Worth the Wait: A Ladies of Harper's Station Novella

by Karen Witemeyer

  “Mama?” The tiny, muffled voice shot a healthy dose of joy through Tori. Joy and a desperate need to get him free. To hold him and assure herself that he was really all right.

  “Yes, darling.” She tugged on his arm, but the weight of Ben’s torso held him captive. “It’s safe now. The horses are settled.” Tori tried to slip her own arm into the crevice to get a better grip on her child, but she couldn’t find an opening. “Lewis? Help Mama get you out.”

  Little boy grunts echoed beneath her. “I’m stuck.” As Lewis struggled, Ben’s body shifted slightly but not enough to allow escape. “Mama, I can’t move!” His fear spurred Tori to try a new tactic.

  Bracing both hands on Ben’s shoulder, Tori dug her toes into the ground for greater leverage and pushed with all her might.

  Ben flopped onto his back. Tori’s momentum sprawled her atop him, sandwiching Lewis in between. Ben groaned. Tori scrambled off as fast as she could, whispering apologies as she went. Lewis crawled away from his protector, too, and threw himself into his mother’s eager arms.

  Tori lifted him off the ground and hugged him tight. His legs clung to her waist, his arms strangled her neck, and his bony little chest pressed into hers. Nothing could have felt better. She held him close for a long moment, savoring the feel of her child alive and well.

  But there was another who was not so well. One to whom she owed a debt she could never repay.

  She kissed the top of Lewis’s head, then loosened her grip and leaned back to see his face. The tears flowing down his checks send a jolt of alarm through her. “Are you hurt?”

  She immediately scanned him for injury, but he shook his head. “Mr. Ben s-saved me.” He glanced behind him to the man still lying on the ground. “Is he . . . d-dead?”

  “Oh, no, honey. No.” Tori hugged Lewis once again, the guilt and anguish on his young face breaking her heart. “I heard him groan when he rolled over. He’s just hurt. We need to help him.”

  “It’s my f-fault.” Lewis sniffed and his arms tightened around her neck. “I shoulda watched Hercules better.”

  “It was not your fault.” Tori wasn’t about to let him carry that burden. “It was an accident. That’s all. You understand me?”

  Lewis sniffed again, then nodded.

  “Good.” She juggled him a bit in order to reach into her skirt pocket and retrieve a handkerchief. After she wiped his tears away and helped him blow his nose, she stuck the soiled cotton back into her pocket and lowered Lewis to the ground. “Now. Let’s see what we can do to help Mr. Porter.”

  Lewis hovered behind her, sniffing occasionally as she bent down to examine the freighter. She didn’t see any blood or damage on his front side, but then, it had been his back that had taken the horse’s blows.

  “We need to roll him onto his side so I can see his head and back.” She twisted to look at Lewis. “Think you’re up to it?”

  He glanced once at the horses, who grazed a few short feet away, his face filled with apprehension, but then he looked to his mentor and set his jaw. When his eyes met hers, they glowed with determination. He nodded.

  “Good boy.” Tori stood and walked around to the opposite side of Ben’s fallen form then crouched down near his shoulders. “I need you to be here,” she said pointing to a place on the front side near Ben’s legs. Lewis hurried to take up the position. “When I say go, I want you to grab his denims at the top of his hip and pull him toward you as hard as you can. All right?”

  Lewis squatted down and moved his hands into position.

  Tori slid her palms beneath Ben’s back and shoulders. She glanced across at her son. “Ready?”

  He nodded.

  “Go!”

  Together they strained, pulling and pushing, until Ben’s body finally started to roll. Tori wedged herself beneath him, not wanting to give up any ground they gained.

  Why did he have to be such a large, solidly built man? If rolling him over was this hard, they’d never be able to get him into the wagon.

  As the big man rolled slowly onto his side, Tori adjusted her hand position so she could gain greater leverage. Bent low, she pressed up into his back, pushing with her legs. Ben let out a groan. Something warm and wet oozed beneath her palms.

  Blood.

  Heaven help her. She was hurting him!

