three

Zoe blinked back a wave of dizziness. Her headache wasn’t completely gone, and the jarring of the carriage ride over to the hospital hadn’t helped, but at least the blinding pain had diminished. She’d been able to keep down toast and tea at breakfast, the first meal she’d eaten since setting foot in Victoria two days ago.

“Maybe I shouldn’t leave you here by yourself,” Mrs. Moresby said as the weight of the stairs creaked under her hefty frame. “I don’t think you’re entirely well yet.”

“I’ll be just fine, ma’am.” Zoe paused and gripped the rail. “You needn’t fret about me.”

Mrs. Moresby from the welcoming committee had been a godsend from the moment the brides had arrived at the Marine Barracks. The matron had informed them that the large house would be their living quarters until they found employment or a husband—whichever came first.

She’d also shown them around, provided additional clothing, and patiently answered all their questions. She’d even been there when the ache in Zoe’s temple had finally become so unbearable that she’d collapsed from the pain. Mrs. Moresby had been the one to accompany Zoe to her room, help her don a clean nightgown, and tuck her into bed.

The kind matron had tended her throughout the day yesterday, bringing her tea and warm compresses. When Mrs. Moresby arrived this morning, Zoe forced herself to get up and act normal, desperate to go to the hospital and discover how Jane was doing. No one else had visited the patients, and Mrs. Moresby hadn’t needed much persuading to allow Zoe to go. She’d even arranged to deliver Zoe in her own carriage.

“Maybe while you’re here, we’ll have one of the doctors take a look at you.” She was a giant of a woman with her wide shoulders, thick arms, and broad girth. Her hooped skirts brushed against the narrow stairwell, and the tall, colorful feathers on her hat dusted the low ceiling.

“The headaches just come and go, ma’am,” Zoe said, as she had already a dozen times. “My mum, bless her soul, tried everything she could to ease the pressure, but nothing worked except the passing of time.”

“Yes, but we have such good doctors here in Victoria. They might be able to discover what ails you and find a treatment.”

“I’m more concerned about my friend, ma’am.” Zoe had only needed to step one foot inside the hospital for dread to pound out its ugly rhythm. The dark, damp entryway had greeted her with the stench of death. The silence, the chill in the air, and even the somberness of an attendant on duty had only made Zoe all the more anxious to find Jane and Dora and haul them back to the Marine Barracks. Surely she could coax Mrs. Moresby to take her side. Maybe, with a little charm, she could even convince the woman to arrange the transportation.

At the second floor, she followed Mrs. Moresby down the hallway. They stopped in front of the closed door the attendant had indicated belonged to the quarantined women. In the room across the hallway, a man rested in a bed with a bloodied bandage around his head. At the sound of their footsteps, he opened his eyes and took them in.

“Why, hello there, beautiful,” he said with a weak smile.

“Hello yourself.” Mrs. Moresby paused with her hand on the doorknob and glared down her prominent nose at the man.

“I meant the compliment to the young lady.” He averted his gaze. “But you’re a fine-looking lady too, that you are.”

Mrs. Moresby glared at the man a moment longer before she swung open the door and bustled away in a flurry of swishing skirts and rustling feathers.

Zoe repaid the man’s compliment with a nod and smile before following Mrs. Moresby. At the sight of Jane, pale and motionless on the bed closest to the door, Zoe rushed to her friend, her heartbeat picking up pace. “Jane, I’m here.”

Jane’s eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t open them.

Zoe dropped to the edge of the bed and took her friend’s hand. It was cold and waxy . . . the same way baby Eve’s had been that last morning Zoe had held her. With mounting panic, she shook her friend. “Wake up, Jane. It’s time to be going.”

A breath slipped from Jane’s lips before they curled up just slightly into a smile. “Did you find me a husband, then?”

“Aye.” Zoe kept her voice lighthearted even though the anxiety inside twisted tighter than thread around a spindle. “Found you the handsomest fella in all the colony.”

“Good.”

