In the Face of Danger (11 page)

“You surely don’t expect me to help deliver Mrs. Browder’s child!” Mrs. Haskill’s words ended in a squeak of horror.

Megan was puzzled. “I thought you’d want to help.”

“Certainly not! That’s not a proper task for a lady, although I can’t expect you to understand that.”

“I understand that if something needs to be done, then whoever is able should do it.”

“We should not be having this conversation,” Mrs. Haskill said. “A woman’s—umm—delicate condition is not a proper topic for a lady to discuss.”

“If we don’t discuss it, then how will either of us know what the other is thinking about it?”

Mrs. Haskill punched at her pillow. “There is no need to continue this conversation. Mrs. Browder will have to call in a doctor or a midwife, as any sensible woman should.”

“The doctor is in town—a very long ride away—and as for—”

“Ohhh! I hate this place!” Mrs. Haskill cried out. Her lower lip trembled as she turned to Megan. “Bring me my medicine. I believe I will sleep, after all. And then see if you can tidy this room. Even you should be able to do that task.”

Megan clamped her teeth together as she obeyed Mrs. Haskill’s orders. The woman was insulting and unkind. Worst of all, she’d said she wouldn’t help Emma, who had been so good to her.

Mrs. Haskill snatched the bottle and spoon from Megan and attempted to pour out a dose of medicine. Fearing that some might spill on Emma’s treasured down pillow, Megan reached out to steady Mrs. Haskill’s hand, and a few drops of the liquid dropped onto the front of Mrs. Haskill’s gown.

“You clumsy girl!” Mrs. Haskill cried. “Bring me a damp cloth. See if you can get the spots out of my gown!”

“I’m sorry,” Megan said. She poured a few drops of
water from the kettle onto a clean cloth that lay on the table. “I thought you’d spill it on the pillow,” she explained. “Mrs. Browder’s mother made that pillow just for her. It’s very special.”

“It doesn’t look that special. It’s covered in a rather poor-quality cotton fabric. The down pillow I had in Boston had a linen pillowcase.” Mrs. Haskill swallowed the medicine and handed the bottle and spoon to Megan. She rubbed at the spots on her gown, then tossed the cloth to the floor and sank back against the pillow with a sigh.

Megan picked up the broom that stood in the corner, but Mrs. Haskill said, “Put that back. It will only stir up the dust and make me cough.”

Mrs. Haskill was silent for a few moments, and Megan asked, “What would you like me to do?”

Mrs. Haskill sighed again. “This is what I meant about the Irish. Can’t you think for yourself?”

Megan gripped the edge of the table. She wanted to storm out of this place and never set eyes on the woman again, but she had promised to help, and she would keep her promise. With trembling hands she poured water into one of the tin cups on the table and took a drink. It would do no good to let anger get the best of her. She was stuck here with Mrs. Haskill.

And how was she going to pass the time? If she talked to Mrs. Haskill, she wouldn’t have to listen to her. Megan sat in the chair by Mrs. Haskill’s bed.

“You aren’t familiar with this prairie country yet,” she said, “so I’m going to tell you as much as I know about it.”

Mrs. Haskill didn’t object—just stared at her with a scowl—so Megan began. “The prairie is covered with long grasses all during the year. In the spring they’re
green and filled with wildflowers. In the summer they grow even taller—tall enough in places for an Indian to hide in. And in the fall—”

“An Indian?” Mrs. Haskill looked startled.

A thought came to Megan, and though she knew it was unkind, a spark of anger lit her imagination.

“Some of them are friendly,” Megan said mischievously.

“What do you mean?”

Megan tried to make her eyes wide with innocence. “I mean that some are friendly.”

“You’re saying that others are not?”

Megan leaned forward and whispered, “We’ve all heard the stories of fearful Indian uprisings. Ben said there’d be more.”

“Here?” Mrs. Haskill clutched the edge of the quilt and squirmed to a half-sitting position.

“I know very little about Indians,” Megan said. “You’ll have to ask your husband if you want to know more about them.”

