Promise of Tomorrow (14 page)

Twenty-seven

June 2, 1889

Alaina wiped her eyes, the weariness and smoke causing them to water. Not to mention the stream of grief that she witnessed as loved ones identified the bodies of their mothers, fathers, children. . .and friends. She bit her lip hard and forced away the memory of Mary's serene expression. The girl's body had been brought in late afternoon, and the reality of her friend's death had chipped away at the last bits of strength that kept her functioning. She'd been grateful then for Mandy's embrace that not only held her upright but also helped take the edge off her grief.

A new stream of people moved into the campsite, while men worked to build shelters for families who needed them. Still, the long line of those sick and hurt had continued to grow with no end in sight.

“The men are getting together to see what's to be done. We can't function under these circumstances for much longer. I did hear we've finally got contact and a train brought in supplies. If we can just. . .” Mandy's words faded, and Alaina knew her friend saw what she had seen, the new stream of people headed their way.

She pressed her friend's hand and forced a smile. “We'll make it. I know we will.”

“Oh!” Mandy pressed her hand to her chest.

Alaina followed her friend's gaze and saw nothing to incite such a reaction. The line of limping, wet, bedraggled people hadn't changed.

“It's Dr. Matthews. He came to see my sister when she was so sick and”—she clasped her hands together—“I know he'll be such a help to those who are ill.”

Alaina, still unsure which man was the doctor, moved to help with the new wave of hurt and hungry.

Mandy passed her and went toward Dr. Matthews and his companion, one helping the other.

Alaina's attention was diverted by the crying of a naked child and the swollen eyes of a mother, dressed in rags and shivering. “Let me take the child,” she admonished the woman. She helped the lady to a spot on the ground, near a fire that a young boy of ten had diligently fed all through the long night. Alaina knelt next to the woman and child, at a loss for helping her other than to offer the meager bread and a tin of milk. “I'll try to find something to bundle the child in and get you some bread and milk.”

The woman reached for her baby, then curled her body around the child in a silent offer to share what little body heat she had. If she couldn't get him covered soon, the child would catch pneumonia.

Lord, please send us blankets soon.

Alaina pulled at her skirts as she rose to avoid tripping over the hem and turned to find Mandy behind her.

“Dr. Matthews is going to do what he can for those here.”

Alaina glanced behind Mandy and saw the doctor leaning over the man he'd helped in. His shirt was little more than a strip of cloth across his chest. The strip around the man's head was dirty and caked with blood. Their supply of well water had dwindled to nothing in little time, but Mr. Fry had assured them other wagons were headed their way. As soon as she could, she would tend to the man's wound.

That's when Alaina caught the profile of the doctor's companion. Her heart beat hard as the man raised his head. The hair. The shape of his nose. His silhouette against the lightness of the sky. . .

“Jack!”

His head jerked her way, but he didn't move.

She stumbled over the young mother's foot and almost plunged straight into Mandy, but she kept going. “Jack!”

Within a few steps of him, she stopped. Her throat closed over a tight wad of tears.

In one swift motion, he swept to his feet. He blinked, then blinked again. The shine of tears in his eyes. “Alaina?”

She went into his arms then and felt his strong arms press her to him.

“Alaina?”

“I'm here, Jack.”

He buried his face in her hair, and she felt his chest jerk before the first sob, a harsh, almost animal-like wail, grated against her ear and brought her own tears to the surface.

❧

Robert's plea for help and his inability to rescue him in time. The gash on his head and the long, terrible night that followed. All of it seemed to fade away as Jack held Alaina close. Her softness took the edge off hard reality and sent a breath of relief through every tension-filled limb.

Her tears mingled with his as he stroked her hair.

In the minutes that passed, he absorbed her presence like the starving man he had become since the water had wiped out Johnstown. He pulled back, wanting so much to see her face. Needing to trace the outline of her nose and see the dark eyes he so loved. But her face wouldn't come into focus.

She grasped his elbows. “You're hurt.”

“But I'm alive.”

He felt the quiver of her body, and fresh tears were falling. “I was so scared. Momma?”

