The Doctor's Lady (26 page)

“Oh, my dear Sister Ernest.” Inside the privacy of the tent, Mabel reached for her, and Priscilla sagged against her.

“I’ve made a mistake. I don’t know why I ever thought God was calling me to be a missionary,” she cried softly against Mabel’s shoulder. “I’ve been so foolish to think that I could ever withstand the rigors. I’m too weak. Too spoiled. Too selfish.”

Mabel patted her back. “Hush. Don’t say such things.”

“If only I were more like you.”

“And here I’ve been wishing I were more like you.”

“You have?” Priscilla pulled back and wiped at the tears on her cheek.

“I was jealous of how strong you were during those early days of our travel when I was so weak and sick.”

“But look at me now. . . .”

“You’re beautiful and charming, and everyone loves you—”

“Not everyone.”

“Yes, everyone.” Mabel’s smile faltered. “Even my own husband can’t help it, though I know he tries.”

Priscilla flushed.

“None of us are perfect missionaries, Sister Ernest,” Mabel continued softly. “We will all falter at one time or another. Fortunately, perfection is not one of God’s requirements.”

Priscilla was ashamed to think she’d once believed she’d been the perfect missionary candidate. She’d thought so highly of her piety, commitment, youth, and education. But out here in the harsh wilderness, none of that mattered. The harshness of the trip had stripped away the façade and let her see the true condition of her heart—the selfishness, the self-pity, and the pride that had made a home there.

“If we’re all flawed,” she said, “then that must mean there are so few of us that God can truly use for service to Him.”

“On the contrary,” Mabel replied, slapping at another flea on her clean dress. “God often chooses the weak in the eyes of this world.”

Priscilla rubbed her fingers over the red swollen bites on her hand. “I was wrong to think He would choose me.”

“But, Sister Ernest,” Mabel protested, “He’s given you a compassionate heart for the Indian children. From early on you loved John and Richard—and David.”

“But John’s dead.” The ache in Priscilla’s heart pushed fresh tears into her eyes. “And David—” Her voice cracked. “Who knows where he is and whether he’s safe and loved. . . .”

“God will surely have many more children for you to love. And yes, you’ll have your own someday too. Eli will come around eventually. I’m sure of it.”

“No. We won’t ever have any children.” The words poured out before she could stop them, flowing hard and fast like her tears. “He made it clear that he didn’t want to change the nature of our relationship. Besides—” She choked.

Mabel rubbed a hand over Priscilla’s tangled hair.

“I can’t—I won’t ever be able to have my own baby.”

The kind woman’s eyebrows furrowed, as if she were trying to make sense of Priscilla’s heartache. It took a moment before understanding dawned in Mabel’s eyes. “Oh, my dear, dear friend.”

“The doctors all said the same thing.” Priscilla’s throat squeezed closed.

Mabel grabbed Priscilla into a fierce embrace. “Oh, my sweet, dear Priscilla. I’m so sorry” came the agonized whisper.

At that, Priscilla fell against Mabel, buried her face into the woman’s shoulder, and sobbed out all the pain that had lingered in her heart. She was surprised to hear Mabel’s sobs as heartbroken as her own. And she was surprised at how good it felt to cry with someone, to finally give voice to the secret she’d kept bottled up for so many years.

Finally, their sobs turned to sniffling. Mabel pulled back to wipe her eyes on her sleeve. “Let’s not forget the words of that wonderful hymn ‘O God Our Help in Ages Past.’”

Priscilla nodded and wiped at her own wet cheeks.

“God doesn’t expect us to be perfect women or perfect missionaries. Rather, He wants us to learn to lean upon Him more, to let Him be our help during those stormy blasts.”

Priscilla whispered the last lines of the song. “‘Be thou our guard while troubles last.’”

“Yes, dear. I’m sure we’ll have many more troubles in the days to come. And we’ll question whether we have the strength to endure.” There was no pity in Mabel’s eyes, only hope and friendship. “But we can’t give up. Please don’t give up.”

