The Doctor's Lady (18 page)

His palm smacked against her face again—this time making contact with her nose.

Blood spurted against his hand, and a warm trickle flowed down her upper lip.

“Just hold still, and I won’t hurt you none.” He jerked at her bodice, and the material gave way with a sickening rip. “You might even like what Old Ephraim’s gonna give you.”

The blood trickled through her teeth onto her tongue. She swallowed the metallic warmth and forced rising bile back down.

Suddenly Old Ephraim froze.

The glint of a silver blade hovered against the hairless part of his cheek.

“Let Flower Blossom go,” a soft, calm voice demanded.

Priscilla peered beyond the old trapper and met the steady eyes of Squire’s woman, Running Feet.

“I slice your cheek.” She dug the pointed tip into his flesh.

He cried out.

“Then next I cut off your ear.”

Old Ephraim squealed like a hog at slaughter. A drop of blood slid off his cheek onto Priscilla. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it.”

“I cut off Gut-rot Bill’s ear. I cut yours too.”

“No. No. Please no!”

With a swiftness that surprised Priscilla, Running Feet sliced the flesh of Old Ephraim’s cheek, then brought the blade to the top of his ear.

Terror widened his sunken eyes.

“You hurt me. Now you hurt Flower Blossom.” Running Feet severed the tip of the skin holding his ear to his head.

Old Ephraim screamed.

Priscilla wanted to tell the Indian woman to stop, but fear left her mute. Even though the man likely deserved the worst punishment possible, horror rolled over her at the thought of Running Feet slicing off the man’s ear.

“What’s going on?” Eli’s voice called across the tall grass beyond the wagon.

“Eli!” she shouted, her need for him bringing sobs to her chest. “Eli, please help!”

When Running Feet’s knife pierced Ephraim’s flesh again, Priscilla screamed with him.

It took only a moment for Eli to stumble to a breathless halt next to her. He took one glance at the old trapper on top of her, and his face contorted and his eyes flashed with fury.

“What have you done?” Eli roared. He grabbed the man’s shirt and hauled him off Priscilla. With another roar, he threw Old Ephraim to the ground.

“How dare you hurt my wife!” Eli half lifted the man and sent his fist into the trapper’s face and then again into his gut. He shoved him back to the hard earth.

Old Ephraim groaned.

“I’ll teach you a lesson.” Eli’s voice rose with each word. “By the time I’m through with you, you’ll wish you’d never laid a finger on her.”

He kicked Old Ephraim in the stomach.

The man rolled into a ball.

Priscilla struggled to sit up, wiping her nose with her sleeve, trying to stop the flow of the blood.

“You no good, lousy, filthy, stupid idiot.” Eli’s boot slammed against the man with each word.

Her heart thudded with new dread. “Eli, stop! You’re going to kill him.”

“This one. He needs to die.” Running Feet watched Eli, her eyes cold and emotionless. The edge of her long knife glistened with Old Ephraim’s blood.

Just then Black Squire burst upon them, followed by Richard, John, and other men from both camps.

“What happened?” Squire’s voice boomed. His eyes roved over each person and came to rest on Running Feet’s knife. Anger transformed his face into that of a grizzly bear. He nodded toward Old Ephraim and then gestured toward her knife, speaking to her in her native tongue.

She shook her head and then pointed at Priscilla.

The tension in Squire’s face eased, and he spoke to Running Feet again.

“Good for Doc kill him,” she said in English.

Black Squire watched Eli give the man another kick.

“Okay, Doc.” Squire lumbered over to Eli and grabbed him by the shoulders. “That’s enough.”

Eli shrugged Squire’s hands off. “I’m not done with this good-for-nothin’.”

Squire wrestled Eli away. “Yep. Yer done. You done give him the whoopin’ he deserved. Now you leave the rest to me and the cap’n.”

Eli’s shoulders sagged, and he stared at Old Ephraim with glazed eyes, as if he were in another time and another place.

Priscilla shuddered. What demons were chasing Eli? He’d beaten the man almost as if he were punishing someone else.

Eli wiped an arm across the sweat rolling down his forehead, then rubbed his eyes and started toward her. “Are you hurt?”

“He didn’t . . . wasn’t able to . . . Running Feet stopped him.” Bile rolled through her stomach at the thought of what had almost happened to her.

He stared at the blood smeared across her bodice. The anger sparked in his eyes again, and he glanced back at the unmoving body of the trapper.

“Old Ephraim’s scum of the worst kind.” Squire shoved the man with his boot. “But he ain’t worth no more of your energy.”

