The Doctor's Lady (19 page)

Priscilla took a deep breath and settled herself against the blankets she’d rolled out on top of the India rubber cloth.

In the silence of the night, the chirp of the crickets was a loud chorus, broken only by the occasional nicker of one of the horses penned into the large circle they’d made with their wagons and tents.

Even though they’d passed safely by most of the Pawnee villages, they still faced the ever-present danger of horse theft. At least now that they were traveling with the caravan, the men of their party would share guard duty with the trappers.

She hoped their group would rest easier. John and Richard had fallen asleep the moment their tired young bodies had fallen to the ground. Mabel, too, had already closed her eyes in exhausted slumber. But their even breathing hadn’t been able to lull Priscilla to sleep.

Her heart flipped in anticipation and nervousness, and she fingered the edge of Eli’s blankets next to hers. After the difficult words they’d exchanged earlier in the day, she wanted a chance to try to make things right between them, to somehow convey the depth of her feelings for him. Yes, they’d made an arrangement, but now, couldn’t she explain to him she was ready for more than a business partnership?

He’d said she was special. And if she could just tell him how much she cared about him, then surely they could have a real marriage. She wanted to continue with him every step of the journey, and to serve by his side and nowhere else for as long as God gave her life.

At the stirring outside the tent, she held her breath. They hadn’t had the chance to lie side by side since the night at the inn, which seemed like years ago after all they’d been through.

The tent flap lifted. First Henry crawled through, and then Eli slipped in after him.

Her breath hitched deep in her lungs and every nerve in her body sprang to life.

Henry stumbled through the dark to his bedroll, and Eli worked at fastening the flap shut.

When he turned and began to make his way toward her, her heart pattered faster.

He tossed aside his hat but didn’t bother taking off his boots before he flopped onto the blankets she’d spread close to hers.

Her body froze and she could hardly breathe.

He crossed his arms behind his head and blew out a weary sigh.

From the other side of the tent, Henry’s snore was instant, almost as if he’d fallen asleep before laying his head down.

Priscilla squeezed her eyes shut. She had to talk to Eli before he fell asleep.

Eli’s breathing was deep and steady, and she had no doubt after the exhaustion of the past weeks, he wouldn’t be awake long either.

She rolled to her side and stretched out her hand. Her trembling fingers made contact with his.

His breathing quickened, but he didn’t move.

She wrapped her fingers around his, letting the mixture of softness and solidness caress her hand.

“Eli?” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to talk.” She leaned closer into the crook of his neck, and the scruff of his cheeks scraped against the flesh of her nose, still tender from earlier. Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted him to hold her and tell her they would be fine, that everything would work out between them the way it should.

She nuzzled her lips into the soft, smooth place below his ear, tasting the smokiness of his flesh against the tip of her tongue.

His body tightened. “What do you think you’re doing?” His breath came fast and ragged, as if he’d just swum across a river.

What was she doing? How could she explain what she wanted from him? Maybe if he kissed her again. Maybe then he’d feel her desire to be more than just his partner.

She tipped back her head and gave him access to her lips.

The heat of his breath bathed her cheek, then her mouth. His lips hovered above hers.

For a long aching moment, she waited for him to give her what she longed for: his heart.

But in one shattering instant, he gripped her upper arms and wrenched her away. “No.” His whisper against her ear was hoarse.

She sucked in a sharp, painful breath.

“We had an agreement.”

“With all the danger, I realize you probably think it’s wise for us to guard ourselves against getting too close, but—”

“You’re right. There’s no sense in complicating things. Not now.”

“But after these many weeks, after getting to know each other. Surely you aren’t holding on to your prejudices toward me. . . .” Frustration pulsed to life inside her.

He hesitated. “You’re still a beautiful, fine lady. And the West is still just as harsh and demanding.”

“If I must suffer, then I shall do so gladly.”

“I won’t stand back and watch you suffer.” His voice tightened. “I’ve had to watch those I care about suffer too many times in my life. And I won’t do it again.”

Was he thinking of his sisters? Of the torment they’d endured at the hands of Walt? “But I chose to come, to suffer of my own free will.”

“No.” His whisper was low and taut, and it crushed the delicate bloom inside her. “I won’t go back on my word. If living in the West is too dangerous for you, then I’ll send you back home. With an annulment.”

Her heart grew silent. An annulment?

“Then you’ll be free to marry someone else and go serve the Lord in India, like you wanted.”

At that moment, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to marry someone else or go to India. Not when she wanted to be with Eli more than she’d ever wanted anything else.

“It’ll be best for both of us if we keep to our business arrangement,” he continued hoarsely. “Easier—less complicated—less painful.”