Zoe’s mind went back to coming ashore two days ago and the fellas she’d seen during the walk to the Marine Barracks. Thankfully, the men hadn’t seemed deterred by the dirty, disheveled state of the women and were now apparently lining up at the door to come calling on the brides.

She’d gladly give them all to Jane. “You’re coming back with me, and I’ll introduce you to your new man today.”

Jane wheezed, coughed weakly, then grew still.

Zoe picked up Jane’s colorful scarf where it had fallen on the floor and gently began to wrap it around the young woman again. Her dear friend was worse. Much worse. How had she deteriorated so quickly in just two days?

“Miss Hart,” Mrs. Moresby said from beside Dora’s bed.

Something in the older woman’s tone drew Zoe’s attention. Dora’s body was frozen in place without even the slightest rise and fall of her chest. Zoe lifted her eyes to Mrs. Moresby’s to find somber resignation.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Moresby whispered.

Zoe clutched Jane’s hand harder. “We need to be getting Jane over to the Marine Barracks right away.”

With heavy footsteps echoing ominously, Mrs. Moresby crossed the room, stood next to the bed, and stared down at Jane.

Zoe tugged at Jane and forced a smile. “Or maybe we should go right to the church and have the wedding today.”

Again, Jane’s lips curved, but barely.

“That’s my girl.” Zoe leaned in and brushed a kiss across Jane’s forehead. It was just as cold and waxy as the rest of her, as cold and waxy as the face of her precious niece when Zoe had found her dead in her crib.

Eve had been only six weeks old. Had been so full of life and energy. Had filled Zoe’s heart with such love. And had given her purpose when she’d had none.

The babe had been too young to die. . . .

A sharp pang reverberated in Zoe’s chest, and she took a deep breath to force the pain away. She couldn’t think of Eve right now. This situation was different. Jane was still breathing and talking. With the right kind of care, Jane would regain her strength and be as good as new.

As Zoe sat back up, she caught Mrs. Moresby studying her, the woman’s eyes saying everything Zoe didn’t want to hear.

Zoe smoothed back her friend’s limp hair. “I’m sure your driver would help us carry her out.”

Mrs. Moresby shook her head.

“Please.” This time Zoe reached for Mrs. Moresby’s hand. She would have gotten on her knees and begged the woman, except Mrs. Moresby placed her other hand on Zoe’s shoulder and pinned her in place.

“If we move her,” Mrs. Morseby said softly, “we’ll kill her.”

Zoe’s throat constricted.

“She has to stay here.”

Mrs. Moresby was right. “Then I’ll be staying here and helping her is all.” She jutted her chin and dared Mrs. Moresby to stop her.

“Of course you will.” The matron’s expression was tender. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

At the sight of a woman sitting on the edge of the bed, Abe halted abruptly, his frame filling the hospital room doorway. Mrs. Moresby hadn’t indicated anyone else would be present when she’d sought out a reverend earlier to perform last rites for the dying bride-ship woman.

Apparently, one of the women had already died and the second would soon join her companion in the afterlife.

Abe took in the unmoving form of the patient lying on the bed. She was so silent and still that Abe guessed he was too late, that she’d already passed. At least she’d had someone present with her during her last moments.

He shifted his attention to the friend. Holding the woman’s hands along with a colorful scarf, she was bent over with head bowed. Half of her dark hair had come loose from the knot at the base of her neck, and long wavy strands fell over her shoulders in disarray.

Hearing the muffled sniffles and seeing the slight shaking of her thin shoulders, Abe stepped into the room, compassion stirring within him. Even though he’d encountered plenty of death during his years as a minister, he hadn’t ever learned how to remain detached the way some of his friends had, not even with complete strangers.

Trying not to disturb the grieving woman, he treaded lightly and circled to the other side of the bed. Towering above the patient, he couldn’t see any evidence of life in her pale features or any movement in her chest to indicate breathing.