He shook his head. “I don't know. The entire street was wiped out. Everything. It could be days before we know.”

She went into his arms again, and he cradled her head against his chest. He wanted to say something comforting, but the words didn't come. He satisfied himself with the knowledge that Alaina was safe. She was here, and hope filled him anew.

But eventually, his injury took its toll, and weakness gripped him. He pulled away from her.

“Jack?”

He lowered himself to the ground and leaned his arms on bent knees. “Just need to. . .sit.” Bile rose hot in his throat, and he leaned over. He felt the tug on the bandage around his head and heard Alaina's words, but she seemed to be talking from a great distance. He strained to make sense of everything, but he couldn't.

“I'll take care of you,.” Alaina's voice reassured.

Jack gave in to her ministrations, knowing he would be safe now.

Twenty-eight

Through the day, Alaina sat beside Jack as much as she could. Though Mandy insisted she stay near him, Alaina knew the women were pushed to their limits offering comfort and the little bit of food they could. Besides, Jack remained unconscious, and rather than worry about the implications of his unresponsiveness, she was determined to keep busy.

When she had the chance to grab a few minutes to talk to Mandy, the news was better than she'd hoped.

“The train got through this morning, and people are arriving to help us out.” Mandy ran a hand over her flat hair and swiped at her left cheek, leaving a smudge of dirt.

“We'll have help soon. Blankets and water and food.”

“Yes.” Mandy closed her eyes. “Dr. Matthews and Dr. Lowman are setting up a temporary hospital on Bedford. They'll want to take the worst cases over at some point.”

As Jack slept on, Alaina's worry mounted. Knowing the doctors were pressed for time and that there were far too many to care for between the two of them, she did her best to help prepare the patients to be moved. When she came to a lone woman, her hand clutching a scrap of material, Alaina felt a deep sorrow. Almost forty-eight hours since the flood and the lady's arrival in the camp and she still could not be coaxed to say a word or take food and drink. She bent close to the woman and held the mug out. “Would you take a drink for me?”

The only response was a gentle caressing of the fabric.

Alaina set the tin mug aside and placed a gentle hand on the thin forearm. “Could I see the lovely material?” When those words were out, she cast about for something more to add. “It must mean a great deal to you. My mother was”—she steeled herself against the unconscious use of that word and continued—“
is
a seamstress and loves material and making dresses.”

Still nothing.

Ever so slowly, Alaina reached out and unfolded the tiny corner of the material to see the subtle pattern of small flowers against a dirty azure background. She processed the tattered edge, as if it had been torn. “It's a beautiful shade of blue. Did you have it made into a dress or do it up yourself?” She realized the color of the lady's dress, although blue, did not match that of the scrap she held. Her heart clenched in compassion, and she raised a hand to stroke the strands of hair back out of the woman's dark brown eyes. “One day I'd like to have a dress made of that color. Blue always makes me think of sunshine and birds. I suspect a lot of people enjoy blue.”

The woman shifted a bit on the hard ground.

Alaina picked up the tin. “Would you like a drink? Mr. Fry brought it down from his farm. He's going to try and bring more bread and blankets. If I find one with the color blue in it, I'll be sure to bring it to you. Would you like that?”

No response.

With a sigh, Alaina rose from her spot next to the woman and groped for something more to say to draw out the shattered soul. Alaina turned to check on the next person when she heard the slightest whisper.

“Bluebirds.”

She turned and stared down at the woman. Only when she knelt beside her did Alaina see the stream of wetness along the woman's cheek.

She released her clutch on the material and raised it to her cheek. “Bluebirds.”

“What did you say to her?” Mandy's voice floated over Alaina's shoulder. She tilted her head to see her friend.

“I'm not sure. I mentioned the color blue and how it reminded me of birds.” Alaina leaned toward the woman and again tried to press her to take a drink.

To her surprise the woman parted her lips and drank deeply, though she turned her head away after one swallow.

Satisfied, Alaina patted the woman's shoulder and got to her feet. In the waning daylight, the chill of the gray day would give way to another cold night. She hated to see the people struggling to stay warm while dealing with such chaos and deep loss.