She wanted to argue with him more, to convince him that he was wrong, that it would be infinitely more painful to live with the knowledge that he didn’t want her love.

But she was a fine lady, after all. Hadn’t he just said so? And ladies didn’t throw themselves at men, hoping for their love. And ladies most certainly didn’t plead and beg for affection, especially after a man refused them.

Humiliation blew from her heart to her face, and she was glad for the cover of darkness to hide her embarrassment.

“Besides, we both need to remember why we’re doing this—why we’re here.” He pushed himself up. “We’re missionaries, and our top priority is starting the mission and ministering to the natives. We can’t let other things distract us.”

His reprimand was like a cold slap against her hot cheeks.

“I have to clear my head.” He grabbed his bedroll and crawled toward the door.

She sat up and wanted to call after him. But through the faint moonlight that illuminated the tent, Henry’s snoring ceased, and he pushed himself up on one elbow, glancing from her to Eli and back.

Horror pummeled her down to her mat. She closed her eyes and wished she could disappear. Of all people, did Henry have to witness Eli’s rejection? Now Henry would know that her marriage to Eli was nothing . . . truly was nothing at all but a business deal.

She listened to the flap of canvas and knew Eli was gone.

Pain ripped through her heart with the sharpness of Running Feet’s knife. It sliced up her throat with an intense burning that brought tears to her eyes.

He’d left her. . . .

She shuddered and wrapped her arms across her chest. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and the pain in her throat swelled to an unbearable lump. The awful truth fell across her.

He didn’t want her.

She’d only wanted to tell him how much she cared about him—about them—but he’d pushed her away. . . .

Above the Forks
of the Platte River

T
he ground vibrated with the pounding hooves of buffalo. Eli took aim down the barrel of his rifle. He stood in his stirrups and squeezed his horse with his thighs, trying to steady himself.

“Hold on, boy,” he urged his gelding. Eli was sure the tremor of excitement that pulsed through his own blood radiated into his horse, making it shimmy and snort as it galloped at top speed across the hard-packed prairie.

Shots from the other hunters had already stirred the herd, and Eli had little time left to make the kill before the buffalo within his aim escaped to safer ground.

His muscles tightened and his finger was taut against the trigger.

Squire’s whoops carried over the snorting and stomping of the beasts.

In the past week since leaving the Pawnee villages, the fur company’s food supplies had dwindled to nothing. Of course Squire hadn’t thought twice about asking the missionaries to share some of their extra calves. Eli had obliged the double-crosser, and the passage about forgiving seventy times seven had taken on new meaning.

Squire was pushing them hard to get to the Rendezvous on time, not allowing them a day’s rest, even on the Sabbath. They’d traveled along the Platte River close to two hundred miles and earlier that day had finally moved beyond the fork and entered buffalo country. For once, Squire had allowed them to stop early. After they finished their hunt, they would butcher their kills and feast on steaks.

Eli closed one eye and tried to focus on the nearest bull through the rising swirls of dust. A shot broadside into the lungs would bring the beast down the quickest. Even though their group still had cattle to eat, they would need to dry some of the buffalo meat for later, when they moved far beyond the plentiful prairies into the dry hills and deserts that lay northwest of the fertile valley of the Rendezvous meeting spot.

He steadied his arm and waited a second longer before pulling the trigger.

The crack was followed by a puff of smoke and a jerk to the pit of his arm where the gun kicked back. An instant later the buffalo gave a pained bellow and crumpled to the ground with a thump that sent puffs of dust into the air.

Satisfaction settled across Eli’s shoulders, and he lowered himself into his saddle. Hunger gurgled through his stomach. He could almost smell the smoky meat and hear the fat sizzle against the cast-iron skillet.

He wiped his sleeve across the sweat making trails down his temple, and glanced toward the flat bluff rising out of the prairie, where Priscilla stood with Henry, Mabel, and Running Feet. From their position, they could watch the buffalo in safety.

For an instant, envy gnawed him—envy at Henry for getting to be the one to take the women to the bluff and witness the amazement that was sure to have transformed their faces at the sight of so many enormous, wild creatures. He didn’t doubt Priscilla was feeling the same awe he’d experienced last year at his first encounter.

At least he could console himself that she cared about
him
more than Henry. He never liked thinking about what had transpired between the two in the past, but certainly Henry didn’t hold her affection anymore—not after the way she’d responded to his kiss, not after the way she’d reached for him in the tent.

Eli’s stomach tightened. She was his now, wasn’t she?

The breeze rippled her skirt, and against the blue evening sky she looked like one of the delicate white flowers that grew in the long waving grass all around them. She was as poised and graceful and beautiful as always, holding her chin high and her shoulders straight.

