“I am here, Lydia!” Emma put her foot on the bottom step, stopped and stared as Lydia Hargrove shoved aside the canvas flaps over the tailgate of her wagon. “What is wrong? Are you—”
“I’m fine, I—”
A moan, quickly broken off, came from the wagon’s interior. Emma glanced toward the sound, then looked back up at Lydia Hargrove.
“It’s Ruth Applegate.” The older woman’s voice lowered. “I thought it best to keep her here ’till Mary found you.” She climbed out of the wagon, turned and held out her arms. “Come to Auntie Lydia, Isaac.” She lifted the toddler out, held him close. “Time for me to start the cook fire. I’ll keep Isaac with me while you talk with his mama.”
Emma nodded, read all the things the woman left unsaid in her expression and climbed in the wagon. Ruth Applegate was sitting in Lydia Hargrove’s small rocking chair, clutching her abdomen. The young woman’s face was pale, her mouth compressed into a thin line.
Emma picked a path through the various trunks and household items and knelt in front of her. “Are you in pain, Ruth?”
The young woman nodded, gave a soft hiss and rubbed her hands over the fabric covering her stomach.
Emma watched Ruth’s eyes close, noted how she clenched her jaw to hold back an outcry. “Is the pain constant? Or does it come and go like cramps?”
“Like cramps.” Ruth released a breath and opened her eyes. “I—I think it’s the baby. It feels like when Isaac started to be born.”
Emma nodded, kept her expression serene. “When did the cramps begin?”
“Not long ago. When I was carrying Isaac up the grade. The pain doubled me over and I had to put him down. Lydia saw me when their wagon came by and they stopped. She took Isaac and bid me sit in her chair. I asked her to send someone for you.” Ruth’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to lose my baby, Dr. Emma.”
Emma reached out and squeezed her hand. “I cannot promise that will not happen, Ruth. Babies have a way of choosing their own destinies. But I will promise you I will do everything I know to help you.” She looked the young woman straight in the eyes. “Will your husband let me come to your wagon to care for you?”
Ruth looked down at their joined hands on her stomach and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Emma. You saved Isaac when he had the measles. And even told me what to do for James when he got them so bad, but he—he won’t…”
“I understand, Ruth. Here is my first instruction.” The young woman’s gaze shot to her face. Emma smiled. “Do not distress yourself. It is very bad for the baby. We shall manage.” But how? She thrust the worry aside. “My second instruction is this…no more work.”
“But—”
“There can be no buts, Ruth. You must go to bed and rest. You will do no more cooking, no more walking. You cannot lift or care for Isaac.”
Ruth’s eyes filled with tears. “Dr. Emma, that is impossible. James will nev—”
“Nothing is impossible, Ruth. It may be difficult, but not impossible. I will give it some thought and—ah!” Emma clapped her hands together and smiled. “Olga Lundquist prepares my meals and Anne’s. I will simply give her more supplies from our stores and have her cook them for your family.” And increase her pay.
“And I will care for Isaac.” Lydia Hargrove stuck her head and shoulders into the end of her wagon and grabbed hold of a large iron spider.
“Oh, Lydia, I cannot—” The tears slipped down Ruth’s cheeks. “Isaac is getting so…rambunctious.” There was worry, but also a touch of pride in her words.
Lydia snorted. “I’m not so old I can’t handle a toddler. He’s settin’ out here, quiet as you please, diggin’ in the dirt with my spoon. The matter is settled. Caring for your little one pleasures me. And I will cook your meal tonight.”
“Oh, but I—how will I ever repay you both!” Ruth covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
“Bosh!”
Ruth jerked her head up.
Emma gaped at Lydia.
“You stop that nonsense, Ruth Applegate! Our husbands drug us along on this journey, and it’s up to us to help each other survive it! There’ll be no talk of repayin’!” She withdrew her head and shoulders and disappeared.
Emma laughed, she couldn’t help it. Lydia Hargrove looked as if she would like to use that spider on her husband and James Applegate, instead of cooking with it. If only Ruth had some of that spunk. She turned back to her patient.
“All that remains is to get you to bed.”
Ruth put her hands on the rocker’s arms and started to rise.
Emma shook her head. “I said no walking. I will go find your husband.”
“And everything will be all right if Ruth goes to bed?”
Emma met James Applegate’s skeptical gaze. “I did not say that, Mr. Applegate. But she will almost surely lose the baby if she does not.”
“Almost.” The man’s brows drew down into a frown. “How long does she have to stay abed?”
“I cannot answer that question with any certainty.”
“Seems there’s not much you can say for certain. Too bad there’s not a real doctor here.”
Emma clenched her hands, fought to keep her voice calm and pleasant. “Not even a man doctor could answer your questions, Mr. Applegate. These things are a matter of nature.”
“Not havin’ a man doctor handy, it’s hard to know the right of that.” He raised his hand and stroked his beard, looked off to the west. “With these steep climbs, the extra weight will be hard on the teams.” He looked at her again. “She can stay abed three days.”
“Three—”
“But if the way gets too steep, an’ the teams start to struggle, she will have to walk.”
Emma clenched her hands, fought to keep her voice even. “If you are agreeable, Mr. Applegate, there may be a solution to your problem. Ruth can stay in my wagon, where I can watch over her.” She tried to hold them back, but the words popped out anyway. “My brother bought extra teams.”
She need not have worried about her acerbic comment. He merely nodded and stroked his beard. She could almost see him weighing his dislike of her against his team’s well-being. At last, he lowered his hand and deigned to look at her. “All right. I will be along shortly to carry Ruth to your wagon.”
