The Doctor's Lady

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The Doctor's Lady Page 18

by Jody Hedlund; Donna Vanliere


  He’d risked his life to save hers.

  What kind of man would do that for a woman?

  And the way he’d held her on the banks of the river . . .

  A sweet ache wound through her belly at the memory. He’d crushed her—the fierceness of his embrace was like nothing she’d ever known before. And inside the safety of his strong arms she’d savored the steady thump of his heartbeat against her ear, the solidness of his chest, the musky scent of his body.

  Maybe his concern had been borne of the moment. Maybe he would have cared for anyone else the same way. Even so, whenever she glanced at his broad shoulders and thought about what a strong, good man he was, her insides quivered with strange longing, the desire to be special to him, to be cherished, to be more than just another missionary.

  Richard approached her and held out his hand. “Mrs. Doc, get sleep.”

  She nodded, weariness washing back over her.

  He helped her up and propelled her toward the covered wagon.

  “Thank you, Richard.”

  He steadied her climb inside the damp, musty wagon bed.

  Mabel was still asleep on the makeshift bed Henry had assembled for her out of blankets on top of crates pushed together.

  Priscilla sank onto her trunk and leaned her head back against the side of the canvas. She didn’t care if she fell asleep sitting up. She was just glad to be off the horse and out of the rain.

  “Priscilla,” Eli whispered.

  She started.

  “I have a cup of milk for you.”

  “You do?” She searched the blackness of the canvas opening and could make out the outline of his body.

  “Come drink this.”

  She crawled toward him. Her hand found his, and he gently folded her fingers around the tin cup. She brought it to her lips and took a long drink of the warm, creamy liquid.

  “Do you want some?” she asked, holding the cup out to him.

  “No, you finish it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “There’s plenty more where that came from.” His tone had the hint of a smile.

  “True.” She was grateful Eli had thought to bring the milk cows along.

  She took another long drink and finished it off. The warmth trickled through her.

  “Do you want any more?”

  She could just imagine him in the dark, fumbling at the cow’s udder, squirting milk into the cup. It was the last thing he needed to be doing when they were all so weary.

  “I’m very satisfied.” She pressed the cup back into his hands. “Thank you.”

  He shifted but didn’t make a move to leave. The even rhythm of his breath sent a cascade of tingles over her skin and a rush of energy through her, waking every nerve.

  “I’m sorry you had to keep riding,” he finally whispered, “and couldn’t take a break in the wagon with Mabel.”

  “She needs the rest more than I do,” Priscilla whispered back. At least that’s what she’d told herself and prayed God would give her the strength to believe it.

  He was quiet for a moment, as if he wanted to say something more but didn’t know quite what.

  “You’re holding up, then?” he finally said.

  “I’m surviving.” She wasn’t sure how well, but she didn’t want him to know that. What she did know was that each day God was showing her just how selfish and pampered a life she’d led up until the trip.

  “I’m glad you’re making it—that you’re still alive.”

  The relief in his voice sent a tremor through her middle.

  “Get some sleep.” His warm breath fanned her forehead.

  She wanted him to linger, wanted to lay her head against his chest and have him encircle her with his arms.

  But he stepped back and pulled the canvas closed. Utter darkness fell upon her. She shuddered from a sudden damp chill and clutched her arms across her chest.

  Loneliness crept through the blackness and slithered next to her.

  Thoughts of her family who loved her flooded her mind. She’d always had companionship and attention, even when she’d wanted to be alone.

  But now . . .

  What would it be like to have a different kind of relationship with Eli, one where he didn’t have to leave her at night, where he could hold her and they could whisper together about their dreams and plans?

  Surely she had sensed some desire from him. But was he ready to put aside their partnership for something more? Would he ever want to? Would she?

  With a shiver, she rubbed her arms, lay back among the blankets, and closed her weary eyes. She must never forget that God had called her to love and save the lost heathen. That was the most important thing. And no matter what happened, God would be her constant companion.

  Still, she couldn’t help that her last thought was of Eli’s arms surrounding her and pulling her close.

  At the first hint of dawn, Eli roused them. After a cold breakfast of dried beef and pickles, they started forward again.

  The recent rains had saturated the ground, and the hired men struggled to drive the wagons through the long, soggy grass.

  Priscilla didn’t have the energy to hold her head up. Even when the sun began to rise and show promise of making its appearance for the first time in days, she couldn’t find the stamina for cheerfulness.

  Only after John and Richard pulled their horses next to hers and began to point out the fascinating wildlife of the open prairies did she begin to feel alive again.

  Richard stared into the sky, at the thin black line floating in the distance. “Weptes.”

  Priscilla peered at the bird. “Is it another falcon, like the ones we saw among the bluffs of the Missouri River?”

  “No falcon.” Richard shook his head, and his long braid swished against his back. “We-ptes.”

  Priscilla studied the long wingspan and the lighter—almost white—head that contrasted with its dark body. “Is it an eagle?”

  “Ea-gle?” the boys both said at once.

  She smiled at them and lifted her gaze to the majestic bird soaring with the wind currents. “I’ve never seen a bald eagle before.”

