Especially this winter, being cooped up in the cabin so much.” He cleared his throat. “And I know how hard life has been for Violet. I don’t say much, but I’m not as thickheaded as I act sometimes.”
“Well, then, Thomas,” Lydia said, blurting the rest of it out. “Then I guess I can just go ahead and tell you that I kind of like Genevieve and Nancy. Yesterday at quiltin’ Nancy had a special cushion she made for Violet’s back, and you should have seen the look on Vi’s face when she leaned back against that chair and it—it—didn’t hurt her. All I could think was I should’a done something like that years ago. And here these women who were nothing but savages …” Much to her embarrassment, Lydia began to cry. She blinked rapidly and tried to wipe the tears away, but the dam was burst and she couldn’t hold the tears back.
“Why, Lyddi,” Thomas whispered. “Don’t cry, Lyddi … it’s all right.” He pulled her to him. “I won’t do anything to interfere. Not if it means that much to you. Please, Lyddi, please …”
Lydia looked up at her husband. “You—you haven’t called me Lyddi in a long time, Thomas.”
He kissed her forehead. “I haven’t made you cry in a long time.”
She smiled shyly. “I—I—like it when you call me Lyddi.” She kissed his cheek.
She kissed the place just next to his mouth where his beard didn’t quite fill in. And somewhere in the next few moments Thomas Quinn realized that he really didn’t care if four harmless Dakota Indians lived in his county in Minnesota. Not one bit.
Five
Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
—Proverbs 3:5-6
“But why do we have to go?” Hope protested, jumping onto the edge of Meg’s bed and bouncing up and down angrily.
In her most practiced grown-up-be-patient-with-the-children voice, from where she sat at her writing desk, Meg answered “We don’t have to go.” She arranged several preserved white roses on a plain sheet of paper. Some she lay in profile, their leaves intact. Two she snipped as close to the head of the blossom as possible and opened them full out. “We want to go,” she said, surveying the rose-filled shadowbox she was making for Genevieve Two Stars. “Gen has been our friend since Aaron and I were little. And she was our mother for nearly two years. We love her.”
Meg inhaled the faint aroma still clinging to the roses. Finally satisfied with her creation, she laid aside the glass top and went to sit down beside Hope. She caressed the child’s long blonde hair. “Don’t you remember her at all, Hope—not even a little? She’s only been gone a little more than a year. She taught you to walk. Your first word was when you called her Ma.”
Hope sighed. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face toward the ceiling, thinking. “I remember blue eyes,” she said slowly, “and something—something ugly.” Hope brushed her hands across both forearms and then hugged them to herself.
“Do you remember the story of how Genevieve got those scars on her arms?” Meg questioned, patting Hope’s shoulder.
“You told me a million times,” Hope said impatiently. “It was when you were with the bad Indians and they made you walk through the brambles and she put her arms like this,” Hope slapped her arms to her sides, “and covered you up so you wouldn’t get hurt. And she got all cut by the stickers.” She jumped down off the bed and peered at the shadowbox on Meg’s dresser. “But I still don’t want to go to Minnesota.”
“Well,” Meg said, standing up, “we’re going as soon as Uncle Elliot and Aaron get back from Washington.” She frowned and pressed her palm against her forehead, wishing the headache that had been plaguing her all day would subside. “It’ll be fun. An adventure.” She smiled at Hope. “Gen is going to be so surprised to hear how well you talk. I guess Aunt Jane was right. Being the baby in a house full of grown-ups makes a difference.”
“I’m not a baby!” Hope protested. “I’m all growed up.”
“You’re only four years old,” Meg said quickly. “Just because you can talk so well doesn’t mean you aren’t still my baby sister.”
“I’m not a baby!” Hope hollered.
Meg winced. “Don’t yell, Hope. You make my head hurt even worse. Only babies cry when they don’t get their way.”
“Amanda don’t want us to go either,” Hope said. “She cried about it. And she’s all growed up.”
Ignoring Hope’s reference to Amanda Whitrock, Meg said, “We’re going to camp. In a tent. And Two Stars will take us fishing. Maybe you’ll catch your own dinner!”
Hope made a face. “I don’t like fishing. You have to touch worms to fish.” She shuddered. “I wanna stay with Gran-ma.”
“Grandmother Leighton is too old to take care of a nearly-five-year-old troublemaker,” Meg teased, tousling Hope’s blonde hair. “Now go find Bess so she’ll be right here when we pack tomorrow.”
“You can’t pack Bess. She won’t be able to breathe!” Hope retorted.
“She’s a doll, Hope. She doesn’t need to breathe.” Meg pressed her palm against her forehead again.
“I’m carrying her.”
“You won’t want to carry her all the way to Minnesota.”
“Then I’ll put her in the bag when she needs to sleep,” Hope insisted. “But until then, I’ll carry her.”
“Oh, all right,” Meg blustered. “Have it your way. But don’t be asking me to hold your doll when you don’t want to be bothered. And don’t be thinking Aunt Jane will do it for you, either.”
