“Can you open your mouth and stick your tongue way out for me, Edward? Like this.” Emma looked down at young Edward and stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.
Edward giggled and tried to mimic her. He broke into a barking cough, struggled to catch his breath. His eyes widened with fright. He began to wheeze.
“Let me help you sit up, Edward.” She slid her arm beneath the little boy’s shoulders and lifted him to a sitting position. “Now, do as I say. Breathe very…slowly…” She smiled and gently rubbed his back. He calmed. His breath came easier. “There, you see. You need not fight to breathe. You are all right. Now, let me put this pillow here—” she propped it against the wall “—and you lean back and rest.”
She rose and smiled down at him. “I am going to give your mama some things that will help you feel better. I want you to do as she says.” She walked to the front of the room.
“What is wrong with Edward, Dr. Emma?”
“He has the croup, Pamelia.” She glanced back at the little boy. “He should improve in two or three days. Meantime, it is frightening for him because he feels he can’t breathe. I want you to keep him calm and help him to relax when he has a coughing attack, as I did. Keep him sitting up, it makes it easier for him to breathe. And give him some sage and savory tea regularly. A warm poultice on his chest may help.” She took a tighter grip on her bag. “His condition will worsen at night, so be prepared by resting during the day. I do not want you becoming ill. The croup is very contagious, so please do not let others come to see him, especially children. And wash your hands every time you take care of him.”
“I will do as you say, Dr. Emma.” Pamelia smiled. “And this time Thomas told me he will come to your office and pay your fee.” She laughed. “I believe that means your wagon.”
Emma smiled. “For a few more days. They are cutting the logs for my cabin today.” She stepped to the blanket that covered the doorway. “Send Thomas for me if you are concerned for Edward.”
“Yes. Thank you for coming, Dr. Emma.”
She nodded, swept the blanket aside and stepped out into the sunshine. It was a lovely day, surprisingly warm after the cold weather they had suffered. She hoped it lasted until her cabin was built. And her fireplace. Carl Sutton and Luke Murray were adding fireplaces to the cabins that were being raised so quickly. The Hargroves’ fireplace had been the first.
She glanced at the wide stone base that tapered upward to the narrow chimney as she walked by the Hargroves’ cabin. Their fireplace was lovely and warm on cold days. She wanted one like it. And a table made from her tailgate. She would ask Joseph Lewis to make her one the next time she saw him. She would need a good, sturdy table for any operations. And a cupboard to hold her medical supplies. And a door. She was tired of canvas flaps and blankets. Could Joseph make her a door from the wood of the wagon? And perhaps shutters for windows? How lovely it would be to have windows again! Where did one purchase glass in the wilderness?
He will come to your office. She sighed and turned into the open area where her wagon sat. Perhaps one day she would have an office. For now, people would come to her home. She did have her first furnishing for the office. She had a sign. Her Doctor Emma sign from Mr. Thatcher. She would use it always.
She stood looking at the open area where, tomorrow, her cabin would sit, then looked down at her feet and smiled. Someday, this would be a wooden sidewalk. Or, perhaps, brick or stone. Someday.
She walked to the wagon, climbed to the wagon seat, pushed the flaps out of the way and crawled inside. Yes. It would definitely be lovely to have a door again! She put her doctor’s bag on the dresser and looked around. There was not much to furnish her cabin.
The mattresses were in a good, sturdy wood frame. Perhaps Joseph Lewis could make legs to raise it off the floor. And she had the dresser. And the chests. And the long red box. She would keep that always. It had held so many treasures for her on the long journey. And the sign. Her symbol of success as a doctor, and failure as a woman. Which would become more important as the years went by?
She drew a long breath and stepped to the rear of the wagon, opened a slit between the canvas flaps and looked out across the river to Zachary Thatcher’s land. He would build his cabin there. Perhaps that had something to do with his mysterious digging. They would be neighbors. Every time she looked out her windows, or walked outside, or went to the river, she would see his home. And she would wonder.
When would he bring a wife there? For surely that would happen. How would she bear meeting her, seeing her around town over the years? How could she bear watching her grow large with his children? And then see them playing and exploring, hear their shouts and laughter? How could she bear watching him grow older and never share his joys and sorrows? Would this feeling of fragility, of…shattering frailty…lessen? Would she ever stop feeling empty inside?
