Courage to Love (Flynn Family Saga) (18 page)

Maggie picked up Lady’s brush and began to curry her.

Luke began to play a song she didn’t recognize.  It was bright and fast, and the clear sounds of his violin filled the vast silence that surrounded them, taking Maggie’s breath away.  She listened for a while, and then she unrolled her blanket beside the lead wagon.  He played another tune, in a minor key.  Maggie fell asleep listening to the sweet, sad sound of Luke’s violin.  When she woke, the night had turned cold, with the promise of rain in the air.

Flynn’s blanket covered her, keeping out the chill.

In the morning, Flynn was gone again.

*  *  *

The days passed slowly, but they passed.  When they crossed into Nevada, Flynn began to dream of the night his daughter was born.  He heard Maggie’s cries, saw the blood soak the sheets, felt the terror and the terrible grief.  One night, he must have cried out in his sleep because Maggie woke him.

She looked worried.  “Are you all right?”

He nodded and rubbed his eyes.  “It was just a dream.”

“About Jennie?”  There was a hardness in her voice he had never heard before.

Flynn sighed and met her angry gaze.  “No.  About you.  About the day our daughter was born.”

“Oh.”  For a moment, she looked young and scared and hurt.  Then, she turned away.

“Maggie?”

She turned back to him, and he thought he saw the glint of tears in her eyes.  “Yes, Flynn?”

“Where is she buried?  Our daughter?”

Maggie winced as if he had struck her.  “Spanish Springs.”

“Would you—would you show me, when we get there?”

Maggie nodded and turned away.

Twice, Flynn opened his mouth to speak, and twice he closed it without uttering a word.  He didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t know if there was anything he could say to heal the breach between them.

Flynn lay awake a long time, wondering if he would ever be able to win her back.

*  *  *

First, there was too much water.  Then, there wasn’t enough.  The streams ran low.  Flynn dismounted Wakta and knelt to take a sip.  The little horse neighed and jerked his head up, almost pulling the reins out of Flynn’s hand.  “What’s wrong, boy?”

Wakta tossed his head again.

Flynn looked past his horse.  He saw the skeleton of another horse, its bones bleached by the ruthless Nevada sun.  He shivered despite the August heat.  He patted Wakta’s nose.  “Thanks, Wakta.”  He swung up onto the horse’s back and rode back to the wagon train.  He rode up to Maggie and took off his hat.  “Dixie Creek is poisoned.”

“Poisoned?  How?”  Maggie frowned.

Flynn shrugged.  “I don’t know.  But there are dead animals all up and down the bank.”

Maggie sighed.  She took off her hat and wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her work shirt.  “All right.  We’ll have to wait for Pine Creek.”

Flynn nodded.  “Do we have enough water to reach Pine Creek?”

Maggie nodded.  Tears glinted in her eyes.

Flynn remembered.  He remembered leaving her, searching for water, as she struggled to give birth to their child.  He touched her arm gently.  “Are you all right?”

Maggie nodded again.

“Liar,” he said softly, grinning to take the sting out of the word.

For a moment, Maggie grinned back, but her smile was so fleeting that Flynn thought maybe he had imagined it.  “Get some food and rest, Flynn.  It’s a long way to Pine Creek.”

Flynn nodded.  He turned and rode back to the end of the line.

Day after day, Flynn rode in search of water.  Pine Creek was dry.  He followed it north, toward the Trinity Mountains.

There, he found the graves.

*  *  *

Day followed day with no sign of Flynn.  Maggie found that she missed his presence more than ever.  That annoyed her, and she was sharp with Frank and the outriders.

Finally, Ben took her aside.  “You’ve been getting meaner every day.”  His grin faded.  “Go after him, Magpie.  Bring him back safe.”

Maggie hesitated.

Ben sighed.  "You won't be any use to these people until you do."

Maggie nodded.  She mounted Lady and rode north.

It took Maggie three days to pick up Flynn’s trail.  The desert sand had blown across Wakta’s tracks.  Finally, she found the print of his hoof in the mud that had been Pine Creek.  She sighed and continued north.  She rode until dusk.  She slept fitfully, dreaming of the birth of her daughter.  Morning dawned hot and still, and tears dampened her cheeks.  Angrily, she brushed them away.  She broke camp, and continued to ride north.  Then, at noon, she saw a sight that made her blood run cold.

A dozen graves.

Maggie rode hard, her heart pounding in her chest.  Lady climbed a low hill, and Maggie saw a sight that wrenched her heart.