Eli sucked in a ragged breath and glowered at the men who continued to gather around them. “Nobody better touch my wife again. Ever.”

Old Ephraim gave a soft groan, and Priscilla breathed in a shuddering sigh, thankful Eli hadn’t killed the man.

“Next time I won’t stop,” he said.

He yanked the brim of his hat and pulled it low. Then he stalked over and towered over her. His keen eyes assessed her bloody nose, mouth, and cheek, but he didn’t make a move to touch her. He turned to Running Feet. “Would you help Priscilla wash up?”

The Indian woman nodded.

“I’ll be by to check on her soon as I get my wits back.”

Priscilla snuggled David against her bosom and kissed his silky hair. “Oh, I’ve missed you.” The chubby flesh of his little body, the fresh wind-tossed scent of his skin, his soft gurgles of contentment—his very presence soothed her trembling. And for a brief moment she was able to forget about Old Ephraim ripping her bodice and about the frightening lust in his eyes.

Running Feet wiped a cloth against Priscilla’s cheek.

She winced.

The Indian woman pulled the cloth away.

Priscilla leaned her head back against the wagon wheel to still the pounding in her temples.

David’s chubby fingers tugged on her bonnet strings, pulling them loose. A cool breeze blew against the strands of hair that had come free during her struggle.

Even though the men around them were busy hitching teams and saddling horses, Priscilla couldn’t muster the energy for her usual duties.

Running Feet swiped at Priscilla’s nose, and she stifled a cry. “We make deal.” The Indian woman sat back on her heels, letting the rag drop to the crushed strands of grass.

“Deal?”

Running Feet nodded, but then she clutched her abdomen and doubled over.

Priscilla sat forward. “You’re still sick, aren’t you?”

The woman rocked back and forth for a moment before lifting her face. Pain pinched her gentle features.

“I saved you,” she said between clenched teeth.

“And I’m grateful.”

“Then we make deal.”

David reached for the cameo Priscilla always wore pinned to her neckline. His fingers fumbled over the raised relief, and his eyes sparkled.

“What kind of deal?” She gave him another kiss, this one against his forehead.

“I save you. Now you save my baby.” Running Feet’s hollow eyes lingered over David’s face.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Priscilla searched the milling of men for Eli’s familiar strong shoulders. “We’ll just ask Dr. Ernest to give you more medicine.”

Running Feet shook her head. “I not get better.”

“You don’t know that—”

“When I return to the earth, you take my baby. You make him your son.”

Priscilla’s heartbeat came to a stuttering stop. Running Feet had entrusted David into her care during her last illness. But that didn’t qualify her to become the baby’s mother if Running Feet died.

“What about the baby’s father? How will Squire feel about me taking him? Or the baby’s other family? Surely they won’t want a white woman raising him.”

Eli cut into the camp circle and headed their way.

“Squire not take care of one so young.” Running Feet tried to straighten her back, but she gasped and balled her fist into her abdomen. “He no want.”

“What about your family? Won’t they want your son?”

The entrance to the empty cavern of Running Feet’s soul widened. Only murky darkness swirled there. “My family all dead.”

Priscilla wanted to ask what had happened, to understand more about this sad woman. But Eli was almost upon them.

“You must promise,” Running Feet said breathlessly.

Priscilla hugged David tighter, and he chattered with abandon. If she didn’t take care of this baby, what would become of him?

“We make deal. Raise my son as your own.”

Something hard pressed into Priscilla’s thigh. She glanced down at the leather scabbard encasing Running Feet’s knife and shuddered. “I couldn’t—”

“Keep you safe next time.” She shoved the knife under the flowing material of Priscilla’s dress, hiding it.

“I couldn’t possibly take it.” The hard length of sheathed metal burned into her. Would there be a next time?
Please, God, no.
And if there were, how would she ever have the courage to use the knife?

Eli stopped beside them. He nodded at Running Feet and then knelt beside Priscilla. “How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?” His eyes were troubled.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You have a nasty bruise already.” His fingers made a gentle trail across her cheekbone.

How could a man use his hands to bring healing one moment, but in the next use his strength to nearly kill another?

What had elicited such a reaction from him? Of course he’d wanted to defend her. He’d proven to be a good man, ready to protect her and keep her safe from the dangers of the trail. But his violent response to her attacker went beyond that.

“What about you?” she asked softly. “Are you all right?”

His fingers skimmed over a trail of blood on her skirt, the scars on his hands reminding her of the many things about his past she didn’t know, the painful parts of his childhood he never talked about.