With a mental shake, he ripped his gaze away from her. Like any flower, all it would take was one misstep, and she would be flattened into the ground and crushed. He had only to remind himself of how close Old Ephraim had come to raping her, and frustration wrapped around his gut with a hard squeeze.

The deep places in his soul ached with the echoes of his sisters’ helpless whimpers in the dark. Priscilla’s voice had held the same terrified note when she’d screamed for him.

Even if she was holding up to the rigors of the trip, the attack by Old Ephraim had only confirmed the foolishness of bringing a lady like her. It could easily happen again. Anything could happen to her.

And what if he wasn’t able to keep her safe next time? He hadn’t been able to keep his sisters safe, no matter how hard he’d tried.

He stared at the lines of scars on his hands. They appeared whiter since his skin had grown more weathered over the past weeks. They were a constant reminder of mistakes he’d made in his past and that he couldn’t fail again.

The West was no place for a lady.

“Eli!” Priscilla’s call was faint, but the urgency in it grabbed him. He swiveled toward her, his heart thudding.

Near the edge of the bluff, she was kneeling next to Running Feet, who was doubled over.

“Hurry!” Priscilla’s voice was laced with panic.

For an instant, relief seized him, but then also the realization of how tense he’d been lately, wondering and waiting for something else to happen to Priscilla. It was just a matter of time. Wasn’t it?

He shouted instructions to John and Richard to take care of the buffalo he’d shot. Then he steered his horse away from the stampede and kicked it into a gallop toward the bluff. He crossed the distance with a sense of dread pooling in his gut.

“What happened?” Eli jumped off his mount and scrambled up the ledge toward Running Feet. Small rocks and clods of dirt crumbled away behind him with each step.

Priscilla turned her wide eyes upon him, the space between her brows wrinkled. “I don’t know. Running Feet just fell to the ground. And when I came over to her, I noticed the puddle of blood at her feet.”

Eli knelt beside the woman and set to work untying the cradleboard from her back.

“What is it, Doc?” Squire climbed up next to them, his breathing heavy. “What’s wrong with her?”

Blood ran down her legs and seeped into the leather of her moccasins, staining them dark brown.

She clutched her abdomen and groaned.

“Take the baby.” Eli handed the papoose to Priscilla.

She started unraveling the rope that bound the baby in place.

“Let’s get her back to the wagon, and I’ll check her there.” Running Feet was obviously hemorrhaging. But how badly? And why?

Squire bent over and murmured to her. She didn’t respond. His forehead furrowed, and he swooped her up into his arms.

She gave a pained cry.

“Come on, Doc.” Squire started back down the bluff, slipping and sliding in the loose dirt. “Let’s see what you can do. You saved her once. I know you can do it again.”

Eli straightened and blew out a shaky breath. His gut told him Running Feet was beyond his help. But he would do all he could to help her—just as he always did.

Priscilla loosened David from the confines of the pack and pulled him into her arms. Her lips brushed against the baby’s forehead before her gaze collided with his over David’s head. The confusion and hurt in her eyes reached out to him as it had done since the night he’d left her in the tent. And whenever he looked into her eyes and saw down into her heart, he couldn’t keep from doubting himself. Had he made the right decision in making sure nothing changed in their business arrangement?

Or had he made the biggest mistake yet?

Fort William

T
he high June sun baked Priscilla like the slabs of buffalo steak Eli was an expert at frying. She dabbed the sweat on her forehead with her handkerchief.

The water in the wash bucket was as murky as the Missouri River had been back during the weeks when they’d traveled aboard the steamboats. What she wouldn’t give to be riding on the river now, instead of on the dusty open grasslands for endless days.

She shielded her eyes from the sun and glanced at Fort William, standing tall like a lone sentinel in the empty wilderness. Near the banks where the North Platte and Laramie Rivers met, the fort was crudely built—nothing more than a stockade with several small log cabins built into the wooden palisade—but it was still the first sight of civilization in the nearly seven hundred miles they’d traversed since leaving Liberty, and for that, Priscilla was grateful.

The cabins, along with the blacksmith’s quarters and storehouse, had been built with the fort only two years prior by the fur trader William Sublette in an effort to trade with the local tribes.

She and Mabel were the first white women to ever set foot inside the walls of the fort, and the fort manager had extended them as much hospitality as the barrenness of the place allowed. The furnishings in their small room inside the fort were Spartan—thin feather mattresses, a chair with a buffalo-skin seat, an old pewter washbasin. And yet the fort reminded her of what she’d left behind, what she’d missed all these long weeks of travel—the simple comforts of a home.

