Robin Lee Hatcher (20 page)

No, she hadn’t done everything. She’d never told him she was sorry about the wager she’d made with Ingrid. She’d never told him that she loved him.

Her father must have seen an answer in her eyes. “You go upstairs to your old room. Stay for a few days and decide what it is you want to say to your husband. Then I’ll take you home myself.”

Home. Home to the Circle Blue.

The old determination returned. She wasn’t beaten. She wasn’t a quitter. She wouldn’t give up or give in. She loved him, and she meant to tell him so.

TWENTY-FOUR

Bethany spent the next four days thinking about Hawk, pondering every moment they’d spent together, repeating in her mind everything she’d said to him and he’d said to her. The note he’d left for her was wrinkled and smudged from the many times she’d read it, studying the words, looking for meanings between the lines. She took long walks by the river and sometimes sat on the riverbank, praying, asking God what she should do and how she should do it. She asked the Lord to forgive her for her impetuous and stubborn nature. She prayed for Hawk’s forgiveness too.

On the morning of the fifth day, she awoke with one thought. This was the day. It was time to go home. She tossed the light coverlet aside and slid her feet to the floor, her gaze moving to her trunk that sat in the corner. It had arrived the day after Ingrid’s wedding, delivered by one of Hawk’s hired hands. She hadn’t opened it. Today she would take it back to the Circle Blue.

She could scarcely wait to tell her father.

Not all of her gowns were packed in that trunk. Many remained in her wardrobe, including the dress she’d worn the first day she met Hawk on the sidewalk outside the saloon. That was the dress she selected. For some reason it seemed the perfect one to wear, as if it represented a second chance to do things the right way.

“Miss Bethany!” Griselda’s frantic cry from the hallway startled her.

She dropped the gown on the floor and hurried to the door.

“It’s your mother. The reverend says to come at once.”

Bethany hurried toward her parents’ bedroom. When she entered, she found her father holding her mother as she violently emptied her stomach into the washbasin.

“Papa?”

Her father eased her mother back onto her pillow. “Get Doc Wilton.”

“What — ?”

“Hurry!”

She spun around and raced back to her room, slipping into the dress she’d dropped a few moments before. She didn’t bother with stockings or shoes. Then, skirts held high, she ran as she hadn’t since she was a child, down the stairs, out the door, and through the street to the apothecary.

“Mr. Wilton,” she cried as she burst into the shop. “Where’s the doctor?”

“Eberlie’s. Called down there in the night and hasn’t been back.”

She was gone before he could say anything more.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she took the stairs at the side of the mercantile two at a time. She knocked on the door and then called, “Mr. Eberlie. Martha. It’s Bethany Chandler. I’m looking for Doc Wilton. Is he here?” She knocked again, harder this time.

It was Doc Wilton himself who opened the door. “Who’s ill, Mrs. Chandler?”

“It’s Mother. Please, come quick.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I . . . I don’t know. She was vomiting when I went to her room. My father sent me for you.”

His shoulders sagged. “I’ll be there directly. Go back home. Give her plenty to drink. Make her drink even if she doesn’t want to. Wait!” he called after her as she turned to descend the steps. “Boil all your drinking water first.”

What Doc Wilton hadn’t said frightened her more than what he had. Something in his eyes spoke of defeat. It couldn’t be as bad as that. Could it?

Hiking up her skirts, she raced for home again.

Nathaniel rolled his wife onto her back and covered her with a sheet. Then he stooped to pick up the soiled bedding and carried it from the bedroom. His head ached and he felt feverish, but he couldn’t allow himself to rest. Not while Virginia needed him.

“Father, help me,” he prayed as he descended the stairs and turned toward the kitchen. “Griselda?” He received no reply, but he hadn’t the time or the energy to look for her. He carried the soiled linens outside and dropped them in a heap beside the step. They could be washed later.

As he turned, a violent stomach cramp doubled him over. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. He stepped inside and grabbed for the back of a nearby chair, holding on until the pain passed. A sour taste of bile rose in his throat. He drew a deep, determined breath and moved on. He was reaching for the banister when the front door flew open.

“Papa!” Bethany came to a halt in the doorway. “The doctor says he’ll be here directly. How’s Mother?”

The reverend shook his head, unable to speak.

“Doc Wilton says she’s to drink lots of water, but I’m to boil it first. I’ll do it now. Is Griselda in the kitchen?”

“I don’t know where she is.”

His daughter frowned. “Papa, are you all right?”

He nodded, though it was a lie. “Boil the water, Bethany. I must get back to your mother.”

