Journey of Honor A love story (16 page)

When he woke up beside her the next morning, he lay there enjoying her warmth for a few minutes until he had to get up and away from her to keep from wanting more. He had come to realize it was a fine line he was walking, between caring for her and caring too much for her. Unless he was dead tired, being that close to her was the hardest thing he’d ever tried to do. It made for a lot of mornings where he had to get right up and get busy or he’d have gone crazy.

As he stood at the end of the wagon and pulled his shirt on, he watched her sleep. She never seemed to struggle with sleeping beside him at all. He must not be as incredibly tempting to her as she was to him. He turned to check on his other patient with a wry smile on his face at the thought. That was probably a good thing. Both of them fighting this for each other would have been impossible.

The Indian had made it through the night, although he was feverish and swollen beyond recognition this morning. Sometime in the night his horse had found him and was standing there with its head hanging over him when Trace came around the wagon. At first it spooked off a little, but eventually it let him catch it. Trace moved the travois to the horse instead of the wagon for fear the Indian would get stepped on with three animals tied to the wagon next to him. Trace cared for his wounds, got breakfast, did chores, and they pulled out without the Indian ever stirring in the slightest. Today would be the day they learned if he would make it or not. Trace wished again for that higher power.

When Giselle climbed out of the wagon box to sit beside him on the seat after an hour or so on the trail, he looked over at her with concern. “Are you sure you should be up today, Elle? Are you still bleeding?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder and laughed a little self consciously. “You always ask me the most embarrassing questions, Tracey. I guess I should be used to you by now, but you still make me blush. Yes, I’m still bleeding a little, but do I have to be stuck in the back of the wagon? Can I sit here with you for even a few minutes?”

He chuckled at her and said, “Sorry. But you married a doctor. It’s what I do. I can’t change it. Blood isn’t really optional. I nearly lost you and don’t want to take chances again. Ya’know?”

She put her hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry for everything, Trace. And I’m unbelievably grateful you’re a doctor. When I watch you work, it amazes me. I’m so proud of you. I’m just still a little shy sometimes is all. But I’m the very first to acknowledge that you saved my life.”

He thought about that for a minute and then admitted to her, “But I didn’t, Elley. You were so out of it that you didn’t know, but I think if it had just been up to my medical skills you would have died. I was doing the best I could, but you were still fading on me. It was Josiah who saved your life.”

He looked at her honestly. “I hate to even admit that, but it’s true. If he hadn’t been able to get the bleeding stopped, I’m afraid I would have lost all five of you. That was my worst day of being a doctor ever. Four died and the fifth would have.” He shook his head sadly. “I miss your grandparents. And I only knew them for a short time. I’m sure it’s much harder for you. They were remarkable people.”

A single tear escaped her eye and rolled slowly down her cheek. “I miss them too. I always try to remind myself that they’re in a wonderful place.”

He drove for a few minutes and then asked her, “How do you know so surely where they’re at, Giselle?”

He could feel her looking up at him before she answered. “Our Father in Heaven reveals the things we need through His prophets, Trace. He knows we need to understand His plan for us. He has always spoken through his prophets, and now He does again.

“I know that sounds strange. I didn’t believe that there was a prophet again at first, but now I know there is. It’s the most comforting thing I’ve ever experienced. The prophet here on earth is the greatest of all gifts. Knowing God’s will, without doubting, is incredibly precious to me.”

He glanced down at her. How would it be to feel as sure about eternal principles as she did? There was such a sweet, calm intensity about her sometimes that it left little to question. Her knowledge came across with such a sense of sureness. He didn’t doubt her when she was like this. It would have been impossible. Her honesty and faith carried a spirit of its own.

He had more education than most people the world over, but that was nothing compared to her faith. He’d have gladly traded his years of learning for her knowledge about God. He decided that it was time he understood some things like she did. “Tell me about the power Josiah used when he blessed you. What do you have to do to have it?”

