A Journey of the Heart Collection (51 page)

“You have a beautiful son,” Emmie said with a smile. “Do you want to see him?”

“How's Sarah?” Rand asked urgently.

“Tired, but just as beautiful as ever.”

“Thank God,” Jacob murmured.

Rand shot through the door, and Sarah cried out and held out her arms to him. He went down on his
knees by the bed and buried his face in her hair. She patted him and winked at Emmie, who closed the door behind Morning Song and the doctor.

Jacob's knuckles were white as he gripped the table. “I have to go now.” He grabbed his greatcoat and ran out into the howling wind.

“Wait, Jacob,” Emmie called, but he just kept on going. She blinked back tears—there was such pain and grief in his eyes.

Morning Song looked at the door for a moment, then bundled the baby up. “I go home with the baby.” She wrapped her cloak around her. “Send John home with Joel in morning.”

Emmie was too tired to protest at the way it would look if Morning Song spent the night at Jacob's alone with him. He probably wouldn't be there anyway but would likely be at Amelia's grave site.

Rand opened the door and stepped into the kitchen with his small son in his arms. “He seems big and healthy in spite of coming early.” He glanced around. “Where's Jacob?”

“He had to leave. I think it was too much for him.” Emmie hurried to him and held out her arms for the tiny scrapper. “I think he needs to be cleaned up a bit.”

She had readied some warm water and strips of soft flannel. She had Rand pull the kitchen table close to the stove to keep the baby warm, and she quickly cleaned the little one and popped him into a gown. He was awake but made no protest at her ministrations. She wrapped him in a flannel blanket and handed him back to his father, who took him eagerly.

Rand gazed down into the face of his son with a look of awe and pride. “Sarah says he looks like me. But I don't see it.”

Emmie laughed. “Then you must be blind. Look at that nose. And he has your dimples.”

Just then the baby yawned and moved his mouth in such a way that Rand saw his dimples for the first time. “Ma will be so excited to hear about him.”

“Maybe your family can come for a visit soon. This may be all it takes to heal the breach with your father.”

A shadow darkened Rand's brow. “I wouldn't hold my breath. Pa is determined that I give up what he calls my foolishness and come back to the farm. Ma says he doesn't mention my name.”

“A grandchild can change everything.”

“Maybe.” Rand shrugged.

There was a sound from the parlor, and Joel came flying into the kitchen. His reddish-gold hair stood on end as he slid to a stop in front of Rand and the baby. “Let me see.”

Rand grinned and pulled back the blanket to reveal the baby. “Meet your new nephew.”

Joel gave a sigh of awe. “Can I hold him?”

Rand passed him over to the young boy. “He's going to be pestering you unmercifully before you know it.”

“I'm going to be the best uncle there ever was,” Joel promised in a hushed tone. “I'm going to teach him all kinds of things, like where the best fishing spot is and how to play baseball.” He looked up from his perusal of his nephew with a sudden look of alarm. “How's Sarah? She's all right, isn't she?”

Rand nodded toward the bedroom door. “See for yourself.”

Joel carried the baby to the bedroom as Emmie opened the door for him. Sarah looked asleep, but she opened her eyes as soon as Joel stepped into the room. She smiled when she saw her brother with her baby. “Did Rand tell you what we named him?”

Joel shook his head. “I forgot to ask,” he said with a sheepish look.

Sarah laughed. “His name is Joshua Joel Campbell.”

Joel gaped, and his chest swelled. “Man alive. If that don't beat the dutch.”

Rand clapped a hand on his shoulder. “If he turns out as good a boy as his namesake, we'll be very pleased.”

Tears welled up in Joel's eyes at such praise from the man he adored. “I'll try to be a good example.”

Sarah yawned, and Emmie saw her weariness. “It's time for the new mama to get some rest.” She shooed everyone out of the bedroom and put little Joshua in his cradle.

Sarah smiled sleepily at her as Emmie plumped the pillows and straightened the covers. “I did well, didn't I?”

“You did very well.” Emmie kissed her forehead. “We're all very proud of you.”

Sarah smiled again and was asleep before Emmie could leave the room.

EIGHT

T
wo days into the new year, Emmie sat at the kitchen table up to her elbows in flour as she kneaded bread while Sarah nursed the baby. Emmie froze as the bugle sounded the long roll that meant troops had been spotted. Her hand to her breast, she held her breath as she rose and listened more closely. The bugle sounded again and she bolted toward the door.

“Stay there,” she told Sarah as she threw her cloak around her and ran out the door. From every home,
people poured out the doors with looks of dawning hope. Jacob ran past her and she grabbed at his arm.

“Fresh troops are almost here,” he told her. “Phillips or Isaac made it through!”

Tears of relief flooded her eyes as she ran to stand beside Frances. Even Jessica and her mother were out. Jessica saw her stare and turned away. The troops flooded through the gates. They all looked nearly frozen. Most had frostbite patches of white on their cheeks, their mustaches and beards were thickly caked with snow and ice, and they all wore a look of intense suffering. Desperate to find Isaac, she looked frantically through the milling men and horses, but there was no familiar grin or shock of auburn hair.

Colonel Carrington stood off to one side, talking to the major who had led the men. After several minutes, he came to where the women were. “Phillips made it through on Christmas day. It has taken this long for them to get through the blizzard.”