He wouldn’t be able to offer up any prayers on her behalf, but he could pray for this grieving one she’d left behind. He bowed his head. Bring her comfort, Lord. Let her know you love her and that she’s not alone.

At a sharp intake of breath, he lifted his head to find that she was sitting up, averting her head, and rapidly swiping her cheeks. “I didn’t know I wasn’t alone.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you—” Words fled as she shifted and gave him full view of her face, her beautiful face, the same face of the bride-ship woman he’d noticed coming ashore the other day.

Up close, she was even prettier in spite of her tousled appearance. Her eyes were a dark green, made darker by the long lashes that framed them. Her high cheekbones were elegant, her lips a deep rose, and her chin gently rounded.

Even though she’d tried to dry the evidence of her crying, tears still clung to her lashes and streaked her cheeks. Dark half circles under her eyes testified to sleeplessness. And the hopelessness in her expression spoke of previous pains that made this parting even worse.

Nevertheless, her beauty was mesmerizing, her body willowy, like a forest nymph from a Greek tale, with a tiny waist and gentle curves. He shifted on his feet, suddenly realizing he was much too conscious of her appearance.

This was neither the time nor place to concern himself with the beauty of one of the bride-ship women. Actually, he didn’t ever need to concern himself over the beauty of one of the newly arrived women. He was present to offer spiritual guidance. That was all.

“I am very sorry for your loss, Miss . . . ?” He attempted to speak in his kindest, gentlest tone, the one that never failed to put people at ease.

“Zoe Hart.” She glanced down at the bed and blinked back more tears.

He smoothed a hand over the cover of his Bible, drawing comfort from its solid presence in so difficult a situation. “People around here call me Pastor Abe.”

Her stunning green eyes shot back to him. “You’re a reverend?”

“I am.” He was accustomed to surprising people, especially since he no longer wore his suit or clerical collar, which, of course, was another of the grievances Bishop Hills had listed during their recent meeting. Shortly after arriving in the colonies, Abe had decided to shed the formal attire in favor of the corduroy trousers and flannel shirts the miners wore. Not only were the simple garments sturdier and warmer, but he felt as though the miners accepted him more readily as one of their own when he didn’t emphasize the differences in their status. If only Bishop Hills saw the benefit of the apparel.

“You don’t look like a reverend,” Miss Hart said.

“I didn’t know reverends were supposed to look a particular way.” He smiled with what he hoped was his most sincere, pastor-like smile.

She studied him openly. He was tempted to brush a hand over his hatless head and make sure his unruly locks were in place, but he resisted the urge. “Guess I always thought reverends were old and ugly. I’ve never met any who were young and handsome.”

Handsome?

Her gaze was direct and unabashedly curious, so much that he dropped his attention to his Bible.

She thought he was handsome. Part of him wanted to stand a little taller. At the same time, he was tempted to duck his head in embarrassment. After three years of living among miners, he was clearly out of practice at interacting with single young women.

And clearly, he was an oaf for focusing on himself at a time like this. What was wrong with him?

He shifted his attention to the lifeless woman on the bed. “May I read a few words of Scripture and pray with you? I know it won’t bring back . . . ” He paused, hoping she’d supply the woman’s name.

“Jane.”

He wasn’t accustomed to using a woman’s given name, but he couldn’t correct Miss Hart. Not in the wake of her loss. “Nothing I can say will bring back . . . Jane . . . but God’s Word and His presence can bring you comfort as you grieve.”

Miss Hart glanced at her friend’s pale face. Tears rapidly formed in her eyes and glistened. After a moment, she nodded.

Abe opened his Bible and read several verses. Then he prayed aloud for Miss Hart that Christ’s love would soothe her and be with her in the days to come.

“Finally, Lord, I pray you would bring along a husband for Miss Hart. She’s traveled here to the colony in search of a helpmate, and so we ask that you would direct her choices, give her wisdom, and make clear to her the right man. In the name of Jesus our Savior, amen.”

