Even if she was holding up to the rigors of the trip, the attack by Old Ephraim had only confirmed the foolishness of bringing a lady like her. It could easily happen again. Anything could happen to her.
And what if he wasn’t able to keep her safe next time? He hadn’t been able to keep his sisters safe, no matter how hard he’d tried.
He stared at the lines of scars on his hands. They appeared whiter since his skin had grown more weathered over the past weeks. They were a constant reminder of mistakes he’d made in his past and that he couldn’t fail again.
The West was no place for a lady.
“Eli!” Priscilla’s call was faint, but the urgency in it grabbed him. He swiveled toward her, his heart thudding.
Near the edge of the bluff, she was kneeling next to Running Feet, who was doubled over.
“Hurry!” Priscilla’s voice was laced with panic.
For an instant, relief seized him, but then also the realization of how tense he’d been lately, wondering and waiting for something else to happen to Priscilla. It was just a matter of time. Wasn’t it?
He shouted instructions to John and Richard to take care of the buffalo he’d shot. Then he steered his horse away from the stampede and kicked it into a gallop toward the bluff. He crossed the distance with a sense of dread pooling in his gut.
“What happened?” Eli jumped off his mount and scrambled up the ledge toward Running Feet. Small rocks and clods of dirt crumbled away behind him with each step.
Priscilla turned her wide eyes upon him, the space between her brows wrinkled. “I don’t know. Running Feet just fell to the ground. And when I came over to her, I noticed the puddle of blood at her feet.”
Eli knelt beside the woman and set to work untying the cradleboard from her back.
“What is it, Doc?” Squire climbed up next to them, his breathing heavy. “What’s wrong with her?”
Blood ran down her legs and seeped into the leather of her moccasins, staining them dark brown.
She clutched her abdomen and groaned.
“Take the baby.” Eli handed the papoose to Priscilla.
She started unraveling the rope that bound the baby in place.
“Let’s get her back to the wagon, and I’ll check her there.” Running Feet was obviously hemorrhaging. But how badly? And why?
Squire bent over and murmured to her. She didn’t respond. His forehead furrowed, and he swooped her up into his arms.
She gave a pained cry.
“Come on, Doc.” Squire started back down the bluff, slipping and sliding in the loose dirt. “Let’s see what you can do. You saved her once. I know you can do it again.”
Eli straightened and blew out a shaky breath. His gut told him Running Feet was beyond his help. But he would do all he could to help her—just as he always did.
Priscilla loosened David from the confines of the pack and pulled him into her arms. Her lips brushed against the baby’s forehead before her gaze collided with his over David’s head. The confusion and hurt in her eyes reached out to him as it had done since the night he’d left her in the tent. And whenever he looked into her eyes and saw down into her heart, he couldn’t keep from doubting himself. Had he made the right decision in making sure nothing changed in their business arrangement?
Or had he made the biggest mistake yet?
Fort William
The high June sun baked Priscilla like the slabs of buffalo steak Eli was an expert at frying. She dabbed the sweat on her forehead with her handkerchief.
The water in the wash bucket was as murky as the Missouri River had been back during the weeks when they’d traveled aboard the steamboats. What she wouldn’t give to be riding on the river now, instead of on the dusty open grasslands for endless days.
She shielded her eyes from the sun and glanced at Fort William, standing tall like a lone sentinel in the empty wilderness. Near the banks where the North Platte and Laramie Rivers met, the fort was crudely built—nothing more than a stockade with several small log cabins built into the wooden palisade—but it was still the first sight of civilization in the nearly seven hundred miles they’d traversed since leaving Liberty, and for that, Priscilla was grateful.
The cabins, along with the blacksmith’s quarters and storehouse, had been built with the fort only two years prior by the fur trader William Sublette in an effort to trade with the local tribes.