“Will we see lots of Indians?” Hope wanted to know. “Amanda says Indians aren’t nice. She says—”
“Amanda Whitrock doesn’t know the first thing about Indians,” Meg snapped. “When did she say that, anyway?”
“When Aaron said he wanted to be a soldier and go West and help the Indians.”
Meg sat down on the edge of her bed. “Were you eavesdropping on Amanda and Aaron?”
Hope frowned and shook her head. “I was in the kitchen and Betsy gave me some cocoa and then we heard Amanda and Aaron arguing on the back porch.”
“You shouldn’t repeat what others say when they don’t know you are listening.”
“I won’t tell anyone else,” Hope murmured. “But Amanda said—”
“You let Aaron worry about Amanda Whitrock and her notions about the West,” Meg said firmly, “and you worry about fin
ding Bess.”
Hope started for the door, pausing just outside in the hallway. “She’s on the swing in the garden.”
“Then go get her,” Meg said. She lay down on her back and closed her eyes.
“What’s the matter, Meg?” Hope hesitated at the doorway.
“Nothing. I’m just going to lie here a minute while you get Bess and see if my headache won’t go away.”
When Hope didn’t come right back inside, Meg got up and went downstairs. She made some tea to settle her stomach and then went outside, where Hope sat in the garden swing, cradling Bess. When Meg approached, Hope looked up and demanded the rose story again. Meg sat down beside her. “I don’t feel like telling a story right now, Hope. How about you tell me the rose story?”
Hope hopped down and went to the corner of the garden. Stepping carefully over the rock border, she smoothed her pink calico dress and took on the role of instructor and center of attention. She gestured dramatically toward the smallest rose bush in the L-shaped flowerbed. “This one’s for your Mama named Ellen, the one I didn’t know. It’s red ‘cause that was her favorite. I got her name in the middle and that’s why I’m Hope Ellen.” She pointed to another bush with red blossoms. “And this one is for Papa Simon Dane. And all the pink ones are for you an’ me and Aaron,” Hope said, twirling around as she spoke.
“That’s right,” Meg said. She took a deep breath, wishing her stomach would settle. “Do you remember helping us put the rocks around the edge?”
“I was too little,” Hope protested, shaking her head.
Meg agreed. “You could hardly talk at all. And you carried off more rocks than you put in place.” She smiled weakly. “When we see Gen, you’ll be able to tell her how big her white rosebush is, and how every time we see it we think of her.”
“Why don’t we have a rosebush for Daniel?” Hope asked abruptly.
“Because we made this rose garden to remember our family,” Meg explained for the hundredth time. ‘And when we planted the bushes we thought our friend Daniel was dead.”
“He’s the one that founded me,” Hope said as she fingered a pink rose.
“He did,” Meg replied.
“Tell me,” Hope said.
“I’ll tell you when we’re on the train,” Meg said. She stood up abruptly. “I’m going to go lie down.” Suddenly, she covered her mouth with her hand and ran for the house.
Elliot Leighton and Aaron Dane stood, carpetbags in hand, staring in disbelief at the sign on Leighton Hall’s front door.
QUARANTINE. MEASLES.
“Measles?” Aaron could barely pronounce the dreaded word. He knew all about measles. The disease had struck an Indian village near the mission when he was a little boy. He could still hear the women keening their losses as tepee after tepee were emptied of their dead.
Before Elliot could say anything, Jane appeared at the parlor window. She opened the window, but when Elliot stepped forward she waved him away. “Stay back, dear. We can’t take any chances.” She took a deep breath. “It’s Meg. Only Meg for now, thank God. But we aren’t allowed out of the house. Dr. Voss’s assistant has been delivering food every day.” Jane laughed sadly. “I thought cabin fever was only something we experienced in the West when the snow piled up.” She forced a smile. “But it appears even mansions can breed cases of cabin fever. We’re rather at one another from time to time.” She passed a trembling hand over her forehead and blinked back tears.
“What about Meg?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jane said miserably. “Her fever has come down a bit and Dr. Voss says that’s a hopeful sign, but—” her voice cracked, “she’s very ill. We just don’t know.”
“We?” Elliot asked. “Who exactly is we?”
“Hope, Betsy, Mother Leighton, and I. That’s all. Cook was on holiday when Meg got sick.”
“So you and Betsy are caring for the entire household as well as nursing Meg around the clock?” Elliot frowned.
“Oh, we’re all right,” Jane protested. When she looked at Elliot, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so glad you’re home.” She wiped the tears away and sighed. “You’ll have to put up at the hotel. We can’t let you in. I seem to have some natural immunity to measles. Dr. Voss was quite amazed when I told him I’d nursed many patients back in my mission days.” She forced another smile. “So you see you don’t have to worry over me. And I really do think the worst is over. If we can just keep Mother Leighton and Betsy and Hope from catching it—” Jane sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m making them stay in their rooms. Hope wanders from one to the other. They all hate me.” She changed the subject. “You’ll have to wire Daniel and Gen. We can’t possibly go now.” Her voice wavered a little. ‘And I don’t quite know what to tell them about Meg.”
