Chapter 70: Whitman Mission

 

Mac heard Mrs. Tuller shout. “What is it?” he asked, riding Valiente over to his wagon.

“Her water broke,” Mrs. Tuller said.

Mac didn’t understand. “What?”

“Baby’s coming. Get the doctor.”

Mac found Doc and told him what Mrs. Tuller had said.

Doc swore. “Couldn’t she have waited a bit longer? Let’s get to the mission.”

Mac spurred Valiente forward to where Zeke led the wagon train on horseback. “Jenny’s having her baby. Ride ahead and tell the mission,” Mac shouted. Then he rode back to his wagon. “Should we move faster?”

Mrs. Tuller laughed. “Baby won’t come that quick.”

They arrived at the mission half an hour later, oxen in a lather. Mac looked in his wagon. “Can you stand?” he asked Jenny.

She nodded, her face white.

“Let’s get you inside.” Mac lifted Jenny out of the wagon and yelled, “Where can I take her?”

An Indian woman pointed to a whitewashed adobe building. Mac carried Jenny into a room that was bare except for a lumpy mattress on the floor. “Here?” he asked.

“I’ve delivered in worse,” Doc said from behind him.

Mac laid Jenny on the mattress. “What do we need?”

“Blankets,” Doc said.

Mac ran back to retrieve Jenny’s bedroll. After handing the blankets to Mrs. Tuller, he ran his hands through his hair, not knowing what to do.

“Go see to the company, son,” Doc said. “Mrs. Tuller and I’ll take care of her.”

Mac went outside and surveyed the mission. A two-story white house sat near the low building where Jenny lay, surrounded by fields and barns. His company’s wagons circled in one of the fields.

A tall, heavy white woman walked toward him. “Good evening,” she said.

“Good evening, ma’am. I’m Caleb McDougall, captain of this company. Jenny—my wife—is in labor.”

The woman smiled and offered her hand. “Narcissa Whitman. You’re welcome here. Is your wife being cared for?”

“Yes, ma’am. We have a doctor. I understand your husband is also a doctor. Is he available?”

“Dr. Whitman is away. If I can assist you, please let me know.”

Doc joined them, saying, “I’m sorry not to make Dr. Whitman’s acquaintance, ma’am. We’ll need some water.”

Mrs. Whitman called a young half-breed. “John, bring a bucket of water.”

Doc sent Mac back to his wagon. Hatty Tanner brought him a plate of food. “Eat,” she said. “It’ll be a long night.”

Esther came over and asked, “How’s Jenny?”

Mac shrugged. “Doc’s with her.”

Esther patted his shoulder. “You take care,” she said.

When he finished eating, Mac returned to the room where Jenny lay. “Should I stay?” he asked.

Doc looked up from his supper. “Ain’t nothing you can do.”

Mac went back to his wagon and pulled out his notebook:

 

September 15, 1847. At Whitman Mission. Jenny’s labor has begun. Mrs. Whitman is most hospitable.

 

Pershing came and sat beside Mac, lighting his pipe on a twig from the campfire. “She’ll make it. She’s young.”

Mac was silent. Pershing’s wife hadn’t made it.

He worried about how he should act. The baby meant nothing to him—only another body to take care of. A new father should probably feel more, but he wasn’t the child’s father. Jenny wasn’t his wife.

He wanted this night over and the wagons away. He wanted Jenny safe at the mission.

While he sat with Pershing, a scream split the night, louder than the panthers in the Blue Mountains. Mac jumped to his feet and ran toward Jenny.

“What’s wrong?” he shouted at Doc.

“Contractions getting stronger,” the doctor said as he bent over Jenny’s small form. “But she’s still got a long way to go.”

“Can’t you stop the pain?”

Doc squinted at Mac. “Not much I can do but watch. Help the baby, when it comes.”

Mac stood silently. What about Jenny? He wanted Doc to save Jenny. “Doc, can I talk to you? Privately.”

The doctor joined him at the door. “If it comes to Jenny or the baby,” Mac said, “save Jenny.”

Doc snorted. “She just told me to save the baby.”

“No,” Mac said, grabbing Doc’s arm. “Save her.”

