The Reluctant Bridegroom (21 page)

He knelt beside her, and impulsively kissed her. She put her arms around his neck. “We’d better see about the wounded, Dave.”

He shook his head. “If something had happened to you . . . !” He didn’t finish, but pulled her to her feet, and they moved to the next wagon where Charlie Gladden was being lifted out by Stedman and Penny.

“Took a slug in the chest,” Stedman said. “Alive, but bad shot.”

“Look—there’s Winslow!” Penny had looked up to see Sky and the two Indians sliding down the slope.

Sky came running up, a gash on his forehead and blood running down his cheek. “How bad did they get us, Dave?”

“Don’t know yet. Gladden is hurt bad, though.”

They were soon relieved to discover that no one had been killed. Gladden was the most serious casualty, but Pete Riker, Al’s youngest son, had a wrist shattered by a heavy rifle slug; and one of the women, Ada Cantrell, had a flesh wound in the calf of her leg.

“Could have been a heap worse,” Dave said grimly to Sky. He started to say something else when he heard the sound of someone running along the trail. Both of them turned just as Karen, her hair disheveled, face pale, reached them.

“Sky! It’s Rebekah! I—I think it’s her time!”

Sky’s lips pressed together grimly, and he voiced the sentiment that they all were thinking: “Two men hurt bad—and a woman about to have a baby. If either of you knows how to pray, this would be a good time to start!”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“YOU WERE BORN FOR IT!”

Kieta appeared in the camp at dusk, like a ghost out of the shadows, his eyes obsidian. “No more Sioux,” he told Sky. “All gone back to their camp.”

Sky nodded. “Good work, Kieta. Better get some of that meat.” As the Indian moved to pull a strip of roast ox off the fire, Sky said, “If it weren’t for those two, we’d be dead by now.”

“I believe it, Sky.” Dave looked at the Apache by the fire for a long moment. “We’re in a bad way, though. Gladden’s not going to make it with that bullet in him—and Pete’s arm is shot all to pieces.”

Sky nodded and then groaned. “I’ve patched up a few bullet holes, Dave, but nothing like this!”

“Could one of us ride on to Fort Bridger, Sky—or maybe Fort Hall?”

“Thought about that—but it’s no good. Wouldn’t be a doctor at Bridger’s place; it’s just a trading camp—and not much of one at that. And Hall is at least two weeks away.”

Winslow was well aware of the gravity of the situation, even more than Lloyd, for he had seen many deaths like this. He shook his head. “On the trail, a bad injury is just about as fatal as a bullet through the brain. Must be thousands of graves on the Oregon trail—and most of the folks in them would have made it if they’d had a doctor.”

“I wish the women’d come and tell us something about Rebekah,” Dave said nervously, turning to peer at the wagon
that was pulled fifty yards away from the rest. “I heard her cryin’ out a few minutes ago—and Rebekah’s not a screamer.”

“Guess we can go see.”

They crossed the open space and found Karen and Edith standing beside a small fire. The men knew they didn’t need to ask how Rebekah was; they could see from the lines of strain on both the women’s faces.

“It’s real bad,” Edith said quietly. “Something’s wrong with the way the baby’s placed.”

“It is hard.” Karen wiped her brow, and her hand trembled. “It was not like this with my babies. They came easy—but she is in terrible pain.”

“Can’t you give her some laudanum?” Sky asked.

“I did—a little bit,” Edith replied. “But that’s no answer. She’s got to deliver that child—or she’ll die.”

They all looked at Sky expectantly, and he felt the pressure. “Well, don’t look at me!” he said angrily. “I don’t know anything about babies!”

“We know that, Sky,” Edith responded. “I guess we’ve looked to you for so long, it just comes naturally. But no one is blaming you—this isn’t your fault.”

“Sure it is. I let her come—I didn’t make her stay in Laramie like I should have. It was my responsibility.” His face was tight, and they all saw that he was controlling his voice only by a powerful exercise of his will. He looked around. “Where’s Tom?”

“Why, I guess he went to get something to eat,” Karen said. “He’s been here almost all afternoon.”

Sky felt the mounting pressure, set his teeth, forced himself to say quietly, “I’ll ask Brother Penny to come over and say a prayer.”

He left the three of them and went back to the train. Penny was with Pete Riker and his father, and the boy looked up anxiously as Sky came to stand beside him.

“How’s it going, Pete?” Sky asked.