“I didn’t mean to get carried away.” Anguish tinged his voice. “But I couldn’t keep from thinking of Walt and the first time he hurt my sisters . . . their cries . . .”

The pain in his voice reverberated through her heart. She placed her hand over his. “I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

“When I heard your cries . . .” He met her gaze and the nightmares from his past had turned the blue dark. “I didn’t think. I only reacted. And I shouldn’t have hurt Old Ephraim that way.”

She squeezed his hand.

“He’ll live. I’ll make sure of it.” Eli sighed. “Even though I have a feeling the earth would be a better place without him.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or terrified that the old trapper would live.

“Don’t worry. He won’t come near you again.” He touched her nose.

She cringed.

“This will hurt, but I want to see if it is broken.”

She braced herself.

He placed a hand on either side of her nose and pushed down.

A cry slipped from her lips.

David sat up and stared first at her and then at Eli. The baby’s eyes wrinkled at the edges, and his bottom lip quavered.

Priscilla smoothed her fingers across the boy’s cheek and tried to muster a smile for him.

“I don’t think it’s broken.” Eli sat back on his heels and rubbed his eyes.

“Will you check Running Feet?” Priscilla asked. The Indian woman’s face was pale, the same as the dead grass that the new stems had yet to hide. “She’s suffering discomfort.”

“As long as you’re sure you’re not hurt anywhere else . . .”

She quickly shook her head. “No. He didn’t have enough time to—” The awful words stuck in her throat.

“You’re telling me the truth?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed hard and didn’t say anything for a long moment.

David chattered softly, and Priscilla pressed her thumb into his hand. His fingers clamped around it, squeezing both her flesh and her heart.

“I’m sorry, Priscilla.” Eli’s voice was a mere whisper.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered back.

“I hold myself completely responsible,” he said louder and with more urgency.

“I don’t blame you.” She wanted to reach out to him, but he pulled back and looked toward the distant horizon—an endless sea of waving prairie grass. “You couldn’t have done anything—”

“I should have known one of these men would go crazy at the sight of a beautiful woman. I should have stayed by you—watched out for you—”

“God protected me.” The solidness of Running Feet’s knife rubbed her leg. He’d brought the Indian woman to the rescue just in time.

“This is exactly the kind of danger I didn’t want to expose you to.” Frustration poured from his voice.

“It’s done. And I’ll be fine.” But would she be? She shivered and prayed to God that she wouldn’t have to go through an ordeal like that again.

There was one thing that was certain. She would never be able to use the knife. Not even if her life depended on it.

A
chorus of whoops and screams jarred Priscilla awake later that morning. She scrambled to sit up amidst the clutter of the wagon bed. The weariness from the past weeks of traveling had lulled her to sleep even though the jolting of the wagon was enough to bruise even the stoutest body.

In the shadows of the canvas she groped for David. Her fingers found the gentle rhythm of his breath and skimmed over his closed eyelids.

The warlike cries outside the wagon grew louder.

She shivered. Were the Pawnee attacking?

Her hand slipped to the hard length pressing against her hip. Blood pounded through her head. Did she dare unsheathe Running Feet’s knife?

A whoop echoed too close to the wagon.

What if they saw her golden hair and decided to scalp her? With trembling fingers she fumbled for her discarded bonnet. She couldn’t get her hands to work quickly enough.

“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, finally tying the ribbons beneath her chin.

The wagon lurched to a stop, and the Indian whoops faded.

Silence surrounded her. Except for the rapid hammer of her heartbeat, she could hear nothing. Her muscles tightened until she was as taut as the bow holding the canvas in place.

David stirred.

“Oh please, God,” she murmured, reaching a hand to the boy. “Keep him from crying.”

Eli had insisted she travel in the wagon for the morning. Even though her body had ached and her limbs trembled, she hadn’t wanted to admit to him her need for a break from the riding. At first she’d resisted, but when Running Feet asked her to hold David for a little while, she’d willingly taken him into the wagon.

The Indian woman was obviously still ailing, and Eli hadn’t been able to diagnose what was wrong with her. Priscilla couldn’t imagine how Running Feet had managed to ride this far with David on her back or how she could possibly continue.

Priscilla smoothed her fingers over the baby. He was good natured, but energetic and heavy.

He began to squirm and make sleepy half cries.

She slipped her arms around him and drew him into her embrace. Maybe if she could keep him quiet, the Pawnee wouldn’t find her.

His eyes opened, and when he saw her, he gave a loud squeal of delight.

“Shh.” She laid her fingers gently against his lips.

He puckered his lips and made a slur that imitated hers.

She shook her head and tried to give him a stern look.