“The power my grandfather used is God’s power, the same power that Christ used when he walked the earth back in biblical times. Grandfather held the Melchizedek Priesthood. He received it from another priesthood holder who had the authority to give it to him. Men who are baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and are worthy, can hold the priesthood and administer priesthood ordinances using it. It’s the exact same organization, using the same power as Christ’s original church organization with the first twelve apostles like Peter, James and John.”

He had to question that. “How could it be the same power? Wouldn’t that original authority have been lost after this many years? That was more than eighteen hundred years ago.”

Nodding her head, she agreed with him. “That’s why it all had to be restored.”

He remembered reading in Josiah’s journal about how the original church was restored, but he hadn’t equated that with original power and authority. He thought about all these things as he drove with her sitting quietly beside him. He got so involved with his thoughts that he didn’t even think to encourage her to lie back down before they stopped for their nooning. When he helped her down from the wagon seat, he noticed the blood on her dress, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to embarrass her, but after she had eaten, he was insistent that she stay lying flat for the rest of the day.

His Indian patient didn’t regain consciousness that whole long day as they traveled, and when Trace bedded the camp down that night, he was discouraged, thinking the man probably wouldn’t make it through the night as rough a shape as he was in. When Trace climbed in next to Giselle, she was awake and picked up on his discouragement. When he explained, she put a gentle hand on his chest as she lay beside him. “You’ve done your best, Trace. Let’s give it over to God now and trust that He will do as he sees fit with this man. God is in control and He can do anything. Will you pray with me?”

He covered her folded hands with his and she prayed simply and fervently that the Indian would be healed if it be God’s will. When she ended her prayer, she patted him gently again, laid her head on his chest, and got so quiet that he thought she had gone right to sleep. With her this close, sleep for him was decidedly elusive. In fact, if she hadn’t been lying right on him, he probably would have gotten clear up and gone back out to the fire.

As it was, he lay there, struggling to think of something other than how good she felt and how wonderful she smelled. When she spoke to him again more than a half hour later, he was surprised. He’d thought she was long asleep. Her sweet voice and her breath on his skin did nothing to allay his struggle.

“Trace? Are you still awake?”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah. Why?”

“I just wondered. I’m awake too. I can’t sleep for some reason tonight.”

He chuckled at her softly. She seemed honestly perplexed about that. He wasn’t perplexed. He knew exactly why he couldn’t sleep.

Chapter 10

That night they heard wolves again for the first time in weeks, and she rolled over tight against him. She seemed to go right back to sleep again, but he wasn’t that lucky. For the second time that night he tried to focus on anything but her.

It had taken him long enough to drop off to sleep both times that night that he was still tired in the morning, and probably would have still been in bed at sunup if he hadn’t heard Dog growl. He got up and slipped out of the wagon to see what was going on. He was pleasantly surprised, actually. Dog was growling at the Indian.

He was awake—if you could call it that. His eyes were as open as he could get them, as swollen as his face was, and even though he was still feverish, his eyes were clear and he was with it enough to be afraid when Trace came to check on him. Trace could tell he had no idea what to think when Trace approached him to touch his forehead to feel how hot he was.

Trace said good morning to him in his own language before moving his blankets to check the bandages on his thigh. All of the other injuries seemed to be doing okay, but the thigh still looked ugly and inflamed. Trace wondered if he was going to have to open it back up to let it drain. The brave’s eyes widened when he saw the rows of stitches that criss crossed the large muscle of his upper leg, and he looked up at Trace in surprise.

Trace chuckled at the man who had remained so stoic the other day during their altercation. “I told you I was a medicine man.” He reached for a leather pouch he had tied to the travois beside the man’s head and handed it to him. It contained the bear’s teeth and claws that Trace had saved for him. “You killed the bear, but it almost got you in the mix of things. I saved the hide too, but you’re going to have to bargain with me for it.” The Indian looked up and met Trace’s eyes as he checked his other wounds for infection. “You’re going to live. Lie still and behave yourself and I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Giselle must have heard him talking, because she leaned up and poked her head out of the canvas wagon cover. Trace looked up at her and smiled. Then to the Indian he said in a no nonsense voice, “She’s
mine
Great Bear Killer. Stay away from her! Or I’ll undo everything I did.” He nodded at the stitched wounds and gave the brave a stern look. The Indian glanced up at Giselle and back at Trace and nodded, then closed his eyes.