She and Mabel were the first white women to ever set foot inside the walls of the fort, and the fort manager had extended them as much hospitality as the barrenness of the place allowed. The furnishings in their small room inside the fort were Spartan—thin feather mattresses, a chair with a buffalo-skin seat, an old pewter washbasin. And yet the fort reminded her of what she’d left behind, what she’d missed all these long weeks of travel—the simple comforts of a home.
“We absolutely cannot wait this long again between washings,” she said to Mabel, lifting the last shirt from the scrub board and twisting it. It was the first time in over a month that they’d had a break of any kind and the opportunity to attend to their personal needs.
Mabel plucked a pair of Henry’s trousers off the thicket where they’d draped some of the clothing and the linens. She ran a hand over it and then shook it hard. “Praise the Lord. At least they’re drying quickly.”
They’d arrived at Fort William several days earlier, but Priscilla had been too busy helping Eli care for Running Feet and David to have time for much else. The woman had languished over the two weeks since she’d started hemorrhaging, having to ride in the wagon most of the time. When they’d finally reached the fort, Eli had insisted they give her a few days’ rest.
Every day, Squire had exchanged heated words with Eli about the need to move on, to get the supplies to the Rendezvous. Yet, in spite of Squire’s grumbling, he hadn’t forced them on. Finally, after Running Feet had sat up earlier in the day, Squire had bellowed that they would leave on the morrow without further delay.
Priscilla stole a glance at Eli, who was standing nearby speaking with a group of Sioux Indians, his rifle tucked under his arm as a warning to leave the white women alone.
A twinge of pain radiated from Priscilla’s battered heart, and she stared at her hands, now red from the lye soap. She needed his protection. The grounds swarmed with Sioux who’d come to Fort William to trade buffalo robes for alcohol and tobacco. Every night in their beds, she and Mabel could hear the wild dancing and singing and revelry of the Indians and trappers camped outside the stockade.
Yes, she was grateful Eli stood guard over her. But . . .
She squeezed the wet shirt tighter, and the last gray drops of water dripped onto the grass.
He’d made it clear he wanted to keep his distance from her, that his calling to serve the natives and his desire to start his mission were more important than she was. She was nothing more than a way for him to get to the West. He needed her to fulfill his dreams but didn’t really want her.
After all they’d been through together, after how much she’d endured, she’d hoped he was beginning to see that she could handle a hard life. But obviously he was still intent on sending her home at the least problem, and now was planning to give her an annulment too.
Each beat of her heart pumped the pain into her blood. How had she allowed herself to fall in love with him?
She shook the shirt and flapped it open, trying to muster anger toward herself. After all, it was her fault she was in the predicament of loving a man who didn’t want to love her in return. They’d made an agreement to have a business partnership. Nothing more. She was the one who wanted to change their status. Not he.
If she should be angry at anyone, it should be herself.
A waft of warm wind blew from the direction of the Platte River and soothed her face, giving her a break from the stench of manure that arose in the hot air both inside and outside the walls of the fort.
She laid the wet shirt on top of the low branches in the warm sunshine. With a dee
p breath she squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to remember why she’d come west. It wasn’t to fall in love with a man. Eli was right. They’d come to share God’s love with the heathen, to help them, to teach them, to give them a better way of living.
“Lord, help me not to forget your call,” she whispered.
“Mrs. Doc!” Richard shouted from the front entrance underneath the large blockhouse. There was an urgency in his voice that snapped her body to attention. “Running Feet need you.”
Eli rubbed a hand across his eyes and nodded. “Tell Squire I’ll be right there.”
“She call for Mrs. Doc.”
Priscilla wiped her hands on her apron and started toward the palisade gate. Her heartbeat faltered with sudden dread.
Upon examination earlier, Eli had discovered that Running Feet was bleeding because she was having a miscarriage. However, he hadn’t been able to find the cause of her abdominal pain or the fever that had developed.
He’d attended her night and day, fighting for her life. Even though the bleeding had finally stopped, she’d grown continually weaker.