  She wanted to let go immediately, but that would serve no good purpose. So she continued on, murmuring apologies he couldn’t hear and promises he couldn’t appreciate in his unconscious state. But his lack of awareness did nothing to dim her determination to keep her word. She would do everything in her power to see him restored to health. Whatever it took.

  With one last push, they got him on his side. His head lay at a crooked, uncomfortable-looking angle, but it was the misshapen lump on the back of his skull that caused her the most concern. That and the bloody lines soaking through the back of his shirt.

  Keeping an arm on his shoulder to ensure he didn’t roll farther, Tori met her son’s gaze. “Go fetch the jars of water and the lunch napkins. Put them in the basket and bring them here.”

  Lewis shot to his feet and ran over to the picnic she’d laid out.

  “Oh, and bring the tablecloth, too,” she called as an afterthought. She could use it as a pillow of sorts to prop Ben’s head up. The poor man deserved as much comfort as she could manufacture.

  While Lewis collected the items she’d requested, Tori reached around to Ben’s front and unbuttoned his shirt. She needed to see the wounds on his back.

  Once the buttons were disengaged, she eased his left arm out of his sleeve. The task was much more difficult to perform with a heavily-muscled, grown man than a sleepy four-year old, but she managed. Slowly, she peeled the cotton away from his skin.

  A deep angry groove in the shape of a horseshoe marred the space between his shoulder blades. There wasn’t much blood, thank the Lord, just a few shallow places where the skin had broken. And since the blow had hit the high part of his back instead of the lower fleshy areas around the kidneys or liver, she had every hope that the internal damage had been minimal. It would cause him considerable pain and would no doubt turn half his back black-and-blue, but it shouldn’t be a cause of major concern. Just to be sure, though, she ran her hands over the expanse of his back, feeling for any fractures that might exist in his shoulder blades, ribs, or spine. All while trying to ignore the impressive contours of muscle she traced. And the alarming amount of pleasure she derived from her exploration.

  Thankfully, the clanking of canning jars and high-pitched puppy yaps announced Lewis’s return.

  “I got it,” he huffed as dropped the basket to the ground beside Tori. He dragged half of the tablecloth behind him in the dirt, but she supposed Ben wouldn’t mind a little dust. She’d just have to keep the worst of it away from his head wound.

  “Good job, Lewis. Thank you.” She took the tablecloth from him and eased it under Ben’s head, taking care to fold the cleanest section on the outside where the freighter’s head rested.

  “His back is real scraped up, Mama.” Lines of concern grooved Lewis’s forehead.

  All Tori could do was nod agreement. There were several smaller abrasions along the lower section of Ben’s back, but the red marks were superficial and most were not even bleeding. It was the lump on his head that worried her.

  After taking a couple minutes to clean the larger wound on his upper back, Tori shoved aside her dread and faced the challenge she’d been avoiding. His head.

  She inhaled a deep breath and tried to recall everything Maybelle had done for him the last time he’d sustained a head injury—the day Angus Johnson had ambushed him and wrecked his wagon. Probe the wounded area for tenderness. Clean away the dirt and blood. Stitch up any gash that might exist.

  Nibbling on her bottom lip, Tori gently tunneled her fingers into Ben’s blackish brown hair at the back of his skull. As she neared the swollen area, wetness spread over her fingertips. A lot of wetness. She pulled her hand away. Red
covered her hand.

  “Mama?” Lewis’s voice wobbled.

  Tori immediately hid her hand in her skirt. “It’s all right, honey. Miss Maybelle says that scalp wounds bleed a lot. It’s nothing to fret about.” Not that she was doing a good job of following that advice. Her pulse had ratcheted up when she’d seen all that blood on her hand. “Why don’t you find Mr. Porter’s hat and take it back to the wagon for him. Take the picnic food, too. You and Hercules can eat a couple of the sandwiches. I’ll call you if I need more help.”

  “Okay.” Lewis turned to his puppy. “Come on, Herc. Time to eat.”

  As soon as he left, Tori returned to her examination. A lump wider than the palm of her hand had swollen up at the back of Ben’s head. A large, arc-shaped gash splayed open at the top of the area, deep enough she could see the white of his bone.