“Okay, let’s have a look at your hands first.” Eli knelt in front of her with the smoke of the campfire wafting around them. They’d had to travel a distance from the river before they were out of the flea-infested area. All of them had been bitten, but the women had suffered the worst.

“I’ll be fine.” She folded her hands in her lap and stared past him at the low flames of the fire, where he’d set the water to boil for coffee.

Her eyes glazed with exhaustion, and the paleness of her skin made the dark crescents under her eyes shimmer like bruises.

He sat back on his heels. Helplessness weighed heavy upon his heart. “Please. Let me treat your bites.”

“I don’t want to be any more of a burden to you than I already am.”

“You’re not a burden to me.”

Her gaze flickered to him and demanded the truth. “You know I’ve been nothing but an inconvenience to you this entire trip.”

Had she really been more of an inconvenience than any other woman would’ve been, or had he just been unfair to her? “I know I’ve said things—that I haven’t given you the chance you deserved. . . .”

“Well, you were right—”

“No, I wasn’t. You’ve held up just as well, if not better, than Mabel.”

She started to speak but then stopped and cocked her head.

He sat forward again and took her hands. “You’re a strong woman, Priscilla. Much stronger than I thought you’d be.”

She studied his face.

And when he turned her hand over and examined the swollen red lumps where the fleas had bitten her, she didn’t resist.

“They must have liked your blood.” The spots covered her wrists and the backs of her hands, and she had several on her face and neck.

He dipped a strip of clean rag into the pail of icy water he’d collected from the nearby stream. “I’m going to wash the bites with cold soapy water. Then I’ll apply lavender oil.”

She sucked in a sharp breath when he dabbed her wrist with the frigid water.

“The coldness will help reduce the swelling.”

He washed carefully, trying not to irritate the skin any further. Frustration nagged him. Her cries had pierced his heart again and again. When she’d told him she wanted him to take her back to Snake Fort and that she wanted to go home, he’d been surprised by the vehemence that had swelled in his chest against the idea.

What if she really did decide to leave? He’d always said he wouldn’t hesitate to send her home and give her an annulment. But when he’d heard
her
say the words—when
she’d
been the one to tell him to put her on the first ship and give her the annulment, every organ inside his body had stopped working in protest.

How could he ever let her go?

“The bites will be extremely itchy, but try not to scratch them.”

“They already itch.”

He slipped open the button at the wrist of her sleeve and pushed up the material, gliding his fingers along the inside of her arm.

She gasped.

“I’m checking for further bites.”

“But this isn’t modest.” She glanced around the camp.

Richard was the only one watching them. His dark eyes narrowed on him, almost as if the boy were angry with him.

“Here’s another bite.” Eli dabbed at one in the crook of her arm. Then he pushed the sleeve higher.

“Please, Eli,” she whispered. “If you must unclothe me in this manner, I would prefer privacy.” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had taken on a renewed spark—the kind of spark he liked there but thought he’d extinguished.

With the tips of his fingers he traced the path of a vein down to her wrist. “If you’d like me to unclothe you in private, I can oblige.”

She gave a soft gasp. “I didn’t say I wanted you to—”

“But you’re right. It would be more helpful in my examination.”

“You’ve misunderstood me.” Her fingers trembled. “I only meant to say that if you must touch me—”

“You mean like this?” He glided his fingers back up her arm.

“Yes—I mean no—”

“What about like this?” He lowered his mouth to the delicate spot just below her wrist. He took a deep breath of her soft sweet skin, then exhaled, letting his breath fan over her. He followed with his lips, pressing them against her thudding pulse.

Longing swelled within his chest—the desire to start over with Priscilla and try to get things right between them. He kissed a path to the ring on her finger—the ring he’d given, one that should have symbolized his devotion to her but hadn’t.

Could he change that? Did he dare?

Her arm quivered. Then she jerked her hand away and pushed her sleeve back into place.

