The Doctor's Lady (13 page)

Silently Eli offered a grateful prayer to the Almighty. Relief blew over him and knocked the weight of worry off his shoulders. If the
Diana
wasn’t moving, maybe they’d have a chance of overtaking the trappers before they reached Liberty.

He nodded his thanks to the boy and trotted to catch up with Priscilla, who’d started up a grassy knoll. “Priscilla, wait,” he called to her.

She stopped and twisted to look at him. The wind rippled her dress and tugged at her bonnet. She caught the brim and held it in place.

His breathing skipped ahead. The sun outlined every graceful curve of her body. No doubt about it—she was beautiful. And that was turning out to be a problem in more than one way. Not only was she attracting the attention of the other men, but he was having more difficulty with each passing day fighting his own attraction.

“Never expected that I’d have to spend half the trip escorting you,” he said when he reached her, his frustration at himself edging his voice.

Her eyes widened. “You don’t need to escort me.”

“Oh, yes I do.”

She started forward, lifting her face to the sun and letting it bathe her pale skin. “I didn’t ask you to accompany me, Dr. Ernest.”

“You wouldn’t be safe if I didn’t.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“
I’m sure
you’ve learned by now that I never exaggerate.”

Her footsteps faltered. She glanced around. “There’s no one here right now. I’ll be perfectly fine. I certainly don’t want to inconvenience you any longer.”

She turned abruptly and picked her way through the rocks. The wind rustled the long rushes and creaked through the branches of the few trees that hadn’t been chopped down for steamboat fuel.

“I don’t need you,” she called over her shoulder. “Just go take care of your business.”

Priscilla’s steps were choppy, making her skirt swish. He was almost tempted to let her go, to let her try to fend for herself.

“I’d rather be alone anyway,” she called.

Her words stung, especially when the truth was that he liked being with her. “Have it your way.”

She had to learn to get along on her own, without him coming to her rescue every time she broke a fingernail.

He took a few steps back toward the shore and then stopped. But what would she do if one of the trappers saw her alone and came after her? How would she fight off a man used to wrestling grizzlies?

His heart gave a thud, and he tossed a glance over his shoulder. She’d already disappeared into the thick undergrowth. She’d said she didn’t need him. And he most certainly did not need her.

Besides, most of the men were still sleeping off their liquor.

He started toward the boat again and steeled his back.

A yelp, distinctively hers, sent his heart into a teetering spin. He turned around and raced in the direction he’d heard her voice. He tripped over rocks and twigs but stumbled forward, his heart banging louder with each step.

“Priscilla?” He had the sudden vision of her pinned underneath one of the filthy drunken frontiersmen, and rage surged through him. He was afraid of what he was capable of doing to anyone who hurt her.

“Priscilla!” he yelled again. He scrutinized the tangled brush along the riverfront. What if the assailant had covered her mouth and dragged her off somewhere?

His breath spurted with growing panic. “Priscilla!”

“Dr. Ernest.” Her calm voice addressed him. “I’m right here.”

There, only feet away, she peered up at him from her perch on the edge of a rock.

His gaze darted around. “You’re alone?”

“Yes.” Her glance followed his lead. “Or at least I was—until you made an appearance.”

He heaved a breath. And then a wave of embarrassment rolled over him. He wanted to slink away like the fool he was and force himself to quit worrying about her.

“Did you need something?” she asked, slipping her hands behind her back.

What could he say? He couldn’t very well tell her the truth—that she was always on his mind.

“Dr. Ernest?”

He scrambled for an excuse. “For starters, I want you to stop calling me Dr. Ernest.”

She tilted her head, and one dainty eyebrow shot up.

“It’s way too formal. And I’m not your doctor. I’m your husband.”

Her other eyebrow lifted.

“Look. I don’t care if it’s the proper thing to do where you come from, but I don’t like it. From now on, I want you to call me Eli.”

“
Where I come from
, such an address shows respect.”

“That so? Well, you’ll show me more respect if you use my given name.”

Her gaze flickered. She winced and brought forward one of her hands. For a moment he didn’t see anything, but when she lifted her palm and began to pick at it, he noticed it was covered with bristles.

One glance at the prickly pears on the ground surrounding the rock told him she’d had the misfortune of picking one up.

“Got yourself into a little trouble, I see.”

“I’ll be fine in just a minute.” She glared at him, as if warning him against saying
I told you so
.

He bit back a grin. “I don’t suppose you
need
me to help you get the bristles out.”