He tossed his head back and forth several times and wrinkled his brow.

If the situation hadn’t been so grave, she would have been tempted to smile. “This isn’t a game, silly.” She kissed his head.

The canvas opening rattled.

Fresh fear slithered around her, and she shrank back.

The flap lifted, and Eli poked his face in. “I think it would be safer for you to stay in the wagon for now.”

“What’s happening?”

A small Indian boy peeked in next to Eli. His eyes grew wide, and he called out in his native language.

“We’ve reached the edge of the first Pawnee village, and they’ve come out to greet us.”

“Then we’re not being attacked?”

The lines in his face were deep and serious, just as they had been since he’d rescued her from Old Ephraim. “Captain Fitzpatrick stopped to see if he could trade with the Pawnee for food. Seems the trappers are running short already.”

“How is that possible?” The mules were carrying enormous packs on their backs, and there were more animals than she could possibly count—upwards of three hundred she guessed. How could their supplies be running out, especially when they still had several more weeks before they reached the Rendezvous? “What are the mules carrying?”

“The supplies are for the trappers coming down from the mountains,” Eli explained. “They’ll meet at the Rendezvous. There Fitzpatrick will pay the mountain men for all their beaver pelts, and the men will stock up on things like sugar, coffee, knives, tobacco, and gunpowder before they head out for another season of trapping.”

“Why didn’t the caravan bring more food for themselves?”

“No room. Besides, we’ll reach buffalo country soon enough, and there’ll be plenty to eat then.”

Another Indian child appeared next to Eli, and then another, until a group was crowding against him.

“The whole village is swarming us,” he called above the chattering of the children. “Wait in here until the commotion dies down.”

They stared at her and pointed, almost as if they’d never seen a woman before.

She climbed over the tangle of blankets and clothes toward the children. One day soon, she would have her very own school filled with bright-eyed native children. With a smile she waved at them.

They giggled and hid their laughter by cupping their hands over their mouths.

“Surely I’ll be safe enough with these children.” She leaned forward, ready to stretch her legs and breathe fresh air.

Eli hesitated, then he motioned her forward. “You can come out, but you need to stay next to me.” He helped her climb down.

The Indian children surrounded her, their half-naked bodies jostled her, and their black eyes gawked at her.

She adjusted David on her hip and took a deep breath of air thick with the unfamiliar scent of whatever the Indians were cooking in their nearby village. To the south of their caravan near the Platte River, she caught her first glimpse of the Pawnee dome lodges. From a distance they appeared to be nothing more than large mounds of grass and earth. Smoke wisped into the sky out of the center holes in the tops of the homes.

“Amazing,” she murmured.

Several Pawnee women drew close to her. Their ears were pierced with ornate beaded earrings. They appeared similar to Running Feet in their deerskin skirts and poncho-like shirts.

The women stared at her the same way the children did, curiosity and amazement widening their eyes.

“I had a feeling this would happen.” Eli glanced over the growing crowd. The lines in his face were tense. “Seems you are about to be the main attraction.”

One of the women called out, and within seconds more natives surrounded her. An older woman reached toward Priscilla’s face and grazed her cheek with fingers as coarse as the gritty soil along the river.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Priscilla said.

The woman grinned, revealing discolored teeth. She said something to the others and then grazed Priscilla’s opposite cheek.

The other women came closer, grinning shyly.

“What do they want?” If only she could communicate with them.

“They’re just curious. You and Mabel are the first white women they’ve ever seen.”

Nearby, Mabel was standing next to Henry. Native women and children had surrounded her too. They were stroking her face and skin, and she was greeting them with her wide smile.

Priscilla attempted to make her lips curve into a smile. If Mabel could withstand the mob, she could too, couldn’t she? After all, she’d come west to minister to the Indians. Pawnee or Nez Perce or any tribe—they all needed the saving love of the Lord.

More dirty hands touched her and bodies crowded against her. The musty leather of their clothes and the filth of unwashed flesh walled her in. One of the women clutched her cameo pin, and another yanked at the lace of her collar.

“I’m not sure what to do.” Panic began to mount inside her. She clutched at her cameo, protecting it with one hand while trying to keep David on her hip with the other.

Somehow in the bumping and elbowing, the natives pushed her away from Eli and the wagon.

More hands groped at her. The women giggled.

Priscilla tried to step away from them, but they pressed in from all sides, boxing her into the center of their attention.

“Eli,” she called.

Someone pulled at her bonnet, and before she could rescue it, her head was bare. She gasped and clutched her cameo tighter.

Fingers pawed at her hair, her skirt, her face. She yelped at the pressure against the tender bruises on her cheek and nose.