“Please don’t toy with me.” Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, but beneath them was something akin to desire.

“I’m not toying with you,” he said softly. He reached for her hand again, and this time she hid it in the folds of her skirt.

The look in her eyes said she didn’t believe him.

“I know I’ve been an idiot, and I haven’t always treated you the way you deserve. But I want to try to do better.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. An unspoken question filled the space between them. Did he want her
in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, as long as they both shall live?
Or did he still plan to turn his back on their marriage if the danger became too threatening?

Old fears lingered in the corners of his mind and whispered that he couldn’t promise her anything. But something in his heart shouted at him, forcing him to face the truth: He couldn’t begin to imagine his life without her in it.

Powder River Valley

P
riscilla refused to utter one word of complaint, but inwardly she didn’t know how she could possibly make it another day.

Even though it was entirely unladylike, she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head against them. Why worry about etiquette when she no longer looked or felt like a lady? Gone were her smooth, unblemished skin and her soft complexion. Her hands were stained with grime and her fingernails crusted with grit. And her once lovely clothes were tattered and threadbare.

With the lingering effects of the cholera, weariness was her constant companion. And even though she was pushing herself beyond endurance every day, she was still slowing the group down.

Although neither Eli nor McLeod said anything, she could see the lines that furrowed their foreheads every time they looked into the distance to the barely visible tips of the Blue Mountains.

A shadow fell across her.

“I’ve made a shelter for you,” Eli said, holding out his hand to her.

They’d made their noonday break in the open plain, and there weren’t any trees—not even a single low willow like they occasionally found.

She looked up at him from her ungracious heap on the ground, the place she’d dropped after dismounting. She didn’t care that the high burning sun beat down on her and was instead grateful for a break from the constant jarring.

“Come.”

Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, she searched his face for the irritation, for the regret she was sure he couldn’t hide. But instead his eyes only radiated gentle concern.

She allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead her to a strange makeshift shelter.

“What do you think?” He stood back and watched her reaction.

He’d draped their saddle blankets over sticks he’d driven into the earth like tent poles. Underneath, he’d spread a buffalo calfskin blanket. It covered the ground and their saddles.

He crawled into the shelter and leaned his back against one of the saddles, crossing his arms behind his head. “Care to join me?” He grinned up at her.

She hesitated.

“I promise I won’t ravish you.”

She wasn’t worried about
his
ravishing. She was worried about
herself.
After already failing once to keep their relationship businesslike, she couldn’t fail again. And it was altogether too hard to keep her distance under the ordinary circumstances, much less sitting right next to him.

He patted the spot next to him. “You need to get out of the sun and rest.”

Her legs trembled with the effort to stand.

He reached for her hand and tugged her, leaving her little choice but to duck under the blanket—at least that’s what she told herself. She situated herself against her saddle, making sure she left plenty of space between her and Eli. Running Feet’s knife lay hard against her thigh, more of a nuisance than necessity.

“Now, isn’t this nice?” Eli asked.

“Yes,” she admitted, letting the coolness of the shade soothe her.

“I know it’s always nice to sit next to me, but I was asking about the shade.” His voice hinted at playfulness. “Isn’t that nice too?”

She couldn’t keep from smiling, grateful he wasn’t angry with her, as he very well should have been for slowing them down so much.

“I love seeing you smile,” he said softly.

Her heartbeat sputtered to life.

“I want to make you smile more.” He hesitated. “And I know I haven’t given you much reason to do so, but I’d like to change that.”

She stared at her wrists, at the fleabites that had turned into small blisters. “I’ve had a hard time wanting to smile lately.” She missed David more than she’d ever imagined she would. Sometimes his “mama” echoed through her heart and made her arms ache to hold him.

“I’m not an expert at smiling,” he said. “I didn’t grow up in a home with much of anything but angry words.”

“I can’t remember much smiling or laughter in my home either.”

“At least you had parents who loved you.”

“And yours didn’t?” She held her breath and waited for him to get angry at her probing question and stomp away.