Emma lifted a small pile of clean rags out of the red box, closed the lid and turned to look down at her patient. “Are you more comfortable now?”
“Yes. The cramps have stopped.” Ruth gave her a hopeful look. “Perhaps I should go back to my wagon.”
Emma shook her head. “I do not want to dishearten you, Ruth, but I also do not wish to give you false hope. It happens this way sometimes. The cramps stop, and then start again. I am hoping that if you stay abed for a few days, things will be fine.”
Ruth nodded, fingered the ribbon adorned with embroidered rosebuds that separated the bodice from the skirt of the nightgown she wore. “This is fine work. Too fine. My shift—”
“Is not warm enough for these cold nights. I do not want you taking a chill.” Emma placed the rags on the dresser to have close at hand should they be needed for spotting, then set a pail close by for discards. “You should cover up.”
Ruth pulled the blankets and quilt that covered her legs up to her chin. “It sure feels strange goin’ to bed without cleanin’ up supper and puttin’ Isaac down to sleep. I hope he don’t give Lydia trouble. He can be stubborn…”
“I am quite certain Lydia is equal to the task.”
“Yes. I’m sure she is…”
Emma studied Ruth’s unhappy face and reached for her wrap. “I am going to see if Anne needs anything before I retire. I shall check on Isaac on my way.” She gave the worried mother a smile and glanced toward the tailgate. She could not get by the bed to open it. She stepped to the front of the wagon, scooted across the lid of the red box and climbed out onto the driver’s seat. Moonlight flooded the world in silver. A shiver coursed through her. The night air was cooling fast.
She closed the flaps tight, then climbed down and hurried toward the Hargrove wagon. She was almost there when Zachary Thatcher came striding out of the night toward her. Her stomach fluttered. She stopped and pulled her wrap more tightly around her shoulders, ignoring, as best she could, the betraying quickening of her pulse at the sight of him. He stopped in front of her, dipped his head in greeting.
“Matthew Hargrove said you wished to speak with me, Miss Allen.”
“Yes.” She braced herself for his reaction. “Ruth Applegate is with child and a problem has developed. She is in danger of losing the baby.” She gave him an imploring look. “She must have rest, Mr. Thatcher. We cannot travel tomorrow. Or—” She stopped, stiffened at the shake of his head.
“I’m sorry, Miss Allen. But the wagons form up and travel on tomorrow at dawn, same as always.”
Emma stared at him, disappointment and anger churning in her stomach. “Mr. Thatcher, as a doctor, I am telling you that being bounced and jolted by that wagon will almost certainly cause Ruth Applegate to lose her baby. Perhaps even her life. I am asking you—”
“Have you seen the Indians on the hills, Dr. Allen?”
She stared up at him, taken aback. “The Indians? Yes. But—”
“There are over three hundred of them. There—” he jabbed his finger in the air to their right “—there—” another jab behind them “—and there.”
The last jab was to their left. She peered beyond the circled wagons into the darkness, her heart pounding.
“They surround our camp every night. The only way open is west.”
The quiet, factual way he spoke was terrifying. She shuddered, looked up at him.
“They do not attack the train because I have assured them we are only passing through their territory. They are watching to see if what I say is true.” He stepped closer, locked his gaze on hers. “If these wagons do not roll west tomorrow morning, Dr. Allen, Mrs. Applegate, her baby and every other member of this wagon train will be in grave danger. If we travel on, at least she and her baby have a chance. Now, if you will excuse me, I have guards to post.” He touched the brim of his hat, turned and walked off.
Emma stared after him until he disappeared, then looked around the inner oval. The animals were settling down for the night. Here and there the red embers of dying cook fires shimmered against the dark, or a lantern showed as a dull circle of gold on the canvas of a wagon. Voices, muted and indistinct, floated on the air as men and women finished chores and bid one another good-night. Did any of them know of the danger that lurked out there in the night, waiting to pounce on and destroy them?
There was no lantern light showing in the Hargrove wagon. Little Isaac was asleep. And little Jenny…and Gabe and David… Mary… Emily and Susan and Amy…So many children.
Emma turned and forced her trembling legs to carry her back to her wagon. Ruth was waiting to hear about Isaac. Ruth, who was in danger of losing her unborn baby and, perhaps, her life. And she was helpless to do anything about it.
She climbed to the driver’s box, took a deep breath and fixed a smile on her face. Ruth must be kept calm. She could not let her guess… She ducked beneath the canvas flaps to tell Ruth Isaac was sound asleep.
Zach moved from guard to guard under the cover of the darkness, checking their positions, making sure they were alert without alarming them. Thus far the Blackfeet had kept their word, but their presence was a constant threat—one that weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had not told Emma Allen the whole truth.
He scowled, detoured around a rock outcropping and headed for the far side of the herd. The hard truth was, the Indians were driving them the same as they were driving these oxen and mules and horses. And if they did not move, that open-ended circle would close about them, they would be overrun by the multitude of fierce warriors and his few unskilled, untrained fighting men would die quickly in battle. It would be different for the women and children on the train. His gut knotted. It had been bad enough seeing the horrors visited on women and children he did not know. To think of Emma Allen and—
Emma. She was so beautiful standing there with the moonlight bathing her face. And the way she had looked at him as he walked toward her… For a moment he’d thought…
The knots in his gut twisted tighter. Zach took a firmer grip on his knife and slipped through the night toward his camp. What he had thought had no bearing on the truth. Or on his job. He had to keep this train moving. Now more than ever.