Winter Winds of Wyoming

by Fyffe, Caroline

  “Thank you.” She liked his warm gaze roaming her face. Would he ever think her more than a girl? She wished she could just tell him what was in her heart.

  “All you had to do was ask, Adaline. No thanks necessary. Go on now.” He gave a slight nudge. “You need to get back to the Lings’. By now, I’m sure Mr. Ling thinks you’re not coming.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Violet had been inside the Lings’ home a handful of times. She remembered the sparsely furnished room, the braided rug, and the scent of scorched linen that must cling to their clothes traveling from one building to another. Against one wall, a bright-red chest with ancient gold- leaf etchings caught her eye. A wooden stool with a curved, varnished black seat. At the back of the room stood a table, stove, and some cupboards.

  Mr. Ling greeted her when she entered.

  Lan, curled in one of the two cloth chairs, jumped up, ran to Violet, and threw her arms around her waist.

  “Don’t ya worry, little one. Yer mama’ll be jist fine.” Violet reached into her box and drew out a small bag of oatmeal cookies. “These are jist for you, child. Soon, ya’ll have a babe to hold—so be patient.” She wasn’t a midwife, although she had been called on a few times to see an expectant mother through.

  Lan leaned back and smiled into Violet’s face. “Thank you. I like your cookies.” Distracted, she took one and nibbled the edges.

  Violet glanced over her shoulder at Dalton, who’d remained by the door when he’d entered. His hat dangled in his fingertips, and his brow crinkled in a concerned frown. “Ya best stay here, Deputy, whiles I go check on our mama.” Sure is quiet. I’m used to women screamin’ and hollerin’. The silence jitters my nerves.

  Inside the bedroom, Bao was covered with a bedsheet. Her normally smooth brow was sweaty and creased. A loose bun kept her long, dark hair out of her face. Swallowed up in the bed, she looked like a girl. Her eyes were closed.

  “Thank goodness, you’re here,” Adaline whispered, taking the box of remedies and setting them on the dresser at the back of the room. “Everything has been very calm so far. She hardly makes a sound, even with a contraction. I have no idea if anything is wrong.”

  “Wrong? Nothin’s wrong. Pain starts, and the baby pops out. Couldn’t be easier.”

  Adaline smiled. “That’s good to hear.” She turned for the door.

  Violet caught her elbow. “I’m gonna need yer hilp, missy.”

  “M-Me?” Adaline sputtered. “But I’ve never— I thought…”

  “You a fainter?”

  Adaline shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never delivered a baby before.”

  Violet narrowed her eyes. “Guess we’ll jist hafta hope fer the best.” She went to the bedside and smoothed the blanket over the woman’s round belly, the hump resembling the award-winning melons Violet used to cultivate back in Valley Springs when she had her mercantile. Bao had grown over the last two weeks, and she was a small woman. The combination might spell trouble. A shiver crawled over Violet’s skin. Childbirth was a dangerous process. A matter of life and death.

  “Violet?”

  Adaline touched her arm, making her jump.

  “Is everything all right?”

  She shook off the ghoulishness and gave a small smile. “Sure, sure, I’m jist assessin’ the patient. Always good ta sit back and observe before jumping in with my eyes closed.” And taking time ta pray to our maker for deliverance for Mama and child. She glanced around the small room, barely large enough for the bed, a nightstand, and chest of drawers. “Stuffy in here. Can ya crack the window? We want the air ta be sweet. Good for the babe’s little lungs.”

  “Should you do something? Examine her?” Adaline whispered.

  The words tickled Violet’s left ear. Everyone expects me ta work miracles. Well, I ain’t God.

  She turned to her small brown bottles. “I am, child, jist as soon as she awakens with another pain. I’ll examine her then, and not a second before. Best she git as much sleep now as she can—preserve her strength, so to speak. No tellin’ how long this birthin’ll take. Sometimes days. A woman needs fortitude. Now, while we’re waiting, and yer’re willin’, take these raspberry leaves and make a pot of very strong tea. The brew will help prepare her woman’s muscles and slow bleedin’, iffin any occurs. Hilps ta expel the afterbirth too—when the time comes.”

