Tender Touch (20 page)

“Droppings,” he said with a grin. “The dry ones make a passable fire.”

She grimaced. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Won’t find much else to burn along the Platte, might as well get used to ’em.” He poked his face close to hers, still grinning. “You tell the fresh ones from the dry by the flies crawling on ’em.”

“I have tried to tell you before, Mr. Nigh, I am not stupid. Nor am I possessed of a weak stomach. I’ll find your chips and bring them back.”

While he searched for a burlap sack in the back of the wagon, Brianna began searching for “chips,” determined to show him she was no longer a “greenhand.” When he caught up with her, she was daintily holding up a large, grayish disk-shaped object with her forefinger and thumb.

“Look, I’ve found one already.” Patch was chasing a tumblebug that had escaped from the dung.

“Sure did.” Nigh held open the sack and she dropped the treasure inside. “Found you a nice little spider, too. Glad to see you made peace with the critters.”

She looked down to see the spider crawling up the long sleeve of her dress. Screaming, she flapped her arm, trying to shake the spider loose.

“Whoa.” Nigh grabbed her arm. He let the spider walk onto his finger, then hunkered down to set it gently on the ground. “Gotta treat every critter with respect. Could be a relative, you know.”

Brianna shuddered and skipped away as the spider started toward her. “What do you mean, a relative?”

“Some Indians believe they’ll come back in their next life as an animal or an insect. Even a tree.”

“Reincarnation? Is that what you believe?”

Nigh shrugged. The spider scurried off and he pushed to his feet. “I believe that every critter, even skeeters, have spirits.” He flicked a mosquito off her cheek with the tip of a finger, then brought the back of the finger down her skin in a soft caress.

“Did your wife believe that?” It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to think about his Indian wife. Now, after all that had happened between them, she found that it bothered her even more to know he had shared a bed with one of those dark, dirty creatures.

Nigh held her chin with his palm, his intense gaze gathering warmth while her skin and blood burned with a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

“Learned it before I ever met her. Indians respect everything God put on this earth. They study the animals and the rocks and the trees, every bit of nature, to figure out where they fit in themselves, the way some folks study the Bible. The earth is their mother and they revere her, sorta like Catholics revere the Virgin Mary.”

He tucked his hands into his belt and watched a hawk rise on an updraft, lazily circling higher and higher. “Most whites see Indians as nothing but heathen savages.” He returned his gaze to her and bathed her in its warmth. “To my mind, they got more religion than most of them preachers, with their starched collars an’ equally starched souls, who come out here peering down their noses at a people they
don’t even try to understand.”

“You love them, don’t you?” She was studying him as though she’d never truly seen him before, and realized that in some ways, she probably hadn’t. “Not just. . . her, Little Beaver, but all her people.”

Nigh’s eyes lifted again to the hawk while he pulled out one of his wooden picks and stuck it between his even white teeth. “Reckon so.”

He was something, she thought, truly something. A man who loved Indians and respected the spirits of spiders. He hid so much behind those granite eyes of his. What else would she learn about him before the journey was over? He could teach her a great deal. And suddenly, she knew she wanted to learn it all, every wonderful piece of earthy wisdom stored in that unassuming head of his. She wanted to know his history. She wanted to know him.

The hawk spotted something for his supper. He dove toward the earth and vanished beyond the bluff. Nigh dropped his gaze to her face. “Best get going, sun’s about to set and I want you back afore dark.”

She glanced at the sun standing on the rim of the earth like a gold coin balanced on its edge. The wagons rolled steadily on, vanishing into the orange glow as though the sun gobbled them up. “Does the sun have a spirit too?” she asked, reluctant to leave.

“Yep, it’s the big spirit, the Grandfather. Indians pray to the sun the way whites pray to Jesus. In my mind, they’re one and the same. Reckon there’s a bit of God in everything.” He looked at Brianna. “Sun, rocks, cows, birds, man . . . woman.”

The breath caught in her throat at the sensual way he said the last word while he stared deep into her eyes, his very gaze a caress, a tribute, a benediction. Something clicked inside her, like a key turning a lock. She knew it was her heart he had opened and that she would never be able to evict him from its depths.