“Let’s hope it don’t come to choosing. Get some sleep. We’ll call you when the baby’s here.”

Back at his wagon, Mac stretched out but couldn’t sleep. Wails of pain sounded from the building where Jenny lay. He covered his head with a blanket, but it didn’t help. The screams grew louder and more frequent.

It was after midnight, or so Mac thought. The moon was not quite half full. He must have dozed off, because Mrs. Tuller woke him by tapping his shoulder.

“Captain McDougall,” she whispered. “Jenny wants you.”

“Is the baby here?” he asked, shaking his head to clear it.

“Not yet. She’s having a hard time.”

Mac bolted up, fear snaking through his gut. “What do you mean?”

“She’s exhausted and weak. But she wants to see you.”

Mac followed Mrs. Tuller into the adobe building. The blanket covering Jenny was bloodstained. “Why the blood?” he asked Doc.

“She’s bleeding some. Baby’s too big for her.” Mac’s stomach rose at Doc’s surly tone. “Damn fool girls marrying so young.”

“Mac.” Jenny’s whisper stopped Mac from shoving Doc against the wall.

Mac knelt beside her. She was so pale. He smoothed her tangled hair out of her face. “What is it?”

“Remember your promise.”

“Promise?”

“To take care of my baby.” She tried to lift herself on an elbow.

“Stay still,” Mac said, pressing her down gently. “You’ll take care of the baby yourself.”

“Promise me,” she said, grasping his arm with surprising strength.

“You’ll be fine, Jenny.”

“Promise me.”

Mac brushed another damp curl off her cheek. “All right, I promise.”

Jenny sighed and lay back. She seemed to wilt into the blankets, and her eyes closed.

“Jenny!” Mac tapped her cheek. “Wake up, Jenny.”

Her eyes shot open as another contraction gripped her, and she screamed.

“Shh,” Mac soothed, taking her hand. Jenny crushed his fingers in hers. Mac looked at Doc. “Can’t you give her some relief?”

“All we can do is wait.”

“And pray,” said Mrs. Tuller behind Mac, patting his shoulder. “You should go now.”

“I’m not leaving,” Mac said. “I brought her this far. I won’t leave now.”

“It’ll only distress you,” Doc said. “Seeing her pain. Husband ain’t meant to watch.”

Jenny cried out again, thrashing on the bed. Mac kept his grip on her hand. “Come on, Jenny. You can do it.”

The contractions went on for hours. Mac was sweating and his hand ached from Jenny’s clasp. But he didn’t let go. He talked to her almost non-stop, about everything and nothing. About Boston. About their journey so far. About the home she’d have in Oregon.

Jenny dozed between contractions. At one point Mac thought she passed out, because she was still for several minutes.

Doc shook her. “She’s got to keep working,” Doc said. “Can’t let the baby get stuck.”

So Mac kept talking to her.

The sun shone brightly in the window when Doc told Jenny, “Almost here. Push.”

“I can’t,” Jenny moaned.

“Yes, you can,” Mac urged. “Let’s get this baby out.” He sat behind her and lifted her shoulders.

Jenny wailed with the next contraction. Then went limp.

“One more time,” Doc urged. “Don’t quit on me now.”

“Save her, Doc,” Mac said. “I don’t care about the baby. Just save her.”

“Come on, Jenny. One more time. Here it comes.”

Jenny leaned back against Mac, her eyes wide, and she groaned from deep in her belly.

“Got it,” Doc said. “You ready?” he called to his wife.

Mrs. Tuller took a red lump from Doc. Jenny slumped unconscious on the bed. “Jenny,” Mac said, shaking her.

Doc pushed Mac out of the way and worked over Jenny. “Got the afterbirth,” he said after a few minutes. “All right. Let’s wake her up.” He sponged Jenny’s face with a damp rag.

Her eyelids fluttered. “My baby?” she asked.

“It’s a boy,” Doc said. “Let me check on him.”

Mac hadn’t heard a sound from the baby. He didn’t much care. Jenny was alive, and he smiled at her. “You did it,” he said.

“My baby?” Jenny sounded hysterical.

