Heaven pinned the last cloth on the line to dry. There had been more washing to do with Angel getting sick to her stomach. Heaven saw Travis running toward her from the woods, holding something. She smiled. He’d been out all day searching for anything belonging to them that might have been dropped in the woods by the tornado. Before lunch he’d found her rocking chair, the paint scratched and the wood dented.
What had he found this time? She met up with him by the porch. He held his treasure behind his back like a little boy. “What is it?”
He gave her a found-a-hundred-dollar-bill grin and brought his arms around front. His hands held the Wharton family Bible. “It got a little wet. Some of the pages are stuck together. Might even be few of them missing. Here.” He thrust it into her hands. “I know how much you mourned the loss of it.”
“Where did you find it?” She ran her hand across the dark brown leather cover. She never thought to see it again.
“I was walking and searching the ground when a mocking bird let out a screech, and I looked up and saw something catch the light up in a tall tree. The more I stared at it, the more it seemed to call to me. So I climbed and found it wedged tight between two branches. The sun was bouncing off those gilt-edged pages like a beacon so I could find it.”
“You climbed the tree for me?” She hugged the Bible to her chest and wished she were brave enough to hug him, too. “For me and Angel? You saved our family history, Travis. Thank you.”
A horse came barreling down the drive. Travis pushed Heaven behind him.
“Dr. Logan!” The rider called out.
“I’m here.” Travis shouted back.
The man brought the horse to a stop in front of them. “Obadiah sent me. Mrs. Shaw’s turned sick, real bad. He wants you to come right away.”
Heaven grabbed Travis by the arm. Fear grabbed her by the throat. “You can’t go. What if Angel gets worse?”
He pulled away from her, not answering her question. “Ride on back and tell them I’ll be there right away.”
The messenger nodded and pulled on the reins to turn his horse, giving it a nudge. It took off on a run back to the Shaw’s farm.
“I’ll be back as quick as I can.” Travis walked toward the barn. “You know what to do for Angel. I told you, and I believe you can do this.”
Being left alone with Angel sick terrified her, and her body shook with anger. “No, I can’t do it.” She followed him into the barn.
“I’m taking Charlie if that’s okay. He’s not as high strung, and I won’t have time to baby him when I get there.” He saddled the horse.
Heaven clutched the Bible tighter and watched Travis tighten the girth strap on Charlie’s saddle. He gave it another quick tug and then buckled it.
“You can’t mean to ride off and leave us here.”
“She’s ill, Heaven. I may be able to help.”
“He didn’t say she has the measles. Maybe it’s just a cold.”
“Maybe, or maybe it’s something worse. I have to go.” He slung the saddlebags over the horse’s back.
In between the post and the stall gate, a spider had at one time anchored its web. Some of the threads were broken and quivered in the breeze that snaked through the barn walls. What had made that spider leave its home? She raked her fingers through her hair, stopping at a knot. When had it gotten tangled? “Angel needs you here.” I need you.
“I took an oath, Heaven. To help people.” He gripped his hat tightly in one hand. “You can take care of Angel. I’ve told you what I would do if I were here. None of it’s difficult.” He popped his hat on his head.
He was going to leave. She searched for some way to reach him. He had to understand why she couldn’t be left. People she loved died or became blind when she took care of them. Guilt joined with fear and braided in anger. Her fingers curled into a fist, her thumbnail worried the top of her index fingers. “Where was that oath when you took care of Pa? Where was it when you decided to raise horses instead of helping people? Why does it have to be important to you now?” Behind her, Mrs. Jackson butted her head against the door. Heaven wanted to do the same. She might as well. The man wouldn’t listen to her pleas.
Travis took a step toward her with his arms outstretched. Did he mean to embrace her? Comfort her? She backed away. Her breath clawed the sides of her throat as it came in and back out at a rapid pace. “Didn’t Pa tell you to take care of us? That’s what you wanted, right—the farm, me? Well you can have it. All of it. Including me. Just don’t leave me here alone to take care of my sister.” Or there is no deal. She slid the Bible under her arm and wiped her moist hands on her apron then folded them as if in prayer. She rested her chin on her folded knuckles and refused to let him see her tears.
Travis mounted Charlie and tipped his hat. “Miss Wharton, I would never accept a woman in that manner.” He kneed the horse and left the barn.
Heaven watched the twitch of Charlie’s tail as Travis’s back grew smaller. She waited for him to look over his shoulder, even turn around and say he was sorry. He didn’t. She wouldn’t call after him, beg him to come back, even though the words were tugging at her throat, begging to be said.
She could not allow herself to panic. But how could she stop the ice from taking root in her veins? Get busy. Yes, that’s what she needed—to do something, follow the directions Travis left.