***

Darkness fell. Up on the bluffs, prairie wolves yipped and howled. Lilith stuck her head out the back of the wagon every few minutes to see if Brianna had returned. Nigh shook his head. He, too, was worried.

Finally, Magrudge gave the signal to corral. Being near the head of the train, Nigh was among the first to get his wagon in position. The rear of the train, and Punch Moulton’s wagon, trailed nearly two miles behind. Lilith was fussing at Nigh to go look for Brianna so Tobias Woody, who had been driving the second Beaudouin wagon, offered to unhitch Nigh’s oxen as well as Marc’s.

Nigh found Brianna a quarter of a mile back, the burlap sack slung over her shoulder as she trudged along, Fannie Goodman at her side, carrying Patch.

“Confound it, woman. Told you to get back afore dark.”

Fannie gave the kitten back to Brianna. “I’d best get back, Missus Villard. Mama will need help with supper.”

“That’s fine, Fannie, thank you for keeping me company.” When the child was out of earshot, Brianna turned on Nigh. “You’ve no right to talk to me that way, Columbus Nigh. I’m not your wife. Or even your sister. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, I am still your employer. I’ll ask you to remember that, in future.” Then she stomped past him toward the wagon.

Cursing, Nigh followed on his horse. When he reached her, he leaned over and jerked the sack from her hand. He tied it to the back of his saddle, then caught up with her again and scooped her up into his lap. The high pommel of his Mexican saddle cut into her bottom; she squirmed in discomfort, the kitten clutched to her breast. Nigh gritted his teeth at the reaction her wiggling aroused in his groin and held onto her. “Told you if I brought you on this trip I’d have to be in charge. Either you do as I say, or I’ll damn well tie you in the wagon.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Even in the darkness she could see the steel glint of his hard-edged eyes, and knew he would do exactly as he’d threatened. Stubbornly, she lifted her chin. “Dulcie has another black eye and was terribly upset. She’s afraid to come for any more reading lessons for fear Punch will hit her again and hurt the baby.”

“Somebody needs to show that bastard how it feels to get his face bashed in.”

When they got back to the wagon, they found Lilith in tears as she struggled to light the lantern. She burned her finger and cursed daintily. When she saw Brianna and Col, she leaped to her feet. “Where have you been? I couldn’t find any wood and Marc’s still off with Jeb Hanks. I sent the boys out hours ago to find something to burn and they’re not back yet. I simply can’t do all this by myself.”

Brianna stared at her in shock. “Lilith! You’re not acting like yourself at all. Are you all right?”

Lilith moaned, grabbed at her stomach and bolted into the darkness.

“Lilith?” Brianna put Patch in the wagon and stepped into the darkness. “Are you ill, Lilith?”

There was no answer.

Nigh dug a shallow pit for the fire while Brianna got coffee ready to boil, using water from her own barrel. Lilith returned, looking weak and unsteady. Then she turned abruptly and ran back out into the night.

“Something’s wrong, I’d better go after her,” Brianna said and hurried off.

Francois and Jean Louis came back toting a few sticks good only for kindling. Nigh placed the sticks on top of the buffalo chips and set the boys to work finding stones to line the fire pit. By the time Marc appeared, the coffee was ready and meat boiled in a pot suspended from a tripod over the fire. Nigh stood at the edge of the lantern light, his thumbs hooked in the back of his beaded belt as he peered pensively into the darkness beyond camp. The boys sat beside the fire, unusually quiet.

“Where’s Lilith and Brianna?” Marc said.

“Out there somewhere.”

Nigh walked over to Beaudouin’s wagon and took off the lid to the water barrel
. “Where’d you get this water?”

Marc looked inside the barrel. It was half full. “I don’t know. It was nearly empty this morning but I was hoping to reach a good spring before filling it again.”

“Mama filled it from a well we passed,” Francois said, his dark eyes round with concern. “Is Mama real sick?”

“Sick?” Marc felt the hairs on his neck rise. Like everyone else, he had noticed the increasing number of new graves along the road. Eddies of fear washed over him. He grabbed Nigh’s arm. His voice was only a whisper. “Cholera?”