As he lifted his head, he was surprised to find Miss Hart staring at him. Framed by those dark lashes, her eyes were as wide and rich as the mountain forests. For a few seconds, he allowed himself to get lost there.

“My mum used to pray like that,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like God is right here with us, listening.”

She was offering him the perfect opportunity to speak of God’s love. As a minister, he was always on the lookout for such openings. But somehow, today, around her, his brain was sluggish, and he couldn’t formulate a response.

“Do you really think God cares who I pick for a husband?” She tilted her head so that more locks of her thick hair fell loose and tumbled over her shoulder, making her look vulnerable, almost desperate.

A protective urge rose up within him. “He cares very much and will direct you if you let Him.” Sometimes grief led people to do things they normally wouldn’t consider, things they later regretted. He prayed this woman wouldn’t do anything rash in her sorrow.

“Pastor Abe?” A timid voice came from the doorway.

Abe started, guilt rushing through him, though he didn’t know why he should feel guilty. All he’d been doing was speaking words of comfort to this grieving woman. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?

A shabby miner stood in the doorway, holding a valise. With the hair falling into the man’s eyes and with his overgrown mustache and beard, Abe struggled to see past the scruffiness and identify him. His clothes were ragged and stained with mud and tobacco juice. And his body was as thin as a plank, the outline of his shoulder bones jutting through his coat.

“It’s me, Herman Cox. The nurse downstairs told me you were here.”

Abe sized up the newcomer again, this time noting the bloodshot eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks. This was Herman Cox? The robust miner from Richfield who’d married a native woman and recently had a baby? When his wife was having trouble with her labor, Herman had brought her down to Victoria for help. A young ship’s surgeon, Lord Colville, who had arrived with the Tynemouth brides, had been kind enough to help the couple when no one else had wanted anything to do with the native woman due to the smallpox scare.

“Good to see you, Herman.” Abe crossed to the man and reached out for a handshake, another mannerism for which Bishop Hills criticized him, labeling the greeting as too familiar.

Herman returned the clasp, but his grip was weak. A waft of the man’s body odor hit Abe, causing him to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose. During his circuit riding between camps, he’d grown accustomed to all manner of stench. But Herman was especially ripe, and the bag he carried was worse.

“I came to find Lord Colville. He was kind enough to help me once. Figured he could again, but the nurse said he ain’t in Victoria anymore.”

“That’s right. He and his bride left a couple of months ago.”

Herman’s shoulders slumped, and he moved his bag to his opposite hand as if the weight had suddenly become too much to bear.

“If your wife and child need attention, I’ll speak to one of the other doctors. I’ll do my best to convince them to offer assistance.” Now that the worst of the smallpox scare was over, surely Herman could bring his family into Victoria without causing any trouble.

“Rose didn’t make it.” Herman’s lips trembled as he spoke. “The smallpox took her.”

Genuine sorrow speared Abe’s heart. “I’m so sorry, Herman. So sorry. I know you loved Rose very much.”

Tears pooled in the man’s eyes, and he blinked rapidly, struggling to compose himself.

Abe didn’t approve of the way miners invited native women into their shanties, using and discarding them at will. So when Herman had asked him to officiate a wedding ceremony for him and Rose, Abe had been more than willing, especially because he’d witnessed Herman’s kindness and gentleness to the native woman.

“She’s got no family left,” Herman said through a wavering breath. “I tried to find them, but they’re all dead.”

Abe wasn’t surprised. Last year a smallpox epidemic had ravaged the tribes on Vancouver Island and had spread to the mainland, killing thousands upon thousands of Indians who seemed more susceptible to the disease than European immigrants did. Abe had recently learned how to administer vaccinations and had done his best to inoculate the natives living around Yale. But like many doctors and missionaries, his attempts to protect the Indians had come too late.

“Is there anything I can do?” Abe asked.

“Aye, Pastor.” Herman’s face contorted with heartache and desperation.

Abe’s chest squeezed with a need to ease the man’s burden.

At a wail rising from the valise, Herman held out the bag. “Find a home for my baby.”