Faithful Heart (14 page)

“The Lord has been so good to give us a love like this,” Breanna said.

“I’ve thanked Him in every way I know how ever since He brought us back together. I treasure you, little lady.”

All was quiet for several minutes as John and Breanna savored the sweet moment together, then John broke the silence.

“Sweetheart …”

“Yes?”

“We’ve prayed that the Lord would give us direction about our future together.”

“That we have.”

“The Holy Spirit has been speaking to me in that still, small voice.”

“He’s been speaking to me also,” Breanna said, easing back in his arms so as to meet his gaze. “May I tell you what He’s been saying to you?”

John smiled and playfully cuffed her on the chin. “You really think you know?”

“No, I
know
I know. Our hearts beat in the same rhythm, John, and because the Lord Jesus lives in both of our hearts, He’s revealed His plan to both of us.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“Let’s stand by the water,” she said, taking him by the hand.

John rose to his feet, helped her up, and put an arm around her as they stepped to the edge of the stream. Breanna looked up at him and said, “We both have our special callings from God, John. And as much as we love each other, it’s His will that we carry on in our work for the time being.”

“Yes.”

“You’re so very much needed in this Wild West, darling. People not only need to hear the gospel you preach wherever you go, but they also need the help you give in so many ways. The Lord has His hand on you, and I know that for now, you must continue to travel and let Him lead you to those you are to help.”

John nodded and smiled. “And for the time being, you are to continue your medical work and share the gospel with your patients whenever possible.”

Breanna smiled in return. The night breeze toyed with her hair, dropping a lock onto her forehead. “So we both know,” she sighed.

“Yes. But at least we can be together from time to time. And then …”

“Then?”

“When it’s God’s time, I want you to become my wife.”

Tears glistened in Breanna’s eyes. “Oh, John! That will make me the happiest woman in the world!”

“And it will make
me
the most fortunate man in all the world!”

They kissed, embraced, and headed back for the camp, their hearts filled with the peace of God about their present work, and about the future.

On September 30, the wagon train was winding along the trail in tall timber, nearing the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. As usual, Curly Wesson’s vehicle was in the lead, and Breanna sat beside him. It was almost noon, and the sun bore down from a
clear, azure sky. A cool wind swept off the ragged peaks to the west, stirring the treetops. A half-dozen broad-winged hawks could be seen overhead, riding the currents, their shrill screeches echoing across the uneven land.

Rip Clayson and John Stranger rode side by side some fifty yards ahead of the Wesson wagon. Rip admired John’s black gelding and asked him how he had come by the horse.

“Was up in Montana,” Stranger said, smiling. “I happened upon a ranch on the Yellowstone River a few miles southwest of Billings. Horse I owned at the time had a bad leg, and I needed to buy a new one. Found the rancher and his hired hands all gathered at the corral. Seems they had this black gelding that nobody could ride. Just as I came upon the scene, the black was throwing the toughest bronc buster in the territory—at least that’s what a couple of the cowhands told me.

“I took one look at the big black as he bounded all over the corral, back arched, head down, stirrups flying from the empty saddle. He was a mean one. His eyes bulged with fire and his nostrils flared as he snorted triumphantly, having thrown another would-be rider.”

Rip squinted at something he saw on the trail some distance ahead, but it was too far away to make out what it was. He looked at Stranger and said, “I know what you’re gonna tell me. You rode him, and the rancher sold him to you.”

“Not quite. After seeing the top bronc buster in those parts get thrown, the rancher cursed the horse and said it was useless. The only thing he knew to do was take him to an auction and let some poor sucker buy him.”

“But you—”

“Yep. I stepped up and asked the man if he’d let me try riding
him. He laughed and said, ‘Tell you what, long, tall, and gruesome. If you can ride ’im, you can
have
’im.’”

“And you rode him.”

“Well, I don’t want to brag, you understand.”

“Oh, of course not,” Clayson said with a smile.

“I
did
ride him, and I’m the only mortal who’s
ever
ridden him.” Stranger leaned forward in the saddle and patted Ebony’s neck. “Isn’t that right, big fella?”

