Dangerous Heart (9 page)

The veiled threat in his eyes made her heart race. “I don't plan to double-cross anyone.”

He nodded and let her go. “Keep it that way.”

Ginger picked up her buckets and headed toward the water. It hadn't occurred to her to go against Web. This was what they did. Stealing to live. She didn't have to like it, but she couldn't go against her own flesh and blood.

Guilt squeezed her heart as she was pulled between loyalty to Web and the wagon train folks. For the first time that she could remember, she truly understood what was decent and right, and she didn't like being on the other side of the issue.

Web had been right. She was different now. It felt funny. Not good. Suddenly, pulled between her old life and the future she craved in Oregon, Ginger honestly didn't know where she belonged.

Ginger went straight to the supply tent when she returned to camp carrying the water. She slipped inside to find Grant there with Buddy.

“How is he?” she asked, setting the buckets on the floor and stepping forward. His chest rose and fell steadily, and he seemed to be resting more peacefully than he had for two days. “He's better?”

Grant nodded. “He's lucky. He'll be a little weak for a few days, but I had hope when he didn't die yesterday that he'd pull through.”

“You never said anything.”

Grant stood and offered her his seat next to the pallet. “I didn't want to get your hopes up, just in case I was wrong.”

Ginger looked down at Buddy. His pale face was sunken, and he looked ten years older than he had three days ago. “Are you sure he's getting better?”

Grant rested a warm hand on her shoulder. “Yes. He's over the worst. He hasn't been sick in several hours, and he's kept water down. So it's a real encouraging sign.”

“Thank you, Grant.”

Turning, she took a breath and faced him. “I have a favor to ask.”

He squatted down eyelevel with her. “You looked troubled. What can I do?”

“I need some of the supply of quinine.”

He frowned. “What do you mean? Are you ailing?”

“Oh, no. It's not me. It's just…”

How could she tell him that she needed part of his precious supply of medicine to treat the very men responsible for bringing the disease to the wagon train in the first place?

“The outlaws?”

Ginger's eyes went wide. “How did you know?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “You know, it doesn't take much to figure out that your pa and Buddy came at the same time as the outlaws raided. Sam and Blake aren't fooled. They've also been keeping an eye on the tracks the outlaws have been making. They don't seem too worried about hiding. If I was trying to hide out, I'd be inclined to make my camp a little farther away than they have.”

Ginger gave a nod. “I agree. I don't know what Web was thinking.”

“Well, at any rate, now you know why Blake has doubled the sentries.”

“What do Sam and Blake intend to do?”

“I'm not sure. I imagine they'll contact the law or turn them over to the soldiers once we get to Fort Boise.”

Panic washed over her. “Buddy hasn't done anything, Grant. All he's ever wanted was to be a doctor like you. I understand turning in the rest of them. Me, even. But not Buddy.”

“It's not my call.” He gathered a breath. “I can't spare the quinine, Ginger. Three more cases are confirmed this morning. I'm most likely going to run out before I can administer it to the rest of our sick folk.” His eyes clouded with regret. “I'm sorry. I wish there was more I could do.”

Ginger rose slowly as disappointment and anger built inside of her and bubbled over. “You're sorry? Men will die, and you're sorry? They may be nothing more than worthless outlaws to you, Grant Kelley, but I was raised with those men. They're like brothers. Some of them, anyway.”

“I'm sorry. Truly I am. I wish there was something…”

“Save your
sorry
s for someone who believes you,” she spat. “I can't believe I almost changed my mind about you.”

“Here, now. Just a minute. You're not being fair. My first responsibility is to these people. I'm sorry that disappoints you, but I can't apologize for not taking our small amount of medicine and giving it away to thieves and cutthroats.”

“Like I said,” she hissed standing over him, “save your apologies for someone whose brother you didn't kill.”

She stormed out of the tent, fighting hard against tears of anger. Oh no. She wouldn't give into them. Grant Kelley wasn't worth one single tear.

