Journey of Honor A love story (7 page)

She came back to him and stood in front of him to look up. “Thank you, Mose. I needed to hear that.”

He shrugged. “Everyone has their own troubles, Miss Giselle. We just have to do the best we can with the hand we’re dealt.”

They turned to walk side by side back to camp. Before they reached it, she turned to him and asked, “Are you going to tell Trace?”

He shook his head. “That’s not my place, Giselle… But he’d want to know.”

Hesitating for a few seconds while she thought about that, she finally shook her head. “I can’t, Mose. I can’t. Not yet.”

Walking back into the quiet circle of wagons, she stopped and looked at Trace lying there still asleep. What Jesus would have wanted. That’s what Mose had said about celebrating another man’s child. What would Jesus have wanted in her situation? Would He want her to tell Trace or protect him from the truth as long as possible? She had no idea. Still wondering, she went to start breakfast, grateful for Mose’s biscuit and the help it had been in settling her stomach.

When Trace appeared and she dished him up his food, he stopped and hesitantly asked her, “Have I offended you somehow, Giselle?”

Surprised, she looked up at him. “Not at all, why?”

He shrugged, watching her. “You just haven’t spoken to me much the last couple of days. You’re already asleep when I come to bed and this morning you were even gone when I got up. I just wondered if you’re avoiding me for some reason since that Filson mess the other night.”

She faced him and decided to be as honest as she could. “You haven’t offended me, Trace. On the contrary, you’ve been wonderful. The other night made me a little sick to my stomach and it’s still rather unpredictable. And I’ve been tired. But I’ll do better about being more myself. I’m sorry you had to wonder.”

Gently, he asked her, “Are you okay? About the other night, I mean?”

Looking down she admitted, “It is better if I can not think about it. That is for sure. But when I do think about it, I always come back to the fact that I knew I needed to stop him. Looking back, I think I did what I had to do. But life is precious. Even his. And death is very permanent.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Give it some time. You’re going to be fine eventually. I promise.”

She put a hand up to his on her shoulder. “I think you’re right. Thank you.”

She made it a point to be awake when he came to his bed that night, even as tired as she was. The next morning as she was waking, he was already up and gone. She lay there in her bedding, hesitating, because she knew that as soon as she sat up, she was going to be sick. While she was still lying there, Mose came by and handed her another cold biscuit and said, “Eating a little something before she got up always helped my Callie. Maybe this will help you feel better.”

Taking it gratefully, she hoped he was right. “Thank you, Mose. I owe you.”

“No, Miss Giselle, I’m still clear behind in owing you, but I’m working on it.” He smiled and went on about his morning chores, and a few minutes later Giselle got up and went about hers too. The biscuit worked wonderfully and she felt happier and more energetic that day than she’d felt in a long, long time. Every morning after that, Mose would come and slip her a biscuit, and the nausea became much more manageable.

Chapter 4

Slowly, but surely, she was learning how to do all the new things she had to do. She had cooked in Holland, but most of the other things like laundry, milking, or even driving the mules were things she had always had done for her back home. It had been hard to learn to be more self sufficient here in America, and especially here in the wagon train, but her sense of pride and accomplishment were well worth the trouble.

The one thing that she was still having trouble with was learning to knit. One of the sister Saints in Nauvoo had started teaching both her and Petja before leaving on an earlier train, and Petja had become accomplished, but Giselle couldn't seem to get it. She was the first to laugh at herself as she struggled with the long needles and tangles of yarn, and it had become something of a teasing point among the five of them.

So far the hardest thing to deal with was the fact that she was becoming foolishly attached to Trace. Even though she knew that their married days were numbered, and that when they reached the valley of the Great Salt Lake he would be leaving her as fast as he could to get over the mountains, she still thoroughly enjoyed being around him far too much. She was trying not to, but he was a hard man not to be enamored with. Not only was he very good looking, he was also hard-working, generous, smart, and gentle and… The list could go on and on, although Giselle was constantly trying not to notice all of this.

Nights were the hardest. Sometimes she was ridiculously aware of this very attractive man sleeping next to her and sleep was a little elusive. Not only that, but several times when she had had a bad dream, he would simply put a hand on her shoulder or back, and the fear would miraculously dissipate to be replaced by a sweet peace that she basked in. They weren't far into their journey when she realized that she would be perfectly happy to travel with him like this for however long she could.

They also weren't very far into their journey when the problems they had known they would encounter along the way became troubling. The dust had been a problem from nearly the first day, but because they were near the front of the wagon train, they had been spared the misery that the men at the back had been enduring. At first Giselle had wondered why the wagons didn't change positions, but then she'd heard the wagon master talking to Trace about the fact that he wanted Trace to lead out and find the best travel routes and water and camp spots.

Everyone in the train deferred to Trace's judgment on most everything, and it made her respect him all the more. However, even with his wonderful judgment, finding enough feed for the stock en route was a problem. The settler trains that had gone before had eaten most of the grass down and crushed what they didn't eat, and this late in the year, there wasn't much new graze growing.