“Mr. Haskill didn’t say a word about Indian uprisings!”

“They move silently through the grass,” Megan said.

“The Indians?”

“Yes, and the wild animals—the wolves, especially. Have you heard them howling in the night?”

“No!”

“Ah, you’re lucky, then. Of course, you’re snug in here. They might come snuffling to the doorway, trying to scratch their way inside, but they’re not able to sneak between the door and the sill as the rattlesnakes can.”

Mrs. Haskill sat upright, her hands pressed to her chest. “Rattlesnakes? In the house?”

“Not if you’re careful.” She remembered something Ben had told her. “If they do get in, though, and you can stay out of their way, they might come in very handy. At least they’d eat the rats.”

At that moment the door flew open. Megan leapt from her chair, overturning it, and Mrs. Haskill screamed in terror.

Mr. Haskill burst in. “What is it?” he shouted, his face blanching.

Megan hurried to reassure him. “Mrs. Haskill and I were having a fine talk about the prairie country and were just a mite startled when you entered the house so suddenly.”

Mrs. Haskill had leapt out of bed and was wrapping herself in the quilt. “What is this about Indians?” she demanded.

“We’ve had no trouble hereabouts for some time,” he said.

“The Kaw Indians used to scalp people,” Megan said.

Mrs. Haskill raised one hand to her head. “Tell me truthfully, are there wolves and rattlesnakes and rats in this area?”

“Yes,” he said, “but—”

“There must be rats in Boston, too,” Megan said. “I know there were plenty running about the alleys and back ways in New York.”

Mrs. Haskill paced back and forth, hugging the quilt around her, muttering to herself, as Mr. Haskill stared at her in amazement.

Megan tugged at Mr. Haskill’s sleeve. “You can see that your wife is much improved,” she said. “She has good color in her face and strength to spare.”

“What’s made her so upset?” Mr. Haskill asked.

“It could be my fault,” Megan said, hoping the guilt she was feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t show on her face. “I told her about the prairie country. She took exception to one or two small things.”

Mr. Haskill squinted down at Megan. “She mentioned
rattlesnakes. Did you frighten her with the story of the one that killed your dog?”

The thought of what had happened to Lady was painful, and Megan gave a little whimper. “That I did not,” she said. “I didn’t speak of it, because it still hurts too much. Lady was protecting me when she was struck by the rattler.”

Mrs. Haskill’s eyes were so wide that her pupils were ringed in white. “A rattlesnake killed your dog?”

As Megan saw the terror on Mrs. Haskill’s face, she regretted having yielded to the temptation to get back at her. Impulsively she said, “I’m raising the pups. If you’d like to have one, I’m sure Emma would be glad to give it to you.”

“Well now, that’s mighty nice,” Mr. Haskill said. “you’d like to have a dog around, wouldn’t you, Ada?”

Mrs. Haskill thought just a moment before she answered, “I suppose I could put up with a dog. At least it would afford some protection.”

Megan was so angry she almost jammed her fist through the lining of the sleeve of her coat as she pulled it on. Imagine! Not wanting a pup as a friend to love, but only for protection! She was sorry she’d offered the pup to Mrs. Haskill. She was sorry she’d come to help.

“I think your wife is well able to care for herself now,” she told Mr. Haskill, “so you don’t need me. I’m going home.”

She ran all the way, scolding herself under her breath.

A
S
M
EGAN OPENED
the door, Emma looked up from behind the worktable, her hands covered with flour. “Back so soon?” she asked. “How is poor Mrs. Haskill?”

“Up and about,” Megan said. She avoided Emma’s eyes, taking great pains in hanging up her coat.

“She’s up already?”

“She ate two bowls of your soup. It must have been a great help.”

Emma sounded puzzled. “But Farley said she had a fever.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Haskill was very sick,” Megan told her. “I think she was just moping.” She picked up Moby, who was trying to scramble over the backs of the other pups, and buried her face in his warm fur.

