Dream Weaver (15 page)

After tying the reins of both horses to a tree branch, he placed his hand under her elbow, both of them heading for the door.

"Isaac Beam and his family live here," he said as they approached. "You remember them from the church services, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember." Three little kids and a scumbag husband who falls asleep during the sermon.

Christian knocked on the door.

"Come on in," they heard from behind the closed door. "I can't get up."

Moaning reached them as they stepped inside, and it took several moments for Gwen to see in the dim room.

She stood by the entrance, her gaze absorbing the room's decrepit furnishings as Christian strode toward a lumpy mattress in a far corner where the farmer lay. Christian crouched down beside the man.

The farmer raised a pudgy hand, pointing to Gwen. "What's she doin' here?"

Christian looked up at Gwen and smiled, then returned his attention to Isaac Beam. "She's my assistant for today. Now, Isaac, pray tell me what ails you."

"My back, doctor. It's killin' me."

While Christian dealt with the farmer, Gwen busied herself straightening up the cabin. She found a broom in a corner and began sweeping. After a few minutes, she opened the door and swept a week's accumulation of dirt and dust outside. She looked around to see how else she could help, all the while listening to Christian's low-voiced comments to the farmer.

Gently, Christian touched the man's shoulder. "Isaac Beam, if I could give you a magic pill to make you free of pain, I'd gladly do so. But since I can't perform magic, I'll try to alleviate your discomfort as best I can. Now tell me exactly where you hurt."

Turned on his side, Isaac pressed his hand to his lower back and moaned. "Here, doctor."

Christian ran his fingers along the man's spine, concentrating on the lower lumbar region. "D'you know how this happened? Did you have a bad fall, or did you wake up one morning with a sore back?"

"Bent over the wrong way a few days ago. Couldn't hardly straighten up afterwards. Can't do no work, as ya can see. Wife and older childer work in the fields while the baby sleeps," he said, nodding toward the crib. "What am I gonna do? How can I do any work when I hurt so bad?" He groaned again. "I drank some cow's pee, thinkin' that might help, but it didn't do no good."

"Plague take it, man! Cow's urine will avail you naught." Old wives' tales! Christian blew out a heavy sigh. "Well, I think I can make you feel better, but 'twill take some time and effort on your part."

 
"Effort? Whadda you mean?"

"I'm going to give you something that should help relieve the pain, then I want you up and walking day after tomorrow. No excuses."

"Up and walkin'?" Isaac raised his head, then winced in agony. "How can I get up and walk around when I hurt so bad?"

"You can and you shall." Christian pushed himself to his feet and strode toward the fireplace where a pot of boiling water hung from a trammel, with socks and shirts draped across a rope that stretched from the hearth to a near wall. He grabbed a shirt and dipped it into the boiling water, waiting a few seconds to let the excess water drain into the pot.

After tossing the broom against a wall, Gwen gathered up dirty dishes and set them in a wooden tub that commanded one corner. With her gaze on Christian, she hefted the heavy pan of hot water and dumped the water on the dishes, leaving them to soak. No point in trying to wash the food-encrusted dishes now.

Christian squeezed the steaming wet shirt, then returned to Isaac. "Heat should help, so we'll apply that first," he said, laying the warm shirt on the man's lower back. "Now, doesn't that feel good? In the absence of anything pathological, there's no reason for you to lie down all the time. Indeed, 'twill hinder your recovery."

"You're usin' a lotta fancy words, doctor."

"Then maybe you can understand this, Isaac Beam. You'll only get worse if you stay in bed. I'll leave a jar of healing tea for you, and I want your wife to apply heat to your back, say, every two hours."

"I have a suggestion."

At her voice, both men stared at Gwen.

Gwen approached them, wondering if Christian would resent her interference. "Stretching is good for the back," she began, "so--"

"Stretching?" the two men echoed.

"Sure." Gwen sat on a stool to demonstrate. "Sit on the stool like I'm doing and bend over to touch your toes. You can rest your head on your knees," she said, her voice muffled as she showed them how, "then raise up after about a minute." She sat back up. "Does wonders for your back."

Christian frowned. "I never heard of such a thing."

She lifted her chin. "Well, I got this advice from a doctor when I had a back problem. Believe me, it worked." She thought quickly. "Other exercises you can do, too, like raising both knees together to your chin while you're lying down."

Christian's frown deepened. "Mayhap these exercises will only make his back worse."

"No, Christian, I swear they'll help. What have you got to lose?"

 
"'Tis worth a try." Christian looked from Gwen to Isaac.

"Humph!"

"Try the lady's exercises, Isaac," Christian said, tapping him on the shoulder. "Mayhap they'll help." He rose, straightening his deerskin leggings. "I fear I can't stay any longer since I have other calls to make."

He walked with Gwen toward the door, then turned to wag his finger at the man. "I'm going to check on you in a couple of days, and I don't want to find you in bed."

"You see what I have to contend with," Christian said outside the house as they headed for the horses. "'Tis not easy to deal with some of these people." He snorted. "Cow's urine!"

Gwen shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight. "I don't think I could do it--minister to all these settlers like you do."

He reached the horses and smiled. "Mayhap I don't know any better."

Hours later, after visiting several more families, they stopped to rest in the meadow, their gazes immediately drawn to the stream.

Next to Christian, Gwen knelt and cupped water in her hands, drinking until she'd satisfied her thirst. She brushed her hand across her mouth and sat on the grass, her legs drawn back at her side. A light breeze ruffled a few stray hairs while she absently picked violets blossoming by the stream, her mind continually on Christian, wondering what was on his mind, and if he would kiss her....