  Adaline stared at the shriveled black leaves Violet shook from the jar and into her palm. Unconsciously her brow furrowed.

  “Ya gonna second-guess every step I make, girl? Because if so, I don’t need that kind of hilp.”

  “Oh, no, I’m sorry. These just look so—black.”

  “They’re dried from summertime. Ya’d be black and stiff too, iffin I’d stored ya away in a brown jar with no light. They might be ugly, but they’ll work jist the same. Now, light a fire under yer feet or I’ll have ta call for Mr. Ling.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  With that, Adaline left her alone with the sound of Bao’s quiet breathing and her haunting memories from years long past. Violet had come to peace with them, because that was the only thing she could do. The past couldn’t be changed. She’d done everything in her power to deliver those babes without heartbreak. But some things just aren’t meant to be—and no one knows why except God.

  Bao slept on, undisturbed, the blanket rising and falling with each breath.

  Feeling lightheaded, Violet lowered herself into the chair. Most births were easy, uneventful deliveries—just long and painful. Sweet, pink, bright-eyed young’uns were the prize. Their skin soft and rosy. Their eyes as clear as a mountain stream in the springtime. She’d keep those memories in mind and chase away the dark ones. Nothing untoward would happen tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In the kitchen alcove of the small Ling home, Dalton rested a hip against the wooden counter in deep thought. The bedroom was eerily quiet.

  Tap Ling sat at the table, staring into a cup of tea he’d yet to taste.

  Lan still rested in the chair by the door.

  The bedroom door opened, and Adaline stepped out.

  Her face was oyster-shell white and she held something in her hand. She was frightened. And why wouldn’t she be? He was nervous as well.

  Mr. Ling looked up.

  “How’s she doing?” Dalton knew from experience birthing a baby wasn’t quick or easy. Strange how he kept getting thrown into similar situations over his lifetime. Once, when he was a delivery boy for the mercantile in Breckenridge, he’d taken a package a short way out of town and was greeted at the door by a red-faced, frantic woman, nearly scaring him to death. She begged him to run to town for help.

  Then, back when he worked as shotgun messenger for Wells Fargo, a woman passenger went into labor. They’d stopped, and everyone exited the conveyance so she could give birth inside. With no shade in sight, the scorching sun beat down on the compassionless travelers, all men, who were none too happy being waylaid for hours in outlaw-ridden country. Thankfully, another woman was aboard. Dalton sat atop the stage, rifle in hand, baking in the mid-day sun, and kept watch. As long and as hot as those hours were, they didn’t compare to the horrible sounds coming from inside. Each time the woman screamed, the horses trembled in their harnesses. Every person, including himself, feared she’d bring outlaws down on their heads. When the travelers demanded she be left behind to wait for another stage, Dalton held them off with a few well-placed bullets between their boots. No one would be kicked off his stage without due cause. Especially a defenseless woman and tiny babe. He’d been mighty proud to learn she’d named her son Dalton Braveheart McCann.

  “No baby yet,” Adaline responded to his question. “Violet’s waiting until after the next contraction to examine her.” She looked down at the crumpled black leaves she held in her hand. “I’m to make tea. Violet puts a lot of stock in her herbal medicines. She says raspberry tea will help.”

  Dalton lifted the kettle
, finding a good amount of water inside. “This water is already hot.” He gestured to Mr. Ling’s cup then went to the cupboard. All the cups were tiny. They wouldn’t hold enough to help a flea. “I’ll run over to the Silky Hen for a coffee mug.” He fed the woodstove with two additional logs and was gone.

  The cool air bathed Dalton’s moist skin like a welcomed splash into a cool lake. His nerves were strung tight. The town was quiet. Lanterns glittered behind drawn curtains. By now, Thom had been to the sheriff’s office and wondered where he was. Dwight might have offered an explanation, but Wil certainly wouldn’t. For the last three days, this was the time of the evening Dalton had pulled his chair close to the stove and read his detective manual until he felt sleepy—which was usually after one page. He’d much rather read a newspaper—too bad Logan Meadows didn’t have one.

  A few months ago, the Chinese uprising in Rock Springs was all anyone spoke about. Had tensions died down with the migrant workers and the whites? Had more Chinese been murdered?