Hope appeared at an upstairs window. When Betsy opened the window, the child called down to her uncle, demanding to go with him. Jane told her she must stay inside and insisted that she could not go to Uncle Elliot or Aaron. Hope began to wail.
“I’m sorry, Captain Leighton,” Betsy said as she pulled Hope away from the window and pulled down the sash.
“I have to go, too” Jane said wearily. “I just wanted to—” she held in a sob, “I had to see you.”
“We’ll be back as soon as we’ve made arrangements,” Elliot said.
As the men made their way through the village, they noticed more quarantine signs in windows. At the hotel, they were questioned so vigorously about their health that Elliot stormed away.
“Where are we going?” Aaron asked.
“We are going home to Leighton Hall where we belong,” Elliot said firmly. “We’ll drag the old tent out of the carriage house and you can stay there. I’m going to help Jane. I don’t care what the doctor says.”
“But, Uncle Elliot, you could—”
“I cannot,” Elliot said. He pressed his lips into a fine line. “The disease hasn’t been created yet that can fell an old soldier like me. I’ve been exposed to everything there is, including a cannonball. And all that managed to do was blow my hand off. I’m too stubborn to let measles get me. And I’m not going to let my wife spend another day alone in that house.”
“Then I want to help, too,” Aaron said.
“And you shall,” Elliot said. “We’ll put the tent up in the garden before I go in. You can live there.”
And so he did. Aaron camped in the garden. He ran to the apothecary, ran for the doctor, and did the marketing. At the doctor’s behest he set up a huge iron pot near the carriage house, daily washing linen with lye soap and then dipping everything into boiling water before hanging it out to dry. He waved at Hope when she appeared at the window and did everything possible to make her laugh, including dancing and strutting like a rooster. Every morning he put a fresh white rose beside the back door to be taken up to Meg’s room, and on the day when Meg herself finally appeared at the window, Aaron shouted for joy.
Measles had finally left Leighton Hall. It took no one’s life and spared everyone but Meg. But for Meg, life would never be the same, for when measles left Leighton Hall, it took Margaret Marie Dane’s sight with it.
“I’ll write,” Aaron whispered, touching Amanda’s arm. “Will you—will you answer?” They were seated together on the swing in Leighton Hall’s garden, so close to one another Aaron could just catch the faint aroma of lavender that seemed to follow Amanda Whitrock everywhere she went.
Amanda snatched her arm away and studied the rose garden a few feet away. “I don’t imagine they will have mail delivery off in Indian territory,” she sulked.
“Why, of course they do, Amanda,” Aaron said, eager to explain. “Even when I was a little boy we got regular mail. They brought it up from Fort Ridgely every week. Now there’s a railroad all the way to St. Anthony and beyond. We get Gen’s letters the same month she writes them. Sometimes within just a week or so.” He dared to touch the back of Amanda’s hand, thrilling at the softness of her skin. “Please say you’ll answe
r me. Please.”
After a prolonged sigh, Amanda turned her clear-blue eyes upon him, studying him for a moment before looking to one side. She bit her lower lip to dramatize how very hard it was for her to decide before grimacing slightly and shrugging. “All right. I guess I’ll answer. But don’t think I’m not still angry about you missing my birthday party!
The notion that Amanda Whitrock, the prettiest girl in school, had set her attentions upon him thrilled Aaron right down to the thin leather soles of his best shoes. He studied the small, white hand, positioned tantalizingly atop the folds of her royal blue silk skirt. With his heart pounding, he reached out quickly, covered that hand with his own and then gave a little squeeze before withdrawing and jumping to his feet. “Let’s—let’s go back inside,” he said quickly, hoping Amanda could not see the blush on his cheeks.
To Aaron’s dismay, because he blushed even more furiously when it happened, Amanda slipped her hand into his. He led her around the side of the house, up the wide stairs leading to the veranda at Leighton Hall.
“Meg will be so excited to have company,” Aaron said. “The other girls seem to be avoiding her since—well, you know. It’s been hard on her, knowing she can’t go with me to see Daniel and Genevieve. But I promised her that next year when her strength is back and she’s learned how to manage better, I’ll take her West.” He shrugged. “We’re not going to let a little thing like this ruin her life. We aren’t.”
Amanda suddenly withdrew her hand. “I’ll visit Meg soon, Aaron. Honestly I will. But right now I must be getting home.”
He could read the message in her brilliant blue eyes, and with a sudden burst of maturity, decided against being ruled by them. To Amanda’s dismay, Aaron did not beg her not to go. Instead, he nodded and guided her down the front path to the gate and across the street to her own front door. Before they parted, he asked, “You’ll come to the station to see me off tomorrow?”
Heart of the Sandhills Page 5