She hesitated then shook her head. “Of course not.”

“Guess I’ll meet you at the boat.” He turned and took a step away. When she didn’t stop him, the muscles in his back tightened. He took another step, and another. Finally he glanced at her again. His gut swirled with conflict. Everything in his nature wanted to kneel beside her and help her. But not if she didn’t want him to . . .

He shuffled forward.

“Wait, Dr. Ernest.”

His first reaction was to spin and run to her side. Instead, he forced himself to count to ten.

“I mean—Eli.” Her voice was soft.

He could only get to three before he turned.

Her big eyes were glistening like glass jewels. “I do need your help.”

His heart did an involuntary flip.

“Please,” she whispered.

His feet moved toward her as if she had some kind of magic hold upon him. He knew he ought to crack himself over the head for his weakness, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Those buggers are tough to dislodge,” he said. “I know from personal experience.”

She held out her hand to him. “I didn’t realize the pears had needles on them.”

He knelt next to her and cupped her hand in his. “On the last trip, I bit into one.”

She gasped.

He smiled. “Yep.”

“Doesn’t quite seem fair for God to make them so attractive only to cover them with such painful spines.”

“At least they’re on your hand and not in your mouth.”

“True.” She touched the thin black scar near his thumb. “And how’s your wound?”

“It’s on the mend. Looks like it’ll stay together just fine.”

“Then my sewing job didn’t ruin you for life?”

He grinned. “I’m already ruined.”

Her lips curved into a small smile. And the sight of it made him realize how rare her smiles were. Had she always been so serious?

He bent his head over her hand. The thin, clear needles had punctured the tender skin on her palm and fingers. He pinched one between his fingernails and tugged it loose.

She winced.

“I’m sorry.” He worked faster. “It’ll hurt for a few minutes.”

He tried not to think about her pain. Over the years he’d accustomed himself to the fact that he would always cause his patients some pain and discomfort. It was just part of the job, part of the healing process.

But with each needle he pried loose, the sting in her flesh radiated into his. By the time he was done, he was sweating.

“How does your hand feel now?” He grazed his fingers across the swollen red spots on her hand.

She sucked in a breath.

His gaze lifted to hers.

Teardrops glistened in her eyelashes, but her eyes were wide with wonder. “You have the gentlest hands.”

“Comes from years of practice.” He sank into the feather softness of her eyes.

“And I think they came from the Lord, who’s obviously given you the perfect skills for doctoring.”

If not for the sincerity in her tone, he might have scoffed at her comment. Anyone could be a doctor. His stepfather had been right about that. It didn’t take much book learning, not like it did to become a minister.

Even so, he’d had to work harder than most to make it. “At first I didn’t think I’d be content with doctoring. I thought I wanted to be someone important like a minister. But it didn’t take me long to realize God can use a doctor just as much as a minister.”

She cocked her head, as if she might argue with him.

“I realize you probably have the same view as most of the population—that becoming a minister is better, more noble, than anything else. But I’ve learned God can use a clay pot just as much as a glass jar.”

For a moment she studied him and then gave him the barest of smiles. “I’m grateful you’re a doctor and not a minister. Otherwise, I’d still be picking prickles out of my palm.”

He touched the tender skin of her palm and swiped a dot of blood off the tip of her finger. Without thinking, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her finger.

She drew in a sharp breath but didn’t make an effort to pull away from him.

He met her gaze. The silkiness in the depths sent a tremor through his body. He pressed his lips against her smooth skin again, tasting the saltiness of her blood.

His lips brushed a path to her palm, and in the tender, moist middle he pressed another kiss.

Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, but she still made no move. Instead, she watched him, almost as if she was remembering the kiss he’d given her on their wedding day, the same kiss that still haunted him.

Maybe it was past time for him to give her another. How could one little kiss hurt anything?

He raised his head and studied her lips.

Her fingers trembled against his.

A crunching in the rushes nearby shattered the stillness of the moment.

She peered over his shoulder and jerked away from him.

His body tensed, and he turned.

Henry stumbled to a stop with Mabel bumping him from behind. Henry’s shirt was half buttoned, out of his trousers, and Mabel’s skirt was rumpled.

Eli raised an eyebrow. “Henry.”

Henry jabbed at his shirttails. Mabel cowered behind him and combed her fingers over her hair.

Priscilla scrambled to her feet, her cheeks flushed.

“We were just trying to talk—” Henry fumbled. His Adam’s apple wobbled up and down. “I mean, we were taking a walk. . . .”

