Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) (21 page)

Amy began coughing and as the night progressed, the cough worsened. “Mama, Mama,” she whimpered repeatedly, each time tearing at his heart.

Jane stared grim-faced at him. “I can’t believe they’re both so sick at the same time.” She started to cry, unable to hold back her tears of worry any longer.

Helplessness made him miserable. With each passing hour, his sense of vulnerability grew, like a black hole growing bigger and darker, pulling their daughters away.

He sensed Jane struggling to remain calm, but as she caressed Mary’s sweet face with the gentle hand of a loving mother, her face suddenly contorted with fear. “She’s barely breathing,” Jane cried out, desperately cradling Mary against her breast.

He looked on, numb with dread, powerless to help. He dropped to his knees, bowed his head. His spirit reached for God. “Lord don’t. Please do not take her. Not this little one. She has lived but one short year. If someone must die on this trip, let it be me, not these innocents. Let it be me who pays for my dreams.”

Tears slipping down his cheeks, he turned his eyes to Jane. What he saw on her face filled him with terror. He grabbed Jane, wrapping his arms around both her and Mary, desperately hugging them both to his chest.

The tears of both parents fell on their dead daughter.

Grief exploded through his mind and body, nearly blowing him apart. But for Amy’s sake, he would not let this nightmare consume him, not yet. He forced himself to throttle his emotions. They had to find a way to save Amy. He helped Jane, who cried continuously, wipe Amy’s forehead with a cool cloth more times than he could count. He prayed without ceasing. He held the tiny hand of the three-year-old in his own, as Jane talked to her, trying to keep her alert, trying to soothe all their fears.

“Mama, I see…,” Amy said, barely above a whisper.

“See what my darling?” Jane asked, looking into their daughter’s dimming eyes.

“Look,” Amy said, raising just a finger to point. “It’s baby Mary.”

Her sister’s name would be the last thing Amy would ever say. She died just before dawn.

Overwhelmed with soul-breaking sorrow, Stephen stumbled from the back of the wagon, nearly collapsing to the ground. He could not bring himself to tell the others. He didn’t have to. Sam, John, William, and Bear, already awake and waiting nearby, knew as they listened to Jane’s terrible wailing cries. They grabbed him to keep him from falling. Bear put an arm around his shoulders and nearly carried him to the cook fire. William poured him a cup of coffee. He shook his head, refusing it.

He stared into the fire, and gave his mind up to the shock and horror.

His brothers did their best to console him and comfort Jane. But there was no solace, only pain—overwhelming heart-crushing sorrow. And nothing they could do would change that.

Losing two daughters in the same night was beyond brutal. It was misery incarnate. Here, in person, trying its best to conquer him. He sensed its presence, clawing, grabbing for him, wanting to take his soul to dark foul places. He didn’t know how to fight back.

And misery found yet another tactic for torture. Watching Jane suffer. Hearing her weep broke his heart. He couldn’t stand to see her consumed by sadness. He thought she might cry herself blind. Helpless, this was the one time he could not be her hero. He didn’t know how to help her. He couldn’t help her.

As the sun rose, so did his anger. He wanted to lash out at somebody, especially himself. “Edward was right. God is punishing me. I wasn’t satisfied with what I had. Edward warned us this would happen. Why didn’t I listen?” he yelled at his brothers. “Why didn’t you make me listen?”

“You are not being punished,” John said.

Unable to bear hearing Jane weep any longer, and afraid he would scare the other children with his anger and grief, Stephen took off on foot. But each step away from her only made him feel worse. He should be by her side, but he needed time to figure out how to help her. How to help them both.

He hurried toward the woods. He started to run. He wanted to be alone, completely alone, to flee from misery, before it possessed him completely. He ran as fast as he could, winding through the trees, his feelings taking control of him—his mental strength weakening by the moment. He wasn’t used to losing control. But, overcome by the depth and strength of his grief, he did lose control, even of his body. He fell to his knees, unable to take another step.

His head threatened to explode. His stomach rolled inside him. He wanted to vomit but couldn’t. He wanted to scream and did—
from deep within—the scream of a heart ripping apart from grief. He clawed at the earth and then beat the ground repeatedly with his fists, sobbing uncontrollably for the first time in his adult life.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry, so sorry,” he wailed repeatedly, his fists grabbing again at the ground. “This is my fault. What have I done? Amy forgive me. Mary forgive me,” he pleaded, looking through tears at first one and then the other handful of dirt he held in each hand. “I gave you up for dirt in some faraway place. Was it that important?”

Never feeling more miserable or alone, he collapsed, lying on his side, giving in to grief and exhaustion. His fists still tightly held dirt in each hand, just enough to bury him in guilt.

“Forgive me, but I believe God wants me to speak to you,” John said quietly, walking up behind him.