“Hurts like everythin’!” young Riker gasped. He clamped
his lips together and closed his eyes, but his limbs were trembling with the pain.

Sky knelt beside him, and put his hand on the boy’s head sympathetically. “I know, Son. We’ll see what we can do.” Then he looked up at Penny and said, “Lot, I wish you’d go over and pray with Rebekah.”

“I’ll do that.” Lot got up and touched the hurt boy’s shoulder. “I’m believing God for you, Pete. Don’t give up on God.” He waited for a response, but the boy didn’t seem to have heard.

Al gestured to Sky, who followed him out of Pete’s hearing. Riker’s square face was stern, but his eyes were fearful. “Winslow, Pete’s going to lose that hand.”

“You sure, Al?”

“Yes. It’s got to come off—and quick.” He peered at Sky’s face closely, then asked, “Think you could do it?”

“Me!” Sky felt a wave of anger at the thought, but it quickly left as he saw the anxiety in the old man’s face.
What if it were Joe?
he asked himself.
I’d be begging everybody I saw for help!
And so, with many misgivings, he said, “If it has to be done, Al, I’ll take a try—but I’ve never done anything like that.”

“None of us have.” Riker bit his lip. “It’s too dark now—but come morning, it’ll have to be done.”

“All right, Al.”

Sky left the wagon with a sinking sensation in his middle. The thought of cutting into living flesh sickened him. Fear embedded itself in his gut, and sweat beaded his forehead despite the cold breeze that was whipping the canvas of the wagons. He wished fervently he’d never left Oregon.

Charlie Gladden was worse, which was what he’d expected. Rita was standing to one side, and she waited quietly while he listened to the report. “His breathin’ is real shallow, Mr. Winslow—and the bleedin’ won’t stop. Just keeps seeping out,” said Mack Malone. Malone was one of the drivers; now his eyes looked very large by the light of the fire as
he wrang his hands and added, “He’s going to die if that bleedin’ keeps on.”

“Do the best you can, Mack,” Sky said, then turned to go away.

“What’s going to happen, Sky?” He had stopped by the fire to get a cup of coffee and Rita stooped beside him. “I never saw anything like this before.” Her face was pale and for once she was subdued. “There was always a doctor and a hospital close.”

He didn’t answer, but sipped the bitter black coffee and stared into the fire. His own nerves were jumpy, and he was tired of questions that had no answer. “They’ll die, I reckon.”

She flinched at the brutality of his reply. “Then it’s like I said, isn’t it?”

He stared at her. “ ‘Like you said?’ ”

“At Chimney Rock . . .” She looked at him steadily, but there was no anger in her eyes, only sadness. “We live and we die, and that’s it, Sky. When Rebekah dies, she’ll leave nothing. All the fun she’s missed was for nothing.”

He had only half heard her. Looking up from the fire, he said, “I don’t know what to do, Rita.” The vulnerability on his face evoked a tenderness in her, and she laid a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault. Not anybody’s fault. That’s just the way things are.”

He stood up and she stood with him. There was a bitterness in his face. “I wish Pa were here.”

“He a doctor?”

“No—a preacher.”

“We have one of those,” Rita reminded him.

Sky rolled the cup in his hands and said slowly, “He’s a praying man, my pa—and so’s my stepmother. I’ve seen them pray—and things happened—things that were impossible happened, Rita!”

She asked quietly, “You still believe in miracles, Sky?”

“I don’t know
what
I believe, but I know what I’ve seen,” he
replied through clenched teeth. “I saw my half brother dying of cholera one night—and I heard my pa and ma pray—and the next day I saw Thad running around like he’d never had a sick day.”

“Well, I don’t believe much in that sort of thing—but for your sake, I wish your folks were here,” Rita returned. Then she cocked her head and stared at him in a peculiar manner, her eyes intent on him. “You’re a pretty ‘holy’ sort of man yourself, Sky. Why don’t you ask for a miracle or two?”

He searched her face, looking for mockery. Seeing none, he said, “Don’t feel like I’ve lived the right kind of life to be askin’ for any favors from God, Rita. Always despised people who lived like they pleased, then ran to God when they were in trouble.”

“So have I—but this is a little different, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not you who needs a miracle. It’s these hurt people.”

He stared back at the fire, thinking. Finally he spoke. “I’ll go ask Brother Penny. Miracles are his department.”