  A gag rose in Tori’s throat, but she fought it down. There was no time for squeamishness.

  She poured a stream of water over the gash to wash away the blood and used a napkin to clean away the worst of the dirt. She wished now she’d never rolled him onto his back in order to free Lewis. What if the wound got infected because of her? She should have taken off her suit jacket and laid it beneath him. Protected him as he’d protected her son. But at the time, she’d been too desperate to free Lewis to think clearly.

  She needed to get him to a house. Someplace where they would have spirits to clean the wound and salves to help it heal. She’d brought needles and thread in her sewing notions crate, but she dared not stitch his wound closed before it was adequately cleaned. Maybelle never stitched any wound without treating it with some kind of alcohol. She soaked the needle and thread in it, too, if Tori recalled correctly.

  For now, she’d have to bandage it up as well as she could and figure out some way to get him into the wagon.

  Lord, you’re going to have to work that part out.

  Dealing with the impossibility of getting Ben up into the wagon bed was beyond her capabilities. One worry at a time. His injury came first.

  She folded the last clean napkin into a thick square and set it in the basket. As she did so, her hand knocked up against the knife she’d packed for cutting the sandwiches. Perfect. That would make tearing a strip from her petticoat much easier. She needed something to act as a bandage, a strip long enough to wrap around Ben’s head. The napkins were too short and the tablecloth too dirty. She supposed she could use some of the calico she’d brought, but somehow she just couldn’t imagine a pattern of tiny flowers wrapped around Benjamin Porter’s head. The white cotton of her underskirt would be much more dignified.

  Tori slowly got to her feet, lifted her skirt, and grabbed hold of her petticoat. Taking the knife, she cut a slit in the cotton directly below the seam that held the three-inch ruffle in place. Once she had a hole large enough to get her fingers inside, she fisted her hand around the fabric and pulled. The rending sound filled her with satisfaction as the ruffle pulled free. Using her knife again, she sliced vertically through the fabric at the bottom of the loop and created a long, wide strip of cotton ready to be made into a bandage. Holding it high to keep it from touching the dirt, she gathered it into a wad and folded it into her belly as she crouched back down. She returned the knife to the bottom of the basket and retrieved the dressing she’d made moments ago.

  “Sorry, Ben,” she murmured. “This is going to hurt.” She pressed the dressing firmly against the gash and the swollen area beneath.

  The big man moaned and mumbled something. She couldn’t understand him, but the thought that he might have spoken, speared her with hope.

  “Ben? Can you hear me?” Please, God, let him wake up.

  Holding the dressing in place, Tori scooted around to the front of him to better see his face. His eyes were still closed, but he grimaced as she jostled his head. That had to mean he was semiconscious. Right?

  “Ben. Please. Open your eyes.” She stared at his lashes, willing them to lift. Maybe if she kept talking. . . . “You’ve been injured. Helios became frightened and reared. You took a blow to your head and another to your back. I’ve cleaned the wounds as best I can, but we need to get you somewhere where I can tend you properly.” His eyelids twitched but didn’t open.

  She cradled his head while holding the dressing in one hand, then fed the end of the bandage into the fingers cupping his skull and started wrapping the fabric around his forehead, careful to steer clear of his eyes. Not knowing what else to do, she started chattering again, saying whatever popped into her mind.

  “I need you to wake up, Ben. We have to get you into the wagon, but you’re too heavy for me to lift.” She reached the end of her bandage and tied it off. She should probably leave him laying there and see to hitching up the horses. It was a task she could actually manage, and one that would have to be done before they could seek help, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave him. Not yet.

  She leaned closer and gently took his face into her hands. His rugged, beautiful face. “Thank you,” she said, her voice suddenly growing husky as moisture collected at the back of her throat. “Thank you for saving my son.” She touched her lips to his bandage-covered forehead. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Benjamin Porter. And I’m frightened by how much you are coming to mean to me.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Tori.” The low mumble of words brought her head up like a shot.