“It’s cholera,” the doctor said in a soft voice.

“Cholera?” Bethany echoed.

“And your father’s ill too.”

“Papa too?” A chill passed through her. She knew little about the disease except that it was feared and usually fatal.

“The Eberlies have it too. Both Fred and his daughter.”

“But — ”

“Burn the sheets. Handle any of their soiled things carefully. Destroy them. Wash your hands often and especially before touching any food. Cook all fruits and vegetables, and boil your drinking water. You must make your parents drink as much as possible. We must stop the dehydration if we can.”

“But, Doc, I don’t know how — ”

“Then you’re going to learn,” he snapped. “We may have an epidemic on our hands.”

She pressed the knuckles of one hand against her mouth. Those were her parents in there. They couldn’t have cholera. They couldn’t die.

“Find that housekeeper of yours. You’re going to need plenty of help.” His voice softened a little as he touched her shoulder. “You must be strong. We haven’t time for hysterics.”

Bethany drew a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’ll get Griselda.”

She went downstairs, calling the woman’s name. When the housekeeper didn’t answer, she rapped on her bedroom door and opened it. Griselda was in bed, and the room smelled of sickness.

The horse picked its way along a narrow trail on the side of a mountain. Hawk didn’t push the gelding. Without a particular destination in mind, he wasn’t concerned how long it took him to get there. He glanced up, gauging the trek of the sun across the sky. Just about noon, he’d guess.

He wondered if Bethany was sitting down to eat with her parents. It was easy to picture her in his mind. His thoughts had been full of little else during his five days on the trail. She was with him all the time. Maybe he would never be free of her. Maybe he couldn’t ride far enough or fast enough to escape her. When he bedded down at night, he sometimes thought he could smell her cologne on the breeze. When the trees swayed overhead, he thought he could hear her laughter. And when he slept, he dreamed he held her in his arms. He imagined he could taste the sweetness of her kisses.

But it didn’t matter if thoughts of her tortured him. He’d done the right thing, leaving her with her parents, setting her free from a marriage that never should have taken place. He was sure of it.

He rode for another hour, stopping when he came upon a meadow. There was plenty of grass for the horse and a brook for them both to drink from. He’d eat some of the dried jerky and let the gelding rest a while.

As the horse grazed, Hawk leaned his back against a tree and opened the Bible he’d brought along. He wasn’t sure why he’d thrown it in with the other supplies as he’d readied to leave the Circle Blue. It wasn’t as if he’d spent much time reading the Good Book in the years since his mother and father died. Still, he’d found it a good companion.

Today, he opened to the book of Romans, the twelfth chapter. Somewhere along mid-morning, he’d remembered something his father once said. Something about this chapter being a guide on how a man should live. Hawk figured it was time he found out what his father had meant.

Within hours of learning of the outbreak of cholera, the Silverton home became a hospital, not only for Bethany’s parents but for others too. Fred and Martha Eberlie were the first to sicken, but they weren’t among the first to die. That distinction fell to the miller and his wife, followed by John Wilton’s youngest son, one of the girls from the Plains Saloon, and Griselda.

Water boiled in kitchens in every home within easy reach of Sweetwater. Disinfectant fires filled the air with smoke. It lingered over the town like a shroud for those who had passed on and those who were soon to die.

It was past ten o’clock at night when Bethany sat beside the bed and pressed a cup of water against her mother’s lips. “Please, Mother. Please swallow just a little more water.”

Weariness dragged at Bethany’s arms, and her eyes felt as dry as sandpaper. She’d been awake for more than thirty-six hours, but her weariness was more than physical. Her spirit felt crushed, her heart broken. As much as she longed to deny it, her mother would be gone before midnight. How was it possible that Bethany had learned the signs of impending death in such a short amount of time?

She swallowed a lump in her throat as she looked at the woman in the bed. She was nearly unrecognizable as Virginia Silverton. Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks hollow. When Bethany touched her, her mother’s skin felt cold, covered with a clammy sweat. The watery diarrhea persisted, but thankfully the cramps had lessened somewhat in the past hour.

“Your father? How is he?” Her mother’s voice was hoarse and weak.

“He’s better,” Bethany lied as she leaned closer. “He’ll be in to see you soon.”

“You must take care of him for me.”

“Papa likes it ever so much better when you take care of him.”

“I won’t be here.”

“Oh, Mama. Of course you will.” Tears streaked her cheeks.

Her mother’s eyes drifted closed. “I was so hoping to get to hold my grandchildren before I went to be with the Lord.” The words were barely audible.