Sagebrush Bride (49 page)

“Katie,”
she said, trying not to give in to hysteria, “turn around, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

Again
Elizabeth looked up, beseeching Katie to understand. “Because I have to look
somewhere you can’t,” she said bluntly.

Katie
nodded abruptly, seeing something frightening in Elizabeth’s eyes. She turned
obediently, and Elizabeth immediately began to unbutton Cutter’s denims,
tugging them down as far as she was able without removing his boots. Nothing.
Puzzled, she lifted one leg slightly, then the other, peering beneath.

Still
nothing.

Stupefied,
she removed his knife from his left boot, set it aside, and began tugging off
the right one. It came off without difficulty, but when she came back to remove
the left one, it seemed bonded to his foot. Grunting, she hauled on it with all
her might, yanking it down, one frustrating inch at a time. At last, when it
was nearly off, she caught a glimpse of the angry red streak, and her breath
snagged. Her heart pounded as she tugged again, more frantically this time,
releasing the boot with a final sucking sound. She toppled backward from the
force of her tug. Shaking her head in denial, she righted herself at once, and
began to remove his sock. She tossed it aside in disbelief, her heart filling
with an unbearable ache.

“Dear
God!” she exclaimed.

“Can
I look?” Katie asked.

“No,
Katie... no,” Elizabeth sobbed.

The
red streak climbed his leg, originating from a gash in his left foot and
disappearing into the leg of his denims. She hadn’t realized he’d even cut
himself! How could she not have known? Why hadn’t he mentioned it?

He
didn’t trust in you, a little voice taunted as she tugged frantically at his
denims, removing them.

Cutter
didn’t believe in her abilities as a doctor any more than anyone else did.

He
watched you kill a man with your ignorance, that same voice sneered.

But
she could have done something. Anything... anything would have been better than
nothing at all! She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, for in that
moment, it hurt so deeply that he’d preferred to suffer—or die,
even—rather than have her tend him!

Perhaps
he’d had good reason to doubt her, she mocked herself. She hadn’t been able to
keep the Indian from dying, had she? But she’d tried. Dear God, with all her
heart she’d tried!

He
didn’t trust her.

The
Indian chose that moment to return.
“
Eháomóhtâhéotse
,
” he said,
halting dead in his tracks when he saw Cutter’s swollen, angry foot.

Katie
buried her face into Elizabeth’s lap, hiding from him, and Elizabeth never felt
more torn; she wanted to soothe Katie, wanted to help Cutter, wanted to cry.

“It’s
infected,” Elizabeth informed him briskly, even knowing he wouldn’t understand.
She held back every emotion. Except for the anger that crept into her heart.
Anger that Cutter would have let this go so long without having it tended.
Anger that he hadn’t trusted her. Anger that he might die because of his
stubbornness. Anger that she had let herself love him.

Why,
oh, why had she allowed herself to love him?

Her
hands began to shake uncontrollably. “I’ll need you to start a fire,” she said,
looking up at the Indian, her lips trembling and her eyes shimmering. “Fire!”
She set Katie aside and made a desperate motion with her hand, and then,
remembering the cartridge Cutter usually kept in his pocket, she searched for
it. Not finding it, she mimed building herself a fire, and then cooking, and
then eating what she cooked.

The
Indian nodded. “
Mesées
tse
!” he said with a grin, and without
another word, set about the task assigned to him.

When
he began to build the fire, Elizabeth returned her attention to Cutter,
satisfied that she had gotten her message across. Her heart ached as she spied
Katie’s frightened pose. She was holding her knees to her chest and watching
the Indian through her little hands. “Katie,” she admonished gently, “don’t be
afraid, honey. And don’t hide your face,” she added firmly, her breath catching
on a sob. “He won’t hurt you, and it will hurt his feelings.”

Katie
nodded mutely and dropped her hands, looking up at Elizabeth with haunted eyes.
Elizabeth’s hand went to her mouth as silent sobs wracked her within. Her lips
clamped to contain them. Unable to keep them down, she choked suddenly.
Glancing over her shoulder, her heart in her eyes, she met the Indian’s
comprehending gaze.

There
was no language barrier between them in that instant. He seemed to see
everything that was in her heart. He went back to his task, and Elizabeth
turned back to Cutter, her emotions too turbulent to be seen. Too embittered.

“I
hate you, Cutter!” she choked out suddenly her hands flying to her mouth,
covering the telltale trembling of her lips. No... you don’t! You love him,
that same voice countered fiercely. You love him!

“Aunt
Lizabeth!” Katie sobbed.

The
Indian said nothing, only watched her show of emotions from of the corner of
his eyes. When the fire was kindled finally, he left without a word.

Her
throat seemed to close up as she lifted Cutter’s knife to the fire, watching it
flare bright red within the glowing blue flames. When it was heated enough, she
removed it, swiping the black ash on her skirt, not caring that it singed the
material, not caring that she could feel the burn clear to her flesh.

And
then, with trembling hands, she began to slice open the inflamed wound on the
sole of his foot.

“Aunt
Lizabeth!” Katie cried in protest.

“Don’t
look, Katie!” Elizabeth demanded firmly. “Don’t look, honey!” There was little
blood and much pus. She swallowed convulsively. But it wasn’t the wound that
made her ill. It was the lack of tools along with her fear of failure.

There
was no pot to boil water with.

No
water to boil, even if there had been a pot.