He didn’t say anything.

She peeked at him. He was staring off in the distance.

“There was once a time when I think my ma might have loved me. . . .”

His ma. Priscilla had met her only once, and she’d been colder than a New York winter. Priscilla couldn’t imagine him receiving love from such a woman.

“But everything changed . . . the day my pa . . .” The muscles in Eli’s jaw flexed.

Priscilla had the urge to reach for his hand, to take it between hers and offer him the love he’d missed growing up.

“My pa had a hankering for strong drink.” Eli’s voice was forced. “He had his own distillery, and when he wasn’t drinking or passed out on the bed from too much whiskey, he was out back making more.”

He stopped. The nightmare in the depths of his eyes darkened them to midnight blue.

“My ma hired herself out to some of the rich folk as a laundress. I was supposed to stay home and help Pa in the distillery. But whenever she left for work, I snuck away to the swimming hole or any other place I could find. I hated helping Pa make the drink that only served to take him away from us.”

He blew out a deep sigh and continued. “I always returned home before Ma could catch me. But the last time—when I rounded the bend, I smelled the smoke before I saw it curling up from the roof. At first I didn’t understand what was happening. But when I got to the house and looked in, I realized Pa had passed out on the bed, and he’d left his pipe burning. The house was on fire.”

Priscilla sucked in a breath, unable to imagine the torment Eli must have experienced at that moment.

“Somehow in his drunkenness he’d let the latch of the door fall, and I couldn’t get to him. I stood outside the window and screamed and banged on the glass. Finally, I smashed my fists through it, crawled through the shards, cut up my face, hands, and legs. . . . By the time I got to him, the smoke had already killed him.”

“Oh, Eli.” An ache formed in her throat. She reached for his scarred hands.

For an instant he pulled away, but then he stopped.

She laced her fingers through his. When she met his gaze, the sharp pain there radiated through her chest and brought tears to her eyes.

“My ma never stopped blaming me for his death,” he whispered hoarsely.

“But it wasn’t your fault. If he hadn’t gotten drunk . . . If he had been more responsible with his pipe . . .”

“But I wasn’t there. And I should have been.”

She grazed her fingers across the raised skin of his scars, shuddering at the picture of his lacerated bloody flesh. “Your mother has no right to hold you responsible for your father’s foolishness.”

“I hold myself responsible.”

She shifted to face him, lifted one of his hands, and grazed her lips along the long white lines.

His breath hitched.

“I can’t imagine the pain and fear you must have experienced.” She released his hand and traced the scar along his cheek. “But you cannot take responsibility for everyone and everything.”

He raised his fingers to her cheek and touched the tears she hadn’t realized had spilled over.

“You aren’t God,” she whispered. “You’re human. And humans fail.”

In the shadows of their makeshift shelter, his face was only inches from hers. “I vowed that I wouldn’t fail like that again.”

She swept his hair away from his neck, the tenderness of his vulnerability giving her boldness. “We all make mistakes.”

“I’m realizing that I’m pretty good at making them.” His gaze hung on to hers and wouldn’t let go. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes with us, haven’t I?”

The hurt of the past weeks rushed over her, but so did all of the memories of the ways Eli had cared for her—how he’d labored day and night to save her, how he’d tried to strap her trunk onto the mule, how he’d wanted to bring her anyway, even though he’d had the perfect chance to leave her behind. She swallowed the sudden lump and dipped her head, afraid to say what was in her heart and aching for him to reveal what was in his.

His fingers went to her chin, and he forced her head back up. “I’m sorry, Priscilla. Sorry for hurting you.” His voice cracked. “I wish I could take back the things I said, especially for embarrassing you in front of everybody. Squire baited me, and I fell into his trap. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

As mortified as she’d been at the time, deep inside she knew the others would have discovered their predicament eventually, the same way Henry had. She would have spared herself the heartache had she just lived openly and honestly from the start—as Eli had suggested.

