Dorothy Clark - Prairie Courtship

“Walk them! But you need to get out of—” He stopped, stared at her lifted chin, the sudden set look of her face. “All right, Miss Allen, you will carry the child, and we will walk the horses. Now, give her to me, and let’s get you mounted.” He took the blanket-swaddled child, cradled her in one arm and held out his free hand.

Holding the child was a handicap. And Miss Allen was so stiff and sluggish with cold, so weighted down by her long, sodden skirts, it took him three tries, but at last he had her in the saddle. He handed her the reins, placed the child in her shivering arms and whistled for Comanche. The big roan came dutifully to his side.

“I’ll have you warmer in a minute.” Zach unlashed the bedroll from behind his saddle and yanked the ties. He shook out his blanket, tossed it over Miss Allen’s shoulders and covered it with his India-rubber groundsheet. He grabbed the flapping ends, crossed them over each other in front to cover the child and secured them to the saddle horn with one of the ties. It was the best he could do to warm and protect them.

“Th-thank you.”

Zach looked up. Rain washed down Miss Allen’s face, dropped off her chin onto the rubber sheet and sluiced away. She was shivering so hard he had doubts of her ability to stay in the saddle. He took off his hat and clapped it on her wet hair. It slid down to her eyebrows. “Keep your head down, we’ll be facing into the storm on the way back. And hold on to that horn, I’ll lead your horse.” He took the reins from her and leaped into the saddle, started Comanche toward the wagons at a slow walk.

Rain drenched his hair, funneled down his neck to soak his coat collar and dampen his shirt. Zach frowned and hunched his shoulders as a drop found an opening and slithered down his back. It was going to be a long ride.

A pinpoint of light glowed in the darkness ahead. Only one reason for that. Someone had got a fire started. Zach stared at the welcome sight, a frisson of expectation spreading through him. That should cheer the Allen woman. It made him feel better. There was nothing like a fire when you were cold and wet and feeling miserable. Especially if there was a pot of coffee simmering on the coals.

Zach scanned the area as best he could through the rain, trying to spot the night guards. It wouldn’t do to startle them. The greenhorns were liable to shoot before they were sure of their target. He looked back at the fire, close enough now that he could see the light flickering and make out the crude, canvas canopy someone had rigged. He hadn’t expected any of the emigrants to figure a way to start a fire in a rainstorm, let alone know how to protect it. Likely it was the Lewises, guiding their way back.

The fire disappeared, blocked from his view by the wagons as they approached. He spotted it again through a gap between the bulky vehicles. Looked like Lewis had switched places with the Lundquists. Joseph Lewis and his wife were tending the fire. He could make out the two of them silhouetted against the rosy glow as he rode to the Allen wagon. They appeared to be the only ones about. Not surprising, given the late hour, the weather conditions and the hard day. But where were the guards? They should have challenged him on their way in.

He frowned, halted Comanche at the back of the Allen wagon, slid from the saddle and tethered the woman’s horse. “We’re here, Miss Allen.”

“Yes.”

She sounded about done in. Zach turned his head, raised his voice loud enough to be heard over the beating of the rain on that canvas canopy rigged to protect the fire. “Lewis, give me a hand. I’ve got your daughter and Miss Allen.” He turned back, began to untie the rawhide thong holding the blankets to the saddle horn. “I’ll have you free in—”

“My baby! Where’s my baby?” Mrs. Lewis squeezed through the narrow space between the wagons’ wheels, her husband right behind her.

“She’s right here.” Zach undid the last turn of the thong and threw back the edge of the blankets.

“Oh, give her to me!” The woman reached up for her child.

“Don’t h-hug her.” Miss Allen’s teeth chattered, broke off her words. She threw him a look of appeal.

Zach stuffed the thong in his coat pocket, and gently lifted the child from her arms. “Your daughter has a broken arm and a head injury, Mrs. Lewis. She has to be handled careful.”

The woman gave a little cry, sucked in a breath and nodded. “I understand.”

Zach placed the swaddled toddler in her arms, turned back to remove his blankets and help Miss Allen from the saddle.

“T-take her into my wagon, Mrs. Lewis. I’ll s-set her arm.”

“You!” Joseph Lewis shook his head. “I’m right grateful to you for going to look for our Jenny, Miss Allen. But we need someone knows what they’re doing to care for her. I reckon—”

“I know how to care f-for your daughter, Mr. Lewis. I’m a d-doctor.”

A doctor! Zach froze, stared at Miss Allen—there was a look of grim forbearance on her face. He frowned and tossed his bedding over his saddle. A woman doctor. Judging from the argument going on between Lewis and his wife, it would cause a furor among the emigrants if she plied her trade. That was all he needed. Another problem to get in the way of his getting this train to Oregon country before winter hit the mountains.

He scowled, grasped the Allen woman around her waist and lifted her out of the saddle to the ground. Her knees buckled. She fell against him.

“S-sorry.” She placed her trembling hands against his chest and tried to push herself erect.

Zach’s face tightened as he steadied her. Me, too, Miss Allen. Sorry you ever joined this train. He leaned down, lifted her into his arms and stomped toward her wagon, heedless of the water in her sodden gown soaking through the wet sleeves of his coat.

The dry nightclothes and fire-warmed blanket felt wonderful. But it made her want to sleep. Emma swallowed the last sip of hot coffee and set her cup on the floor. She was losing her battle against the fatigue that dragged at her. Her eyes had closed again.

She forced her reluctant eyelids open, glanced at the child lying on the pallet made out of her feather pillows. Unlike her own still-damp hair, the toddler’s had dried, and soft, blond curls circled the small face now pink with warmth. Jenny looked like any other sleeping toddler. Except for her splinted arm and unnatural stillness.

Emma lifted her gaze to Jenny’s mother, sitting on the floor with her back against the long red box and holding her baby’s hand.

“Jenny’s got blue eyes. Like her papa’s. I wishst she’d open ’em.” The woman’s chest swelled as she took a deep breath, sunk as she let it out again. “Will I ever…see her blue eyes again, Miss—Dr. Allen?”

Emma stiffened. That’s what Anne had asked. Just before— She shoved the thought away, looked into the fear-filled eyes begging for hope and summoned a smile in spite of the bitterness squeezing her heart. “I cannot say for sure—such things are in God’s hands—but I believe you will, Mrs. Lewis. Jenny’s pulse is steady and strong, and that’s a good sign.” Little Grace’s pulse had been uneven and weak…

The woman nodded, pulled the blanket draped over her shoulders closer together across her chest. “I’ve been prayin’.” She looked up, and the lamplight glimmered on the tears swimming in her brown eyes. “I wasn’t meanin’ to make you uncomfortable, askin’ you things only God Hisself can answer.”

Yes. Only God, who had chosen to let little Grace die. “I understand, Mrs. Lewis.” If only she could.

Silence fell. Rain pattered against the canvas cover. The faint sound of snoring came from the Lewis family’s wagon. A child’s yelp. And then— “Move over, Gabe! Yer pokin’ me with yer elbow!”