Protest rose to Priscilla’s lips, but a groan from the Indian woman stopped her. The woman’s beautiful features contorted with obvious pain.
Priscilla stretched her hand to Running Feet’s face. She hesitated only a moment before caressing the woman’s forehead, brushing back loose tendrils of hair. She pressed the coolness of her palm against the burning skin.
Her throat squeezed. This woman was entrusting her child into the care of a complete stranger. What kind of mother would do such a thing, unless she was desperate?
Priscilla prayed the coolness of her hand would soothe the woman. How could she do anything less than help the baby? Or Running Feet?
Eli probed his fingers gently against Running Feet’s abdomen, and she groaned again.
“What can I do?” Priscilla asked.
Eli’s eyes crinkled at the corners with worry. “You’ll comfort Running Feet most if you take care of her son.”
The baby squirmed and gave a soft whimper. Then he stretched both arms toward Priscilla.
“You poor dear.” She gathered the boy to her chest and fought the ache that gripped her heart.
He leaned into her and nuzzled his face into her chest.
“Oh, God. Help me,” she whispered, fighting against the intense longing the baby awakened inside her. If her infertility was the cross she must bear, why couldn’t Providence make the bearing easier?
She pressed a kiss against the feathery strands of the baby’s hair, and swallowed her longing, pushing it back to the secret place inside her where it belonged.
This woman. This baby. She must think about them. Why, then, was it so hard to stop thinking so much about herself?
“We’re leaving this morning,” Squire called as they entered the piazza courtyard five days later.
“Then Running Feet is feeling better?” Eli asked, striding through the chaos of playing children and clucking hens.
Priscilla followed behind him. Even after the past few days of coming and going, she still hadn’t shed her fear of walking through the piazza, especially whenever Black Squire was present. His patchless eye seemed to follow her every move in an altogether too intimate way.
She offered another prayer of thanksgiving that Eli had decided to stay behind to care for Running Feet and had instead sent Henry ahead with the wagons and livestock.
Eli hadn’t wanted to leave the care of the wagons and supplies to Henry’s inexperienced hands, but his desire to help the Indian woman had prevailed. He hadn’t been able to decide exactly what was ailing her but had settled upon biliousness and had given her routine doses of calomel.
“We can’t delay no longer,” Squire said, leading the way down the long hallway. “She’s sittin’ up today. That’s a heap better than she’s been so far.”
When they entered the room, Running Feet struggled to sit up. Eli rushed to help her.
The toothless Indian woman rose from her chair and hoisted the baby up with her.
Priscilla smiled at the boy and reached for him. “And how’s David this morning?”
The baby clapped his hands and smiled back.
The old woman relinquished him with a tired sigh.
Priscilla settled him onto her hip and smoothed a hand over his cheek. She’d decided to name him David, after the minister who’d brought her to a confession of faith. No one seemed to mind that she’d given him an English name, and it seemed to suit him just right. And since she’d be traveling with Running Feet and David for a few months, she decided she might as well give him a name she could actually say.
“Have you fed him?” she asked the old woman.
“He eat, yes.”
“Is he clean?”
The woman nodded and glanced sideways at Squire, who had knelt next to Running Feet and Eli.
“You can go,” she told the old woman. “I’ll care for him now.”
The woman hesitated and looked again at Squire.
“Really,” Priscilla persisted, surprised by how much she wanted to have the baby to herself. She’d spent most of her time over the past days holding and playing with him. And she’d almost begun to think of herself as his caretaker instead of the woman Squire had hired.
“Squire tell me help take boy to boat,” the old woman finally said.
Running Feet’s eyes were glazed, and her face drawn with pain. Black Squire was wrong. “She’s certainly not a ‘heap’ better,” Priscilla blurted. “If anything, she looks worse.”
Eli nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “Do you think we can spare another day or two?” he asked Squire.
“We’ll do just fine, Doc,” Squire boomed. “You know as well as me, we can’t wait no longer.”
Eli’s brow furrowed. “I guess we’ll just have to try to make her as comfortable as possible on the boat.”
“I’ll do all I can to help take care of David,” Priscilla offered.
“Good. Running Feet will be grateful for your help.” Eli didn’t exactly smile at her, but a light brightened in his eyes and reached across the dank room to envelop her. After being by his side these past days, had she finally proven herself to him? Could he see that she wasn’t a burden but might, in fact, be a helpmate?
The burly trapper murmured to Running Feet as Eli finished administering a dose of calomel. Then gently, as if she were a fragile leaf he could crush, Black Squire slipped his arms under her and lifted her up.
She bit back a moan and closed her eyes.
“You ain’t so bad, Doc,” Squire said. “In fact, I like you. Just too bad you got yourself saddled with everyone else.”
Eli folded up his doctor’s case, and Priscilla waited for him to concur with the trapper. But he stood and started toward the door. “We’ll see you at the boat.”
Priscilla reluctantly handed David back to the old Indian woman and returned to the inn with Eli to gather their few belongings. Mabel was still in bed, and Priscilla helped her dress and pack.