“We absolutely cannot wait this long again between washings,” she said to Mabel, lifting the last shirt from the scrub board and twisting it. It was the first time in over a month that they’d had a break of any kind and the opportunity to attend to their personal needs.

Mabel plucked a pair of Henry’s trousers off the thicket where they’d draped some of the clothing and the linens. She ran a hand over it and then shook it hard. “Praise the Lord. At least they’re drying quickly.”

They’d arrived at Fort William several days earlier, but Priscilla had been too busy helping Eli care for Running Feet and David to have time for much else. The woman had languished over the two weeks since she’d started hemorrhaging, having to ride in the wagon most of the time. When they’d finally reached the fort, Eli had insisted they give her a few days’ rest.

Every day, Squire had exchanged heated words with Eli about the need to move on, to get the supplies to the Rendezvous. Yet, in spite of Squire’s grumbling, he hadn’t forced them on. Finally, after Running Feet had sat up earlier in the day, Squire had bellowed that they would leave on the morrow without further delay.

Priscilla stole a glance at Eli, who was standing nearby speaking with a group of Sioux Indians, his rifle tucked under his arm as a warning to leave the white women alone.

A twinge of pain radiated from Priscilla’s battered heart, and she stared at her hands, now red from the lye soap. She needed his protection. The grounds swarmed with Sioux who’d come to Fort William to trade buffalo robes for alcohol and tobacco. Every night in their beds, she and Mabel could hear the wild dancing and singing and revelry of the Indians and trappers camped outside the stockade.

Yes, she was grateful Eli stood guard over her. But . . .

She squeezed the wet shirt tighter, and the last gray drops of water dripped onto the grass.

He’d made it clear he wanted to keep his distance from her, that his calling to serve the natives and his desire to start his mission were more important than she was. She was nothing more than a way for him to get to the West. He needed her to fulfill his dreams but didn’t really want her.

After all they’d been through together, after how much she’d endured, she’d hoped he was beginning to see that she could handle a hard life. But obviously he was still intent on sending her home at the least problem, and now was planning to give her an annulment too.

Each beat of her heart pumped the pain into her blood. How had she allowed herself to fall in love with him?

She shook the shirt and flapped it open, trying to muster anger toward herself. After all, it was her fault she was in the predicament of loving a man who didn’t want to love her in return. They’d made an agreement to have a business partnership. Nothing more. She was the one who wanted to change their status. Not he.

If she should be angry at anyone, it should be herself.

A waft of warm wind blew from the direction of the Platte River and soothed her face, giving her a break from the stench of manure that arose in the hot air both inside and outside the walls of the fort.

She laid the wet shirt on top of the low branches in the warm sunshine. With a deep breath she squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to remember why she’d come west. It wasn’t to fall in love with a man. Eli was right. They’d come to share God’s love with the heathen, to help them, to teach them, to give them a better way of living.

“Lord, help me not to forget your call,” she whispered.

“Mrs. Doc!” Richard shouted from the front entrance underneath the large blockhouse. There was an urgency in his voice that snapped her body to attention. “Running Feet need you.”

Eli rubbed a hand across his eyes and nodded. “Tell Squire I’ll be right there.”

“She call for Mrs. Doc.”

Priscilla wiped her hands on her apron and started toward the palisade gate. Her heartbeat faltered with sudden dread.

Upon examination earlier, Eli had discovered that Running Feet was bleeding because she was having a miscarriage. However, he hadn’t been able to find the cause of her abdominal pain or the fever that had developed.

He’d attended her night and day, fighting for her life. Even though the bleeding had finally stopped, she’d grown continually weaker.

Priscilla raced through the open gate. “How is she, Richard?” Her voice was breathless.

The Indian boy jogged alongside her. “She leave this world very soon.”

“No. She certainly won’t.” Priscilla crossed the open interior courtyard, dodging piles of manure with flies buzzing around them. “She was doing fine just a short while ago.”

She passed the stables and the well and headed to the cabin Squire had commandeered for Running Feet. The door was already wide open. Squire was pacing back and forth beside the bed.

“Where’s Doc?” he roared.

“I’m sure he’s not far behind me.” She dodged the bear of a man and rushed to Running Feet’s side. Squire didn’t make her tremble with fear the way he used to. But she still wasn’t used to the way he looked at her with his one eye, and she hadn’t quite forgiven him for leaving them behind.

She knelt next to the bed and swept her fingers through David’s tousled hair. He was sleeping tucked under Running Feet’s arm and against her bosom, just the way Priscilla had left him when she’d gone to do the washing.