Her stomach felt pecked full of holes. She stumbled back into the cabin. She’d start supper. Maybe Mrs. Shaw wasn’t that sick and Travis would return in time to eat with her. He’d apologize, and she’d forgive him, and he’d promise never to leave her like that again. She clung to the back of the chair where he’d sat since he’d arrived. Why did it seem she could never hold on to a man? Why did they always pick someone or something else instead of her?
Angel. Check on her first. She might have taken a turn for the worse while Heaven had been in the barn pleading with Travis to no avail.
He’d said he didn’t want her. Not the way she was offering herself. The disgust dripped off his lips when he said it as if she where one of those poor girls without mothers who worked in the saloons. Is that what she’d lowered her standards to? She didn’t have a mother, and she had just offered herself in a most undignified way.
“Heaven?” Angel called out from the straw bed they’d put together for her yesterday.
“I’m right here.” She hustled to her sister’s side. “Are you ready for a drink of tea?”
“No. Will you scratch me?”
“I can’t do that. I can draw a bath and wash you with lye soap. That seems to help.”
Angel rolled away from her. “No. Go away.”
“Ah sweetheart. You’ll be better soon. Travis said in a few days the rash will all but disappear, and so will the itching.”
“Go. Away.”
She didn’t reprimand her sister for her tone. Truth was she wanted to go away. She didn’t want to take care of Angel again. What would happen to her sister this time?
Cook. Get busy. Peel the potatoes and boil them. Open some beans and spoon them into the pan. She operated from memory, not feeling. She even made a plate for Travis and set it in front of his chair. Then she made the fork go in her mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. She listened for Charlie’s hoofbeats. None came. She finished what was on her plate, scooted out of her chair, and checked on Angel.
“I said go away.”
“I’ll leave you alone for now. I’ll be back as soon as I clean up the kitchen.” She picked up Travis’s full plate and set it on the stove for later. She shouldn’t be angry at him. God had made it apparent that healing was His gift to Travis. But what did He give to her?
As she washed the few plates, she remembered the barn chores would need to be done. It hadn’t taken her long to acclimate to Travis doing them for her. She set a dried plate on the hutch and picked up the other to wipe. How did he expect her to milk the cow and feed the horse and the goats while watching Angel every second in case her fever rose? The dishcloth in Heaven’s hand whipped across the plate and then over her shoulder as she settled the last dish on top of the other. One pot remained to be cleaned.
He didn’t even say he’d be back. He would come back though, wouldn’t he? Even though he said he didn’t want her? And now that he seemed to want to be a doctor again, did he still want her farm? A dishwater bubble sparkled in the glow of the lamp and expanded from her furious pot scrubbing. But did that mean he really didn’t want her either? Her hands stilled, and the iridescent beauty exploded.
Travis felt the pace of the last few days. He hoped this was his last stop before getting back to Heaven. And Angel, she had to be better. If she’d turned for the worse, he wouldn’t know, because Heaven wouldn’t have left her sister to find him. Guilt gnawed at his stomach. He should have at least sent someone to the farm.
“You have to keep the baby away from Mrs. Shaw.” Travis stared at Mr. Shaw’s eyes until the man blinked.
“I’m sure it’s difficult for all of you. I’ll explain it to her again. Will you tell her I’m here, please?” Travis stripped off his coat and hung it over the back of a wooden chair. He turned back. “It looks like the town escaped a major epidemic. The mayor is considering lifting the quarantine.”
“How many did we lose?”
“One was too many, but the five we lost could have been much higher.”
“She won’t quit crying for the baby.” The man swayed the infant in his arms. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep Etta away from her.”
Instead of placing the baby in the hand-carved cradle, Mr. Shaw plunked the infant into Travis’s arms. “Here, as long she’s held, she won’t cry. And if she’s not making noise, it’s easier for me to keep Etta calm.”
Before Travis could protest, the anxious husband raced past him to the bedroom. The door closed with a solid clunk.
He eyed the small cabin, looking for a pitcher of water. It would have been good to have at least washed his hands before holding the baby. Perhaps he could lay her down for a second. He made soothing baby sounds and leaned over the cradle. The baby’s eyelids sprang open, and her mouth formed an O. Her little chest rose as she sucked in air. Her face turned red. Travis scooped her up and cradled her in his arms before a sound could escape her tiny body. At least he’d washed his hands well before leaving the last sick family.
What was taking so long? He glanced at the door and swayed from side to side. One more look at the bedroom, and he realized he would be holding the baby a little longer. He was so tired, and that rocker by the cradle beckoned him. Maybe Mr. Shaw was having some success at convincing Mrs. Shaw to be patient. He yawned.
