Dream Weaver (20 page)

A noisy fluttering drew her gaze upward, where thousands of birds flew overhead, darkening the sky. Passenger pigeons, she guessed, extinct in her own time. She waited a few minutes for the sky to clear, but it looked as if it would take hours for the birds to complete their journey. Millions of passenger pigeons! She'd never seen anything like it.

* * *

 
"I visited Agnes Morrell yesterday," Christian said at the table that evening. "She seems much improved from the ague, and I hope her condition will not recur." A puzzled look crossed his face. "'Tis passing strange that fewer cases of the ague appear now that cooler and drier weather has arrived. Mayhap this malady has something to do with rainfall."

"A miasma," Daniel said. "Mayhap a poisonous vapor arises from swampy areas. Could it be there is more of this condition when it rains, thus causing more frequent cases of this illness during wet weather?"

Gwen listened quietly, a slow realization dawning on her. What they called the ague must really be malaria, apparently common at this time. Well, you learn something new every day.

"Miasma from the swamps," Christian mused aloud. "Could be. Or--"

Gwen swallowed a bite of green beans. "Mosquitoes!"

"What?"

"Mosquitoes, did you say?"

"Mayhap I didn't hear you correctly."

"Sure." Gwen nodded. "Get rid of the mosquitoes, and you'll eliminate this disease...the ague, I think you called it."

Daniel frowned. "Pray pardon me if I seem rude, but I've never heard anything so preposterous in my life."

"Nor I." Christian looked skeptical.

"I haven't, either," Rebecca said with an apologetic smile. "Where did you hear this?"

"Oh, I don't know." She should have kept quiet, Gwen realized. Now Christian would really think she was nuts. "Must have read it somewhere." She reminded herself to be careful about flaunting her medical facts. Just the same, it occurred to her that if she could pair Christian's medical skill with her twenty-first century knowledge, they'd be a winning combination.

Christian sat back in his chair, a pensive expression on his face. "Apparently you have medical information the rest of us are not privy to."

Gwen shrugged. "Like I said, I read it somewhere."

Affecting a look of calm detachment, she raised a mug to her mouth and took a tentative sip of her drink, a brew Rebecca told her had been made a few months ago. Wow! She blinked tears from her eyes as the fiery liquid slipped down her throat.

Christian shot her a troubled look. "Gwen, what's amiss?"

She swallowed again, her eyes misting. "What do you call this drink?"

"Cherry bounce," Rebecca said.

She wiped her eyes. "No wonder!"

"At any rate," Christian went on, returning his attention to the others, "I intend to visit several patients on the morrow, but the day after that I'm going to
Fort
Pitt
to collect more supplies and medicaments. So if anyone needs any items from the trading post, pray let me know."

"I'll ride with you." Gwen set her mug down. "It's been months since my last visit to
Fort
Pitt
, and Rebecca and I were discussing a few things we need."

"You have your class," Christian said, as if she didn't know. "And besides, I can procure any supplies for you."

"I'll give the children the day off. If you don't want me to go with you, I'm perfectly capable of getting to
Fort
Pitt
on my own." Gwen smiled with confidence.

"I didn't say--"

"If 'tis as well with you, Christian, I'd just as soon have Gwen go to
Fort
Pitt
," Rebecca said, "because I need a few items, too." She looked at Daniel. "What about you, sweetheart?"

"Sounds like a good idea." Daniel directed a look Gwen's way. "I could use more tobacco, ink, and paper, among other things--I'll make up a list. Aye, and I'll give you enough money to pay for those and the balance, also."

"Then it's settled." Gwen resisted the urge to throw a smug glance in Christian's direction. Funny, he should be upset that she was going with him. Why did he look so pleased?

* * *

While everyone else slept, Christian paced the grounds outside, looking forward to the time he could move back to his own house, away from the vexing temptations of his temporary residence. Gwen--a sweet distraction that dominated his mind throughout the day and tormented his sleep at night. An owl hooted from the woods, breaking the silence of the night. Frogs croaked with their rumpet, rumpet, rumpet. A cool breeze tossed the branches of oak trees and fluttered the leaves of lilac bushes.

Christian wished he could go inside and sleep, but too many thoughts kept him awake, all centered on one certain lady, Gwen. Images of this strange woman paraded through his mind, and a rich tapestry of memories emerged, recollections of her long, tawny hair and blue-green eyes, every gesture, every facial expression, and oh, so many other images.

Even now, he could hear her voice, that soft yet husky voice, each intonation revealing her every mood. He'd tried so hard to forget Miss Gwen-Who-Came-From-Nowhere. Easier said than done.

Where had she come from, and what if she soon returned to her home? How could he live without her? He still questioned her purpose here, asking himself again why Daniel and Rebecca had never pressed her for any answers. He suspected they felt sorry for her and didn't want to probe. She had assured him the French didn't employ her as a spy. The officers at
Fort
Pitt
had concurred, adding that one of their "trusted" fur traders had been passing information to the French, a quite recent discovery that erased months of worry from Christian's mind.

Then why had Gwen come to this desolate place, when obviously she'd been used to the pleasant civilities of city life?

A lady from the future! Was she truly insane, or was that a story she'd concocted to cover her real reason for her presence here? From the future, he scoffed. If he believed that, then maybe he was insane. Surely, though, his love for her and his skill as a doctor could help her overcome her mental troubles. He was willing to take a chance.

