Sarah's Surrender (20 page)

With the worst of the grime gone, she cuddled the girl and carried her back to camp. Wouldn't Zelma be surprised? How could the poor thing have ended up alone and so far from anywhere? Where were her parents? Worst of all, had someone dumped her?

Sarah held her close, knowing how it felt to be torn away from one's mother. She felt a kinship with the toddler, not just because of their Indian heritage and because they'd both lost their mothers when they were young, but also because she was alone. Sarah had family and friends now, but she'd never forget those lonely, frightening nights when she'd lived at her father's bordello, locked alone in her room while drunken men raised a ruckus in another part of the big house.

As she approached their camp, she spied Zelma still in her rocker, but her head was hanging. The poor woman worked too hard caring for all her men. Cody sat about ten feet away, still playing with the hammer and nails. He looked up and waved then must have noticed the girl, because he hopped up and started for her.

Sarah glanced down and saw that the girl had fallen asleep. How long had she been out in the brush alone?

“Where'd you get that kid?” Cody stared up at her.

Zelma must have heard him, because she raised her head. Her eyes, which still were half-mast from sleep, suddenly shot open. She bounced up from her chair, dropping her mending on the ground. “Where in the world did you find that urchin?”

“Down near the cornfield. I thought she was a wildcat at first. She scared me half to death. It's a good thing I forgot my gun, or I might've shot her.”

“Lord have mercy!” Zelma touched her hand to her chest. “Don't say such a thing.” She hurried to her wagon, pulled out a worn quilt, and placed it on the ground beneath the tree and near her rocker.

Sarah laid the toddler down, but she awakened, her eyes wide. She squealed and clutched Sarah's dress so hard that Sarah had no choice but to draw her back against her chest. “It's all right, sweetie. I'm not leaving you.”

Turning away, Zelma hurried to her cook wagon. She rustled around then pulled out a can of milk and opened it. She poured some in a tin mug and brought it to Sarah. “See if she'll drink some of this.”

Sarah took the cup and held it up to the girl's mouth. She leaned forward and gulped a drink.

After a few more gulps, Zelma pulled Sarah's hand back. “Don't let her have too much. You don't want her gettin' all wamble-cropped and spewing it up. Who knows how long it's been since the child ate.”

The girl fussed and reached for the cup. Zelma spun away then returned with a small piece of biscuit. “Would you like this, precious?”

She snatched it and shoved it in her mouth.

“The poor thing is starving.” Zelma ran her hand down the girl's face, then her gaze shot to Sarah's. “Why, she's burnin' up. I'm surprised she has an appetite at all.”

“What're you gonna do with her?” Cody rose on his tiptoes to see the girl better. “What's her name?”

“We don't know.” Sarah gently pressed on his shoulder, pushing him back. “Don't get too close until we find out what's wrong with her.”

Zelma tapped her lips with her forefinger. “I think you'd best take her to town. Fred said there's a couple of doctors that've hung out their shingles.”

“Pa!” Cody charged toward Jack and the twins, who strode from the direction of the cornfield. “Sarah found a kid!”

She picked up the girl and walked out to meet them. “Did you find anything?”

Jack's pinched lips told her they did. He nodded, confirming her thought. “There is a camp a few hundred yards from where we found the youngster.”

“And?” Sarah braced herself for bad news.

Zeke tugged off his hat. “The mother's gone.”

Zach shook his head. “She was thin and looked like maybe she'd been sick. Sad thing, to die alone like that, worryin' about what will happen to your young'un.”

“Are you sure she was alone? Were there any signs she might have had a husband? And what if there were other children?”

Jack pressed Cody's head against his leg, as if needing the comfort. “There were no signs that a man had been there. We scoured the area and didn't see any footprints other than the little girl's. As far as we can tell, she's an orphan now.”

Zeke ambled past Sarah toward the wagon. “We came back to fetch some shovels so we can bury the girl's mama.”

Sarah walked over to Jack but stayed back so as not to get close to Cody. She didn't want him catching whatever the toddler had. “The girl's hot. Zelma thinks she's sick and that we need to take her to the doctor in town.”

Jack nodded. “I'll hitch up the wagon.” He looked sideways at Zach. “Can you take care of the woman's body?”

“Yep. We'll get Pa and Amos to help if we need them, but we prob'ly won't.” He moseyed off toward his brother.

“Can I go to town with ya, Pa?”

Jack glanced at Sarah, and she shook her head. He knelt in front of his son. “We don't know what's wrong with the little girl, so it's best you stay here, if Mrs. Peterson doesn't mind.”

“I don't,” Zelma said.

“Aw … Yes, sir.”

“How's the hammerin' going?” Jack stood and took hold of Cody's hand. “Show me what you've done before I have to go.”

Zelma shuffled over to Sarah. “What are you gonna do about her?”

“I don't know.” Sarah gazed down at the girl whose eyes had closed again.

“I know you have a big heart, but you don't want to get attached. You prob'ly shouldn't be thinkin' on keepin' her, if that's what you're doing.”

Sarah nodded, her heart already entwining with the little one's. “I know, but right now, I'm all she has.”

Carson stared out the window at the ever-growing town. At times the almost constant hammering grated on his nerves, but that was mainly due to the lack of business. Which in truth was a good thing. He needed patients in order to stay in business, but he couldn't wish ill on anyone.

He rose and walked to the door, opened it, and leaned against the jamb, watching a group of carpenters erecting the building across the street from his. So far, he'd stitched up a half dozen cuts, set two broken bones, and treated a couple of people with stomach ailments. His father would have been proud of him.

