The Doctor's Lady (10 page)

Henry was right. They would have to put the past behind them. And she would pray that Mrs. Spalding would eventually get over her resentment and grow to like her.

By the time Priscilla stepped into the partially enclosed verandah, the wind had thrashed off her bonnet and wrested strands of hair from the neat coil at the back of her head.

She stopped beside a pillar and took a deep breath. The
Siam
wasn’t the largest steamboat on the river or the fanciest, but the captain had boasted of being able to reach speeds of thirteen miles per hour. From the dizzying way the shore moved past them, she had no doubt they were making good time.

With a shaking hand, she brushed back a wisp of hair. She glanced around to the smattering of passengers seated on simple wooden deck chairs. Henry stood against a beam, his arms folded across his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles. He stared at her, admiration clear within his eyes. But when her gaze collided with his, he shifted it to the woman sitting next to him.

Priscilla lowered her lashes, sure that if her cheeks weren’t already pink from the cold, they would be now.

When she chanced another glance, she caught sight of Eli watching her and Henry. Storm clouds were gathering in his eyes.

He strode across the verandah, his boots scuffing the floor. When he reached her, his fingers encircled her arm. “If we’re going to pretend to be lovers,” he growled against her ear, “then you’d better not flirt with all the men in the room, especially married men.”

Lovers? Just the mention of the word made her insides quiver. “I’m not flirting.”

“If that wasn’t flirting, then I don’t know what is.”

“I can’t help it if he looked at me. I didn’t ask him to.”

He tugged her forward. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to his
wife.
”

She wanted to protest again, but Sister Spalding was already rising. Her face was pale, but she managed a tremulous smile.

“Henry, don’t you think it’s time our wives met?”

The reverend glossed over her, all admiration gone, replaced instead with reserve.

Sister Spalding grasped Henry’s arm. “Oh, Sister Ernest, I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

Priscilla forced a smile.

“Mabel, this is my wife, Priscilla.” Eli nudged her forward.

“I’m thrilled.” Mabel extended her hand and grasped Priscilla’s. The warmth of her grip matched the warmth in her eyes. And although her features were plain, almost mousey, the gentleness of her inner spirit radiated with genuineness.

“It’s my pleasure.” Priscilla shook the woman’s hand.

“Since Mr. Spalding thought so highly of you in the past, I will count it a delight to partner with you.”

Henry’s face twitched, and he didn’t take his narrowed glare off the passing rocky riverbank. If the news of their previous relationship had upset Mabel, as Henry had declared it would, she was certainly talented at hiding her discomfort.

“You are indeed gracious,” Priscilla murmured. “And I’m sure I will find it equally delightful.”

Mabel’s smile widened, revealing crooked front teeth in an overbite. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.”

The steamboat whistle bellowed. They were fast approaching two other riverboats.

Mabel glanced forward and blanched. She covered her mouth and swallowed. “I’m sorry, but the motion of the boat isn’t helping my nausea.”

“Perhaps I can give you something,” Eli said. “Powdered gingerroot in hot water with a drop of honey?”

“Oh, Dr. Ernest, thank you.” Her hand fluttered to her stomach, and her fingers opened into the kind of splay across the abdomen that could only mean one thing.

Priscilla’s heart plummeted.

“But I’m sure I’ll be just fine,” Mabel continued, her eyes shining. “Especially in a month or two.”

“Then you are . . .” Eli glanced at Henry, his eyebrows raised with obvious surprise.

Henry nodded. “Mrs. Spalding is in the family way.”

“This isn’t exactly the best timing,” Eli mumbled.

“We didn’t plan it,” Henry said, his tone rising. “I was hoping this wouldn’t happen until we were already settled. But—”

“But God is good.” Mabel patted her husband’s arm.

“And of course, I’ll be here to help,” Priscilla offered, trying to push aside twinges of jealousy.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Mabel’s eyes brimmed with relief. “Then I must remember to thank the Lord for providing not only a doctor, but a lovely new friend.”

“Dr. Ernest is a charming companion when he wants to be, but I’ve found myself sorely missing the companionship of another woman.”

Eli’s brow shot up.

Priscilla flashed him a coy smile. “And of course there are the times he’s quite uncivilized, which will make me all the more grateful for the presence of another lady.”

Eli’s eyebrow quirked higher, along with the corner of his mouth. “Some of us might be a little rough around the edges, but that just keeps us from being dull, don’t you think?”

A blush crept up her neck. He was right. He was anything but dull.