One booted foot resting on a rock, Christian gazed down at her. "Prettiest sight I've seen all day. If I were a painter, I'd paint you as you are now, here by the stream."

Gwen dropped the violets in her lap. "I'd like to have my portrait painted some day."

"Mayhap if you ever visit
Philadelphia
. Many portrait painters there."

She looked up at him and smiled. "I'd like that." She reached for a violet in her lap and studied it. "Haven't seen Leah Conway since the frolic," she said, her heart thumping. "How is she doing these days?"

Christian sat down beside her, one knee drawn up to his chest. He plucked a blade of grass and smoothed it between his fingers. "That's a question you should ask Edward Horton. He might know the answer better than I." He spoke in a low voice, his look somber.

"Edward Horton?" she asked. "I remember meeting him at the frolic, too. What's he got to do with Leah?"

"Courting her. I believe they care for each other."

And you? she wanted to ask. Do you still care for Leah? Remembering the time he'd spent with her at the frolic and again at the church service, she risked a sidelong glance at him and saw his solemn look had intensified.

After a long period of silence, Christian stood and held his hand out to her. "Time to go back, I'm afraid. I still have much to do, as I'm sure you do, also."

She put her hand in his and rose, brushing off the back of her dress. She stood so close to him, she could see every line in his face, every fleck in his dark eyes.

He drew her ever closer. "Gwen, I..."

"Yes?"

He bent to kiss her forehead. "There's much about you I don't know," he murmured. "Perhaps we need time to learn more of each other."

She nodded. "I'll go along with that."

But did they have enough time, she agonized, before the Indians attacked and threatened both their lives?

* * *

Later that same week, Gwen opened the door to a visitor. "I say, Miss Emrys, 'twasn't easy to find this place through that dense forest." At her greeting, Richard stepped inside the entranceway. "But I must tell you the difficulties I encountered were well worth it when I find such a lovely lady at the end of my quest."

"You're right, lieutenant," Gwen agreed, "at least about the location. We sure are in the middle of nowhere. Let's hope someday there'll be a better road from
Fort
Pitt
to this part of the sta--, uh, province." She indicated a chair. "Sit down, why don't you? Can I get you something to drink, tea or maybe something stronger?"

"Tea sounds fine, Miss Emrys."

She waited while Richard got settled in the Windsor chair and watched him glance around the room, a thoughtful frown on his face. He probably lives in a Georgian mansion back in
England
, she mused. She wouldn't be surprised if his family owned several other houses scattered throughout the country. So what did he think she was, a country bumpkin? She shrugged, trying not to care but knowing Richard's opinion mattered to her.

 
She folded her hands at her waist. "I'll go tell Molly to bring the tea."

First giving instructions to Molly, Gwen headed back to the common room. Her brain worked furiously, Richard's visit on her mind. Possibly, she shouldn't have encouraged him to come here in the first place, not when she cared for Christian. But it would have been rude and ungracious to rebuff the lieutenant.

A few minutes later, Rebecca joined them.

"I'm sorry my husband isn't here to welcome you, lieutenant," Rebecca said after greetings, "but he had to call on one of the neighbors. Don't know when he'll be back." She looked up as Molly brought the tea things into the room and set them on a small end table.

Gwen reached for the teapot. "Cream and sugar, lieutenant?"

"Neither, thank you."

First handing Richard his cup, she poured for Rebecca and herself, then passed a plate of gingercakes around.

Richard sipped his tea and smiled. "I've never tasted this kind of tea before."

"Sassafras," Gwen said from the settle. "We have it often."

"I must remember to take the brew back to
England
with me." He turned toward Rebecca. "As you know, Mistress Chamberlain, your husband is a frequent visitor at
Fort
Pitt
. I fear he disapproves of our policy toward the Indians. I rather think he feels we should coddle them."

Rebecca stirred her tea. "Not coddle, sir, just treat them more fairly. Sell them ammunition and--"

A knock at the door interrupted her. Exchanging a puzzled glance with Rebecca, Gwen rose to answer the door....

"Christian! How nice to see you!" But why now, when Richard was already here? Oh, oh, complications.

"Gwen."

With that smile of his that warmed her all over, Christian removed his tricorne and strode into the entrance hall. He smelled of pine soap and the outdoors, his face the most pleasant sight she'd seen in a long time. He moved with an easy grace, as if he could feel at home in the humblest log cabin or the grandest Georgian drawing room.

"Come join us," Gwen said with false brightness as she led the way into the common room.

Christian's smile faded when he saw the other man, but he quickly recovered, giving Richard a casual nod.

Maybe Richard and Christian should collaborate on their schedules, Gwen thought as she made the introductions, aware the men were sizing each other up. She returned to the settle, where Christian sat beside her, his nearness rattling her.

After an exchange of neighborhood news, Rebecca rose and set her cup on the table. "Pray excuse me. I must check on the children." She smiled at the others. "When the little ones are quiet, 'tis time to be concerned."

Gwen reached for a gingercake, her glance sliding from one man to the other. "We were just discussing the Indian situation at
Fort
Pitt
," she said, hoping the subject wouldn't cause an argument. "Apparently the British government and the colonists don't look at the situation the same way."

"Indeed," Christian said. "The Indian can be a most formidable enemy, sir. I think 'tis best to treat him fairly and keep him on your side."

"Stuff!" Richard snorted. "The Indian's no match for the British soldier, sir. Why, only look at the military power at
Fort
Pitt
, not to mention the vast army in
Philadelphia
under Colonel Bouquet."