Why had it been so important to keep everything private? Now that she’d shared her infertility with Mabel, she found herself wealthier for having done so. She drank in Mabel’s encouragement and understanding. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if she and her family had chosen to share the burden with others right from the start—how different things might have been.

“And I’m sorry for not standing up to Squire and fighting for David.”

The ache in her chest swelled.

“I don’t know if it would have made any difference, but I could have tried harder. I know how important the baby was to you.”

If she spoke she knew she’d sob.

“Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

Could she? She hesitated. What more could Eli have done to stop Squire? He would have only gotten himself killed.

Suddenly, the blanket of their shelter caved in upon their heads.

The scratchy wool fell against her face, and she gave a startled cry.

Eli scrambled to untangle them from the smothering cover. It took him only an instant to pull the blanket off, leaving them blinking in the bright sunshine.

He sat up and glanced around.

The only one nearby was Richard, and he was leaning against his horse, brushing it with long, smooth strokes.

When Eli raised his brow at the boy, Richard only glared back at them, his face sullen.

“I don’t understand what’s gotten into him lately,” Eli murmured.

The gleam in Richard’s eyes told her he’d purposefully kicked the shelter in on them.

“I’ve tried talking with him,” Eli said, “but he won’t say much.”

“He’s still grieving over John. Maybe I should talk with him.”

“Maybe you should,” Eli joked, “before he decides to kill me.”

McLeod had left them earlier in the morning to hunt. They’d expected him to return during their nooning. Eli paced, his anxiety escalating with each wasted minute.

When McLeod and a few of his trappers finally rode into camp at three o’clock, loaded with over twenty ducks they’d shot, Eli took one look at the men and the resigned looks on their faces, and his heart sank with dread.

“Ma’am.” McLeod dismounted in front of Priscilla and dropped half of the fowl at her feet. “For you.”

“Thank you, Mr. McLeod. You’re too kind,” she said. Then she turned her wide kitten eyes upon Eli. “Roasted duck. It will be a taste of home, won’t it?”

He tried to hide the anxiousness from his face and voice. “After the maggoty pemmican, I’d say it’ll be more like a taste of heaven.”

She gave a mock gasp and her eyes danced with laughter. “Why, Dr. Ernest, I thought pemmican was your favorite food.”

With a slow grin, he let his gaze linger on her lips. “I think you’ll find that I’m a man with a very big appetite.”

“In that case, I’ll have Mabel help me find some camas to cook with the duck.” She turned away, but not before he caught sight of a rosy blush blooming in her cheeks.

They’d begun to find the camas root in abundance. It was a staple food of the Nez Perce. Even though it resembled an onion in shape and color, when cooked it was sweet, like a fig.

“Doc, my men are getting anxious to reach Walla Walla,” McLeod said after Priscilla went to find Mabel. His eyes took on a seriousness that sent a shiver of trepidation through Eli.

“We’re all tired of the trail.”

McLeod nodded to his horses and mules. “Your animals are worn out. And they’re slowing us down.”

Two of his mules and one of the horses had almost entirely given out. The terrain was rough on them and the packs on their backs heavy. “Maybe I can lighten their loads.”

McLeod glanced at Priscilla and Mabel. “It’s not just the animals.”

Eli swallowed hard. They’d gone slower for the women too. Both tired easily, Mabel from her ever-growing pregnancy and Priscilla still weak from the cholera. “Maybe we can cut back on the breaks we take.”

McLeod met his gaze head on. “I’ve already made my decision. We’re splitting up.”

Eli’s heart fell to the bottom of his ribcage.

“I’m leaving my most trustworthy man to guide you the rest of the way. Then you can go as slowly as you need.”

“But what about our safety? Wouldn’t we be safer with the large group?”

“The Indians hereabout are friendly enough—mostly Cayuse and Nez Perce. You shouldn’t have any trouble with them.”

Eli’s gut roiled. “I don’t like it, McLeod. We’ve come this far. What’s a few more days?”