The Doctor's Lady (21 page)

“But why?” When Eli had returned east last fall, he’d left so many of the final details of the mission in Parker’s hands. The explorer had planned to speak with the native Nez Perce, purchase the land, map it out. And most importantly, lead them there from the Rendezvous.

“You’re sure Parker isn’t meeting us at the Rendezvous?” he asked.

“Parker gone.” Kentuc tapped the letter. “You read.”

“He tell in letter,” John said.

Eli straightened his back. He unfolded the smudged sheet with Parker’s scrawled handwriting. He smoothed it out, and his heart plummeted. The letters bled together, and he knew he’d never be able to read it. He had trouble enough when writing was legible. How could he ever make his way through line after line of scribbles?

He folded the sheet and stuffed it inside his vest. Frustration crackled through his veins. He would need help reading the letter if he was ever going to find out what instructions, if any, Parker had left for him.

But he loathed the thought of having to rely on anyone else. He could picture the pity and condescension in their eyes. He’d had enough of that in his life already and didn’t need any more.

Kentuc grinned and nodded in the direction of the missionary camp. The brave said something to John and laughed.

Eli rubbed a hand over his scruffy chin, fighting back disappointment.

The Indian women had already dismounted and made their way to the covered wagon. Mabel stood and greeted them with a wide smile. Priscilla hefted David onto her hip and sidled next to Mabel, offering the natives a kind but hesitant smile. He didn’t doubt she was remembering her experience with the Pawnee women.

His muscles contracted. Would he need to rush to her aid again?

Mabel hugged first one Indian woman and then another, and she attempted a few words in Nez Perce.

The native women giggled but hugged her again.

Priscilla shifted David higher on her hip, and when the Indian women turned to her, she attempted loose embraces with each of the women.

Kentuc, Tackensuatis, and the other men from the newly arrived party joined the women. Some of them just stared at Mabel and Priscilla, while others grinned and laughed among themselves.

Mabel smiled and greeted them with her usual cheerfulness, and Priscilla imitated the woman.

Tackensuatis stretched out his hand and touched Priscilla’s cheek.

Her face paled, and she stepped away from him. But the men drew closer.

Eli’s pulse spurted forward. Of course, Tackensuatis would have to touch Priscilla and not Mabel. He closed his fingers around his rifle and started forward.

Squire’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “You gotta toughen her up, or she ain’t gonna survive out here.”

Tackensuatis reached for Priscilla again.

Eli’s nerves crackled with the need to rush to her defense and keep anyone else from handling her.

“You been coddlin’ her like a baby.” Squire ogled Priscilla with the all-too-familiar desire Eli had seen in the trapper. But the man’s one eye shone with something more than desire. Since Running Feet’s death, Squire had started staring at Priscilla in a way that was too calculated, and it never failed to spark Eli’s nerves.

“You can’t be jumpin’ to her rescue anytime a fly buzzes around her,” Squire said.

“I’m not.”

“You got to let her fend for herself, or she ain’t never gonna learn how.”

Squire had a point. Priscilla needed to toughen up. Maybe she’d have a better chance at surviving if he didn’t step in every time she needed something.

Priscilla slapped at Tackensuatis’s hand, and he laughed.

Squire grinned. “I done figured she had some spit in her.”

“She’s got spit all right.” He strained against the current that threatened to propel him toward her.

Squire socked Eli’s arm and guffawed. “Can’t you leave her be for even a minute?”

Every sinew ached to go to her side. He hadn’t wanted to bring a woman along, but the day he’d married her, he’d made it his duty to protect her. And he was determined to keep her safe during this journey. No matter what.

“They ain’t gonna hurt her.” Squire’s scrutiny of Priscilla was too hard, the carnality too raw. “’Sides, maybe it’s time to give the rest of us a chance with her.”

Eli bristled. What was Squire thinking? Was the trapper forgetting what he’d done to Old Ephraim? “Nobody better even think about touching her.”

“Well, if you ain’t gonna have your way with her, then let someone else. We ain’t got enough women to go around, ’specially one as purty as her.”

Eli turned on the man and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Anger spurted through him. “Don’t you even think about it!”

Squire straightened to his full height and spread his broad shoulders. “Whoa, boy! Back off now.”