Over the past days of traveling together in the sleigh, they’d been able to talk easily, almost too easily. She’d never before been able to converse with a man the way she did with Eli—almost as if he were a friend. And friendship was a good thing, wasn’t it? If they weren’t going to have a real marriage, then at least they could be friends.

The boat lurched and tossed her against Eli, almost as if he’d planned it. His arms captured her and steadied her against his chest.

The gasps and cries of other passengers arose around her.

The vessel jerked again.

Eli’s arms tightened, and if they hadn’t been in peril, she would have enjoyed the moment altogether too much.

“What’s happening?” she asked against the solidness of his chest, knowing she should be afraid. After all, steamboats might be fast but they were also dangerous. Underwater snags were a constant threat, as were boilerplate blowups. Oddly, she was calm. “Are we sinking?”

“We can’t be. Not so soon into our journey,” his steady voice breathed against her.

She pressed her nose into his shirt and dragged in a breath of the spiciness that was uniquely him.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He peered over her head. “Looks like we’ve gotten into a scuffle with one of the steamboats we’re passing.”

The
Siam
steadied, but the lower deck rang with shouts. “Someone’s hurt!”

A chill slithered up Priscilla’s spine.

Eli peered over the railing—as if he were already attempting to diagnose the problem.

“One of the deckhands,” someone called, “fell against an open crate, and he’s cut real bad!”

“I want you to stay here,” he said, setting her aside, “where you’ll be safe.” His eyes cautioned her to obey, and then he pushed through the other passengers and jogged toward the steps that would take him down to the engine deck.

She crowded with the other passengers along the rail that overlooked the lower deck. Near the boiler room, a man lay sprawled among overturned crates. A crowd had gathered around him.

In less than a minute, Eli was kneeling next to the wounded man and smoothing a hand over his forehead.

A swell of pride rose within her. Eli Ernest was a brave man and a good doctor. If only she were strong enough to help him.

Suddenly she knew the one thing she could do. With trembling legs, she made her way back to her cabin. She found what she needed and then half ran, half walked to the engine deck.

By the time she approached Eli, he was already hard at work. He’d ripped off the tail of his shirt, had it bunched against the man’s shoulder, and was tying a bandage with another strip of cloth.

The men around Eli stepped aside and gave her space to kneel.

The crimson had seeped through the cloth, and the man groaned. Her stomach gurgled. Maybe she should have stayed in the verandah, as Eli had instructed.

She swallowed the bile and touched his arm. “What do you need? What can I do to help?”

His gaze flicked over her. But when he saw what she was holding, his eyes widened. “My bag.”

Her fingers fumbled at the leather strap. “Tell me what you need.”

Surprise flitted across the blue of his eyes. The light reached out to touch her like a ray of sunshine.

It soaked inside her and spread through her heart. Maybe she could show him she wasn’t a nuisance. Maybe he would eventually see that she wasn’t the foolish, ill-suited woman he believed her to be.

“Find my needle holder, suturing needle, and thread.”

She unrolled the long leather case, revealing an assortment of shiny metal tools in individual straps against a band of clean linen.

“Fortunately the cut isn’t deep.” Eli lifted the bloody scrap of cloth. “But there’s a nasty surface wound.”

She trailed her fingers over the handles of the instruments until she reached the needles. Which one did he need?

“This one.” He pointed with bright red fingers.

At the sight of so much blood, her stomach roiled again. But she forced herself to focus on extricating the tool.

He held out his hand. She laid it across his palm, careful not to touch the blood. When he turned back to the moaning patient, she glanced up and found herself looking directly upon the mangled, oozing flesh on the man’s upper arm.

Revulsion churned through her. Her stomach tumbled, and she thrust a hand over her mouth. She scrambled backward. She was going to be sick and needed to get away before she utterly embarrassed herself in front of everyone.

She made it to the side railing before her stomach revolted. Amidst her retching, the calls and laughter of onlookers taunted her. With a last dry heave, she lifted her head, not daring to glance in the direction of the wounded man. She wiped her mouth on the edge of her cloak and shifted away from the rail with shaking legs.

She didn’t want to look at Eli either, but she peeked at him anyway.

He was busy cleaning the wound and didn’t bother to glance in her direction. Was he too embarrassed to acknowledge her?

If he’d thought she was incapable before, she’d most certainly proven him right.

Her chest constricted.

“Mrs. Doc?” Richard touched her elbow.

She turned, surprised to see the two boys but relieved.

Richard’s dark eyes were wide with concern.

“I’m just not accustomed to so much blood.” She stifled a shudder.

John held out her bonnet, which had come loose and fallen off.

“Thank you.” She tried to give him a smile, but her lips only wavered.