Red crept up Mabel’s neck and cheeks.

Eli glanced at the ground and rubbed a hand over his mouth and scruffy chin, trying to hide his smile. It was obvious Henry had wanted a private moment with his wife. Something he’d wanted with his but had no right to.

“We’re sorry for intruding upon you,” Henry started.

Eli knew he ought to be relieved Henry had saved him from kissing Priscilla. He couldn’t take the chance of making a mess of their arrangement. And yet, part of him was sorry their rare moment alone had ended.

Henry coughed.

“Just heard that the
Diana
sank,” Eli said quickly, hoping he could spare all of them further embarrassment.

“The
Diana
sank?” Henry lifted his head in surprise.

“Doesn’t sound like anyone was hurt.”

“Praise the Lord,” Mabel murmured.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Eli asked Henry. “We’ll be able to catch up to Black Squire.”

“I guess it also means you learned a lesson, doesn’t it, Dr. Ernest?”

Eli straightened. There were moments when Henry irritated him, and he had a feeling this was going to be one of those times.

Henry smiled. “Didn’t I say we only needed to trust the Lord? If He wants us to make it to Oregon Country, He’ll provide the way.”

Eli’s jaw tightened, and he held in his retort. God would indeed be with them each step of the way, but that didn’t mean He’d whisk them there on a magic carpet.

They’d have to do their part too, and Eli was determined to make sure he did all he possibly could to get them where they needed to go.

Liberty, Missouri

P
riscilla leaned against the rickety rail of the general store and looked at the wagons with a sinking heart.

When they’d arrived in Liberty, Eli had purchased two wagons. A larger one and then a light Dearborn. After several days of packing, he’d managed to squeeze her trunk into one of the wagons, but how would there be room for her or Mabel when they needed a break from riding their horses?

The wagons were crammed with barrels and crates, their tent, blankets, cooking utensils, tools, and the many provisions they would need over the next months as they journeyed through the central uncharted and unorganized territory of the United States.

“Not much else is gonna fit.” Eli shoved the pole for their tent into a small crack along the top of the covered wagon.

A group of Indians stopped to stare at her, and she offered them a smile. If she’d thought St. Louis was the border of civilization, Liberty was another planet altogether. As the starting point for many of the trappers heading west and the last place to buy substantial supplies, the town was overrun with hardened men and Indians.

Except for a tavern, a hotel, and the store, Main Street was nothing more than a dirt road that passed through a dozen or more log cabins. The public square showed signs of growth, with several larger homes surrounding it, but the town couldn’t even boast of a church.

She and Mabel were among the few white women and turned heads wherever they went.

“Will we have enough food to last us the trip?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Eli replied. “At least it will be enough to last until we reach buffalo country.”

“No worry,” Richard said, patting his newly purchased rifle. “I shoot buffalo for Mrs. Doc.”

Eli had generously provided for the Indian boys, and he’d also purchased twelve horses, six mules, and seventeen head of cattle, including four milk cows.

John fidgeted with the stirrup length on his horse. “No need saddler.”

“Saddle,”
Priscilla corrected. “It’s called a
saddle
, and it will make your long ride safer and more comfortable.”

The boy shook his head. “No need.”

“If you want to ride without it, that’s fine with me.” Eli straightened and tipped his hat back. “You need to do whatever works best for you.”

Eli had decided he would ride ahead with the Indian boys, the wagons, and the animals to Bellevue, north of the Missouri state line. The small trading post, owned by the American Fur Company, was the last connection they’d have with the East before they turned west into the open prairies and began the long overland part of their journey.

While Eli traveled with all their supplies, he’d made arrangements for her and Mabel and Henry to ride on one of the Fur Company’s boats that would take them up the Missouri River to Bellevue. Eli wanted to spare her and Mabel as much of the hard riding as possible. Even though the distance between Liberty and Bellevue was only three hundred miles, it was that much less they’d have to ride their horses, especially with the danger of swollen rivers and the unpredictability of the spring weather.

Priscilla didn’t like the idea of being separated for so long. Eli had reassured her he would meet them in Bellevue, where the trapper caravan, under the command of Black Squire and another mountain man, Fitzpatrick, would leave for the Rendezvous. But Eli’s words failed to reassure her.

He walked to the front of the wagon, inspecting every inch of the boards, wheels, and axles, along with the canvas frame supported by hickory bows. He’d hired two young men to drive the wagons. Several other Nez Perce Indians who had wintered in Liberty had asked to join their party.