He stood at once. He fists clenched at his sides, his mouth contorting in a rage of fresh grief. “Leave me,” he growled, pointing away. “Leave now!”

“I will not leave you.”

“I don’t want you here. Go! Go comfort Jane—she needs you more than I.”

“Stephen, remember the story of Job. God may allow you to suffer, but he will never forsake you. But, neither can you forsake Him. The one thing you feared the most has happened. Their safety was the only hesitation you had in deciding to come. I know Edward’s words haunt you now. But he was wrong. We cannot live in fear, securing ourselves from perils and avoiding the life we are destined to lead. Sam’s right—danger is a part of life. The part that makes life real. You were destined to make this trip. That was God’s will. We cannot question His wisdom. Your girls were gifts from Him
but only for a short while. We will never know why. Only He knows how much time each of us has on this earth.”

“Damn it, I shouldn’t have brought them. They could have stayed with Edward until it was safe. Now it’s too late, too late to keep them safe.”

“The girls would have been miserable without you. We all decided this together, you, Jane, and the rest of us. Do not put it all on you. Even your broad shoulders need not carry the responsibility of all our decisions. We are all a part of this—and we will stand together, through whatever tribulations we must endure.”

“I don’t have the strength.”

“You don’t have to,” John said, “just have the faith.”

John wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gently turned him back toward their camp. He let the dirt in his hands slowly slip through his fingers.

“Faith,” he whispered, as he began the long walk back to his wife and...two daughters.

CHAPTER 23

T
hat afternoon, Jane slowly climbed into her wagon, dreading what she must do. John had offered, but she refused his help. They were her babies and she would take care of them.

She redressed Amy, and then carefully placed each child in soft cloth. She kissed their foreheads and studied each of their faces one last time before she forced her trembling hands to cover their heads with the shroud.

Her tears fell repeatedly on the fabric as she shakily wrapped them.

“I’m sorry. My kisses weren’t enough,” she whispered, her lips quivering, and her heart breaking into two halves—one for each of her departed daughters.

Bear dug a single tiny grave to hold both of them under a majestic old pine. He lined the bottom of the grave with pine needles, making a soft bed for them. When Bear finished, Stephen turned to find Jane.

“It’s time,” Stephen gently whispered to her.

He helped her climb out of the wagon. She seemed on the verge of collapsing, but he saw her force herself to straighten her back and steady her breath. She gripped his hands as though she were desperate for his strength. She would need his strength this day. He would have to have enough for both of them.

Bear carried Amy and William carried baby Mary. Behind them, John escorted Stephen and Jane, his long arms wrapped around each of them. Sam and the children followed slowly.

He stared at the empty grave as they approached. It waited eerily—for his daughters. Waited for them to fill it with two young lives—lives taken away from him forever. It was the worst thing he had ever set his eyes upon. He hated it.

Bear laid Amy in first and then William gently put Mary next to her.

John removed his hat, as did the other men. “Grief such as this has no cure, only a dulling brought on by time,” John said. “Do not blame God. He does not cause innocents suffering and affliction. His enemy does. Because he wants to stop us from carrying out God’s will. I pray that this experience will only strengthen our faith. For we know that through terrible times, God never leaves us. Though we may lose members of our family, we never lose Him. We believe it is His will for us to go to Kentucky. We will get there, no matter what obstacles fall in our way or what sadness we must overcome. These two angels are His now, no longer ours. He will care for them and protect them far better than we can. Stephen and Jane, you will be together again with your daughters in His Kingdom and in His time. Until that time, Lord bless them. Amen. Let us sing.”

“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;

Praise him, all creatures here below;

Praise him above, ye heavenly host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

Stephen couldn’t sing. Neither could Jane. As the sorrowful group sang the old hymn, he watched as his wife slipped away.

As Bear and William began gathering nearby rocks, the surrounding forest stood eerily quiet, as though all creatures had indeed heard the old hymn.

Stephen could only watch.

Sam held the hands of his other two girls, who probably had only a vague understanding of what they just witnessed. “Mary and Amy are in heaven,” Sam told the children. “All believers will go there. Some have to go sooner than expected.”

“But I want to play with Amy,” Polly said, her face reflecting the confusion of grief.

“We have to wait till we’re together in heaven,” Martha gently explained.

Tears slid down Martha’s cheeks, despite how brave she was trying to be.

Sam leaned down on his cane and looked directly at her. “Your baby sisters loved you. They knew that you loved them too.”

“But Uncle Sam, I didn’t get to say it before they died,” Martha cried. “And now I can never talk to them again. Never, ever, ever again.”

Stephen stood nearby listening to the conversation. It broke his
heart even further.

“Talk to them now honey,” Sam said.

“But they won’t hear me,” she wailed.

“Those dear to us can always hear us, even from heaven. Your love for them makes that happen. Believe me, because I
know
it’s true.”