A solitary wagon stood in the shadow of a large rock with four blanket-covered mounds beside it.  Flynn stood beside the bodies with his head bowed.

Maggie sighed and rode up to him.  “Flynn?  What happened?”

Flynn looked at her and shook his head.  “I don’t know, but there are graves from Pine Creek to the Trinities.  A lot of graves.”  He lifted the corner of one of the blankets

Maggie’s breath caught at the sight of the young girl.  It looked as if her skin hand melted and flowed together into pools of pus, just beneath the skin.  “Smallpox,” she whispered.

Flynn’s mouth tightened.  He took a shovel from Lady’s back.  He took off his shirt and began to dig.  Muscle rippled in his back.  Maggie took her own shovel from Lady's back and helped him.  By sunset, they had finished.  Maggie stood beside Flynn and said the words Sam had said so many times.  “Ashes to ashes; dust to dust...”  Even though she didn’t know these people, she wept for them.  Because, in a way, she did know them.  She knew that they had crossed the miles between St. Jo and the Trinity Mountains, hoping to build a better life for themselves.  And that hope had ended in a shallow, unmarked grave.

Flynn stood for a long time with his head bowed and his eyes dry.  Then he raised his head and tilted it to one side.  “How did you find me?  The ground is pretty hard around here.”

Maggie shrugged.  “I’m the best tracker this side of the Mississippi, remember?”

“Second-best tracker.”

“I thought we agreed it was a tie.”  Maggie grinned back.  For a moment, it was as if nothing had happened between them.

Then, she remembered.  She turned away.

*  *  *

In the morning, they rode back to the wagon train in silence.  They took Lady and Wakta to the picket line.  Wakta nudged Flynn’s shoulder.  Flynn patted his pocket.  “I’m sorry, boy.  I forgot your sugar lumps again.”

Maggie went over to him.  She held out a small, white rectangle.  Wakta took it daintily from her palm.  Maggie’s heart ached as she remembered Scout.

Flynn turned and regarded her solemnly.  “Maggie?”

She swallowed hard and nodded.  “Yes, Flynn?”

Flynn looked shy and uncertain.  “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Slowly, he grinned.  “For the sugar lump.”

Maggie grinned a wobbly grin.

He swallowed hard.  “And for coming after me.”

“Well, it would be pretty hard to find a scout out here in the middle of nowhere.”  She rubbed Wakta’s nose.

Flynn sighed.  “Yeah.  I guess it would.”

In the morning, Maggie got the wagons rolling again.  She found it harder and harder to ignore Flynn.  He didn’t pursue her.  Not exactly.  He just had a habit of appearing whenever Maggie was alone.

Which wasn’t often.  The travelers had heard about the smallpox outbreak, and they were nervous.  It was late by the time she got to sleep, and she was always tired.

Finally, one night, they camped beside the Humboldt River.  The Humboldt was nearly full, and the sound of the water soothed Maggie into a deep sleep.  Then, Julie Evans woke her.  It was still dark, and Julie’s face was pale in the lantern light.  “Mrs. Flynn, come quick!  It’s Paul!  He’s burning up with fever!”

A knot of fear tightened in the pit of Maggie’s stomach.  She stood up and walked back to the Evans wagon.

Paul Evans was delirious.  Maggie touched his forehead.  His skin was very hot to the touch.  Maggie raised the lantern.

A red spots stood out on his face and hands.

Maggie swore softly.  “Julie, can you hitch up your team?”

Julie shook her head.

Maggie sighed and walked to the picket line.  Flynn rode in just as she untethered the Evans’ team.  He came toward her.

Maggie held out one hand, palm outward.  “No, Flynn.  Paul Evans has smallpox.”

Flynn took one more step toward her.

Maggie drew her pistol.  “I’m serious, Flynn.  I need you to stay healthy.  I need you to scout, and I need Ben to run this outfit.  Julie will help me nurse him.”

“What about you?”  Flynn took another step toward her.

Maggie shrugged.  “I had a mild case when I was child, so I should be immune.”

“But—”

Anger rose up in her throat like bile.  “Do you want to spend the rest of the trip in the jail wagon?”

Flynn looked away and shook his head.

“Then go!”

He turned and walked away.

Maggie sighed.  She finished hitching up the team and then pulled the Evans wagon out of line.  She circled it toward the river.  Ben and Frank arrived a few minutes later.  Ben’s expression was grim.

“Flynn told you?”

Ben nodded.

Maggie sighed.  “As of right now, this wagon is quarantined.  I need you to boss the train, Ben.  We’ll wait a few days and see if this is an isolated case.  If it is, you’ll have to take the train on to Sacramento.”