Nigh shrugged. “Could just be alkali water.”

But when Lilith returned, leaning heavily on Brianna, her eyes sunk in her pinched face and her skin cold and clammy, Nigh knew Marc’s guess had been correct. Lilith Beaudouin had contracted cholera.

Chapter Nineteen

By bedtime two more cases of cholera had been reported, Amos Shorthill and Abner Goodman’s elderly mother, Sara. A meeting was called. The people were frightened. They had all seen what cholera could do back in Independence and counted heavily on the hope that they would be able to leave the epidemic behind in the settled regions of the States.

“Well, I for one, ain’t sticking ’round here waitin’ to catch the cholera from them who’s already got it,” Punch Moulton shouted. “I’m gettin’ the hell out of here.”

“Punch’s right,” someone yelled.

Columbus Nigh raised his hands until the crowd quieted to let him speak. “Cholera isn’t spread by touch or contaminated air. It’s fouled water and food. Why else would only a few people get sick out of a whole company?”

Everyone tried to speak at once. Arguments erupted on all sides. Magrudge and Jeb Hanks hollered for everyone to quiet down and discuss things reasonably. Finally Jeb fired a shot into the air.

“Lookee here, folks,” Jeb said. “I got to agree with Col. Cholera’s worse on the Platte ’cause water here ain’t fit to drink. Never has been. That’s what’s made the sickness worse.”

Heads nodded but not everyone was convinced.

“I still say it’d be safer to keep those who’re sick away from the rest of us,” a woman shouted.

“Do what ya want,” hollered Punch, “but I ain’t sticking ’round here to see if I can catch it.”

In the end it was decided that isolating the victims couldn’t hurt and might help. A few like Punch intended to set out then and there, darkness or no. Others chose to wait until daylight. Tom Coover and Lyle Woody volunteered to ride back to the fort and fetch the military doctor.

The thought of getting Lilith professional medical help from the fort gave Marc some hope. Still, he and Nigh walked back to their wagons in silence, their shoulders weighted with despair.

Lilith lay in her bed in a fetal position, hugging her abdomen while Brianna bathed her face with cool water.

“I’m going to die,” Lilith cried. “I know it.”

“Don’t think that way. You must have courage and fight this. Here, I want you to swallow this. It’s chamomile tea and milk thickened with tapioca to give you sustenance.”

Lilith pushed the cup away. “It’s no use. I’m dying. I’ll be left all alone here and the wolves will dig me up and—”

“Hush, you’re not dying. I won’t let you die.” Brianna couldn’t say any more, the tears were too close. Never had she felt so inadequate and frightened. Going outside, she sent Nigh to ask Lavinia Decker what else could be done.

Marc put Francois and Jean Louis to bed in the tent.

Following Nigh’s suggestion, Marc dumped his water barrel. The thud of the axe and the splintering of wood came to Brianna through the wagon cover as Marc took out his fear and frustration on the hapless barrel.

Nigh returned from the Becker wagon to find Marc pacing and wringing his hands.

“Lavinia wrote out some things to try, plasters and the like.” Nigh handed Brianna a slip of paper. “How is she?”

Brianna crouched on the tailgate and whispered, “Oh, Col, I’m scared. She’s so thirsty, but water makes the cramps worse, and she immediately passes everything I give her. She’s too weak to get up, so I’m going to need clean sheets and someone to lift her while I change the bed.”

“I’ll get Marc, he needs something useful to do.”

Nigh boiled water and insisted they scrub their hands with lye soap after handling Lilith. Following Lavinia’s instructions, Brianna bathed Lilith’s icy feet in hot salt water. She mixed spirits of camphor and tincture of rhubarb with laudanum, applied thirty drops to a spoonful of sugar and made Lilith suck on it to fight the diarrhea. It came back up almost as fast as it went down. Brianna fed her salt in brandy to ease the vomiting and when that stayed down she tried the sugar mixture again. The cramps spread to Lilith’s legs. Brianna rubbed them with cayenne pepper in vinegar, and applied a hot mustard plaster.

“Water, please. Water,” Lilith begged continually.