When they finally made it outside, Eli was pacing. “It’s about time.” He reached for the bag Priscilla was carrying.
“I’m sorry,” Mabel said. Her face was pallid, the usual shade of late. “It was my fault.”
Priscilla slipped her arm around the woman’s waist.
“Let’s hurry.” Eli started forward.
Mabel took a step but stopped. She covered her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.” But before she could bend over, the bile spilled out of her mouth and poured down the front of her dress.
Priscilla jumped back and turned her head. The stench never failed to make her own stomach revolt. She closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth.
Mabel’s distressed cry mingled with the choking heaves, and shame burned through Priscilla. Why couldn’t she be stronger? When someone was sick, why must she always think of her own discomfort first? Had she been so sheltered during her life that she was filled with more selfishness than the piety she’d always prided herself in having?
With a gulp, she spun to face her friend. She put a hand on Mabel’s stooped back and rubbed it while she finished her retching.
Eli approached Mabel, and when she finally straightened, he took hold of her elbow and steadied her. “Okay now?” he asked gently.
She nodded but looked down at her dress, her eyes widening with dismay. “Oh no. I’ll need to change.”
“There’s no time.”
Tears pooled in Mabel’s eyes. “Could I have a moment to wash off?”
Eli shook his head. “When we get on the boat.” But they all knew how impossible personal cleanliness was once they left shore. The steamboat would have only a limited supply of water aboard.
Priscilla pressed her hand to her nose. “Surely she can take just a few minutes?”
“We’re already running late.”
Tears spilled onto Mabel’s cheeks, and she wiped them away with her sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so nauseous and emotional lately.”
“It’s to be expected at this stage in y
our pregnancy, and it’ll probably last a few more weeks.”
“I want to trust God’s timing and plans, but I can’t help but wish I was in Sister Ernest’s condition at the present.”
The words jabbed painfully through Priscilla, and she ducked her head. If only Mabel knew the truth . . . that she was barren and had no hope of experiencing child-bearing, but she would gladly trade places, even for the worst pregnancy moments, if only she could. . . .
Eli was quiet, as if he’d sensed the heartache Mabel’s words had brought her.
“Look,” he finally said. “Take a few minutes to clean off, but hurry.”
Priscilla swallowed her pain. Her problems weren’t Mabel’s fault. The woman had offered her nothing but kindness, and she could do no less in return.
Priscilla assisted Mabel to the well at the back of the inn, where they worked together to clean off Mabel’s skirt as much as they could.
By the time they reached the waterfront, Eli’s face was taut.
“They wouldn’t dare leave us again, would they?” Priscilla asked, huffing to keep up with him. “After all you’ve done for Running Feet . . .”
“I’m not resting secure until we’re on that boat.”
“But Running Feet still needs your doctoring.”
“They have the calomel.”
Her heart pattered faster. What if they didn’t make it? What would become of David without her there to take care of him?
Eli scanned the waterfront. “There it is.” He pointed to one of the smallest steamboats lined up along the bank.
“Thank the Lord,” she murmured, lifting a hand to her heart to slow its rhythm.
“I don’t believe it.” Eli dropped the bags. “They’ve got the landing pulled up.”
Sure enough, the captain had already raised the landing platform at the front of the boat with a system of pulleys.
“Wait!” Eli whistled between his teeth and sprinted toward the boat.
Priscilla grabbed the bags. “Come on, Mabel.”
They chased after Eli, and when they finally reached the edge of the river, Priscilla gasped for breath.
The boat was gliding away from the shore.
Eli stuck his fingers in his teeth and whistled and then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Stop!”
The captain stepped out of the pilothouse at the top of the steamboat near the stacks. From his high position, the captain had the best view of the river and any trouble that might lie ahead.
“We need to get on the boat,” Eli shouted.
The captain shrugged. “We’re at capacity.”
“But we’ve already paid for passage.”
“We can’t take on any more. We’re already overloaded.”
“Three more won’t sink you.”
The murky water churned as the boat moved further away. The captain shook his head. “Sorry, mister.”
“Come on!” Eli yelled. “You’ve got to let us on!”
Priscilla wanted to shout out too, but propriety stifled her voice. The humidness of the river stuck to her face, and the stench of waste along the levy stifled her breath.
Eli inched nearer the water, and he eyed the dark depths as if debating whether to jump in and try to swim for the boat. It was still muddy and the current fast enough to drag a grown man to his death.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he shouted. “What are we supposed to do now? Swim to Bellevue?”
The captain shrugged. “You’ll have to catch the next boat.”
Eli threw up his hands. “I don’t have time to wait!”
Priscilla’s mind screamed after the boat, and her heart thudded with a sudden and intense longing to be aboard. David would surely need her. For a long moment, all she could see was his sparkling black eyes looking for her and not finding her.
“When’s the next boat leaving?” she asked.
“Not soon enough.” The long white scar on Eli’s face was smooth amidst the other wrinkles.
“What can we do?”
He watched the departing boat as if he could will it to turn around and return to them.