Priscilla raced through the open gate. “How is she, Richard?” Her voice was breathless.
The Indian boy jogged alongside her. “She leave this world very soon.”
“No. She certainly won’t.” Priscilla crossed the open interior courtyard, dodging piles of manure with flies buzzing around them. “She was doing fine just a short while ago.”
She passed the stables and the well and headed to the cabin Squire had commandeered for Running Feet. The door was already wide open. Squire was pacing back and forth beside the bed.
“Where’s Doc?” he roared.
“I’m sure he’s not far behind me.” She dodged the bear of a man and rushed to Running Feet’s side. Squire didn’t make her tremble with fear the way he used to. But she still wasn’t used to the way he looked at her with his one eye, and she hadn’t quite forgiven him for leaving them behind.
She knelt next to the bed and swept her fingers through David’s tousled hair. He was sleeping tucked under Running Feet’s arm and against her bosom, just the way Priscilla had left him when she’d gone to do the washing.
The pained lines in Running Feet’s face had disappeared. With her eyes closed and her breathing calmer than it had been in days, Priscilla wanted to believe the woman was merely asleep.
But when Running Feet’s eyes opened and fixed on her, a shiver of fear prickled Priscilla’s skin. She grasped the cloth in the washbasin, wrung it out, and pressed it against Running Feet’s forehead.
Eli burst into the room, crossed to the bed, and knelt next to her. He reached for Running Feet’s wrist, his fingers ready to check her pulse.
The woman pulled away from Eli and instead grabbed Priscilla’s hand. “I go now.”
Priscilla shook her head. “No. You’re getting better.”
The woman’s grip tightened. “I go.” Running Feet’s words were softer. “You keep promise.”
She took Priscilla’s hand and placed it on David’s head. Then she moved her own hand on top of Priscilla’s.
The silkiness of David’s hair and the warmth of his baby skin roused the longing deep inside of her. Did she dare think—hope—this sweet baby could be hers?
“Promise.” The breathless word out of Running Feet’s mouth was not a question.
Priscilla met the woman’s gaze.
The dark hollowness was fading. Her grip was weakening.
“Promise,” she whispered again.
Sudden tears burned in Priscilla’s eyes. “I promise.”
Running Feet gave an imperceptible nod and then closed her eyes.
Eli reached for his medical kit and began unraveling it. “This isn’t looking good,” he mumbled.
“Can you save her, Doc?” Squire stopped his pacing to stare at Running Feet.
“I’ll try bleeding her again.”
Running Feet’s hand on top of hers grew heavy.
David squirmed.
At the slight movement, Running Feet’s hand fell off of hers and slid into an awkward angle against the mattress.
Priscilla’s body tensed.
David’s eyes flashed open, and he gave a loud whimper.
Eli rummaged through his case. “I can’t think of anything more to do to help her. We’ve already tried everything.”
Priscilla tried to speak but couldn’t get words past the ache in her throat. Instead she laid her hand on Eli’s arm.
His gaze jerked to the Indian woman. In an instant his shoulders drooped, and he let the scalpel slip from his fingers. “I’m sorry, Squire.”
The big man stared at Running Feet’s face. He ran a hand down the length of his long beard.
She waited for a flicker of emotion to cross his features, for sorrow to pool in his eyes. But he spun toward the door and stalked from the room without a word.
As much as she disliked Squire, she couldn’t prevent an ache from rolling down her throat into her chest. Had he loved Running Feet? Surely he would grieve her loss in his heart, even if he didn’t express it.
David’s whimper changed into a wail. He pushed himself up and held his arms toward Priscilla.
She reached for him and he leaned into her embrace, eager for her—almost as if he’d heard the promise she’d just made to his mother. “Oh, you poor, sweet motherless baby.” He’d lost the most important person in his life, the woman who’d loved him more than anyone else.
Priscilla swallowed past the tightness in her throat. Could she really take this child as her own? What hope did David have to survive now, unless she kept her word to Running Feet?