Ebony nickered and bobbed his head.

Rip’s attention was drawn once again to the spot on the trail ahead, and this time John noticed him squinting.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I think there’s somebody down and hurt up ahead.”

“Let’s check it out,” said Stranger, touching heels to Ebony’s sides.

Curly and Breanna’s conversation suddenly broke off as the two riders galloped ahead.

“Wonder what that’s about,” Curly said.

“They must’ve seen something up there. They’re in a plenty big hurry.” Breanna shaded her eyes from the sun and added, “They’re stopping up there by those boulders. Looks like a person lying by the side of the trail.”

Seconds later, they saw John mount Ebony and ride toward the wagons at top speed. He thundered to a skidding halt beside Curly’s wagon.

“We’ve got a man up here who needs you real bad,” he said to Breanna.

“What’s the nature of the problem?” she asked as she reached into the wagon for her medical bag.

“Some kind of epidemic in a village nestled in the foothills,” John said, sliding from the saddle. “He’s running a high fever and almost delirious. Says more than half the village is either dead or dying.” He lifted his hands to help her down. “I figure you ought to take a look at him before we let the wagons even get close.”

“You’re right,” Breanna said. “He could be highly contagious.”

Stranger led Breanna to Ebony and lifted her up behind the saddle. As he was swinging up in front of Breanna, she said to Curly. “Don’t let anyone come any closer.”

“Wouldn’t think of it, ma’am,” he said.

Stranger took the medical bag from her and said, “Get a good hold around my waist.” Then he put Ebony to a gallop toward the spot where Rip Clayson knelt beside the sick man.

As Ebony skidded to a halt, Rip stood up and watched John slide from the saddle, then help Breanna down. She took her medical bag and knelt beside the man who lay on the ground.

“So now there are
two
mortals who have ridden Ebony,” Rip whispered to John.

“She’s been on him with me before,” John said. “I guess I didn’t phrase it right. I’m the only mortal who’s ever ridden him
alone.”

Rip grinned. “I have a feeling Ebony would let Breanna ride him alone.”

“I’m sure he would.”

Rip and John drew close as Breanna bent over the sick man. She was talking to him in a low tone and unbuttoning his shirt.

“The headache is real bad?” she asked.

“Yes’m,” he replied weakly. His eyes were dull, and there was a sheen of sweat on his face.

Breanna took one look at the red blotches on his chest and began buttoning his shirt. “How long have you had this?” she asked.

The man licked his dry lips and choked, “Week.”

“Did you have an immediate loss of appetite?”

“Yes.”

“Headache came on at the same time you started feeling ill?”

“Yes.” His teeth were chattering from the chills in his body.

“What’s your name?”

“Wayne Zeller,” he said. Then his eyes closed, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Breanna rose to her feet and turned to the men. “Did either of you touch him?”

“I did,” Rip replied. “Why? What does he have?”

“Typhus,” she said. “How far is the village?”

“About a mile. Just around the next bend.”

“Since you’ve already touched him, Rip,” Breanna said, “I’ll need you to put him on your horse and take him to the village. I’ll go with you, then I want you to go to the train and wash your hands thoroughly in kerosene and lye soap. Be sure to clean under your fingernails.”

“You’re not going into that village alone, Breanna,” John said. “I’m going with you. Rip can go wash right now. I’ll put the man on Ebony’s back, and we’ll walk there together.”

Breanna knew by the look in John’s iron-gray eyes that to argue with him would be a waste of time. “All right,” she said with a sigh, “let’s go.”

John moved to the man, bent to pick him up, and noted that there was no rise and fall to his chest. His head lay to one side, and his mouth hung open.

“He’s dead,” John said, turning back to Breanna.

She hurried to the man, knelt beside him, and felt for a pulse. There was none. She stood and said, “Let’s take the body to the village. Did he say what he was doing out here, Rip?”

“Trying to get help. He was heading for a ranch somewhere this direction.”