The small group would leave on the morrow to get a head start on taking their supplies to Bellevue. But the steamboat for the women and Henry wasn’t scheduled to leave until the end of the week. The Fur Company had guaranteed their passage this time, but Priscilla couldn’t stop worrying.

They’d promised them a ride on the
Diana
too. Even though she was glad God had spared them the ordeal of hitting the snag and sinking, anxiety nagged her regardless.

She wasn’t sure if her fear stemmed from the knowledge that she would have to ride on the same boat as Black Squire, which had finally limped into Liberty long after they’d arrived on the
Chariton.
Thankfully, the delay had given them the time they needed to assemble their equipment.

The cold April breeze slapped at Priscilla. She shivered and wrapped her shawl tighter, clutching it against her cameo pin. Her fingers grazed the raised pattern of the elegant young lady—the kind of woman she needed to be, well-mannered and poised, just as Mother had trained her. No matter where she went in the wilderness, the cameo would connect her to family and the civilities of home.

Eli jumped onto the jockey box and pulled on the canvas covering.

If she was honest with herself, she knew part of her fear came from the thought of being away from him. She didn’t want to admit her need for him—she wanted to prove she was strong.

“Maybe Richard or John could stay with us,” she called to him.

“You’ll be safe enough if you stay by Henry.” He jumped down. “Besides, I need the boys to help drive the animals.”

“Dr. Ernest?” A dirty, half-naked Indian child trotted toward them. “Message for Dr. Ernest.”

Eli stepped forward. “I’m Dr. Ernest.”

The child’s breaths came in gasps, evidence of a hard run. “Black Squire. He said to come. His squaw sick and need doctor.”

Eli nodded. “Tell Squire I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Surprise rippled through Priscilla. Surely Eli wasn’t serious?

When the child spun away, Eli dug in the back of the wagon and pulled out his doctor’s case.

“You can’t possibly be going to help that man.” The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them.

“Of course I’m going to help him.”

“Not after what he did to us.”

Eli stopped, and his brows lifted. “Listen to yourself, Priscilla.”

She stared at the tip of her boot and twisted it against a thatch of new green grass with a dandelion pushing up, its bud still tightly closed. “I’m sorry. It’s not the most charitable attitude, but—”

“I’m a doctor. I help those in need, whether they deserve it or not.” He started after the Indian child. “Besides, isn’t that what our mission is all about?”

She wanted to argue with him, but she knew he was right. As much as she disliked Squire, hadn’t Christ commanded them to love their enemies?

“What if I came with you?”

He stopped and turned. His gaze probed her face, as if searching for her motivation.

“I know you usually work alone,” she offered, “but I’d like to learn more about what you do.” Surely as a doctor’s wife, she should know some basics so she could assist him if he needed it. She could show him she was more capable than he thought.

Finally he nodded. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything.”

Her heart quickened, relieved that he would include her, especially since he’d seemed so intent over the past weeks at keeping his distance. As they wound along a river path, he patiently answered all of her medical questions. When they reached a white log house with a piazza, an old black man opened the gate and ushered them inside.

Priscilla followed Eli in, but froze. The courtyard was alive with flapping hens, wild turkeys, tamed geese, mangy dogs, and people of all kinds—black girls running and giggling, Indian women and children.

A group of Indian men were standing around an open fire pit in the middle of the courtyard roasting what she assumed to be a deer. Their chatter faded and their expressions turned stony.

She swallowed a lump and forced her feet to move, to catch up with Eli. She almost grabbed the edge of his vest to make sure she wasn’t separated from him.

The old black man led them across the piazza, through an open hallway littered with Indians sitting or sleeping on the floor. The charred smoke of venison drifted into the hallway and mingled with the sour odor of urine and the staleness of unwashed bodies.

She lifted her hand to her nose and tried not to trip over outstretched legs.

Finally the old man led them to a small room. He nodded at the door before backing away.

Eli ducked and went in. Priscilla hesitated only a moment before entering.

There on the ground, covered by a thin blanket, lay the Indian woman she’d seen with Black Squire in St. Louis.

Her eyes were closed, and she was so silent and still that, except for the rise and fall of her chest, Priscilla might have counted her for dead.

Eli knelt next to the woman and slipped a hand over her forehead.

A quick glance around the room brought Priscilla a measure of relief. Black Squire wasn’t there. A wrinkled Indian woman was sitting in the room’s only chair with an infant on her lap.