Grant frowned after Ginger as the stubborn, infuriating woman slammed out of the tent, sloshing water from her buckets as she left. What did she expect him to do? Let the wagon train folks die off one by one so those confounded outlaws could recover to rob another day? So they could kill another man's wife? She was being completely unreasonable. But then, when had she ever shown a lick of reason?

Buddy moaned a little and opened his eyes. “Water…” he mumbled.

Grant dipped the tin cup into the water bucket and brought it to the boy's lips. “Take it easy,” he said as Buddy drank with greed.

“Thank you,” he said and rested back on his pillow as though the very act of lifting his shoulders long enough to take a sip was too much for him.

“You're welcome, son.” Grant patted Buddy's shoulder. “You're going to be fine, now.”

Buddy nodded. “I knew it. I heard Ginger praying for me the other night. I knew right then that I was going to get well.”

Surprise lifted Grant's brow. “I didn't know Ginger was the sort of woman who prays.”

“She never was before. I think somethin's changed her, being with this wagon train. She's nicer than she used to be. Don't frown near as much.” His eyes were closed again.

Grant digested this information in silence. She didn't frown as much as she used to? Then she must have been one perpetual growl before she joined the wagon train. He'd never seen such a grumpy woman.

“I heard what you said about the rest of the group,” Buddy said, his speech coming more slowly, quieter. “Ginger's just thinking of Clem, that's all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our brother…” The boy faded and Grant knew that no more answers were forthcoming.

He gathered up his supplies and left the tent, coming face to face with Miss Sadie. The woman had worked around the clock as new cases were popping up all over camp. She worked every bit as hard as he did, and Grant honestly didn't know what he would have done without her.

“Two more cases,” she said grimly, not wasting time on greetings and niceties. She shook her head. “This is bad. We have to stop the spread before we lose half our people.”

“I know, Miss Sadie, but I don't see how.”

“We should make sure those men stay out of camp from now on, for one thing,” she said with a huff.

“You know about them?”

Miss Sadie nodded. “Only a fool wouldn't put two and two together.”

“Ginger asked me for quinine to give to those outlaws,” he said, the words bitter in his mouth. “How could she even ask me to risk running out when our own people are in the middle of this epidemic?”

“Those are her people.”

“Her people.”

“Don't sound so angry. A person doesn't choose where they come from.”

“She doesn't have to want to doctor them, does she? She knows they are no good.”

“No good?” Miss Sadie shook her head. “Who are you to decide who is or isn't good?”

People were beginning to stare. Grant dropped his tone and leaned in. “They're outlaws.”

“And every bit as precious in God's sight as anyone one of us. From you and me, to Yellow Bird's newborn babe.”

Grant's thoughts returned to an awful, nightmarish day seven years ago when men just like these attacked the stagecoach where he and his wife rode. Sarah had just told him she was pregnant the week before so the entire ride until the attack had been filled with excitement and discussion about baby names, supplies, the blanket she was knitting as they rode along. When he had found that partial blanket later, it was soaked in Sarah's blood.

“Maybe, but I'm not risking the lives of one of these good, decent folks for the likes of those vermin.” He couldn't discuss it anymore. “If you'll excuse me, Miss Sadie, I'd best go and check on Edna Stewart.”

Miss Sadie nodded and patted him on the shoulder.
“You're a good, godly man, Grant. Don't let bitterness make you forget that.”

Grant nodded, squeezing the older woman's hand as he walked past. He drew a deep breath. There had to be a lesson in this somewhere. He just wasn't sure what. Ginger would surely see reason and realize he couldn't give up the wagon train's supply of medicine. It wouldn't matter who needed it. They came first, and there was precious little quinine, as it was.

He only hoped there would be enough to get them through the worst of the epidemic.

 

Ginger dreaded having to face Elijah. How could she tell him that there was no help to be had. She knew she owed Grant an apology, too. Only an unreasonable fool would hold a grudge against a man trying to save an entire wagon train of folks.