Breanna nodded. “You go get washed as I told you. John and I will be back to the wagon as soon as I can assess the situation in the village. Don’t touch anyone in the camp until you’ve washed. You’re carrying the bacteria on your hands. And when you’re done, rub some udder salve into your hands. It’ll offset the damage done by the kerosene to your skin.”

“All right,” Clayson said. “Is … is typhus something like typhoid fever?”

“I’ll explain when I come back so everyone in the wagon train will understand,” said Breanna. “Right now, John and I must get to the village. I’ve got to do what I can to stop the epidemic before everyone there dies.”

Rip mounted his horse and rode toward the wagon train. John placed the body over Ebony’s back, then he and Breanna headed toward the village.

Rip was met by a large number of people when he arrived at the wagon train. While he washed his hands, he told them the man beside the trail had died of typhus, and that John and Breanna were taking the body to Sierra Springs.

The word
typhus
struck fear in the hearts of the travelers. Carolyne Fulford, whose father was a medical doctor, told the
people that typhus was highly contagious and usually fatal, but she knew little else about it. They would all have to wait till Breanna came back to learn the details.

The people gathered at the front of the train, watching for John and Breanna. A full hour after Rip had returned, they saw the couple riding toward them. Moments later, John and Breanna dismounted, and Breanna called for kerosene and lye soap. As she and John washed, she said to the wagon master, “Nearly half the village has been affected. Ninety-two have died, including Wayne Zeller, and just over a hundred are ill.” Breanna paused, then said, “I’m going to have to ask you to delay our moving on until the day after tomorrow. I need time to help the villagers stop the typhus before it kills them all.”

Rip knew it was possible to run into severe weather high in the Sierras the first week of October, but he also had compassion for the people of Sierra Springs. He would have to chance it. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll make camp about a quarter-mile outside the village and pull out at sunup day after tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Breanna said, then she looked on the circle of faces and continued, “John and I need to eat something, then we’re going back to the village. No telling how long till we can return to the wagons. I want to explain why all of you must stay away from there. Typhus is highly contagious, and it is a deadly killer.”

Carolyne left Rip’s side and moved close to Breanna. “I want to go with you if you think I can be of help.”

“I’m sure you can be. I’ll take you up on your offer.”

As John and Breanna picked up towels to dry their hands, Carolyne asked, “Isn’t typhus related to typhoid fever?”

“Well,” Breanna said, “the two diseases resemble each other in
that the victim runs a high fever and usually dies. Typhus, however, causes an eruption of red spots on the body, and often causes mental disorder in addition to high fever, chills, severe headaches, and loss of appetite. It’s spread by lice, fleas, bedbugs, and rats. Humans are commonly infected when the little creatures go from one person’s body to another. That’s why it’s so important for those of us who touch an infected person to wash our hands thoroughly. Typhoid comes from a totally different source. It’s caused by the typhoid bacillus
Salmonella typhosa
, and is acquired through contaminated food and drink.”

“What will we be able to do for those already infected?” Carolyne asked.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do for them. Some of the stronger ones may survive, but most of them will die. I’m sure the day will come when medical science will come up with a cure, but the only thing we can do now is stop the spread of the disease.”

“And how do you do that?” asked a young mother of four.

“Well, I found that the people in Sierra Springs, like most everyone else, think that if they isolate the infected ones, placing them in rooms with doors closed and windows shut, they’ll stop the spread of the disease. It works just the opposite. The best thing to do is open all the windows and doors. Fresh air is the key to cleaning out the houses—that and good, old-fashioned washing, scrubbing, and common-sense hygiene.”

“You said something too about smoke,” John reminded her.

“Oh, yes. In Europe, they now burn fires in the towns when there’s an epidemic. Some French doctors think smoke purifies the air. I’m going to suggest this to the people in Sierra Springs, also. I don’t know if the French doctors are right or not, but it’s worth a try. I’m also going to see that they burn all clothing,
blankets, sheets, and the like that have been infected.”

“Breanna, you all be careful,” an older woman said. “Please. We don’t want the three of you getting typhus.”

“We’ll be very careful,” Breanna told her. “Other than Wayne Zeller’s body, John and I touched nothing when we were in the village. We’ll take every precaution.”