Emmie caught at his arm. “What about Isaac?”

Colonel Carrington shook his head. “I'm sorry, my dear. He never showed up at the fort.”

Emmie caught her breath. She clenched her hands beneath the folds of her cloak. He must be mistaken.
Of course Isaac made it through. He was wrong. She searched the colonel's face, but she saw only compassion and understanding.

She took a step back. “No, you're wrong.” She turned and ran across the parade ground. She'd find Rand. He'd know the truth. She found him giving directions to the men assigned to unpack the stores of supplies the troops had brought.

“Rand, I can't find any news of Isaac.”

He put an arm around her and drew her off to one side. She looked up into his brown eyes and saw grief.

She put her hands on his chest and pushed. “He's not dead. I'd know if he were dead. He promised he'd come back. We're going to build a life together. Our own home . . .”

Rand pulled her to him and held her. “You're strong now, Emmie, and you've got to face the facts. He didn't make it. He was a brave soldier, and he'd want you to be brave now too.”

She wept against the rough wool of his jacket, but everything felt unreal. Isaac couldn't be dead. She couldn't accept that. “I promised I'd wait, and I will. He'll come back. You'll see.”

“Let me take you home.” Rand led her across the
parade ground as she walked woodenly back to their quarters. Sarah glanced up as she came in and stood with a cry. She held out her arms and Emmie flew into them.

His face grim, Jacob stepped out from behind Rand. “Our marriage can go forward, Emmie. I'll make sure you and your baby are all right like I promised Amelia.”

She shook her head. “No, Jacob. You released me. I'm going to wait for Isaac to return.” She ignored the pity in his eyes as he turned away.

Isaac stirred and licked his lips. He was so thirsty. He sat up and stared at the fireplace across the room. Where was he? The last thing he clearly remembered was pitching into a snowbank. He had vague impressions of the dark face of an old man that swam in and out of sight and dim memories of tossing and crying out feverishly.

A door opened and the man in Isaac's dreams came through it. He was short and husky with a beard clear to his chest and black matted hair. He wore a faded
red flannel shirt, stained and patched in numerous places, and trousers so dirty it was hard to tell what their original color had been. He squinted at Isaac, then spat a stream of tobacco juice on the floor.

“Awake, are you?” He scowled. “What in tarnation were you doing wandering around in a blizzard?”

Isaac struggled to swing his feet over the edge of the cot. “What day is it?”

“Don't believe in answering questions? That ain't polite.”

“I've got to get to Fort Laramie. It's a matter of life and death.” Isaac stood and swayed weakly. He leaned against the wall until his head stopped spinning.

“It was pert' near your death. You was as close to freezing to death as I'd ever seen. And the fever that followed about finished the job. It's a ways to Laramie. What's so all fired important? I can see you're a soldier.”

Isaac nodded. “There's been a bloody massacre at Fort Phil Kearny. We need ammo and men, or we'll lose the fort itself and every man, woman, and child in it.” He sat back down on the edge of the cot. “Where's my horse?”

“Not so fast. You can't light out again without
some vittles. All you've eaten is a little broth I was able to get down you. You'd never make it past the corral.” He pointed to the table. “Sit down and fill your belly. The wind is still screaming like a banshee. The soup will warm you.”

Isaac eyed the steaming bowl. He was ravenous. He started toward the table and staggered. What was wrong with him? He sank into the chair.

The man cackled and pushed the bowl of stew toward Isaac. “My name's Pete Sweeney but folks call me Hardtack. I reckon ‘cause they think I'm as tough as old shoe leather.”

Isaac picked up a bent and tarnished spoon and dug into the stew. The smell made his mouth water. “Lieutenant Liddle,” he mumbled between bites. “How far are we from Fort Laramie?”

“'Bout a day's ride on a fresh horse. Which your horse ain't. He was as near dead as you. Just now startin' to perk up some.”

“You got a fresh horse?” Isaac wiped up the last of the stew with a crust of bread and stood.

“Naw. I got an old mule named Bertha, and she ain't good for much but carrying a light load downhill. She'd never make it to Laramie.”

“What day is it?” Isaac asked again.

Hardtack scratched his grizzled head. “I don't rightly know. The days all run together out here.” He stood and walked to a faded, dirty calendar nailed to the wall by the door. “Let's see, this is the day I went for supplies, and it took me seven days coming back. I found you here and that were six days ago.”

“Six days! I've been here six days?”

The old man continued as though Isaac had not interrupted. “January second. Near as I can figure.”

“I've got to get to Laramie.” Isaac jumped to his feet and looked around. “Where're my boots?”

Hardtack pointed a gnarled finger. “Under the bed.”

Isaac grabbed his boots and feverishly began to pull them on. “I even missed Christmas.” He'd had such special plans for Emmie. His mother's engagement ring was hidden back in his room, waiting for the right moment to give it to her. “I have to get reinforcements.” He began to search for his greatcoat and buffalo robe.

Hardtack sighed and pointed to the other side of the bed. “If you're bent on killing yourself and your horse, I reckon I can't stop you.”

Isaac thanked the old man again, then hurried outside. He staggered weakly through the drifts of
snow to the shed surrounded by a rickety corral. He found Buck bedded down in a heap of straw with an old blanket thrown over him.