That, however, didn't make her task any easier. Heavyhearted, she trudged up the ridge to her meeting place with Elijah. She found a boulder and sat to wait for him. Her thoughts went to the group of dying men in the camp. They didn't deserve to die without at least someone trying to save them. But it was too late for Murray. James would be next, then who? Yuley? Poor, slow, Yuley, who barely knew his own name half the time. He'd never understand being so sick.

Tears formed in Ginger's eyes. Sure, these men might be thieves, but they weren't all bad. No matter what anyone thought. They didn't deserve to die off, one by one, without anyone caring for them.

Dead leaves crackled, and she turned, expecting to find Elijah. Surprise lifted her brow at the sight of Miss Sadie coming toward her carrying a burlap bag.

“Miss Sadie? What are you doing out here?”

She shoved the bag toward Ginger. “Onions. Boil them good and feed the broth to anyone complaining of cholera symptoms.”

“Onions?”

Miss Sadie nodded. “Nature's the best cure for most ails. I learned about this from an old midwife back home. But too late to save my family. It'll kill the disease from the inside out if you get to it fast enough.”

“Why are you telling me about this? Grant's the one you ought to be talking to. He's so all fired sure the quinine is going to run out. He'll be overjoyed with another form of treatment.”

“You sound about as mad as a wet hen. Something you want to talk about?”

“No,” Ginger said flatly. There was nothing to say on the subject. And if she started spouting her opinion of doctor Grant Kelley, she'd likely say too much.

“Well, don't talk about it then, but I had a talk with Grant,” Miss Sadie said frankly. “He told me you asked for quinine.”

“Yes, and he turned me down flat.”

“As he should have.”

“You too, huh?”

The older woman's eyes narrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“So much for Christian charity when it comes to outlaws.” She sniffed her disdain at the hypocrisy.

“Now, you listen up young lady,” Miss Sadie said, demanding Ginger's gaze, unyielding in her determined stance. “Christian charity doesn't mean giving away our small supply of medicine and letting a wagon train full of children die. And if you think it does, then you have a mighty confused idea of what being a Christian is.”

“Maybe I do. But Grant does too, if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn't ask you, and it just so happens that the reason I brought the onions was so you can take them to your outlaw friends.”

Ginger gave a gasp. “They aren't my friends.”

“Well, I'm not going to belabor the coincidence of the outlaw attack happening just before your brother and pa showed up. And lo and behold, now there's a camp of no-goods needing your help. What a string of coincidences, indeed.” Miss Sadie rolled her eyes.

Well, when she put it that way, there was no point in denying anything. But did she have to be so sarcastic about it? Ginger's cheeks burned, but she refused to give in to the embarrassment. She lifted her chin and forced herself to look Miss Sadie straight in the eye.

“Have you told Grant about the onions?” she asked. “Maybe he'd be a little more charitable if he knew there might be another remedy after the quinine runs out.”

Miss Sadie shook her head. “I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet. Once I recalled the concoction, I got Yellow Bird making a strong batch back at our camp, and then I came
to find you before you sent your outlaw friend away empty-handed.”

The woman was as stubborn-minded as an old worn out mule. “I told you they are not…”

Miss Sadie held up a weathered hand in silence. “And I thought I told you I'd not argue the point.”

“Well, they're not my friends,” Ginger muttered.

Without acknowledging her words, Miss Sadie continued. “We'll need to round up all the onions we can find and trust God that there will be enough.”

“You think we could run out of those too?”

Miss Sadie's shoulders rose and fell. “That's up to God, I suppose.”

“What about Fort Boise? It's only a day's ride on horseback. I bet they're loaded down with onions, wild and planted.”

Miss Sadie shook her head. “We can't risk passing along the cholera to the folks for the fort. Besides, two families have left the wagon train, I'm sure word will reach the fort soon, and they'd turn us away, anyhow.” She nodded at the bag in Ginger's hand. “You just do your best to make those last. Feed the most of the broth to the sickest and be sure to give it to even the strongest at the first sign of sickness. That'll hopefully keep the disease from getting out of hand in the ones who aren't sick yet.”