  “River ahead,” John said. “Weptes hunt fish.” Excitement lit the boy’s face, and he spurred his horse to a gallop toward the front of their group.

  “Did you know,” she said to Richard, who lingered beside her, “the bald eagle was picked as our national emblem because at one of the first battles of the Revolution, the noise of the battle woke the sleeping eagles? They flew from their nests and circled over the fighting men, shrieking for freedom.”

  “The eagles were probably just waiting for carnage to eat.” Eli’s voice next to her made her jump.

  He reined his horse until he matched her pace, then he grinned.

  Her heart sped to a gallop.

  Even with the dark circles under his eyes and the shadows of scruff on his face, he was still as ruggedly handsome as the first day she’d seen him in the meetinghouse. Could she dare say he was even more appealing?

  She peered at the gliding eagle, lest he see deep into her eyes to her wild thoughts. “The eagle is a strange mixture of strength and gentleness, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe.” His gaze didn’t waver from her, and the intensity of it sent a shiver through her.

  “You’re like an eagle, Dr. Ernest.” She tried to infuse humor into her tone. “You’re a mixture of strength and gentleness too.”

  Even though she’d hoped to jest and cover the attraction, she was sure he could see it in her face and eyes.

  He didn’t say anything.

  She chanced a glance at him.

  “We have another river crossing ahead.” His eyes gently probed hers. “Loup Fork, the place where the Loup River meets the Platte River.”

  A rush of fear cascaded through her body and chilled her blood.

  “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have anything to fear.”

  The water of the Elkhorn River had been frigid, had we
ighted down her skirt, had clawed at her, had wanted to swallow her.

  “And I wanted you to know that this time, I’ll be right there with you.”

  She gave him what she hoped was a confident nod, but as he spurred his horse ahead, she pulled back on hers. Her heart pounded with dread. She was the last to straggle to the sandy banks of the river.

  “We’ve done it, Sister Ernest.” Tears streamed down Mabel’s face. She pointed across the wide river to the opposite shore. “The Fur Company caravan is over there.”

  “Indeed?” A thrill of excitement mingled through Priscilla’s fear.

  A circle of baggage, tents, wagons, mules, and men was coming to life. Drifts of smoke rose into the clear morning air, and the braying of the mules wafted across the river. It was like a village. How would so many animals ever move forward in an organized fashion?

  She lowered herself from her horse, and relief seeped through her. “We did it!”

  “Praise the Lord.” Mabel lifted her face heavenward.

  Priscilla searched the figures across the river. Where were Running Feet and David? Had they survived without her?

  Eli trotted his horse into the water. “I’ll take the drag rope across and let Captain Fitzpatrick know we’re here.” He plunged his gelding deeper and moved quickly but in an instant the horse stumbled and started to sink down.

  A scream stuck in Priscilla’s throat.

  “I’m in a patch of quicksand!” Eli shouted. The gray swirling water sucked at his horse until Eli was hip deep.

  Richard, John, and the other Nez Perce traveling with them shed their shirts and charged in after Eli.

  Henry stepped to the edge of the water. “Pull him loose, boys.”

  The Indians swam toward Eli, yelling to each other in their native language.

  “Faster,” Henry called. He glanced from his shoes to the water and then took a step away from the shore.

  “Don’t just stand there.” Priscilla turned to Henry, desperation churning through her. “Go in and help him.”

  “Now, Sister Ernest, calm down,” he said, staring at the men. Henry rarely spoke or looked directly at her, as if he hoped to avoid the unspoken awkwardness that still existed between them. “I’m sure the horse will be out in no time.”

  Richard had reached the head of the horse and lifted its muzzle between his hands. The other men pushed from the rear.

  After a few unsuccessful shoves, Eli let go of the beast and swam around to the front with Richard.

  They tugged together, and Priscilla watched with growing horror as the horse sank deeper. Its shrill whinny echoed through the air.

  Mabel’s hand connected with hers, and she latched onto it, squeezing it hard.

  One of the hired hands gave a shout and splashed into the water. The other stripped off his boots and followed. After moments of grunting and pulling, the horse reared up and stumbled forward. And the group gave a cheer.

  “Thank you, Lord,” Mabel murmured.

  Priscilla’s breath swooshed. But her heart pattered hard with each halting move Eli made toward the far shore. When he finally dragged himself out of the water, the horse staggering to land behind him, she clung to Mabel, her knees weak.

  The trappers stared at Eli but made no move to greet him. Instead, they appeared to be packing up and preparing for their departure.

  Dripping, Eli wound through the packs and mules, until she lost sight of his sagging wet hat. For some time, she watched and waited with Mabel, until finally Eli reappeared and began to swim back across the river.

  “Hurry!” Eli called, towing a narrow leather boat behind him. “The caravan isn’t going to wait for us to cross before they leave. Start unloading the wagons now.”

  But Priscilla couldn’t move, even though the others around her had begun the task of taking all the supplies out of the wagons. Her focus—and her very soul—riveted upon Eli as he swam, this time holding on to the dragline he’d attached to one of the few trees on the opposite shore.

  When he sloshed to the shore, his shirt and trousers stuck to his body. Water ran like spring rivers down the length of his hard muscles.