She wrapped her arms around him in a fierce embrace.
His cries faded, and he curled against her.
She kissed the top of his head and rested her chin there. Would her heart and arms ever widen enough to make a home for this child?
Chapter
19
July 4, 1836
Continental Divide
Mrs. Doc! Mrs. Doc!” The excitement in Richard’s voice roused her.
Even with both ends of the covered wagon open, the faint breeze could not find its way under the canvas dome. The heat, along with the bumping and rocking, had lulled her to a drowsy half sleep.
Richard’s voice propelled her up, and she realized they’d stopped.
Her fingers grazed the rounded cheek of the baby next to her. He stirred, his skin hot to her touch. His hair stuck to his forehead, and she combed it back.
His lips puckered in his sleep, and he sighed softly.
Her heart squeezed with a new protectiveness, a realization that she’d do anything to keep David safe and content.
She turned to peer out the back of the wagon to the same landscape they’d had for days—broad, gently sloping hills covered with dry sage and yellowed weeds growing from the hard-packed earth.
The blue sky against the eastern horizon was broken only by the gentle puffs of a scattering of clouds.
It was hard to believe it had been only four months since she’d left home—it felt like four years. And in the scorching heat of July, the frigidness of the early part of their trip was like a distant dream.
“Mrs. Doc!” Richard bounded up the end of the wagon. His wide smile greeted her, and his ebony eyes glowed. “Come see.”
“Why have we stopped?” She reached for David, ready to wake him to take advantage of any opportunity to get out of the wagon. After they’d buried Running Feet and left Fort William a week ago, she’d had no choice but to travel in the confines of the wagon with the baby. She wasn’t adept in wearing the cradleboard and riding a horse the way Running Feet had been.
Even though Mabel had offered to share in the care of the infant, Priscilla hadn’t wanted to relinquish him. She kept him with her all the time, and thankfully no one had questioned her, not even Black Squire. From what she could tell, he’d lost all interest in the baby the day Running Feet had died. At least she hop
ed so.
David’s eyes opened. At the sight of Priscilla’s face, he gave her a slow, sleepy smile.
Her heart dipped, and she smiled back. “There he is. My little sunshine.”
His smile widened, and he held out his arms to her.
She lifted him and breathed in the sweetness of his baby skin. The breath she exhaled left her with a new and strange contentment.
Richard helped her down from the wagon and steadied her as her feet touched the ground. “Mrs. Doc make good mother.” He tousled David’s hair.
The baby giggled.
“Thank you, Richard.” She tickled the baby’s belly and earned another giggle. The soft sound bubbled through her heart, making it float.
“David like you.”
“He’s a sweet baby.”
Richard’s eyes were round with admiration. “Mrs. Doc mother to many children—some day.”
Her heart rolled over and then toppled to a crashing fall inside her stomach. “No. Actually, I won’t be a mother to many.”
She dropped her chin to stare at the brittle sagebrush, which had become their staple fuel on the barren plains in their endless travel to reach the Rendezvous.
Richard was silent for a moment. “Doc no give Mrs. Doc children?”
She gasped, and mortification spilled over her. Had he figured out that Eli wasn’t her husband in the truest sense of the word? Eli had taken to sleeping outside the tent at night, telling everyone that he liked sleeping in the open under the stars.
But Priscilla knew differently, and she had the feeling Henry did too. But she’d prayed no one else would suspect the true nature of her relationship with Eli.
“Hurry, Sister Ernest, hurry.” Mabel’s call came from the front of the wagon.
“What is it?”
Priscilla hefted David onto her hip and started toward the others who had congregated at the front of the wagons.
“Come celebrate with us, Sister Ernest.” Mabel rushed toward her, her pale face alight with a smile. Even though the dried buffalo meat made Mabel weak and sick, her stomach continued to swell with her growing child. “We’ve officially crossed the Continental Divide through South Pass.”
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