“Stop!” Panic rose and threatened to knock her to the ground. Her hair came loose and tumbled about her face. At once, fingers gripped it.

A swift jerk brought tears to her eyes.

Would they tear her apart piece by piece? In all her grandest plans, she’d never imagined she’d die the first time she encountered the natives in their land.

The stench, the pain, the press of bodies, the clutching fingers—everything surrounded her and threatened to suffocate her.

“Stand back.” Eli broke through the circle. His strength and size forced the women away from her. He reached for her, his eyes flashing with worry—the same worry she’d seen earlier when he’d rescued her from Old Ephraim.

“They just want to touch you and see you.” He wrapped his arm around her and sheltered her against his broad chest. “But there are too many of them right now.”

She ducked into him and wished her heart wasn’t quivering with fear of the Indian women.

He pushed through the crowd, protecting her and David in the shelter of his arm. When they reached the back of the wagon, he lifted her into the confines of the canvas.

“I want you to stay inside until the natives have a chance to get used to seeing you.” He slipped off his hat, revealing his crinkled brow.

She lowered David onto a pile of blankets and gasped for breath. Tangled masses of hair fell across her face.

“That’s twice today that you’ve been mauled and man-handled.” His voice dripped with frustration. “I shudder to think what could have happened to you if you’d been by yourself.”

“Thank the Lord for His constant protection.” She shivered, not daring to think about it. “And I thank Him that He’s given me you.”

“But what if I’m not there next time? The threat of danger isn’t going to get any better,” he said, almost regretfully. “If anything, it’ll get worse.”

“Yes, I’ve encountered danger today, but once we get going again, I’m sure everything will work out.”

Eli’s gaze pierced into her. Something about the intensity sent a quiver of fear through her belly.

“I was right from the start. . . .”

She turned to David and tugged down his long leather tunic. “Please don’t say anything.”

“I know you don’t want to hear it.” Misery threaded his voice. “And believe me, I wish I didn’t have to say this—”

“Then don’t.” The ache in her throat echoed in her voice.

He was silent a long moment.

She fingered the beads on the fringes of David’s garment, and agony rolled through her insides.

Finally Eli gave a long sigh and jammed his hat onto his head. “You’ve known how I’ve felt since the beginning, that I thought this trip would be too dangerous for a woman like you. After Old Ephraim this morning . . . and now this mobbing . . .”

She wanted to cover her ears.

“I can’t help thinking I made a mistake to marry you and bring you out here into the middle of constant danger.”

Even though she’d known what was coming, his words pierced her anyway, and she sucked in a breath at the pain they brought.

“And especially now,” he continued, lowering his voice into an anguished whisper. “Now after getting to know you and . . . and . . . seeing just how special you are . . .”

She blinked back the tears that were rapidly pooling in her eyes.

“I just want to keep you safe. That’s all.” He backed away. “And if I have to, I’ll send you back to New York, but it won’t be in a coffin.”

With that, he pulled the canvas shut.

She stared at the blank space where he’d stood and let the tears spill onto her cheeks.

David whimpered, and she reached for him.

She caught the sob that rose in her chest.

The boy nestled into her, and the warmth of his little body was her only comfort in the coldness that settled around her.

“Oh, Lord.” Her throat constricted painfully. “Surely he doesn’t regret marrying me?” Especially not after the way he’d kissed her last night.

“He’s just frustrated,” she whispered, trying to ignore the pain pulsing through her heart. Once he had the chance to put the recent dangers into perspective, he’d surely remember how well she’d endured the rigors of the journey thus far. And if she’d made it this far, she’d certainly be able to travel the rest of the distance and survive the rigors of the West.

She would show him he hadn’t made a mistake—that he hadn’t been foolish to marry her.

Priscilla ran a hand over Eli’s bedroll next to hers, and she stared through the dark at the top pointed center of their tent.

She and Mabel had sewn the tent in conical form, similar to the ones the Pawnee used during their buffalo hunts. It was raised with a center pole and fastened down with pegs, and it was big enough for both couples plus John and Richard.

They hadn’t had the opportunity to use it before because of the hectic pace of their travel. But now that they’d joined the caravan, their first day of travel had been much slower, even leisurely. After the first frightening encounter with the Pawnee, they’d passed several more villages, until finally the caravan had stopped for the night.

The Pawnee had followed them and hadn’t stopped peeking into the tent at her and Mabel until darkness had blessedly given them the privacy they’d lacked all day. Eli had taken turns with Henry watching over them, attempting to keep the natives from overwhelming them.