She stepped over the inert forms of the injured and reached Jack's side. A sigh escaped as she sank to the ground next to him. With gentle fingers, she picked up his hand and twined her fingers with his. She'd left him to pursue her mother's dream for her. She understood now that her mother's dream could not be hers. But her mother had been right in one very important way—she could not promise to marry a man who thought more of wealth than he did of her. She recalled all the broken promises and empty evenings when Jack's promised visit turned out to be another study in loneliness for her. As much as she hated how she had broken the engagement, she would do it again. For her own sake. And if he was the man she thought he was, he would understand that decision.

Watching the rise and fall of his chest, and the stroke of his lashes against his unshaven cheeks, desperation rose in her. It would be so easy to ignore her common sense and marry him, if for no other reason than he was all she seemed to have.

Where was her mother? How would she find her in all this? Alaina's stomach churned.

God, how do I find Momma? Where do I look? And Missy and Sam. Frank.

It was all so confusing, yet she thanked Him for the miracle of Jack's life, and as she did, she squeezed his hand to her breast, then kissed the tips of his chilled fingers.

Twenty-nine

June 3, 1889

Jack knew he should open his eyes. The angel that sat next to him kept saying his name and stroking a soft hand along his brow, but his head hurt so much. Pain so bad he knew any light would grind the ache in his head to a sharper point. So he kept his eyes shut.

“You know, Jack, I think it's time you woke up and stopped giving this young woman of yours so much grief.”

In his mind, he smiled. Dr. Matthews's voice. He squeezed the small hand nestled in his and decided if he couldn't open his eyes, at least he could talk. “Hurts too much.”

“A big, tough guy such as yourself is afraid of a little headache?”

Jack pursed his lips. He heard the quiet challenge and felt the soft poke of the man's words. Just as he had worked up the courage to pry his eyes open, another voice, more gravelly than the first, called Dr. Matthews away.

“Jack?”

He turned his head toward Alaina's voice. “Hey.”

“Do you need a drink?”

“Yes.” Within minutes he felt the press of a cup to his lips, but the strain of sitting up caused his head to pound harder and brought a wave of nausea with it. He relaxed back and rolled with the pain, swallowing convulsively over the urge to throw up.

Alaina dabbed his head with a cool cloth.

He wanted so much to ask her to put one at the base of his skull where the pain was most acute. He pulled air into his lungs and let it out long and slow.

“Dr. Lowman sewed up the gash in the back of your head.”

He didn't remember it. A good thing, he was sure. “How long?”

“You've been unconscious for two days. The doctors established a temporary hospital on Bedford Street, so that's where you are now.”

A question swirled in his brain. Something he wanted to ask, but the more he tried to bring it into focus, the more it eluded him, until he finally surrendered to the fog permeating his mind and fell asleep.

❧

June 5, 1889

Joy surged through Alaina as she embraced young Sam despite the awkwardness of his position on the bed. “Sam, look who is here.”

Behind them, Missy's squeals filled the air. Sam turned his head, and his eyes lit up when he saw his sister in his father's arms.

Alaina heaved a sigh of satisfaction. When Sam and Missy, bedraggled and dirty, and Sam with a badly bruised and broken leg, had been brought into the hospital late Sunday, Alaina had immediately registered their names in case Frank had survived the flood and was looking for them. Then she had prayed. To see him now, here, with his children close, brought a deep, abiding peace to her.

Frank, propped on crutches against the wall, didn't bother to shield the tears of relief that streamed down his cheeks as he clung to Missy. He raised his head and shook it back and forth. “I don't know what to say.” The man lowered himself beside Sam and held his son's hand, stroking the hair from the boy's face.

“Joy unspeakable.” Alaina smiled.

“With all the suffering. . .” Frank's voice caught and with his free hand he pulled Missy closer and buried his face in her hair.

He didn't have to finish the statement. Alaina understood. Everyone who found a missing loved one understood the ecstasy and the bitterness of realizing others were not so fortunate. It still wrenched her heart to see a woman fling herself across the identified body of a husband or child. She closed her eyes against the vision. Working to care for those in the hospital, she'd seen it too many times.

