A Dream Unfolding (42 page)

As she mopped Hannah’s forehead, she said, “Glad to see you are awake.
 
Your husband will be greatly relieved.”

Confused, Hannah asked, “Drew?”

The woman paused, looking perplexed.
 
“Joshua,” she offered before introducing herself as Mrs. Murphy, the post doctor’s wife.
 
“But you may call me Martha.”

Martha helped Hannah sit up and drink some water.
 
Absently, Hannah placed her hand on her stomach.
 
Her eyes grew wide when she no longer felt the bulge of pregnancy.
 
Her breath grew shallow and her heart beat rapidly within her chest.
 
What happened to her baby?

Martha placed a calming hand on her shoulder.
 
With soft words she said, “I’m so sorry, Hannah, but the baby was lost.”

Tears welled in Hannah’s eyes as she sank back down into the bed.
 
Her last connection to Drew was gone, ripping a new and deep cut into her heart.
 
She truly had nothing left of her beloved.
 
God had finally taken everything she held dear.
 
Her mother.
 
Her father.
 
Her home.
 
Her husband.
 
Her child.
 

What kind of horrid deity could be so cruel, so heartless?
 
Why could he not leave her alone or leave her with some hope?
 
Why did he have to strip her of everything, leaving her an orphaned, homeless, widowed woman?

She would never trust him again.
 
Never.

Sometime later, Hannah woke again.
 
She heard soft voices nearby.
 
It sounded like Lieutenant Harrison and the doctor’s wife.

“Mrs. Murphy, although Hannah is very dear to me, she is not my wife.”

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief.
 
When Martha mentioned her husband the last time she woke, Hannah went from hope to despair in a few short seconds.
 
Thankfully the lieutenant was setting Martha straight.

Joshua’s voice continued, “Her husband died in the mountains shortly before our party arrived at the fort.
 
He was my friend and I have taken it upon myself to see she is cared for.”

“I see.”
 
Martha’s voice sounded unconvinced.

“May I see her?”

The curtain parted and his gaze connected with hers.
 
Hannah saw something more than concern in Lieutenant Harrison’s eyes before he could mask it.
 
He sat in the chair next to her taking her hand.
 
She did not pull away, for she truly needed a friend right now—someone to lean on.
 
Tears threatened to form, yet again, until Hannah looked away.

“Dr. Murphy says you will need to rest for several weeks,” his voice was soft as he spoke.
 
“I have taken the liberty of arranging for your care, so you need not worry about rushing back to work at the mess tent.”

“Thank you, lieutenant,” Hannah stoically replied.

“I am so sorry, Hannah.”
 
The compassion in his voice nearly undid her.
 
His fingers gently ran across her knuckles, breaking down her resolve.

“Please don’t.
 
I don’t want to remember all God has stripped from me,” she whispered as rivulets moistened her face.
 
She pulled her hand from his and absently brushed the blanket covering her empty womb.
 
Looking away, she said coldly, “I’m tired and would like to rest now.”

He stood without a word.
 
Leaning over he placed a kiss on her forehead.
 
As he straightened and turned to walk back through the curtain, she noticed a slight slump to his shoulders.
 
Had she wounded him by her need for privacy?

She closed her eyes and let the healing sleep work.

“Hannah,” Martha said, her voice sounding far off.

Hannah blinked several times trying to get the fog to lift.
 
When her eyes opened fully, Martha stood by her side.

“I brought you some broth,” she said, instructing Hannah to lean forward.
 
She propped several pillows behind her until she sat up enough to eat.

“Joshua stopped by again this morning,” Martha stated as she lifted the spoon to Hannah’s lips.

Hannah took the sip of salty liquid and swallowed.
 
She glanced away, hoping to avoid showing any interest in the conversation.
 
All she wanted to do was sleep forever.
 
To be reunited with her beloved Drew and her miscarried child.
 
She did not even know if her child had been a boy or a girl.
 
They buried it before she could see.

“Here,” Martha said to get her attention for the next sip of broth.
 
Returning to her previous conversation, she said, “He wanted me to tell you he would be out with the governor’s men again for the next several weeks.”

Again, Hannah swallowed the broth, not commenting.

Lifting the spoon again, Martha said, “That young man seems quite concerned about your wellbeing.
 
Said he even tried to get assigned some duties close by so he could keep an eye on you.”

Sip.
 
Swallow.
 
Silence.

“But, Major Willis refused his request.”

Why did Joshua insist on butting in?
 
Hannah thought.
 
Couldn’t he just leave her in peace?
 
Leave her to her dark mood?

“What’s that frown for, Hannah?” Martha asked after the next sip slithered down her throat.

When Hannah remained silent, Martha did not press her further.

“Anyway, Joshua said he would come back to see you just as soon as he could.”

At the next spoonful, Hannah shook her head.
 
“No more,” she said, referring to both the conversation and the broth.
 
Shutting her eyes, she hoped Martha would assume she needed rest.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Hannah sat up, wide awake.
 
She stared up at the ceiling begging for sleep to return.
 
She could not handle the thoughts that were waiting on the edge of her consciousness.
 
She did not want to remember she was alone, abandoned.

Sobs escaped from the captivity of her throat.
 
She could control them no longer.
 
She cried for Drew.
 
She cried for her dead child.
 
She cried for the loss of her dreams of a new life in this wild territory with her beloved.
 
She cried for the past loss of her mother and of her father.
 
She cried for her lost relationship with her savior.

She was so cold, so lonely, so desperate.

She had no one.
 
Not God.
 
Not family.
 
Not her husband.
 
Not her friends.
 
She was utterly alone.

A light flickered on and approached closer, illuminating Martha.

“Oh, Hannah,” she exclaimed as she set the lamp on the stand next to Hannah’s bed.
 
Then she took Hannah in her arms and rocked her back and forth.
 
“There, there.
 
Let it all out.”

She sobbed for what seemed like hours.
 
Martha said nothing.
 
She did not try to offer any advice or convince Hannah that God still cared.
 
She didn’t recite verses about how everything would work out.
 
Instead, she just held Hannah until, at last, the tears dried up.

Sniffling, Hannah took the handkerchief Martha handed her.
 
She blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
 
Then she lay back against the soft bed, sleep taking over once again.

Finally, four weeks later, Dr. Murphy pronounced Hannah fit enough to return home to her own tent.
 
She was cleared to work for part of the day with the strong admonition that if she felt tired, she should rest. The man who ran the mess tent was eager to have her return under any condition.
 
The constant flow of government men in addition to feeding the army was more than they could handle without Hannah.

Days became filled with routine again.
 
She slept past the morning meal, still physically recovering though never emotionally recovering.
 
Then midmorning she would wake, dress, and head to the mess tent.
 
Hannah prepared the midday meal then helped serve it, before retiring back to her tent for rest.
 
The other two women prepared the evening meal, but Hannah returned to help serve.
 
As her strength increased, she increased her responsibilities.

This particular day, a Sunday, Hannah rushed from the mess tent to Charles and Martha Murphy’s tent.
 
Since returning to work, she reserved Sunday afternoons for the couple who became dear friends.
 
Though she was far from forgiving God for destroying her life, she felt comfort in spending the afternoon with the Murphy’s.

“Knock, knock,” she said as she poked her head into their tent.