“Dr. Emma?”
She dropped the canvas, whirled, her heart pounding. She had not heard him come.
“Dr. Emma?”
Finally. The acknowledgment of her doctoring skills she had sought. But it was not the name she wanted on his lips when he called to her. “Yes, I’m coming.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks, hurried forward and climbed out into the driver’s box. He had dismounted, and was standing beside the wagon, Comanche behind him. She could see him out of the corner of her eye. She shook the long skirts of her red wool dress into place, arranged her face in her “professional doctor’s look” and gathered her courage to look at him. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He tipped his hat back and took her gaze prisoner. “I have something I want to show you. Will you come with me?”
To the ends of the earth. “Yes. Of course.”
He held up his hands.
Her heart stopped. She couldn’t…shouldn’t… She moved to the side of the seat, felt the strength of his hands circle her waist and leaned forward to place her hands on his hard, broad shoulders.
She never touched the ground. He lowered her until her waist was level with his chest, turned her back to him and caught her against him with one strong arm. He swung into the saddle and urged Comanche forward still holding her tight against him. The way he had held her once before. He had saved her then. She was dying now.
Comanche splashed through the water, surged onto land and walked to the small copse of trees that clustered on the riverbank. His camp was there, hidden from view. A stone fire circle, the packhorse equipment and a small tent. He dismounted and grasped her waist, lifted her down, looked at her. She turned and hid her face from him.
“Is this what you want to show me?”
“No. It’s this way.” He gestured toward the open plain.
She nodded and started walking toward nothing, needing to put space between them. He moved up beside her, adjusted his long stride to match her shorter one.
“Over here.” He took her elbow, turned her to the left, walked forward a few feet and stopped. There was a small circle of disturbed soil with a long, skinny piece of twig sticking out of it. He touched the twig and looked at her. “This is an apple tree. A Winesap apple tree. There are twenty of them here.” He swept his hand forward.
She saw them then. All the small circles of raw soil with twigs sticking out of them. “This is what you have been digging!” She glanced up at him for confirmation, saw his smile and knew her error. She had just admitted she had been watching him. Heat crawled across her cheekbones. She ducked her head, touched the twig. “It looks dead.”
He chuckled, a low, manly sound that made her want to turn and step into his arms and place her head against his chest to hear the rumble of it inside, before he set it free.
“I thought the same when I first saw them, but they are only dormant, ready to wait out winter and grow in the spring.”
She looked up at him, the question in her eyes.
“I’ve been reading up on growing apples. Over here—” he led her to another twig “—are twenty Sheepnose apples. And there—” he gestured farther to their left “—are twenty Pippen apples.”
“You must like apples.” It came out more droll than she intended. He threw back his head and laughed and the sound brought joy bubbling into her heart. She turned and looked up at him and his laughter died to a grin.
“I like apple dumplings.”
Oh dear. She whipped back around toward the open plains. “Are there any more dormant twigs out there?”
“No. But there is space for more, if these do well. And on the left, all the way to the rolling hills, there is space to grow grain to sell and to feed the cattle and horses that will graze those hills. I figure the world can use more Comanches.” He stepped up beside her, pointed to one of the lower, flatter hills close to the plains. “I see the barn right there.”
There was an odd, fluttery feeling, a knowing, growing in her stomach. She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I thought your dream was to roam the mountains free and unfettered.”
He nodded, took her gaze captive. “A man can change. Hearts can change. When I left here, I started back to my valley to build my dream. But every step I took got harder to take. Every mile became a chore. There was no excitement, no anticipation, no pleasure in the journey and I knew, I wasn’t riding toward my dream, I was riding away from it.” His voice grew husky, his eyes turned the gray, smoky-blue of the mountains behind him. “Those mountains hold no dreams for me now, Dr. Emma Allen. My dream—all I want—is standing right here in front of me. I’ve shown you my future. I want you to share it with me. I love you, now and forever. Will you marry me?”
She nodded and stepped into Zach’s arms, joy flooding her heart. “Yes. Oh, yes, I will marry you. I love you, Zach—”
He caught her to him, drew her against his hard chest, his lips covering hers. A kiss like she remembered, only so much more.
She opened her heart, parted her lips beneath his and gave all her love in return.