Trace looked up at Giselle again. Even just waking up she was exquisite. It was no wonder the brave had wanted to steal her. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to start camp chores. He had to get a handle on this physical attraction. He still had a long way to go traveling with her. It was going to take all of his self control just to get her to the valley of the Great Salt Lake, let alone leaving her there when they made it.

When he took her breakfast, she asked him what he had said to the Indian and he tried not to look too guilty when he told her. “I said that you were mine and he was to leave you alone or I’d undo it all. Hopefully he knows by now that I mean it. If he bothers you, I’ll finishwhat the bear started.”

Her eyes got wide and he added, “Don’t worry. Indians are usually wildly superstitious. I’ll bet he thinks I’m relatively mystical after the way he’s patched together. I doubt he would dare bother you again. But don’t tempt him, just to be safe. There’s no such thing as a native women who looks and smells as good as you. Your medicine may be more powerful than mine.” Her eyes got even wider and he chuckled at her as he walked away.

The night after the Indian woke up, they heard wolves again, and this time they ended up coming right into camp. Trace heard Dog growl and start to snarl, but before he made it out of the wagon, the wolves had attacked the calf. Trace shot one of the wolves and saved the calf, but the next morning, before they headed out, he had to patch it up, too. Giselle helped him again, and as the calf limped away, he remarked, “She’ll never race, but she’ll make a great milk cow if we can get her all the way to Zion without the wolves catching her again.”

For two days the brave dragged along behind them in his travois, hardly even looking up. He was still gravely ill and slept almost constantly. The second morning, Trace determined that he needed to reopen the wound on his thigh to see if he could drain some of the infection. Even as well as he seemed to be doing, Trace knew he would not make it if he couldn’t get that big wound to clear up. He went to him and asked the Indian his name to which he replied, “Many Feathers.” At that, Trace got into the wagon and borrowed Giselle’s hand mirror and brought it out to him.

He showed the brave the mirror and said, “I’m sorry, but I had to cut off Many Feathers’ feathers.” When the Indian saw his image, his eyes widened until he almost looked panicked for a moment. He lifted a hand to feel the patchwork of stitches and closely cropped hair mingled with the almost black patches of scabbed-over skinless flesh. He shuddered uncontrollably and looked up at Trace in open fear for a moment before his stoic mask fell back into place. Trace tried to reassure him. “I’m a powerful medicine man, Many Feathers, but your leg doesn’t heal. I need to do more work on it.”

The Indian nodded and Trace went on. “It will be very painful. I need to put you to sleep to do it.”

At this, Many Feathers shook his head and thumped himself on the chest with a fist. Helping him to understand what Trace intended was pointless. Many Feathers had no experience with Trace’s ether and couldn’t be expected to trust what Trace was trying to tell him. At length Trace decided to just try to do it with him awake. Who knew? The Indians he had known were incredibly tough people. Maybe this man could take it.

Trace went and got Giselle to come and help him. When she came near she acted fine, although she wouldn’t look right at Many Feathers; but her hands shook when she handed Trace his instruments. Still, she willingly stood by to assist him and he had to respect her strength.

As Trace made the initial cut into Many Feathers’ leg, the Indian made a gasp in spite of himself, and his already sickly pallor went an almost gray white. Gooey, smelly, yellow pus streamed out of the wound, and Giselle closed her eyes and then made a dive for a nearby bush and lost her breakfast. She wiped her face on the hem of her petticoat and after sitting still for a minute and taking several deep breaths, she came right back to Trace’s side to finish helping him.

Trace drained the wound and cleaned it out again, and this time left it open so that it would continue to drain on its own. He cleaned up the mess and rebandaged it. When he was finished, Many Feathers’ lips were a tense blue line and his skin was ghostly between the scabbed-over cuts. Trace finished and spoke to him apologetically, wishing that he at least had some whiskey to give the poor man, as terrible as that sounded.