Free of his cradleboard, he was bigger than she’d realized. She wasn’t experienced in guessing ages of infants, but she decided the child must be close to a year, if not older.

The baby squirmed and held out his arms toward her.

Priscilla sucked in a quick breath. Did he want her?

The old woman unfolded herself from the chair and stood. “You take baby.”

“Oh! No thank you.” Priscilla shook her head. Part of her longed to reach out and hug him. And the other part of her was scared of being anywhere near an infant, of letting down her guard.

“You care for baby. I be back soon.” She shuffled toward Priscilla and dangled the child in midair. The woman’s arms wavered, almost as if she didn’t have the strength to carry him.

Priscilla grabbed him before the woman dropped him. “No, I can’t care for him. Take him back.” She held the child at arm’s length.

The woman just gave her a toothless smile.

“Really.” Priscilla tried to shove the boy back into the woman’s arms, but she maneuvered toward the door. “I came to help with the sick woman, not the baby.”

“I come back later. Squire pay me.” The woman slunk through the door, her moccasins thumping against the floor.

“Wait,” Priscilla called after her.

But the old woman didn’t stop.

Priscilla dangled the child in front of her. Whatever in the world would she do with him?

He clapped his hands and squealed.

In the deathly silence of the room, the sound echoed off the whitewashed walls. The woman’s eyes fluttered open.

Eli murmured to her.

The woman lifted her head and strained to see beyond Eli to her child, as if getting a look at him could revive her will to live.

“Bring the baby over here,” Eli said. “She needs to see him.”

Priscilla stared at the child.

He smiled and his big black eyes sparkled at her.

A tiny corner of her heart cracked open. It wasn’t this boy’s fault that she was a grown woman of twenty-six and had so little experience with babies. And it wasn’t his fault that being around babies brought her a depressing sense of pain.

With stiff arms, she jostled him into a loose hold and walked over to Eli.

“Kneel down,” he said, fingering the pulse in the mother’s neck.

Priscilla lowered herself and situated the child on her knees.

The Indian woman reached for the baby’s fingers. He gurgled, and she leaned back and closed her eyes, the lines in her face smoother, more peaceful.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” Priscilla whispered.

“Not yet.”

The woman’s eyes opened again and this time focused on Priscilla. The cavern in their depths was as hollow as the last time she’d peered there.

The woman dislodged her son’s fingers from around hers. Then she groped for Priscilla’s hand.

To her surprise, the woman took the baby’s hand and wrapped his tiny fingers around Priscilla’s thumb. Then she folded her hand over theirs and squeezed.

The pressure was strong, and Priscilla stared with fascination at the contrast of the bronzed skin against the paleness of hers.

Priscilla met her gaze. Was the woman trying to tell her something?

The mother gave the barest nod before letting her hand drop back to her side and closing her eyes.

The baby babbled, and Priscilla stared at the tiny fingers surrounding hers.

“Running Feet is bestowing an honor upon you,” Eli said softly. “She’s handing the baby to your care and safekeeping during her illness.”

Protest rose to Priscilla’s lips, but a groan from the Indian woman stopped her. The woman’s beautiful features contorted with obvious pain.

Priscilla stretched her hand to Running Feet’s face. She hesitated only a moment before caressing the woman’s forehead, brushing back loose tendrils of hair. She pressed the coolness of her palm against the burning skin.

Her throat squeezed. This woman was entrusting her child into the care of a complete stranger. What kind of mother would do such a thing, unless she was desperate?

Priscilla prayed the coolness of her hand would soothe the woman. How could she do anything less than help the baby? Or Running Feet?

Eli probed his fingers gently against Running Feet’s abdomen, and she groaned again.

“What can I do?” Priscilla asked.

Eli’s eyes crinkled at the corners with worry. “You’ll comfort Running Feet most if you take care of her son.”

The baby squirmed and gave a soft whimper. Then he stretched both arms toward Priscilla.

“You poor dear.” She gathered the boy to her chest and fought the ache that gripped her heart.

He leaned into her and nuzzled his face into her chest.

“Oh, God. Help me,” she whispered, fighting against the intense longing the baby awakened inside her. If her infertility was the cross she must bear, why couldn’t Providence make the bearing easier?

She pressed a kiss against the feathery strands of the baby’s hair, and swallowed her longing, pushing it back to the secret place inside her where it belonged.

This woman. This baby. She must think about them. Why, then, was it so hard to stop thinking so much about herself?