  As soon as he delivered the cup to Adaline, he’d take five minutes to return to the sheriff’s office and let Thom know about Mrs. Ling and that he was remaining with Adaline for as long as he was needed. Entering the Silky Hen, he went straight to the kitchen, purposely ignoring the few diners so he wouldn’t be sucked into a conversation. He didn’t have a moment to lose. “I need to borrow this.” He surprised Roberta when he plucked a clean mug from the shelf.

  On his return trip, the older gentleman who’d arrived with Wil Lemon from Newport waved his arm from a table by the window and called him over.

  Just what I don’t need. All he could think about was Adaline’s frightened face. “Mr. Ford.” Dalton felt pressed for time.

  “Deputy. I just wanted to say hello. We’ll be leaving as soon as Allen feels up to another journey. My wife is anxious to have him back in San Francisco.”

  Dalton glanced around. “Where is your son?”

  “Up in the room. He didn’t feel strong enough to sit through supper. I’m taking him a tray when I’ve finished.”

  Impatience burned inside Dalton.

  “I’ve had plenty of time to think. If Jake hadn’t seen you, his friend, in the camp and risked life and limb, as well as his sister’s, for you, I’d have never learned what had happened to Allen. You’re just as responsible for Allen’s good fortune as Jake.”

  Dalton held up his hand. In no way, shape, or form would he take any credit belonging to Jake and Adaline. “No, Mr. Ford, I’m not responsible, and I don’t want any glory or thanks. Jake and Adaline were the heroes, not me.” He glanced at the door, the cup in hand. “I’m off. Need to let Dr. Thorn know Mrs. Ling is giving birth.”

  The man straightened. “Oh! I’m sorry for the delay,” he said quickly. “Then I must hurry. First, my wife and I don’t have fluid funds available to give you a reward, as we gave what we could to Jake—but I really want to thank you in some way. You’ll always have a job with me if you return to San Francisco. The foreman in my furniture company is retiring next year. Until then, you could learn the business and what’s required to keep the place running well. You’ll have a good salary and stability. We’re indebted to you for the rest of your life. Or, if you like, I can refer you to some of my friends who own other types of businesses. I don’t mean to boast, but I’m well liked, and my word carries weight. I have many, many connections. We can find you something to suit your interests. You’ll be a wealthy man.”

  Stunned, Dalton just stared. “Thank you, Mr. Ford! I’ll keep your generous offer in mind,” he finally got out. He wouldn’t take a reward, but a good-paying job was something else entirely.

  “I’ll leave my address with the hotel. If you decide to take me up on the offer, just send a post.”

  Dalton nodded and turned toward the door.

  “Wait!” Mr. Ford called to his back.

  Dalton glanced over his shoulder.

  “I can save you a trip to Dr. Thorn’s. He came to see Allen earlier today and began to feel unwell. He had a fever of his own and has retired. He’s concerned about the rest of the town. Roberta told me her daughter went home early today as well. The doctor thinks the courier from New Meringue brought the illness. He’s staying with the doctor.”

  Dalton suddenly recalled the message he’d gotten about Albert and Susanna staying a few days longer. He hoped they weren’t in danger. Or little Nate, either. “I see. Thank you for letting me know.”

  As the door closed, Dalton heard Mr. Ford call, “Keep my offer in mind, Mr. Babcock. The door is always open. We need good, honest, and brave men like yourself to build up our growing city. If nothing else, we must stay in touch and…”

  Once Mr. Ford got talking, he could go on for minutes without taking a breath. Dalton meant no disrespect, and he was certainly humbled and amazed by the offer. But all that could wait. He glanced at the blue-speckled porcelain mug in his hand, wondering how things were progressing, if at all, across the street.

  Hurrying down the alley, Dalton stopped and stared at the quiet house.

  No doctor tonight!

  The front door opened.

  “Dalton? Is that you? I thought I saw movement out here,” Adaline whispered from the doorway. “Did you get a mug? The tea is ready.”