  “Ben?”

  His mouth quirked a half smile even as his eyes fluttered open. “I like hearing you say my name.”

  Never had she seen such beautiful gray eyes. “Do you remember what happened?”

  He tried to nod, then winced and stilled. “Helios got spooked.” Tension suddenly stiffened his muscles. His gaze zeroed in on hers. “Lewis?”

  She smiled. “He’s fine. Worried about you, though.”

  He sighed, and relaxed. His eyes slid closed, and Tori started to panic. He couldn’t lose consciousness again—not before they got him in the wagon.

  “Ben!” she ordered. “Open your eyes.”

  Praise the Lord, he complied.

  “I need you to stand up. We’ve got to get you into the wagon.”

  His jaw clenched, and he rolled forward slightly, catching himself with one arm. Tori hurried to help. Moving as smoothly as she could to minimize the jarring to his head, she helped him into a sitting position. He glanced down at his naked chest.

  “Where’s my shirt?”

  Cheeks heating, Tori reached behind him and snagged the dangling shirt sleeve and held it open for him to push his left arm through. When she finally found the wherewithal to look him in the face again, the teasing look in his pain-filled eyes nearly toppled her onto her backside.

  “Knew you liked my muscles.”

  Of all the . . . Oh, who was she kidding? She did like his muscles. Though they both knew that had nothing to do with his shirt being undone.

  “Modesty is obviously not one of your virtues.” She’d tried to make the statement sound prim, but it filtered through her smile and came out sounding flirtatious instead. Her. Flirtatious. Good grief. Head injuries must be contagious.

  Offering herself as a human crutch, Tori managed to get Ben on his feet, and together they hobbled to the wagon. Lewis arranged the pallet of quilts for Ben to lie on and kept Hercules contained while Tori fetched the team. It took longer than she would have liked to get the Shires hitched, but twenty minutes later, she was finally in the driver’s seat reaching for the reins.

  The only question was which way to go. She wanted to turn back the way they had come, start heading toward home to Maybelle’s capable doctoring, but the last house they’d passed was thirty minutes away and belonged to that awful lecher who’d propositioned her. A shiver coursed through her. She couldn’t go there. It wouldn’t be safe. Nor clean. She pulled a face as she recalled the vile man’s poor hygiene. Ben was more likely to catch an infection than prevent one if they stopped there.

  The Deer Spring turnoff called to her. F
our years ago, there’d been a house not far from this very junction. A well-kept clapboard home, picket fence, garden. She’d passed it as she left her home behind and dreamt of raising Lewis in a place just like it someday.

  Her gut clenched as she contemplated turning the horses down that road. A road she swore to herself she’d never set foot upon again.

  But Ben needed help. And that house, if still occupied, was the closest potential source of help.

  Steeling her nerves, Tori made up her mind. She clicked to the horses, snapped the reins, and headed down the road to Deer Spring.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Ben gritted his teeth as the wagon bumped down the road, determined to hold onto consciousness. His head felt like a smithy’s anvil with the blacksmith pounding a sledge against the back of his skull over and over. Yet even through the haze of pain, he’d noticed which direction Tori had steered the team. Whatever had her spooked about this road, he didn’t want her facing it alone. Even if the only attackers were memories from her past. He might not be able to fight off a flesh-and-blood enemy at the moment, but he could battle ghosts. And he aimed to do just that.

  “I see the house up ahead, Ben.” Tori twisted slightly to toss the words over her shoulder. “We’ll have you there soon. I promise.”

  He grunted a bit in response. It was all he could manage with the majority of his energy being spent staving off the darkness that kept encroaching. Her continued use of his given name served as a pleasant distraction, though. Ben’s mouth quirked up just a bit at the corners. The fact that she hadn’t reinforced the formality between them now that the initial scare had passed gave him hope that one barrier might have finally come down.

  The wagon dipped to the left as Tori turned off the main road. Ben couldn’t see much beyond sky, but he could hear a dog bark and children’s voices. He relaxed just a bit. Kids generally meant womenfolk and family. Less chance of Tori running into another unsavory character.