No
alcohol to sterilize the wound.

Nothing.

Nothing
but the knife in her hands.

Using
the best of her skills, she drained the wound, brushing her tears aside when
they hindered her vision.

Vaguely
she was aware that the Indian had returned. As though he’d anticipated her
needs, he set down two canteens full of water beside her, along with a blanket.
“
Mahpe
,” he said, pointing to the
canteen. “
Mahpe
.”

“Water,”
Elizabeth returned, her gaze lifting from the canteens.

The
Indian nodded, standing. “Wat-er!” he repeated, and then he walked away.

Tears
glistened on her pale face as Elizabeth eyed the canteens blankly, noticing
finally that one was made of tin covered with water-stained leather. The other
was made solely of animal skin, and she determined that it was the Indian’s.
With an immediate surge of excitement, she lifted the one made of tin,
inspected it quickly, and then, with her heart hammering, she set it whole into
the fire, watching eagerly as the leather ignited before her eyes and burned
away. The moment she felt it was hot enough, she found a rock and tossed it at
the canteen, nudging it back out. And then another, and another, until the
canteen was completely out of the fire. Not caring that it charred her dress,
she used her hem to protect her fingers as she lifted up the canteen, unscrewed
the top, and poured a heated droplet onto the back of her hand. It scalded her,
but she merely smiled with relief and shook it away.

Having
little time to waste, she rent a strip from Cutter’s shirt and crumpled the
cloth, holding it up to the sole of Cutter’s foot as she poured the scalding
water over his newly sliced wound, cleansing it thoroughly.

“Does
that hurt?” Katie asked as she watched.

Elizabeth
nodded, never looking up. She couldn’t bear to look into Katie’s face and see
her own fear mirrored there. “I have to hurt him to help him,” she revealed,
setting the canteen aside. She rubbed the remaining dirt from the wound with
the water-soaked rag, and then again poured over the hot water when she
finished.

When
every last speck of dirt was removed from the wound, Elizabeth once again
lifted the blade over the fire, watching until the metal glowed. She bit down
on her bottom lip for strength, and turned to set it against Cutter’s foot. His
foot jerked, the motion more reflexive, than from pain, because his eyes
remained closed, his face pale.

But
there was no help for it. Knowing she had to hurt him to help him, as she’d
disclosed to Katie, she set the sizzling blade to the wound once more,
sterilizing and cauterizing it with the heat.

Finally,
when she’d done all she could do, she dressed the wound, covering Cutter with a
blanket. With the Indian’s help, she retrieved Cutter’s bedroll and then set
Cutter upon it, tucking the blanket lovingly about him.

Worrying,
she placed a trembling hand to his forehead. “He’s raging,” she remarked
softly, her voice still shaky with emotion.

“Raging?”
Katie asked.

Elizabeth
glanced up at Katie, intending to reassure her, but couldn’t. “The fever,” she
explained. “I’ve done all I can for him,” she added dismally. “There’s nothing
to do now but wait.”

Katie
stared, confusion screwing her young features. “You don’t really hate him?” she
wanted know. “You don’t hate my uncle. Do you?”

Dear
God, what had she done? The chaos she’d brought to poor Katie’s life—how
could she ever forgive herself for it! “No, honey,” Elizabeth cried. “No... I
could never hate him.” She stared back, but it wasn’t Katie’s face she saw in
that moment... it was Cutter’s.

You did real
good back there, Doc,
she
heard him whisper. She closed her eyes, almost able to feel the warmth of his
breath against her ear. “Oh, Cutter,” she sobbed, squeezing her lids tight,
blocking out the echo of Cutter’s words. She had done the best she could then,
too... and it hadn’t been enough. Black Wolf had died in spite of it.

Dear
God, she didn’t know what she would do if Cutter died, as well.

She
couldn’t bear it. Hot, silent tears slipped past her lashes.

Did you think
I’d won my title by default
?
her own voice mocked her.

Well?
She scorned herself. Hadn’t she, after all?

Cutter’s fever escalated through the day. And
though he didn’t sink into delirium, he did awaken once, to stare glassy-eyed
into the brightness of the late afternoon sun. Holding back tears of
frustration and fear, Elizabeth passed a hand over his eyes, closing his lids
to protect his pupils from the glare. She couldn’t forget Black Wolf’s
sightless stare, couldn’t help comparing...

Not even to eat did she leave Cutter’s side. Black
Wolf’s brother hunted for Katie, feeding her, while Elizabeth kept watch. He
offered to Elizabeth, but Elizabeth refused.

“
Méseestse
!” he
said, bringing the meat to his lips, showing her what he wanted her to do with
it. “
He-
méseestse
!” he repeated, thrusting the charred piece of hare at her
once more, ordering her to eat it. “
Mâhe'haná
!”

Elizabeth watched Katie, who was eating silently,
sitting surprisingly close to the Indian. And then she turned again to meet his
gaze. He was glowering at her, and given the choice she had—to offend
him, or not to—Elizabeth took the meat from his hands. There was
something to be thankful for, she thought dismally as she chewed. At least
Katie seemed less afraid. They’d actually attempted to communicate, and if
Elizabeth hadn’t been so weary and afraid, she might have been amused by their
interaction. The Indian seemed bent on coaxing Katie with strange items from
his person. Only when he offered her a colorful feather did she relent and come
nearer to inspect it.