Sam shifted on the bed. Fever raged hot, turning his skin a bright pink, but the doctor had hope the boy would pull through. And despite his leg trapping him in debris, the workers had done their best to free the limb without inflicting more damage. What he needed most was food and water and rest.

Frank raised his head. “I couldn't lie there not knowing and started searching right away, sure I'd lost them when I heard that Washington Street had pretty much disappeared. I must have passed out, though, because I woke up and was being carried somewhere. I don't remember too much after that. Someone told me to check at the clearinghouse and there they were listed—” His voice choked off.

Alaina understood his emotion. “Sam said my mother got them to the attic and went down for something. Missy wanted to follow her, but Sam jerked her along just as the wave hit them.”

“Your mother?” Frank asked.

She could only shake her head.

“I'm sorry, Alaina. I'll check the clearinghouse and post office on Adams and Main. People are registering all the time.” The big man's expression radiated compassion. “I'll head there now.”

“You can't. You're hurt, too,” she protested.

“I'm big and I've had time to heal. Probably the lying around is making me hurt more than the injury.”

“Can I go?” Missy piped up.

“I'll need your help.” He got to his feet and pulled the crutch close, then reached to tousle Missy's already-mussed hair. “Some of the roads are still hard to get through, though. Think you're up to it?”

The little girl nodded a solemn nod and clung to his outstretched hand. “Will Sam be all right, Pa?”

Only Alaina understood the worry in Frank's gaze as it scanned Sam's face and then drifted to his heavily bandaged leg. “Give him a few days and he'll be chasing you around Green Hill.”

Alaina paced down the aisle to catch a breath of fresh air. So much had happened in so few days. Supplies and money had come in from all over, yet still people suffered, though now more in spirit than in body.

Out the window, the bonfires raged on, their acrid scent scorching the air. Though needful, it still sickened Alaina to watch as dead horses and cows were cremated in the hot flames.

“Alaina?”

She turned from the morbid sight to the voice behind her.

A woman she'd not seen before spoke. “The young man is asking for you.”

She nodded, and the woman scurried in a different direction. When she got to Jack's side, it pleased her to see his eyes open. At long last.

His blue gaze swept in her direction and settled on her, though a crease in his brow brought Dr. Matthews's warning to mind.

“Are you still having trouble with your vision?” she asked as she scooped his hand into hers.

“Hard to see you clear. Must have hit harder than I thought.”

She brushed her fingertips along his brow, glad no fever seemed present. “Does your head still hurt?”

He winced and licked his lips. “Not as much. Bearable.”

“Can you eat something?”

“I am hungry.” His eyes closed, and he rolled his head away from her, but not before she caught the way his lips twitched and the working of his jaw. His voice came out raspy. “What if my vision doesn't clear?”

“Jack, hush. You're awake. Alive. Do you know what a miracle that is for me? I thought I'd lost everyone.”

His sobs were silent, but she felt every one of them reverberate deep in her soul. She understood that his pain reached far beyond his vision. There were a million questions she wanted to ask him about the whole incident, but she held back as she knew she should. He, like so many others she'd helped in the last few days, had endured so much. More than she could comprehend. They needed time to heal on the inside.

Alaina gripped Jack's hand harder and stroked his brow. “I'm here, Jack.”

When he quieted, he rolled his head to face her and swiped at the signs of his tears.

Alaina batted his hand away and stroked the shiny paths glistening along his cheeks. “We'll get through this. You've already come so far.”

He touched her cheek, his fingertips rough against her skin.

She nuzzled her face against his hand.

“I love you.”

The words melted her resolve to be strong, and the warmth in his eyes brought heat to her cheeks. She straightened in the chair and leaned forward, determined to avoid a conversation best left for another time and place. “We'll talk later. Just rest and get better.”

She shifted mental gears and told him about Frank, Missy, and Sam. This seemed to lift Jack's spirits, and when he finally closed his eyes again, Alaina found comfort in the fact that she'd given him good news.