“Come over here, Megan,” Emma said, and as Megan put the pup back into the box and obeyed, she added, “You were so kind to offer your help—especially after Mrs. Haskill—well, in any case, I’m making you a treat. Little biscuits baked with a crust of butter and brown
sugar. You’ll love them.” She giggled. “We’ll
both
love them.”

“Ohhh.” Megan moaned and clutched her stomach as the guilt settled there once again in a tight lump. Starting at the very beginning, she told Emma everything.

When Megan had finished, Emma thought a moment, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Well,” she murmured, and “Hmmm,” and then “Well, well,” again. Finally she looked at Megan with serious eyes and said, “What you did to deliberately frighten her was wrong.”

“I know,” Megan said.

Emma sighed. “I remember how difficult it was to live in a dugout. It was only because I loved Ben so much, and because we had the same goals, that I could do it.” Her eyes were sad as she looked at Megan. “Ada Haskill has neither love nor goals to help her adjust.”

Megan could feel tears on her cheeks, and she quickly tried to wipe them away with her fingertips.

“Remember the Aesop fable about the farmer and the sticks?” Emma asked. “The farmer showed his sons how he could easily break one stick alone, but when he tied them together in a bundle, it was impossible to break them.

“Life on the prairie has many joys, but it also has terrible hardships. Who can help a woman get through the bad times if not another woman? We should never work against each other. We can only be strong by standing together.”

“I’ll never try to frighten Mrs. Haskill again!” Megan promised.

“Of course you won’t,” Emma said. “Now, help me think. How can we make amends to Ada?”

Megan wiped her eyes on her sleeve and glanced toward the brick oven set into the fireplace. The sugary
fragrance of the biscuits tickled her nose. The answer was obvious. “We could give my share of the biscuits to Mrs. Haskill,” she said stoically.

Emma began to wipe up the flour from the table. “If we did that, then tonight at supper Ben would ask why you weren’t eating any of the biscuits, and I think that you and I are the only ones who need to know your story.” She wrung out the cloth with a flourish and said, “We’ll take
all
the biscuits to Ada Haskill, except for two—one for you and one for me, because we should taste them to make sure they have baked long enough.”

Megan looked up quickly, in time to catch just a flash of mischief in Emma’s eyes.

When the biscuits were baked, their sugar topping a deep golden crackled crust, Emma solemnly counted out two before wrapping the others in a cloth to keep them warm and tucking them into a basket.

Megan reached for the basket, but Emma put a hand in her way. “A walk will do me good. This time
I’ll
pay the visit,” she said. “But not before you and I have tasted the biscuits and had a cup of cold milk to go with them.”

Emma chattered happily as they ate, and Megan thought how beautiful Emma was with her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, and how lucky she, Megan, was that Emma and Ben had chosen her.

Megan had fed Rosie, the chickens, and the hungry pups, and had tucked three potatoes into the hot fireplace ashes to bake by the time Emma returned.

She dropped her empty basket onto the floor and flung herself into the nearest chair. Her cheeks were flushed, and she breathed heavily. Megan ran to Emma and crouched before her, clasping her hands. “Are you ill?” she cried. “Please don’t be ill!”

“Ill? Me? Oh, no, Megan. I’m just a bit upset. That woman—” Emma stopped and shook her head as though trying to clear it. “At least,” Emma continued, as the mischief began to come back into her eyes, “I listened to all that Ada Haskill had on her mind—which was a great deal, to be sure—and I made no mention of scalpings or wolves, which took every ounce of my self-restraint!” She rocked with laughter, and Megan sat back on the floor, laughing too.

At that moment Ben poked his head in the door and studied them with a pleased expression. “I’m glad to see you two having such a good time.”

Megan jumped to her feet with a shout of delight, then pulled Emma up from the chair. Emma ran to throw her arms around Ben. “You’re home safely!” she cried. “I missed you!”

“The wagon’s in good shape now, thanks to the blacksmith,” Ben said. “We won’t have to worry about it this winter.”

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Emma asked as she fussed over him, helping him off with his coat and gloves. “I know it’s been hours since you ate all the food I packed. What did you see or hear in town? What news have you got for us?”