“Stay away from her.” Eli took a step back and drew in a deep breath. “She’s my wife.”

Squire’s lips curved into a mocking smile. “Don’t take an idiot to see you been keeping your distance from the woman.”

He had to get away from Squire before he did something he’d regret. He couldn’t afford to put their trip in jeopardy. Not now. Not after coming so far.

The laughter of the Indian braves drew him forward. Forget Squire’s advice. He was bound to keep Priscilla safe or die trying. He made his way through the Indians until he reached her. Then he slipped his arm around her and drew her to his side.

“My wife,” he said to the Indians, trying hard not to scowl at them. For emphasis, he squeezed her harder.

The men stepped back.

“Don’t touch her again.”

Priscilla’s elbow dug into his side. “Let go.”

“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he said between clenched teeth.

“I
was
safe.” She wriggled from his grasp, and with her chin high, crossed to the tent.

David gave a gurgle, and she kissed his head before she lifted the flap and ducked inside.

He had to give her credit. She did have spark. And she was doing a good job of caring for the baby. But was she getting too close?

Kentuc grinned at Eli. “Doc’s wife? She don’t like Doc.”

Eli just shook his head. How could he ever explain to the natives the differences between Priscilla and him, the mountain that separated them? They were two different people from two different worlds.

She didn’t belong out there. She belonged in her safe home in New York, planning prayer meetings.

And yet, he’d brought her anyway. He’d put her in danger so he could have his mission.

His heartbeat crashed to a halt at the thought. Had he been selfish? Had he used her? Since the start, he’d told himself they were both called to missions, that she’d wanted to come, that if he hadn’t proposed, she wouldn’t have been able to fulfill her dream of being a missionary.

But . . . if he hadn’t asked her, hadn’t convinced her to agree to the arrangement . . . she likely would have lived at home in safety the rest of her life.

A shudder crept up his spine. If anything happened to her, he would be solely to blame. He would be no better than a murderer.

Across the heads in the growing dusk, Squire’s dark look dug into him. The man nodded and gave him the kind of gloating smirk that said he’d seen Priscilla’s jab and their exchange.

For the first time since he’d met Squire, a surge of dislike jolted through Eli. He’d been able to excuse the man’s shiftiness before—had known he only had the best interest of the trappers in mind when he’d tried to leave their missionary party behind. He hadn’t wanted to jeopardize the lives of others because their women could slow them down.

Eli could understand that. And he respected it.

But now, Squire had crossed the boundary when it came to Priscilla. For a reason Eli couldn’t explain, that made him worry more than ever.

Green River Valley

T
wo days later, on July 6, they descended into the Green River Valley.

Priscilla surveyed the vast flat prairie, watered by the Green River on one side and Horse Creek on another. The Wind River mountain range, with its snow-covered peaks, formed an imposing wall in the distance, and the beauty of it took her breath away.

In the middle of a wide open valley, the annual Rendezvous gathering spread out mile after mile—horses, mules, tepees, and the smoke of campfires—as far as the eye could see. All gathered to sell their furs and buy supplies for the coming year.

“Is there no end to it?” Her body trembled from fear and excitement.

“Think of all the opportunities we’ll have to share the gospel.” Mabel clasped her hands and smiled.

“So many opportunities.” Priscilla tried to muster the same enthusiasm as Mabel. After all, this was why she’d come, to meet the natives, to live among them, and to love them. Why, then, was she nervous at the thought of being in the center of so many of them?

Even as they stood on the hill above the outskirts of the camp, the trappers and Indians in their party began to shoot their guns, signaling their arrival.

The Indians in the valley below began to run toward them, whooping and calling out with a shrillness that sent chills up Priscilla’s backbone. Holding rifles in the air, the young Indian men drew nearer, their brown faces fierce. Most of them wore only breechcloths that revealed far too much of their firm legs.

Trappers abandoned their whiskey and card games to stare at the caravan. Even from this distance she could see that the camps were dotted with hard-earned beaver pelts compressed into packs and encased in wrappers of deerskin. The mountain men had gathered to trade the sixty-pound stacks to Fitzpatrick and Black Squire for enough money to buy supplies for the next beaver-trapping season. Apparently the Rendezvous had become an excuse for the area Indian tribes to congregate too.