He decided to take a chance on the baby not liking the rocker. He’d still be holding her, so maybe she’d remain quiet. He would ease into the chair. He dropped, sinking a few inches at a time until his thighs burned. The baby didn’t seem discombobulated, so he sat.
This was nice; babies were nice. Babies with Heaven would be even nicer. He rocked and relaxed. He wanted to get home and talk to Heaven. The way they had left each other sawed at him. Why couldn’t she just admit she loved him and would marry him? Instead, she threw the marriage sacrament at him as if it didn’t mean anything. He knew she was hurt and scared when she said it, and if he were a lesser man, he would have said, “Fine, let’s get it done. Get the preacher and say the words.”
But he wanted a home like his parents’ home, like the Shaw family’s home, and he would wait until she was ready, even if he had to spend the entire winter in the barn.
Etta Shaw’s voice rose to a crescendo, and Travis heard her pleading to see the little girl. He wouldn’t allow it, not when the mother was this ill. So far the baby seemed healthy. The goat’s milk was keeping her body strong, and he wanted her to stay that way. But he couldn’t stop Mr. Shaw from taking the baby to her mother. He hoped for the baby’s sake Mr. Shaw would be strong enough to make his wife wait.
Mrs. Shaw wailed. Travis’s back stiffened. He gripped the tiny baby to his chest and rocked harder. Please God, heal her mother and protect this little one. He’d wanted to ask for so much more, but he knew God didn’t answer many of Travis’s prayers, at least not when it came to healing people. The sun that had shined through the window dimmed, and its yellow fingers on the floor turned to gray.
The baby reached out a tiny hand and slid it across his chin. She was too young to have sensed his sadness and reacted to it with a caress of care, but for Travis it felt as if God had reached out and offered him hope.
Heaven wanted to get the morning chores done quickly, so she crept out of the house before the sun came out. Angel was sleeping. The poor child had worn both of them out with her whining. With a lantern to light the way and the egg basket in hand, she headed for the chicken coop. She’d start there and then feed the rest of the animals. She’d have to come back later and muck the stalls. She’d really hoped Travis would have returned by now, since that was a chore she hadn’t minded handing over to him.
Angry squawks blasted from inside the coop. Something was wrong. The chickens shouldn’t even be awake. She broke into a run. As the lantern swung from her hand, it cast ghostly shadows across the yard. She reached the door. It was open a crack. She’d shut it last night, hadn’t she?
She yanked it the rest of the way open.
Yellow eyes glared at her, and her blood chilled as she took in the scattered feathers and a half-dead chicken clutched between sharp teeth.
A fox—and she hadn’t brought the gun. She was armed with a basket and fire.
The fox growled, and she took a step back. She had to get him out of there. They needed those chickens. Without them they would surely starve. Maybe if she opened the door all the way so he’d have a clean exit, he would leave. She eased the basket to the ground but not the lantern. As long as she had that, the fox wouldn’t come after her, would it? Putting all of her strength into her one arm, she dragged the lopsided door across the dirt until the opening to the coop was much wider.
Her heart thumping, she picked up the basket, and she banged it against the side of the building. “Get out!”
The stubborn fox didn’t move. Just blinked at her. A red feather floated from his mouth.
She stepped to the opening and hurled the basket at him, knocking him squarely between the ears.
He shook his head and feathers flew, but he didn’t release the chicken.
She yelled again, stomping her foot. This time he seemed to understand he might be in danger and ran from the building still grasping her chicken. She let him go.
The vim and vigor she had directed at the fox drained away faster than money in a gambler’s hand, and hard shivers took their place. Why had she come out without her gun? She could have been attacked, and then Angel would have been all alone. She wanted to collapse onto the damp ground and have a good cry. But if she did, the fox might return.
She set the lantern on the ground and inspected the door. The fox must have tugged on the bottom of the door and worked the hinge loose from the frame. She didn’t have the means to repair it or the time. She ran her hand through her hair. If she didn’t fix the door, the fox would have another free meal tonight. And he might tell his friends.
She could put the chickens in the barn, but it wasn’t as secure as the chicken coop had been. She slid a hank of her hair through her fingers and worried the ends. Was there something in the barn she could easily move back and forth as a temporary door? That wouldn’t work, because if she could move it, then so could the fox. It would have to be heavy.
She counted the chickens in the coop. Not many were left. One seemed to be struggling for air. She plucked it off the dirt floor and wrung its neck. She could use it to make broth this morning for Angel. Maybe even have enough meat for a small meal. She took the dead chicken outside, found the bucket to stick it in, and placed it on the porch. After she finished the barn chores, she’d take care of pulling out the feathers.
As for the chickens that were still living, it seemed they would be roosting in her cabin come evening.