“He’s breathing,” Mrs. Tuller said. “Let’s see if we can get him to cry.” She held the red baby upside down and tapped him on the back.

“Let me have him,” Doc said. He stood over the infant and thumped its chest. Finally, a weak mewl sounded.

“My baby!” Jenny cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Doc thumped the baby again.

A hiccup. Then a stronger cry.

The doctor wrapped the baby in a blanket and handed him to Jenny. “Doing all right,” he said with a chuckle.

Jenny cradled the baby in her arms. She smiled through her tears at Mac. Feeling stupidly happy, he grinned back at her.

“What’s his name?” Mrs. Tuller asked.

Jenny looked at Mac. “William? William Calhoun. It was my papa’s name.”

“William Calhoun McDougall.” Mrs. Tuller smiled. “That’s a fine name. Little Will.”

Doc clapped Mac on the back. “Go show off your son, while we get Jenny cleaned up.”

“Me? He’s not—” Mac backed away.

“He won’t break.” Mrs. Tuller thrust the baby at Mac. He clutched it tightly. William gazed at Mac with furrowed brow and eyes that saw right through him.

“Go on,” Mrs. Tuller pushed Mac out the door. “He’s got an audience waiting. I told ’em you have a son.”

Mac stumbled outside. Applause sounded.

Esther rushed forward first. “Oh, let me see! What’s his name?”

Mac managed, “William.” And quickly gave the baby to Esther.

Back at his wagon, Hatty Tanner handed Mac a cup. “Real coffee,” she said, smiling. “From the mission store. To celebrate your new son.”

“Thank you,” Mac said, collapsing by the fire.

“Hard birth,” Hatty said, as she scrambled eggs and potatoes. “Miz Jenny all right?”

“Hmm.” He was too tired to talk.

“I’ll take some vittles to the Tullers.” Hatty busied herself about the fire.

Mac knew he should see to his company, but he slept. It was afternoon when he awoke.

Doc stood over him. “We need to talk.”

Mac sat up. Seemed like only a few minutes since Mrs. Tuller had awakened him in the night. “Is Jenny all right?”

“As well as can be expected.”

Mac relaxed.

“Don’t you want to know about the baby?”

Mac shrugged. “Sure.”

“I ain’t never seen a father less interested in a firstborn son. Is he yours?” Doc stared at him, bushy eyebrows frowning.

Mac stammered, “Wh-what did Jenny tell you?”

“I ain’t asked her. I’m asking you.”

“Shouldn’t you ask Jenny?”

Doc’s voice was mild. “Why bother her when you can answer me? Is he your child?”

Mac gulped. “No.”

“She your wife?”

“N-no.” Mac stammered again. “Sh-she was in trouble. Needed help.”

The doctor raised one eyebrow. “You planning to marry her?”

Marry her? Jenny had needed somewhere to go, someone to take care of her. Mac had needed to look married. But he’d never intended to marry her in fact. He would find her a home—preferably here at the Whitman Mission. Then his responsibility to her would be done. “Doc, I did Jenny a favor bringing her to Oregon.”

“I ain’t asking what you done, boy. I’m asking what you’re going to do.” Doc sat on a barrel beside Mac. “Measure of a man changes each time he acts. What’s your next act?”

“Thought I’d leave Jenny and the baby here. Maybe some of our other families will stay, too.”

“And you?”

“I’ll get the company to Oregon City. Come back through in the spring. See how she’s doing.”

Doc squinted at Mac. “You’re making this up as you go, ain’t you?”

Mac stared at the ground.

“See here, McDougall.” Doc’s voice turned steely. “Jenny’s a fine girl. I don’t know what happened back East. Between you, or before you met. She and her child need you now. Are you man enough to figure out what to do?”

Doc pushed himself to his feet. “I’m beat. Need to sleep.” And he walked off.

Hell, Mac thought. Jenny didn’t want to marry him. She hadn’t even wanted to pretend at marriage. She’d had enough of men in Arrow Rock. She was still so young. And after what he’d told her about Bridget, she wouldn’t want him.

Mac thought of Bridget. What would he have done if he’d learned Bridget was carrying his child before she died?