He missed sharing his successes with the man who'd taught him most of what he knew about medicine. If only that irate Indian hadn't stabbed his father after he'd failed to save the Indian's wife. He shook his head at the senseless loss. Thankfully,
he'd
had no encounters with any Indians. He wasn't sure how he would react. Hanging his head, he blew out a loud sigh. He didn't like feeling prejudice against Indians. His father could just as likely have been killed by a white man, but he hadn't been.

If not for that heinous event, Carson might still be working at his father's side in Tahlequah in the Indian Territory instead of living in Oklahoma Territory. He'd heard talk in the café he frequented of joining the two territories into a new state, but he doubted that would ever happen. There was too much animosity between Indians and the white settlers whom the government had allowed to move in on lands that had been promised to the Indians forever. Forever sure ended up being a short time. Until his father had been killed, Carson had been sympathetic to the Indian's plight.

His gaze was drawn to a wagon moving faster than most. It headed straight for his office then slowed and stopped in front of him. He turned and went to his wash station to clean his hands then dried them and rolled down his sleeves. A man and his wife rushed in. She carried a child he'd guess to be around two—a rather grubby-looking child. His lips tightened. He despised parents who didn't take steps to clean their children properly. Didn't they know that filth led to disease?

He glanced at the mother and was instantly struck with two thoughts—she was definitely part Indian, and she was quite lovely. She looked clean, so why was her child in such a state? He glanced at the father, who looked to be much older than his wife. The man nodded.

“My name's Jack Jensen, and this is Sarah. We think the little girl is sick.”

“I'm Dr. Carson Worth. Follow me. We'll go into my exam room.” He spun around quickly, struggling with his emotions. This woman might be Indian—or more likely
part
Indian—but she was not the person who murdered his father. So why did his hands shake? He'd like to think it had to do with the sad state of the child, but he knew that wasn't the whole of it.

“Set the child on the table, please, so I can examine her.”

“I'll try, but she hasn't wanted me to put her down,” Mrs. Jensen said. She turned the girl around, but when she tried to set her on the table, the girl lifted her legs and screeched, clinging to her mother. The woman looked at him with an apologetic expression.

“That's fine. You hold her, and I'll check her that way.” He grabbed his stethoscope off his instrument tray and came around the table. His lips pursed at the child's matted hair. Pieces of grass had knotted in it, and although the girl's face and legs looked fairly clean in spite of the numerous insect bites on them, she wore a necklace of dirt and grime. The girl's dress was one of the filthiest he'd encountered as a doctor, although both parents were decently dressed. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to scold them. While a man could still be hung for stealing a horse, there were no laws to protect children from their unfit parents. Thankfully, the girl had a strong heartbeat, although one touch to her skin told him she was running a fever. Her glassy eyes were nearly the same color as her father's, but she got her dark skin tone from her mother.

“Has she been eating?”

“She ate a little this morning, and she was quite thirsty. The truth is—”

“That's all I needed to know.” Carson didn't want to hear her excuses for neglecting her child—he'd heard them all before. He lifted up the girl's dress. “At least she doesn't have a rash. That's good. Can you get her to open her mouth?”

The woman glanced at her husband then shrugged. “I don't know.” She gently tickled the girl's lower lip. The child intensely watched her mother. As soon as she opened her mouth a little, he stuck in a tongue depressor and took a quick look. The surprised girl didn't move for a moment, which gave him the time needed to check her, and then she gave a cough and pulled back.

“I see no spots in her throat. I believe this is merely a mild fever that should pass in a few days. Make sure to give her all she wants to drink—fresh water more so than milk. I'll give you a powder to give to her to help with the fever, and you can give her some weak willow bark tea.” He turned away so they wouldn't see the irritation in his eyes, but he had trouble keeping it from his voice. He poured some phenacetin powder in a small container and sealed it, and then he removed a bottle of camphor from his cabinet. “I suggest giving the child a bath and then applying this camphor to help reduce itching from her numerous insect bites. It's possible your daughter got this fever from the bites or being allowed to crawl around in the dirt.”

The woman gasped. Anger poured from her black eyes. “Now see here—”

His office door banged open. “Doc! Doc!”

“Excuse me for a moment.” Dr. Worth slid a glance toward the couple then hurried from the room.

The stranger in the waiting room grabbed his coat sleeve. “Doc, you gotta hurry. The saw slipped, and my brother cut his leg. It's bleedin' bad.”

“Let me get my bag.” He dashed back to the exam room. “Sorry, but I must go.” He handed Mr. Jensen the container with the powder and grabbed his medical bag. “If the child's fever isn't better in two days, bring her back. And if you have other children, keep them away from her until she's over the fever. Depending on what it is, it could spread quite easily.”

Mr. Jensen nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Worth. How much do I owe you?”

“A dollar.”

Mr. Jensen paid him, and then Carson rushed the couple out the door and locked it. He knew he hadn't been very polite, but someone had to watch out for the interests of the child. It suddenly dawned on him that the parents had never even said the girl's name. He'd have to write it down as Toddler Girl Jensen in his record books. Putting it from his mind, he picked up his pace to catch up with the man he was following.

S
arah kept her mouth clamped shut until Jack had helped her into the wagon. “Of all the nerve. Dr. Worth, my foot. His name ought to be
Dr. Worthless.
Did you see how he looked at us?”

Jack ambled around the front of the wagon, checking the horses and their riggings, then climbed up beside her. “Don't be so rough on the man. I believe he thought we were unfit parents or something.”

“Well, it's his own fault. I tried to explain that we'd just found her, but he cut me off.”