He made his way back to the wagon where Rebekah lay, and was met at the entrance by Lot Penny. The preacher’s face was pale, and he seemed to have difficulty breathing. His usual piercing voice was thin and somewhat reedy, as if he were out of breath. “Brother Winslow, I wish you’d have a word with our sister.”

“Me?” Sky asked sharply. “Didn’t you pray with her?”

“Yes—but she’s asking for you.”

“Lot, this is out of control!” Sky’s voice was agitated. He clamped his hands behind his back, astonished to find out they were not steady—it was the first time something had affected him like this in years. “These people are dying!”

“I know,” Lot said simply. He looked old in the half light, and his plain features were haggard. “It’s all in God’s hands now.”

“Well, what about these miracles you’ve been preaching about? Are they out of fashion or something? Is God on a vacation?”

The anger in Winslow’s tone made Penny blink, and he said slowly, “God is always the same, Sky. Yesterday, today, and forever.”

“Then why in the name of heaven can’t we pray down some help for these people?”

“I didn’t know you were a praying man.”

“You
know
I’m not!” Sky shot back, the fear in him turning to anger. He knew it was unfair to blame his own failures on Lot Penny, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m just a sinner—but you’re supposed to be a Christian—a preacher even! So start praying! And I’m expecting to see something more from your prayers than wind, you hear me, Lot?”

The anger that had exploded in him like a live charge drained out as he drew the cover from the wagon and looked inside where Edith was sitting beside Rebekah. The pale yellow light of the small lantern bathed Rebekah’s face, and the sight of her shocked Winslow.

Rebekah’s face was white, except for her eyes, which were hollow depths of blackness sinking into her skull. Her lips were pinched together, pale and bloodless, and the look of death on her hit him in the pit of his stomach.

She opened her eyes without seeing and arched her back, raising her swollen body off the wagon bed. Her lips opened in a silent scream, but she allowed no sound to escape.

He groped for a place to sit, his legs trembling with a sudden weakness. As she lay back with a gasp, her eyes focused and she whispered, “Sky—?”

“I’m here, Rebekah!”

“I . . . want you to take care of Timmy . . . and my baby.” He swallowed hard. “Why, you’re going to take care of them yourself.”

She shook her head. “Promise me? Please?”

“Well . . .” Sky looked up to see Edith nod, and he said, “Sure, I will, Rebekah—but you can’t give up.”

“I know.” She paused and then her body arched again with pain, and Sky closed his eyes until it passed.

“You’ve got to pray!” Sky cried desperately. “Brother Penny is praying, but you’ve got to help.”

She looked at him with cloudy eyes, and reached out a hand. When he took it, she said, “Will you pray for me? And for the baby?”

He held her hand and a weakness ran through him. He would have died before praying for himself—but her fragileness gripped him, and he dropped his head and choked, “Oh, God! I know you can do anything! You are my father’s God, and he’s not here—so I’m asking you to help this woman!” His voice cracked, and he waited, then ended the prayer in a whisper. “Not for me—do it just because you’re the God of love! Do it in Jesus’ name!”

He bent his head, his shoulders shaking, and she whispered, “Thank you, Sky! “

He stood up and stumbled out of the wagon, walking blindly, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He moved away from the train and walked along the road with his head down. He didn’t come back to camp for hours.

****

The morning light was thin and gray as it dissolved the dark pockets of blackness shrouding the caravan. Here and there a few figures began stirring; every face was grim. Brother Penny busied himself around the fire making coffee. After finishing it, he poured a cup for himself and began drinking the brew. He looked up as Rita approached. “Any change in Rebekah?” he asked.

“No.”

She took the coffee he handed her, then looked up to see Sky walking along the trail. “Guess he’s been out praying for a miracle,” she remarked quietly.

Penny did not answer, but stared at her tired face and drank his coffee. “We’ve got to cut off Pete’s hand this morning.”

A shudder ran through her. “Who’s going to do
that?
”

“Sky said he’d do it.” Penny shook his head sadly. “That young man’s got too big a load to carry!”

They both watched as Sky stopped at Rebekah’s wagon and asked Edith something, then turned and headed for the camp. He walked up to Lake’s wagon and disappeared inside for at least five minutes; when he came out, he was holding a sack in his hand.

He approached the fire where they were sitting; his face was tense. “Seen Tom around?”

“Why, I don’t think I’ve seen him since yesterday,” Rita replied.