  He sagged to the ground. After sleepless nights, hard rides, and now fighting the river, exhaustion drew haggard lines across his face.

  Who could ask for a better, stronger man than Eli Ernest? She’d never met a braver, more determined man. And he was her husband.

  A flush of pride stole over her.

  “I could strangle Squire.” Eli sucked in a ragged breath. “He’d rather see us drown in this river than ride with them.”

  “Doc. Find safe place to cross,” Richard said. “Too much soft sand here.”

  “We don’t have time.” Eli shoved himself off the ground. “We’ve got to cross now. The Pawnee villages are only a day’s ride away. If we don’t stay with the caravan, we might as well turn around right here.”

  Priscilla was of half a mind to shout out that she’d much rather turn around than cross another river. But she bit her lip and hoped to put off the inevitable as long as possible. She slunk to the end of the line of horses and wagons and tried to make herself invisible.

  By the time the men had ferried most of the supplies over in the little boat, the Fur Company caravan was long gone. Their next challenge was to have the horses pull the wagons across. Even though they steered clear of the spot where Eli’s horse had gotten stuck, the quicksand still gave them trouble.

  “Time for the women to go,” Eli said.

  She didn’t move from her partially hidden spot at the back of their caravan. Her fingers dug into the coarse hair of the cow she stood beside.

  “Priscilla?” he called.

  She was sure Mabel was already in the boat. And now they’d all be waiting on her.

  “Time to go, Priscilla.” His voice drew nearer. “We need to leave now!”

  “Lord, help me,” she whispered, cringing.

  For a long moment, she cowered next to the cow, hoping, praying that somehow God would dry up the river, just as He had the Red Sea for the Israelites.

  “What are you doing?” Eli’s question came from behind her.

  She jumped.

  “It’s time to go.” His wet clothes clung to his body, outlining the strength in his limbs. Water dripped from his hat into the tall grass.

  She avoided his eyes. “I can’t go back into a river.”

  “There’s no other way to cross.”

  She stared at a creamy splotch in the cow’s hair.

  “I know you’re frightened. But I told you I’d be right beside you this time.”

  She was trapped. She couldn’t go forward, and she couldn’t go back. There was nothing for her to do but dig a hole and bury herself.

  He reached for her arm and gently spun her around. The blue in his eyes was as clear as a perfect summer sky. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I do. . . .”

  “Then let’s go.” He tugged her.

  She resisted.

  “Oh, I understand.” Sunlight danced in his eyes. “You’re waiting for me to pick you up and carry you.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  A hint of a grin snared the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you know you should never dare me? It’s a sure bet I’ll do it.”

  Before she could protest, he grabbed her around the middle. With one motion he lifted her to his shoulder and hung her there like a sack of seed grain.

  “Eli Ernest! This is entirely uncivilized.” Her cheeks burned. But not entirely from embarrassment.

  “No one ever said I was civilized.”

  She made a halfhearted protest by squirming. The cold wetness from his clothes seeped through the thin layers of her dress and linen chemise.

  He clamped his arm across her backside.

  She gasped and grew motionless. The solidness of his arm pushed against the roundness of her flesh. “Your hold is quite indecent.”

  “Suits me just fine
.” He stalked forward with an ease that belied her weight and his exhaustion.

  “It’s entirely inappropriate.” She couldn’t think past the pressure his arm exerted.

  “Please, put me down. You’ll cause a scene.”

  His arm only tightened. “You know how much I like causing scenes.”

  Her mind whirled, and the heat in her cheeks blazed hotter. “Then you’ll force me to take extreme measures to stop you.”

  He chuckled. “I’d like to see what you can do.”

  She took a deep breath, and then, before she lost courage, she sank her fingers into the hair that stuck in wet clumps to the back of his neck.

  His steps faltered.

  She combed through the thick locks, letting her fingers brush against the soft skin. “Looks like you’re in need of a haircut,” she said softly, in what she hoped was a seductive voice.

  He stumbled.

  Her brazenness shocked even her own delicate ears. But she couldn’t help smiling. Her ploy was working.

  She brushed her fingers through his hair again, pulling the wet strands up, making sure to trail her fingers across his neck. “I can give you a haircut.” She wrapped a strand around one of her fingers. “If you want.”

  With a jolt, he stopped. He shifted her and slid her down. When her feet touched the ground, he didn’t let her go but instead pulled her against him. His eyes flashed with a heat she couldn’t begin to understand.

  “You won.” His palm nestled into the rounded spot at the base of her back, and his gaze narrowed on her lips.

  Would he kiss her? Here? Now? Her stomach turned to warm mush at the thought of him pressing his lips against hers.

  When he leaned in, she caught her breath.

  But instead of touching her lips, he grazed the tender spot next to her ear.

  The scratchiness of his cheek and heaviness of his breath sent tight quivers through her belly.

  She wanted to slide her arms around him, to hold him, to forget about everyone else but them.

  He pressed his mouth against her ear and then gave a ragged groan. “We have to go,” he said breathlessly, pushing her to arm’s length, setting her away from him.

  “I know.” She fought to catch her breath and composure.

 

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