“Mrs. Doc. Come. Sit. Rest.”

The boys led her to a nearby crate and helped her sit down against one of the many barrels and boxes that lined the cargo hold. The hiss of steam and the squeak of the crank shaft hummed through the lower deck, reassurance that the engine was working as it should.

After a few minutes of taking deep breaths she began to feel better. The boys stood next to her and chatted to each other in their native language, and she was content to watch Eli from a safe distance.

He worked efficiently and confidently. It wasn’t long before he finished, and friends of the wounded man carried him away. For a few moments, Eli knelt on the nearly deserted deck, wiping blood from the utensils and tucking them back into his doctor’s case.

When he finally stood, Priscilla made a show of watching the passing scenery—the barren trees and brown hills with the first hints of green life struggling to break open. She tried not to notice when he ambled toward her. What would he say to her now after her dismal attempt at helping him?

He stopped directly before her. John and Richard ceased their talking. And she was left with little choice but to acknowledge Eli’s presence.

She chanced a glance at him.

“Are you all right?” His blue eyes regarded her kindly, but a grin lurked in their depths and teased his lips.

“And what is so humorous? Surely not my discomfort?” She swiped at the swirls of hair the wind whipped about her face, realizing too late she’d neglected to retie her bonnet.

His grin broke free for only a moment before he brought it under control. “Of course not. Although if it makes you feel any better, I did the same thing during my first surgery.”

Her breath hitched. “You did?”

He nodded, and this time when he smiled, her lips curled up into a return smile.

“You were thoughtful to get my bag for me.” His voice was soft. “Thank you.”

The sunshine of the day poured over her, and his kindness swirled through her, leaving her speechless. And with more admiration for her husband than she cared to admit.

Mississippi River

T
hey had one day left to make it to St. Louis.

Fog shrouded the evening sky. Eli leaned over the rail and could scarcely see the water that churned in front of the boat. The Mississippi River was flooded from the spring thaw and recent rain. Danger lurked beneath the surface at every winding turn.

He kneaded his fingers into the tight muscles at the back of his neck. It wouldn’t do him any good to worry, but he couldn’t help it. The tension had mounted with each passing day until his prayers seemed to stick in his throat.

After traveling nearly two weeks by steamboat, they were only ninety miles from St. Louis. If they could make it through the fog, they’d get there in the morning, perhaps with time to spare.

The American Fur Company had reassured him they wouldn’t leave St. Louis until after the first of April. And they’d promised him a spot on their steamboat, the
Diana
, which would take them up the Missouri River to Liberty, Missouri, the last stop of civilization before crossing the plains.

But he didn’t trust the mountain men. They hadn’t wanted him along last time, and he was sure they’d be happy if he missed their meeting deadline, especially now with two women along.

The thick dampness of the fog swirled around him, heavy enough that he almost lost the sweet strains of Priscilla’s song.

With a last look at the murky water, Eli returned to his spot against the wall with Richard and John just outside the doorway of the main dining salon.

“Mrs. Doc, she has voice of birds.” Richard grinned.

Eli mustered as much of a smile as he could manage. The boy was right. Priscilla had a melodious voice that slipped into his blood and traveled to every part of his body, soothing him with its beauty.

She’d taken to organizing games and singing for the cabin passengers every night after dinner, following Henry’s prayer meetings.

While the boys were content to watch her from the cold, windy promenade, he’d fumed that the captain hadn’t allowed the Indians to dine or sleep with the other passengers, even though he’d paid their cabin fare. Instead, the captain had relegated the boys to the cramped cargo hold.

To show his protest, Eli had decided to eat and sleep with John and Richard. He figured Priscilla wouldn’t mind having the tiny cabin to herself. It was better for them both if they weren’t together so much. During the first couple of weeks of travel, he’d realized she was altogether too likable. But he’d promised her a business arrangement and had vowed to himself he’d give her an annulment if he needed to send her back home. It would be easier to keep his vows if he kept his distance.

She’d spent most of her time with Mabel sewing the tent they would need for the overland part of their journey. And when Priscilla wasn’t sewing, she was with Richard and John, attempting to teach them more English.

Her song came to a close. The last strains wrapped around his heart, and he found himself longing for a few minutes to talk with her—more than the passing comments they’d exchanged aboard the steamboat so far.

“Night too dark for travel.” Richard stalked to the rail.

“We stop,” John said.

Eli shook his head. “We can’t stop. We need to make it to St. Louis as fast as we can.”

“Too dark,” Richard repeated. He said something to John in his native tongue, and the boy snorted.

Eli didn’t know enough of the language yet, but from the tone he could tell they both thought he was a fool.