Still stinging from Grant's rejection, Ginger gave a bitter scowl. “You sure you want to part with these for a bunch of outlaws?”

“Would I have brought them to you otherwise?”

“I guess not.” Remembering the worry clouding Grant's
eyes, Ginger gave a resigned little sigh. “I'm sure Grant will be relieved for now. According to him, the quinine won't last long if he can't get the disease under control soon.”

Miss Sadie smiled and dropped to the boulder next to Ginger. “That's the problem with educated doctors.”

A frown creased Ginger's brow and she peered closer at Miss Sadie. “What's that supposed to mean?”

A shrug lifted the woman's shoulders. “They think they have more control over these things than God.” Ginger squinted against the midafternoon's glow as the sun glared through snow-frosted trees.

“Doesn't God help those that help themselves?”

“He is also sovereign, my dear. And whether this thing stops with only a few victims or wipes out the entire wagon train is up to Him.”

“Then why bother trying to save anyone?”

Miss Sadie gave a weary smile. “Because it's not in our nature to sit back and not try.”

A branch crackled behind them and both women turned. Elijah, pale and trembling, stood in the distance. Ginger's heart clenched.

“I reckon this fellow is looking for you?” Miss Sadie asked.

Ginger nodded. “He's the one I'm supposed to meet about the medicine.”

Elijah took a step forward and crashed to the ground in a dead faint.

“He's not going to make it back to his men alone.”

“Blake'll never agree to bringing him to camp.”

Miss Sadie gave a grim nod. “You're right about that.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We'll just have to go to that camp and nurse those men.”

“What are you talking about? You want to ride into a camp of outlaws?”

“We can't leave them to die.”

If cholera had swept through the entire group of men, she had no choice but to try to save the ones that could still be saved.

Her mind began to spin. “All right. If Yellow Bird and Toni will agree to bunk together in Toni's wagon, you and I could load Elijah into your wagon and take him back to his camp.”

Miss Sadie nodded. “Exactly what I was thinking.” She gave Elijah a compassionate glance, then turned to Ginger. “You stay here, and I'll go back to camp and make all the arrangements.”

“Think Blake'll give you any trouble?”

“It's not so much Blake I'm worried about.”

“Oh? You know how he feels about me going off away from the wagon train.”

Miss Sadie gave her a pat on the arm and snatched the hem of her dress up from the ground as she prepared to leave. “Grant is the one who's likely to pitch a fit over you leaving camp this time.”

“Grant?” Ginger couldn't hold back the bewildered frown. “Why would he? He won't even let me around the sick folks. Even though he knows I'd have likely got sick by now if I was going to.”

“Mark my words, the good doctor is going to have plenty to say about your leaving camp to go off nursing a bunch of outlaws. Like I said, if I was a betting woman, I'd wager he'll likely be the one crying in the wilderness over this.”

Ginger gave a sniff, ignoring the way her heart leapt at the suggestion. “I wouldn't wager on that one, Miss Sadie. You'd lose your shirt for sure. Trust me, he'll be as glad to be rid of me as I am to get away from him.”

“If
I were a woman given to gambling, I might have to make that wager, my girl. And believe me, I'd win. I've seen the way that man looks at you. And I happen to know he's not going to be glad to see you go.”

Ginger very much doubted that, but why bother arguing with Miss Sadie?

Elijah groaned. His brow glistened with sweat. Ginger gave his skin a light touch. “He's awfully hot, Miss Sadie.”

Miss Sadie nodded. “I'll be back soon. Here.” She gave her apron a firm grip and tore off a square the size of a hanky. “Dip this in the water bucket and wipe down his face to try to cool him off.”

Ginger took the cloth and knelt beside the man. He seemed a nice enough sort. She had to wonder why he had hooked up with the riffraff in Web's band of outlaws. He moaned again and his eyes opened, glassy and barely focusing.

“Take it easy, Elijah,” she said, trying to keep her tone as soothing as possible when a stick was poking into her shin and causing no end of irritation. “We're going to take care of everything.”