“Do you think Black Squire was behind this?” Priscilla asked.
“It doesn’t really matter. Not anymore.”
“Can we find a way to catch them?”
“There’s not another steamboat leaving for Bellevue until next week—and even that isn’t certain.”
Despair settled across her shoulders, and her legs trembled under the weight. For the first time in years, she’d held a child, allowed a tiny piece of herself to care about a baby. Everything within her had tried to resist, but somehow during the hours with him, he’d pulled her into his life. Now she didn’t know how she could stop worrying about him.
Priscilla pressed a hand against her chest to ward off the sudden pain. “Who will take care of Running Feet and David?”
“They’re the least of our concerns now.” Eli stepped away from the shore and finally looked at her. Worry turned the blue of his eyes as dark as the river water.
“This is all my fault,” Mabel said through a sob. “If only I hadn’t taken the time to clean off my dress.”
“Oh, it’s not your fault,” Priscilla said quickly. “They don’t have room for us. That’s all. And it wouldn’t have made any difference if we’d arrived earlier.”
Eli didn’t say anything.
Just then she caught a glimpse of Squire within the shadows of the pilothouse. Despair shot through her. Had the man double-crossed them again?
Eli only shook his head, as if to warn her from saying anything to Mabel. Then he turned and stared at the growing distance between them and their last chance to make it to Bellevue on time.
Did he want to say I told you so, that he’d known all along they would slow him down? Priscilla fought against the despondency winding throughout her body.
“Is there nothing more we can do?” she asked. “Is it too late to try to catch up with Brother Spalding?”
“He’s way too far by now.” The muscles in Eli’s jaw worked up and down. “It might be too late. But you better believe I’m not giving up yet.”
Chapter
13
Northern Missouri
Eli had resorted to tying Mabel to her sidesaddle to keep her from sliding off in her exhaustion. Her head drooped and bobbed with each jarring motion of the horse.
Priscilla rode alongside the pregnant woman, a silent sentinel, her chin up, her shoulders as straight as they’d been since they’d left Liberty four days ago. She had surprised him with her endurance. Except for the fatigue that lined her face, she hadn’t complained about the rigorous pace he’d set.
He could only guess how badly her backside pained her. If it was anything like his, she was suffering with each jolt and bump, even with blankets padded underneath for extra cushion.
“We’ll stop for the night up by yonder grove of dogwoods,” he called to the man he’d hired to drive the wagon with their supplies.
The man tipped his hat and flicked the reins at the double team of horses.
The trail to the trading post in Bellevue followed the Missouri River north. Eli had been told they’d be safe from Indians and thieves as long as they stayed on the rutted path as it wound through the tall grasses on the banks above the river. Even so, he and his hired man took turns watching at night.
The last rays of the sun wove through the brilliant green of the fully awakened oaks and cottonwoods. The white flowers of the dogwoods glistened almost silver against them.
With the passing of the first of May, they’d had warm enough temperatures at night that they hadn’t needed the tent and their India rubber cloth Henry carried in the wagons.
Eli could only pray that if they traveled fast enough, and if they didn’t encounter any problems crossing flooded rivers, they would catch up to Henry before he reached Bellevue. He had a five-day head start, but he wouldn’t be able to travel as quickly with the animals and heavily loaded wagons.
> Eli reined his horse and breathed in the fresh woodsy scent of the blossoms hovering over his head.
Priscilla halted next to him. She pressed her face into a low branch loaded with the white flowers, and her lips caressed the petals.
His gut looped into a knot. She was so beautiful. Her face surrounded by the flowers was a sight like none other in God’s creation.
After working so hard the past few days, after all of the worry and frustration, he wanted to do nothing more than paint her picture in his mind and make an imprint that would last forever.
“I love the fragrance.” Her long lashes lifted, and she caught him staring at her.
He didn’t bother to look away. He was too thirsty for her beauty to care if he made a fool of himself. Did it really matter if she knew she could captivate his heart with one bat of her eyelashes?
She plucked one of the dogwood flowers. “I think I shall press a blossom in the pages of my journal once we catch up with the wagons.” She chanced another glance at him, and a soft pink tinged her cheeks.
Somehow Priscilla had managed to find room for her portable writing desk along with ink and quill pen within the confines of her trunk. Although he hadn’t seen her using it much, he’d occasionally found her writing letters to her family.
“I’m discovering so much beauty, so many delightful specimens to preserve—now that we’re free of the confines of the boat.”
He wanted to tell her that she was the only delightful specimen he had eyes for, but the words stuck in his throat. “Enjoy it while you can. Once we cross the Platte River, we’ll take a straight course west and won’t have anything but dry grass and blue skies.”
She twirled the blossom between her fingers.
Suddenly he felt like a bigger fool than ever. Why couldn’t he have said something more suave—something more encouraging? He could have at least told her he was sorry he’d had to push them so hard the past few days.
Mabel’s horse nickered nearby. The woman had leaned forward and was resting her head against the horse’s mane.
Priscilla breathed out a long weary breath. “I think I should help Mabel.”
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