Maybe he was a fool. With all the many things that could go wrong, why was he taking such risks? Especially risks to the women?

Priscilla’s voice wafted to them again, rising above all the others in a poignant hymn. For just a moment, the sweetness seemed to take him to the stairway of heaven, to remind him of where his help came from. God had made him a strong man. He’d given him strength to persevere in the past. Surely God would provide—just as He always had.

A sudden jolt of the steamboat threw him to the deck with a force that took his breath away. Another screeching jerk sent him sliding against the rail. He threw out his hands to brace himself.

The screaming and crying from the dining salon penetrated his dazed mind.

Dread spilled through his stomach, causing his midsection to spasm painfully. The worst had finally happened. They’d snagged something underwater—maybe an old tree limb or sharp rock or wreckage from some other sunken steamboat. And now they would go down too.

He scrambled over to John and Richard. They spoke rapidly to each other in their native tongue. A quick glance told him they were unharmed.

Priscilla.
He peered into the dining salon at the chaos of overturned chairs and tables, shattered dishes and goblets, and tangled linen tablecloths now stained with wine. Passengers were scrambling amidst the wreckage.

A rush of adrenaline pumped through his veins.

He had to get to her and save her.

With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet. He winced at the pain in his hand, but his heart thudded with too much worry about Priscilla to glance at it.

The boat swayed back and forth, and he grabbed the doorframe to keep from toppling back over. With unsteady steps, he stumbled like a drunken man into the dining salon.

“Priscilla!” His ragged call was lost in the chaos of frightened cries and anxious shouts.

He searched the room until he caught sight of her golden head. She was kneeling next to Mabel, her arm around the woman, helping her sit up.

“Priscilla!” He staggered toward her.

Her wide eyes lifted to him. “Eli.” She breathed his name with such relief, his heart snagged across the barrier he was trying to build there.

“Are you hurt?”

“Just shaken.”

“And you?” he asked, turning to Mabel.

“Praise the Lord for dear Sister Ernest. She cushioned my fall.”

Eli reached for Priscilla’s arm and raised her to her feet.

She smoothed her dress and gasped at the crimson streaks that appeared against the muslin.

“You’re bleeding.” Eli’s heart picked up speed, and he grabbed her hand, turning it over to inspect it.

“It’s not me.” Her fingers encircled his wrist, and her face grew pale. “You’re cut, deeply.”

Blood was oozing from a gash below his thumb. He’d need stitches, but it wouldn’t be the first time in that exact spot.

Her face paled, and she swallowed hard.

“If you give me your handkerchief, I’ll cover it.”

She fumbled in her pocket and then shoved her handkerchief at him.

He wrapped the linen around his hand and helped Mabel to her feet. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Henry pushing his way through the crowd in an attempt to reach them.

“What shall we do?” Priscilla’s eyes brimmed with trust. She slipped an arm around Mabel’s waist, steadying the young woman.

“Stay by my side. Both of you.” He started toward the verandah and the stairway that would take them to the lower deck. If they had to jump, he’d have to go first and catch the women. He doubted they knew how to swim. Not many did. Even though he could manage well enough, the raging spring waters would show no mercy.

The crowd surged toward the rails. Henry wove toward them from the opposite direction. “We’ve hit a sandbar.”

“We’re not sinking?” Eli asked.

“We’re stuck, and it’s too soon to know the damage.”

Through the thick fog, they couldn’t see anything and could only stand with the others and wait for news from the captain.

Word soon filtered to them that the boat hadn’t sustained any damage, but any attempt to dislodge it would wait until morning. After Eli had assessed the minor cuts and scrapes of the other passengers, he and Henry shuffled back into the warmth of the dining salon.

Eli released a breath. “I’ll need you to sew a few stitches.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Ernest, but I can’t sew stitches.” Henry reached for Mabel, and Priscilla relinquished her hold on the woman.

“If the cut was anywhere else, I’d do it myself. But I can’t sew my own hand.”

Henry’s eyes flickered with a look of panic. “I’m quite sure you wouldn’t want me to attempt it. I’d probably end up sewing two fingers together.”

“You’re not going to help me?” There was a spark of something that occasionally flared between Henry and himself. He wasn’t sure exactly what about the man bothered him. Maybe the underlying fact that Henry still cared for Priscilla, even though he tried to not show it.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. I want to help you. But . . .” Henry’s tone was apologetic, and with his free hand he brushed the dust from his vest. “I’m sure you’ll find someone much more suited to the task.”

“Like who?” Eli glanced around the salon to the few passengers who were speaking in anxious tones to one another.