And what about Shelbourne? Christian's tumultuous thoughts continued. The lieutenant had made it obvious he harbored a certain affection for Gwen, too. What if Shelbourne took her to wife? I won't let that happen, Christian vowed. He’d come to care for her too much to walk away, pretend he’d never known her. She’d worked her way into his heart, and he'd been too blind to realize how much she meant to him until now. He'd ask her to marry him tomorrow if he thought she'd remain with him for the rest of their lives. But what if she returned to wherever she came from?

He flexed his fingers, wanting to run his hands through the silky locks as he'd done on Leah's wedding day.

Christian stared up at the vast canopy of stars, as though they held the answer to his plight. If she were his wife, how he'd love to take her to
Philadelphia
, buy her the finest clothes, take her to musicals and the theater. She could have her portrait painted, a picture he'd cherish for the rest of his life.

If she were his wife, he'd make love to her every night and never tire of her. Something told Christian her passion would match his, that she could give him undreamed of pleasures in the marriage bed. Living with her would never be dull, in or out of bed. Any life they shared would never be calm and peaceful, but did he really want such serene monotony day after day? Once he'd thought so, but now he knew better.

But where had she come from, and who was she? He wished he knew.

 
* * *

Gwen and Christian entered the town of
Pittsburgh
, halting about a quarter mile from the trading post. The dirt swirled about in a cool wind, dusting her clothing, layering on her wide-brimmed hat. Traders and townspeople crowded the streets, the Indians and derelicts as numerous as ever. A buxom farmer's wife with baskets of fruit and vegetables plied her products as she walked the streets, her large bare feet tanned and dirty.

Christian shaded his eyes in the bright morning sunlight and looked her way. "It won't take me long to make my purchases at the post, then I want to visit the surgeon at
Fort
Pitt
for an hour or so. How do you intend to spend your time?"

"I'm sure I'll find something constructive to keep me occupied." The breeze fluttered the ribbon of her hat, blowing it across her face. She pushed the ribbon back while she clutched the billowing skirt of her printed calico dress. "There are lots--there is much I can do while I'm here. I assure you I won't be bored."

"That wasn't my concern," Christian said. "I thought only that you must be careful where you go. Many rough people here."

"Believe me, I can take care of myself." She had a black belt in karate, but she wouldn't attempt to explain that. "I'm a big girl now, you know."

He stared at her, his gaze drifting to her full breasts before returning to her face. "Um, yes," he murmured. He narrowed his eyes. "You don't intend to call on the commandant of
Fort
Pitt
, do you?"

"I might do that," she said. "In fact, I can definitely say I intend to warn him of the Indian danger."

"Oh, come now, Gwen. Don't you think Captain Ecuyer is aware of any possible Indian trouble? And don't you think
Fort
Pitt
can handle any danger? 'Tis a well-defended fort."

"Well, it won't hurt to warn the good captain."

"Very well, then, but don't say I didn't warn you." With that caveat, Christian placed his hand under her elbow, heading for the trading post in his quick, easy stride.

Rebecca had lent her a detachable pocket that tied around her waist, sort of like a fanny pack and very convenient, a place where she kept her list and money, along with a comb and handkerchief. As they neared the trading post, she fished for the list.

"After I call on the surgeon, we can meet back at the post, say, at twelve o'clock," Christian said. "Does that suit you?"

"Fine with me...."

"I shall meet you at the agreed time," Christian said several minutes later, after he'd made his purchases.

"Right." Not looking his way, she nodded, her attention drawn to a white linen doily embroidered with flowers and vines, edged with the most exquisite lace crocheting. Women don't do this sort of thing anymore, she thought, reluctant to touch the doily with her dirty hands. She sighed, wishing she had her own money.
 

Since she had a long list of things to buy, Gwen left the trading post some time after Christian, leaving her purchases behind to pick up later. Reminding herself she was a Georgian lady now, she walked in slow, measured steps, making her way toward the commandant's house on the grounds of
Fort
Pitt
, past the parade ground where the soldiers marched. Look at all those redcoats! She assumed it must be the whole British garrison here as she edged the open ground and heard the sergeant call cadence. She mentally rehearsed what she'd say to Captain Ecuyer but worried that he'd refuse to see her. Well, then, she might have to be a bit forceful, because she considered the defense of the fort literally a matter of life and death. If the captain didn't want to see her, too bad. She'd barge right into his office.

No need to worry, Gwen found. Within a few minutes of her arrival, she was ushered into a large room with a wide mahogany desk and several
Windsor
chairs. A portrait of King George III hung on the wall, a few stray papers covering the desk, along with a pen, inkstand, and a pewter tankard.

Handsome in his red uniform coat and white spotless breeches, Simeon Ecuyer rose at her entrance and made a slight bow. "What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Emrys." He held a chair for her, an agreeable smile on his face. "Pray sit down, won't you."

She dropped a graceful curtsy she'd learned a few months ago, then sat down, careful to arrange her skirt around her ankles. "Thank you for consenting to see me, Captain." She hoped she sounded like an eighteenth-century woman.

"A pleasure, as I say, Miss Emrys." Ecuyer frowned as he walked around his desk and returned to his seat. "Gwendolyn Emrys," he mused aloud, fiddling with a paper. "A Welsh name. But you don't have a Welsh accent."

"So others have told me. I've lived in this country a long time, sir." A very long time.

"I see,” the captain said, looking skeptical. He settled back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his high black boots gleaming. "Pray tell me how I can help you, madam."

After a brief hesitation, she plunged ahead. "Sir, I'm a lit--uh, a trifle concerned about the Indian danger at
Fort
Pitt
."