She clutched David against her.

Eli’s horse whinnied near her, but she refused to turn toward him. She grabbed on to the back of the wagon. She wouldn’t impose on him again. More than ever, she wanted to prove to him that she could take care of herself.

She hefted herself onto the wagon bed.

“This isn’t the time to hide,” he called.

“I’m not hiding.” She scrambled to smooth her skirt, stained and dirty again.

“I want you to ride with me.” His voice behind her left no room for argument.

“I’m not able to ride and hold David.”

At the mention of his name, the boy gurgled.

“You’re riding
with
me. On my horse.”

She turned and met Eli’s unflinching gaze. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“Now.”

“You don’t have the proper saddle.”

He held out his gloved hand.

The shrill Indian cries grew closer.

She hesitated. She’d told herself she wouldn’t be afraid the next time she encountered the natives, that she wouldn’t look to Eli to protect her.

“Get on, Priscilla, before you get mobbed.” The command held the hint of a plea.

She placed her hand into his, and in an instant he’d hoisted her and David onto his saddle in front of him.

Heat rose up her neck. She was practically sitting in Eli’s lap.

“You’ll be more comfortable if you straddle.”

“That wouldn’t be the least bit proper.”

His breath fanned the skin beneath her ear. The hard muscles of his thighs pressed against her softness. Was anything about her predicament proper?

“Then hang on.” He kicked the horse forward.

The jolt propelled her against his torso and forced her to slip an arm around his waist to keep her balance. David gave a whimper and clutched the bodice of her dress. She tightened her grip on the baby.

She leaned her head against the solidness of Eli’s chest, knowing she shouldn’t relish the security of being in his arms. . . .

But she couldn’t stop herself. She breathed a long sigh and nestled against him. Now, within the circle of his arms, she couldn’t pretend she didn’t care. He was a good man, and she loved so many things about him—she loved his dreams about the mission, his determination to make it to the West, his steadiness in leading them, his bravery against the elements, his willingness to sacrifice for everyone, the tenderness of his skilled hands.

His breath warmed her temple, and the scruff on his chin scraped at her tender skin.

The Indians closed in around them, their wild cries sending shivers through her. Everything about them was frightening—the strange hairstyles, the half-naked bodies, the harshness of their language, the dark eyes staring at her with curiosity.

“When we get to Oregon Country, will the Indians get used to us eventually? Or will we always be a fascination to them?”

“They’ll settle down.” Eli slid a hand around her waist, and his fingers spanned her hip.

She knew he meant nothing by the hold except to keep her from sliding off the horse. But the intimacy sparked a flame in her middle.

“Now you can imagine how John and Richard felt when they were visiting the East—attracting attention wherever they went.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Her mind flashed back to the first time she’d seen the boys, when they’d walked into the meetinghouse that fateful Sabbath in February, the day that had changed the course of her life. Eli was right—they had attracted attention, fascination, even fear.

She glanced over the faces surrounding them, women and children joining the men.

“John and Richard had to adapt while they were living among us,” Eli said. “And we’d be wise to follow their example while we’re among the natives—do what we can to learn from them.”

“But I thought we were going so we can teach them
our
ways.”

“You mean our
superior
ways?”

“Yes, of course.”

He snorted.

“Don’t we want to save them from their heathen practices and help them have a better way of living?”

“Their way of life might be different from ours, but that doesn’t mean it’s inferior.”

Ahead, John and Richard were riding straight and proud like returning heroes. She had to admit that the more she got to know the boys, the less savage they became.

“What of their pagan practices?” she asked. “Surely you don’t condone those?”

“They still need the saving grace of the gospel. But they’ll accept the message much better if we share it with love. Not with prideful superiority.”

His reasoning was strange, especially when all she’d ever heard in revival gatherings and Home Missionary Society meetings was how the heathen needed the benefits of a civilized culture.

He pulled on the reins to keep the horse from rearing amidst the overwhelming commotion surrounding them. He nodded a greeting to the natives who’d left their camps to come out to meet them.

She forced her lips into a smile and followed Eli’s example in nodding a greeting. She clutched David tighter as Eli paraded her through the Indians and trappers. Once again, she and Mabel were the first white women the Indians had ever encountered.