  He sucked in a breath of cold December air. “I sure did, Adaline.” He strode forward with a smile. I got the mug and a whole lot more bad news. No doctor. Influenza. But I won’t share my revelations unless absolutely necessary. No one here needs to know no help will come tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Feeling bolstered now since Dalton had returned from across the street, Adaline headed for the quiet bedroom with a hot, strongly brewed mug of raspberry tea.

  Finished with his errand, Dalton took on the task of entertaining Lan, distracting her with stories from his past.

  Just the sound of his deep, confident tone brought relief, as well as longing. She’d done her best to catch his gaze and smile knowingly, as if they shared a wonderful secret, as Marlene had instructed. But he never seemed to pick up on her subtle hints. Marlene was the closest person she had to a mother. But she’d also been a saloon girl. Was she unintentionally leading her astray? Most of Marlene’s words felt motherly, except for the seduction and get-him-to-want-you part. Adaline was conflicted.

  Opening and closing the door quietly, she found Violet slumped in the chair, the same place she’d been when Adaline left the room. She looked old and weary. Dusky circles swagged beneath each eye. The long, gray hair Violet took such pride in was haphazardly knotted on top of her head, resembling a bramble bush. At some point, while Adaline had been out of the room, she’d donned a full-length, snowy-white apron, free of any crease, crinkle, or crumple. The garment covered her mulberry flannel dress almost to her shoes.

  Bao panted. A light sheen of perspiration covered her face. The small woman gave a wobbly nod.

  Adaline forced a smile and brought the tea close with unsteady hands. “This is for you, Mrs. Ling. Violet’s tea made from raspberry leaves. It should help.”

  Grimacing, Bao wedged herself onto her elbow and cupped the mug with a trembling hand as Adaline kept a firm grip herself. Mrs. Ling blew on the surface for a few moments and then took several tiny sips. “Thank you.” She sighed deeply. “How is Lan? Frightened?”

  Adaline shook her head. “Not too much. Mr. Babcock is regaling her with stories from his past—but nothing too scary.”

  “Regaling?”

  “He’s a fabulous storyteller and is quite entertaining. He adds dramatic facial expressions and funny sounds. But she’s tired. I’m sure she’ll be asleep soon.”

  Bao’s nod was so small the movement was almost imperceptible.

  “And Mr. Ling? He is sensitive man.” Her eyes smiled. “Worried when labor start. I am concern more for him than Lan.”

  “He’s fine.” Men. What did they have to worry about?

  Using the ch
air arms, Violet pushed herself to her feet.

  “So?” Adaline studied her old friend. “I haven’t heard a peep from in here. Any contractions? And did you get a chance to examine her?”

  “Yesiree,” Mrs. Hollyhock finally said and winked at Bao.

  Relief washed through Adaline. For a moment, she’d been fearful Violet had lost her wits. Now, she seemed back to her normal self.

  “Checked a few minutes back. Everything looks dandy. This little lady is strong and productive—and quiet. I won’t go into the details and shock ya, ya bein’ a young girl still. Best I can figure, she’s more than halfway there. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  By the way Violet gnawed her lower lip, Adaline wasn’t reassured all that much. Well, they always had Dr. Thorn if Mrs. Ling needed medical assistance Violet couldn’t provide. And he was only two doors down. Adaline helped Mrs. Ling take more tea and then busied herself smoothing the sheet on the side of the bed. She snuck another look at her old friend. Was she feeling all right? Violet did know what she was doing, didn’t she?

  After a slow hour of intensifying contractions, she was sent out for more tea. She felt like a sleepwalker, stoking the fire and adding water to the kettle.

  Dalton appeared at her side out of nowhere. A dark shadow stubbled his face beneath his concerned gaze.

  Surprised, Adaline glanced around. “I’d thought you’d left an hour ago.”

  “I did. To tell Thom where I was in case he needed me. You walked right by me.”

  “What did Thom say about Wil and Dwight being locked up?”

  “He wasn’t there. He’d left a note. He’s staying home to nurse Hannah, who isn’t feeling well. The men don’t need watching.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I heard about Hannah earlier today. I hope she recovers quickly. Where’s Mr. Ling? Did he go out, too?”

  “He’s in with Lan. He put her to bed some time back, but she came out several times, asking for this or for that, worried about her mama.”