Brianna gave in, adding a drop of laudanum to ease the pain. Lilith’s sunken eyes were so dark with unhealthy shadows she almost appeared as though she’d been beaten. Her skin was wrinkled and cracked like an old woman’s. Brianna bathed the sweat from the cold, blue-tinged flesh and prayed. Why Lilith? she asked silently, thinking of her friend’s horror every time they passed a new grave. Why Lilith?

“I want to die,” Lilith whispered, feeling her bowels release again, with nothing she could do to stop it. “So humiliating. Just let me die and get it over with.”

“Shh.” Brianna’s throat constricted as she held
in her sobs. “You will get well;
I
won’t let you die.”

When Lilith finally dozed off, Brianna slipped outside. Flies buzzed around her head as she dropped the washrag in a pan and sucked in fresh air. No matter how she worked to keep everything clean, the stench from the fouled linen was overwhelming.

Marc came instantly to his feet from his seat by the fire when he saw her. “Is she
.
.
.?”

“She’s the same. I s
imply need a few moments rest.”

“Of course. I’ll sit with her.” He started toward the wagon, then turned. “I’m extremely grateful for your help, Brianna. You’ve been a good friend to Lilith.”

“I love her, Marc. She’s closer to me than my own sister was.”
My own sister whom I also lost to cholera
.

Marc nodded and climbed inside the wagon.

Brianna heard him murmur softly to his wife while she washed her hands. She flexed her stiff shoulders and rubbed her aching back. Inside the wagon Lilith retched and groaned, and retched again. Brianna squeezed her eyes shut but the tears slipped out from under her lashes and trailed down her cheek.

Life had turned into a nightmare. Would she truly lose Lilith, too? Was God punishing her for leaving Barret by striking down first her sister and now her dearest friend? If it would keep Lilith alive, Brianna would go back to Barret, no matter what he did to her. But deep inside, she feared it was too late. Lilith was too weak. If she survived the night, it would be a miracle.

Nigh watched Brianna and figured she would sicken next if she didn’t take care. She didn’t even resemble her old self. Her dress was wrinkled and stained. Loose wisps of hair curled about her drawn face. He had done what he could to protect her, but knew it wasn’t enough. Helplessness didn’t sit well with him. He jabbed his knife into the earth and rose to his feet.

Brianna tried to smile when she saw him coming. In a voice tight and thick with emotion, she said,“I keep remembering Julia. And that poor couple in that wagon, dead while their little girl—”

“That won’t help Lilith none. Or you.” He drew her away from the wagon to keep Marc from overhearing.

“I know,” she said. “It’s just that I never really had a chance to know Julia, and now. . . . Even Shakespeare’s gone. I can’t bear to think of losing Lilith, too.” She forced back the tears that crowded her throat. “I’m beginning to wonder if Barret made a pact with the devil to deprive me of everyone I love, everyone I get close to or care about.”

“That’s foolishness and you know it.”

She swung about to face him, her eyes wild with fear and grief and anger. “Then why, Col? Why did my mother and father have to die so young? Why Julia? Why Lilith?”

Nigh tried to pull her close and stop her painful flow of words. She jerked from his grasp and glared at him, one fist pounding her chest. “I’m the common denominator here, don’t you see? I must be some sort of hex. It should be me in there instead of Lilith. She has a man who loves her. And two children. It isn’t fair, Col, it isn’t fair.”

“Stop it!” He took hold of her wrists and held her still. “Don’t you go feeling guilty ’cause it’s not you in there. The goddamn well water made her sick, not you. How do you think Lilith would feel if you were the one dying in there? Think it’d be any ea
sier for her to watch you die?”

Brianna could no more look away from him than jump the moon. His gaze speared her with its intensity,
but his voice was whisper-soft.

“Think it’d be easy for me?”

She collapsed against him and the tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Oh, Col, I’m so afraid.”

He brushed the hair from her brow and put his lips to her warm skin, drinking in her scent, locking it within his heart along with the memory of how she felt in his arms. Just in case. “We’re all scared,” he whispered.

She wrapped her arms about his waist and tucked her head in the warm hollow of his neck beneath his ear. Her body convulsed against him as she sobbed quietly, her tears soaking his shirt, and his own throat grew tight.