Even though she longed for the safety and seclusion of the back of the wagon, she began to see the wisdom in Eli’s plan to give the Indians their first look at her from a safe distance.

The trappers whistled and shouted calls that burned Priscilla’s ears.

“Better watch her good, Doc,” Squire shouted from his mount. “Some of these here fellas been out in the mountains for years and ain’t seen a purty woman in all that time.”

Eli stiffened.

“They gonna be downright starvin’ for a taste of a real lady.”

Priscilla shuddered, and Running Feet’s knife weighed against her leg. Would she have need of it?

“Better keep her hidden in your wagon.” Squire’s grin mocked Eli.

“And you and every other lustful idiot better keep away.”

David bounced on her knee, and she buried her burning face into the soft strands of his hair.

Squire didn’t say anything else. But when she peeked at him over David’s head, his dark eye was fixed on the baby.

She shivered and hugged David closer.

Squire gave her the hint of a smile.

A chill crept through her heart.

Eli muttered under his breath. “Once I make sure every one of them knows what I did to Old Ephraim, they won’t dare touch you.”

She prayed he was right.

They found a spot for their camp close to the Snake River, east of Fort Bonneville, which was nothing more than a square log pen covered with poles and brush. There Squire and his men unloaded the caravan and stored the freight they’d brought from St. Louis, preparing to sell the goods to the trappers in exchange for the furs.

Priscilla soon learned that close to one hundred fifty trappers had made camp in the valley and the number of Indians who had joined the Rendezvous reached upward of two, maybe three, thousand. Snake, Bannock, Flatheads, Nez Perce—the various tribes had separate camps clustered with their buffalo-skin tepees.

The first night as she lay on her sleeping mat inside their tepee, the drums, dancing, and shouting kept her awake—the same drunken revelry between the trappers and Indians that she’d heard at Fort William, only then she’d been inside the palisades in the safety of her room.

Now, all that separated her from the wild partying was a flimsy canvas cover.

Of course, Eli was sleeping outside the flap door of the tent, but that didn’t stop her from shivering in the stale heat of the darkness and wondering if she’d been wrong about God calling her to the West instead of to India.

For two days she didn’t venture outside their camp and was content to visit with the Indian women and children who wandered over to get a glimpse of the white women. After hearing Priscilla sing during the morning devotions, the Indian women were continually asking her to sing for them. She’d tried to teach them a line of one of the hymns, but they seemed content to listen rather than to join in.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?” Mabel asked one morning, holding a basket of Bibles and tracts she carried with her whenever she went visiting.

Priscilla wrung the river water from David’s miniature leather tunic. “You go ahead. I’ve plenty more to wash. And I promised John and Richard another English lesson.”

On a nearby blanket David babbled as he played with the stones Richard had gathered for him from the river. Washing clothes and listening to David’s baby talk could almost make her believe she was a real mother.

“Maybe tomorrow, then?” Mabel smoothed a hand over her growing stomach.

“I’m sure I’ll be ready by then.” Priscilla flapped the cloth to shake out the wrinkles. She waited for the usual sting that came whenever someone reminded her of her empty womb, but lately, the pain had diminished to a dull prick.

“Let’s go,” Henry said, swatting the dust from his trousers.

Mabel opened her mouth but then closed it.

“Go on. I’ll be fine.” Priscilla glanced at John and Richard perched on the open end of the wagon, swinging their feet, their rifles across their laps. They’d been content to swim and wrestle and play together the way any brothers would. But she could also tell from the anxious questions they’d asked Eli that they were ready to continue on to Oregon Country, back to their home.

They were worried about making it over the Blue Mountains before the first snow fell. And although it was only July, their small group still had six to eight weeks of hard travel before they would reach the last imposing ridge that separated them from the valley where they would build their mission. No one talked about what would happen to them if they couldn’t make it over, but the worry on the boys’ faces was a constant reminder of the danger.

And now that Samuel Parker had deserted them, they couldn’t leave without finding someone else to guide them through the wilderness.

“Come along, dear.” Henry finished polishing the tip of his boot with a handkerchief. “I’m to meet Dr. Ernest at the Nez Perce camp to talk with the elders.”

Mabel smiled at him, and when she reached his side, she wrapped her hand around his.