“I really need to get Mrs. Spalding back to our cabin. After all the excitement, she’s feeling sick and needs to rest.”

Mabel was holding a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were weary and her face ashen.

“Looks like you’re right.” Eli stifled a sigh of resignation. “I’ll try to come by your cabin later and check on her—see if she needs anything.”

Henry nodded his thanks.

Blood was seeping through the handkerchief, and Eli pressed the cut harder and suppressed a grimace. He’d known he couldn’t rely on anyone else. If he wanted something done, he’d have to do it himself, as he always had.

Priscilla touched his arm. “Let me stitch you.”

He shook his head. “No. This isn’t anything you need to see or handle.”

“I’m stronger than you think.” Her eyes pleaded with him to give her a chance.

After what had happened the last time she saw blood, he doubted she’d be able to stomach sewing his flesh. But he didn’t want to tell her that.

A flush stole over her cheeks, as if she’d heard his thoughts.

“I’m very proficient with a needle and thread. And I need to learn how to see blood without—well, you know.”

Who else would do it for him?

He pulled back the handkerchief and held up the gaping cut. It wouldn’t heal fast enough without stitches and would end up being a pesky nuisance for the rest of the trip.

Priscilla stared at the wound and swallowed hard, but she didn’t look away.

“You want to give it a try?”

She nodded.

He sighed. “All right. Then let’s go.”

They walked back to the cabin. As he followed her into the cubicle, his heart gave an unexpected thump at the thought of being alone with her—in her stateroom.

He kicked the door closed and surveyed the tidy bed built against the wall. What would it have been like if they had decided to have a true marriage?

She bustled about the room, retrieving papers and wearing apparel that had spilled when the boat hit the sandbar. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally leave my things lying around in such disarray.”

In such a narrow bed, she would have little choice but to sleep in his arms.

“Your doctor’s bag is right here.” When she straightened, she fumbled with the handle and refused to meet his gaze.

Was she realizing the same thing? That they were alone? Something that had rarely happened over the past weeks aboard the
Siam.

He ambled to the edge of the bed and plopped down. “Let’s get to it.”

“Get to it?”

“To the stitching.”

“Of course.” She handed him his bag, her face flushing.

“You’ll have to sit next to me so I can show you what to do.” He patted the end of the bed.

She hesitated and then perched on the edge, taking care that she didn’t brush against him.

“You’ll have to scoot closer than that.”

She inched nearer.

“A little closer.”

Her body shifted a fraction, and her shoulder almost touched his.

“And just a little more.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “I suppose you think it would help if I just sat in your lap.”

“Well, now that you mention it”—he unrolled his bag—“that’s not such a bad idea. Hop on up.”

She gasped as if scandalized. “Dr. Ernest!”

He grinned. “You wouldn’t have mentioned it if you weren’t secretly wishing you could.”

“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Not in the least.”

His grin widened. Then he held out his hand to her.

She looked at it, and her face paled.

“Take hold of my hand.”

Her smooth fingers slid around his. The unblemished ivory of her skin contrasted with the rugged tan of his. His heart did a rapid tumble. The touch of her warm skin, the nearness of her body, the heat of her breath . . .

Quickly, before he did something he might regret, he explained what she needed to do. Then he braced himself for the pain as she slipped the needle into his hand.

The sting took his breath away.

Her fingers shook, and her breath came in short bursts. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Keep going.” He gritted his teeth. “You can’t stop now.”

Her fingers trembled so fiercely she dropped the needle holder.

“You can do this, Priscilla.” He tried to keep the anguish from his voice. “Just pretend you’re sewing the tent.”

She nodded and wiped her sleeve across her eyes. Her fingers groped for the instrument. “Oh, Lord, help me,” she whispered. She pierced his skin again and again, pulling the thread taut until at last she tied the final knot.

His body swayed and he blinked back waves of dizzying pain. He mustered enough strength to hand her the scissors. Once she snipped the threads, he fell back against the bed with a groan.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Are you in a great deal of pain?’ She sniffed and swiped at a few loose tears trickling down her cheeks.

“It hurts, but it’s definitely not the worst I’ve felt.”

“What else can I do to ease your pain?”

He instructed her on a dosage of laudanum, swallowed the bitter painkiller, and then wriggled further onto the bed until his head made contact with the pillow. He laid his throbbing hand across his chest. He wanted to tell her to lie next to him and just hold him. But he bit back the words.

She hovered above him, her eyes red-rimmed and her cheeks splotchy. Even so, she was as beautiful as an angel. If he died and went to heaven, he’d have a hard time finding a prettier one.