“Maggie, Flynn will kill me if I leave you here.”

“And smallpox will kill you if you don’t.  He knows that, Ben.  Just give him time.”

Ben sighed.  “All right, Maggie.  What else do you need?”

“Ask for volunteers to bring the infected ones back here, preferably people who have already had smallpox.  We’ve got water and firewood.  If it hits this train like it did the others, there will be a lot of patients.”

“What do you need me to do?” Frank asked.

“Stay with Ben and the others, Frank.”

Frank shook his head.  “I’m staying.  You’ll need someone to cook and wash the dishes and—”

Tears filled Maggie’s eyes.  “Thank you, Frank, but I’d never forgive myself if I lost you.”

Frank shrugged.  “I had smallpox when I was a kid.  Why do you think I wear a beard?”

Maggie sighed.  “All right.  We’ll need to boil everything, clothes, bedding, dishes.  Do you have any limes left?”

He nodded.  “A whole crate full.”

“Good.  And we need cows.  See if the Lunts will sell us theirs.”

“All right, Maggie.”

Frank arrived with the lead wagon and three cows, and then he made breakfast for Maggie and Julie Evans.

An hour later, Ben brought back the next victim.

By the end of the day, a dozen people lay beneath the tents.

Frank and Maggie worked together to nurse the sick.  Maggie was surprised at his gentleness and patience.  Three days after Paul fell ill, Marie Devereux came with her husband.  Luke was pale and drawn.  Marie wept openly.

Maggie squeezed her hand.  “We’ll take good care of him, Marie.”

Marie nodded.  She wiped her eyes with a lace handkerchief.  “Mrs. Flynn, I would like to help.”

Maggie nodded back.  “Thank you, Marie.  And please, call me Maggie.”

Marie smiled shyly.  She rolled up her sleeves and began to spoon milk into the mouth of Paul Evans.

Julie Evans came out of her wagon.  “Get that mulatto mongrel away from my husband!”

Maggie turned and slapped Julie hard.  “Apologize to Mrs. Devereux.”

“I’d rather die first!”

Maggie nodded.  “All right.  Take your husband and get out of here.”

Julie’s mouth fell open.  “You’d do that?”

Maggie nodded again.

Marie laid her hand on Maggie’s arm.  “It’s all right, Mrs. Flynn.  I know what I am.”

Maggie turned to her.  “So do I.  You are the wife of the future first violinist of the San Francisco Symphony.”  She turned back to Julie.  “Now either apologize or get out.”

Julie hesitated.  She turned to Marie.  “I apologize, Mrs. Devereux,” she said stiffly.

Marie inclined her head slightly.

Maggie sighed.

*  *  *

By the end of the week, over fifty people lay in the quarantine area. 

That morning, Marie Devereux didn’t get up.  Maggie’s heart dropped.  She sighed and got Frank to help her carry Marie under one of the tents.

Julie Evans sat next to her husband.  She hesitated, and then, without a word, she got up and took the bowl of warm milk from Maggie’s hand.  She knelt beside Marie and started to spoon the warm liquid into her mouth.

Maggie shut her eyes briefly.  Then, she opened them and smiled.  “Julie?  Remember when you asked me how you could repay me?”

Julie nodded solemnly.

Maggie squeezed her shoulder gently.  “You just did.”

*  *  *

Two weeks after Paul Evans fell ill, his eyes opened, and he looked around.  “Julie?”

Maggie found Julie, spooning limewater into Luke Devereux’s mouth.  “Julie?  Paul is calling for you.”

Julie’s face went white, but she nodded and stood up.  She walked steadily toward her husband.  She took his hand.  “Paul?”

Paul smiled at her sadly.  “I’m sorry, Julie.”  Then, he closed his eyes.

He did not open them again.

Julie started to cry.

Maggie held her for a few minutes.  Then, she picked up a bowl and started down the next row of patients.

Finally, she came to the last one, Rick Martin.  He was dead.

Maggie bowed her head.  She longed for the comfort of Flynn’s arms.  She sighed and drew a blanket over Rick’s face.

Someone laid a hand on her shoulder.

Maggie turned.

Frank stood behind her.  “Maggie?  Are you all right?”

Maggie shook her head.  “Oh, Frank!  He hadn’t even started to shave yet!”

Frank nodded.  “I know, Magpie.  I know.”  He looked uncomfortable.  Then, he shoved a mug of tea into her trembling hands.

Maggie took a sip and choked.  “It’s got too much sugar in it, Frank.”