Gradually, she became aware of his hands stroking her hair, her back, the sensitive curve of her neck. He made shushing noises in her ear and rocked her from side to side. She wiped the tears from her eyes but made no move to leave. It felt so safe, so comforting in his arms, she wanted to stay there forever. Here she could find love, she thought. Here she could find everything she’d ever wanted—if she didn’t belong to someone else. She pulled away.

“I’d better go back in to her.”

He nodded and forced himself to let her go.

Lilith was vomiting when the doctor from the fort arrived. When the spasm passed, he checked the faintness of her pulse and studied her glassy eyes. He felt her skin and pinched the back of her hand. He shook his head.

Brianna and Marc followed him from the wagon and waited tensely for him to speak.

“She’s badly dehydrated.” He paused as he tied his bag back on his saddle. “And suffering shock. Keep her warm. Try laudanum mixed with pepper or camphor, any stimulant, even peppermint. Repeat the dose hourly and keep up the mustard plaster. But I must be honest with you, I’ve yet to see a patient recover once they start vomiting.”

“Surely there’s something you can do,” Marc pleaded.

“I’m very sorry. Her case has advanced very fast. If I could’ve gotten to her sooner.” He shrugged. “As it is
.
.
.”

Nigh took him to see Amos Shorthill and Sara Goodman.

“She won’t die, Marc.” Brianna squeezed Marc’s hand. “I won’t let her.”

“I know you’ve done all you could.”

“Get some rest. You can use my bed, I’ll call you if there’s any change. You have the boys to worry about, Marc. Stay strong for them.”

He went off toward her wagon and Brianna went back to Lilith.

An eternity passed before Brianna heard the sentries fire their rifles to wake the train. Chains rattled and oxen lowed as people got ready to move out. Dogs barked and a baby cried. There was no smell of food cooking. Those who were well were too anxious to get away from the sick to bother with breakfast. The racket increased as the wagons got underway. Most were gone before the sky grew light.

Brianna heard Nigh call her. Outside she found Clive Decker maneuvering his wagon into place next to Marc’s while Clive’s son Jonathan shouted directions. Elwin and Cedric Decker waited to unyoke the oxen. There was no sign of the oldest boy, Samuel, and his family.

“Lucy’s sick. Reckon Lavinia’s inside with her,” Nigh told Brianna. “Clive sent Sam and his family on with the others, but he and the boys chose to stay.”

Another wagon rumbled into view.

“That’s Tom Coover, bringing Betsy.”

“No, not Betsy. She’s so young. And she’s breeding.”

“Gonna be hard for Tom to take care of her alone. Reckon him and the Deckers’ll need help.”

Brianna straightened her shoulders and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I’ll do all I can.”

“The Shorthills and Goodmans are coming, too.”

“I’ll start with Betsy.”

Nigh stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Just don’t forget to take care of yourself. Can’t do anybody any good if you get sick.”

She tried to smile. “I know. I promise to rest after I see Betsy. She must be so frightened.”

We all are, Nigh thought as he watched her walk away.

“Missus Villard, I’m sorry,” Betsy said, taking Brianna’s hand. “I tried to tell Tom it’s that bad alkali water, but he won’t listen. He’s being over-cautious ’cause of the baby, is all.”

“He’s right, Betsy, it’s best to make sure.”

“You think my baby will be all right?” The girl’s eyes were big and full of fear.

“Of course. We’ll take good care of both of you.”

Oh, please, God, not Betsy and her baby. Two lives, so young, so innocent
.

While Brianna doused Betsy Coover with pepper-laced laudanum, Jeb Hanks rode in. Nigh went to meet him. The weathered old wagon pilot rested his arms on the pommel of his saddle and looked around. “How many so far?”

“Five, not counting Mrs. Beaudouin.”

“How’s she?”

Nigh shook his head.

Jeb stared off into the distance where the rest of the Magrudge Company was kicking up dust as it hurried away. The Decker’s brown and white mongrel sniffed a wagon wheel, lifted his leg, then moved on. “Miz Beaudouin won’t be the only one to go, I’m thinkin’.”