She'd known that people in their own train would be problematic as well, but she didn't know how soon that would occur. Twice Trace and Mose had made reference to Trace being a doctor, but she hadn't truly realized they were serious until one night when one of the teamsters was brought back to the train with a gunshot wound.

They had passed Fort Kearney that day, and after going into camp that night, some of the more unruly drivers had headed into the fort to go to the saloon that was nearby. Trace and Giselle were already in bed and asleep when they were awakened by the rather inebriated teamsters. Apparently, some of them had had words with men at the fort and an argument had broken out. Shots had been fired and one of the teamsters was in danger of bleeding to death from a bullet wound in his side. Not only was he bleeding, but the bullet was still lodged in him.

Trace immediately got out of bed and Giselle followed, wondering what was going on. They took the unconscious driver and laid him on the tailgate of one of the wagons and put three lanterns next to him. Mose appeared with a black medical bag and Trace washed his hands twice and then proceeded to examine the ugly wound. Giselle was so amazed as she watched him remove the bullet and begin cleaning and stitching the ragged hole that she didn't even think about being sick at the gore. It wasn't until she felt lightheaded as he cleaned and bandaged the now neatly stitched hole that she realized she was going to be violently ill.

This time they all knew she lost it. She hadn't made it thirty feet away from the area where they were working before she was sick. On returning to bed a while later, Trace looked at her in the dark with concern. "You okay, Elle?"

Embarrassed, she tried to act like it was nothing. "I'm fine. Actually, I thought it was fascinating. You really are a doctor! For some reason, I didn't think you were serious that night. I was so busy being amazed that I didn't realize I was going to be sick. Sorry."

Gently he said, "It's okay. Does blood bother you?"

She shook her head. "Not usually." She paused. "Why are you freighting goods when you are an accomplished physician?"

He sounded a little hesitant in the dark. "I honestly don't know the answer to that. My father is a doctor back in Georgia; and I helped him for years and then went to a medical college in Pennsylvania for two years. I wanted to go another year, but Mose's wife died and it changed some things for us. It was a bad experience.

“My parents didn't have slaves. In fact, they adopted Mose right into our family when he was seven. He'd been brought to my father after being beaten into a coma. We weren't slavers, but many of the people there were. His wife was a slave.

“After Callie's death, Mose was so different, and I wanted to get as far away from slavery as I could. I couldn't go back to school and leave Mose just then. He needed me. We'd heard that in the territories Blacks were more accepted, so we came west and tried a few things and I liked being in business for myself. It used to frustrate me when a huge portion of being a doctor was simply repairing the awful things that one human being did to another.”

He shrugged. “I've matured or something, because now I deal with that much better. And Mose is okay now. He still misses his wife terribly sometimes, but he's learned how to be happy again.

“I imagine that sometime I'll open an office somewhere and settle down, but first there are more places I need to see and things I need to try. In the mean time, humans keep getting shot or thrown or broken somehow, so I do a surprising amount of the kind of thing I did tonight to stay tuned up."

She leaned up on an elbow and smiled at him. "I thought you were marvelous! I was so proud of you!" She said several other things with enthusiasm before Trace laughed and put up a hand.

"Whoa, Elle. Whoa! English. Speak English. If I'm going to get compliments, I at least want to know what they are. I don't speak Dutch, darlin'. Pretty good English. A touch of Spanish and some Indian dialects, but my Dutch is abysmal."

She put a hand to her forehead. "Did I switch into Dutch? I am so sorry. Sometimes I do that when I'm excited." She paused and then said more earnestly, "I was just saying that I thought you were wonderful tonight. You have many wonderful gifts. More than your fair share. I was so proud for you." She lay back down, almost a little embarrassed, until he turned on his side and took her hand.

"Thanks, Elle. It's nice to be told that sometimes." He squeezed her hand and then set it down. "We'd better sleep fast. Morning's not far off and it will be a long day."

She sighed a sleepy, happy sigh. "I am tired. Good night, Doctor Grayson."

He chuckled and turned onto his back again. "Good night, Giselle."

It took her a while to get back to sleep that night. The closeness she had felt to him while they talked made sleep elusive. When she did finally drift off, it seemed like only minutes before she felt him wake her by gently rubbing her back. Finally coming awake, she was breathing heavily, and her heart was pounding in fear. In her dream, she’d been runing from the mob again. It was a nightmare she'd had many times and it brought the horror of that night back with a terrifying intensity.

Almost instinctively, she rolled to him and buried her head against him. He wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close, talking to her gently. After a while, his strength and the comfort of his voice were able to dispel her fear miraculously. Oh, if only she'd have been able to turn to him like this in the past weeks and months when this fear had threatened to swallow her. Relaxing into him, she sighed and let her exhausted body go back to sleep, knowing that no one would hurt her while he was near.

*****

Trace had come wide awake in the night, instantly alert. It took him a second to realize that what had woken him was Giselle lying beside him. She had curled into a ball and was breathing heavily. As he went to put a hand on her shoulder, she cried right out in fear and jerked away. He rolled over on his side and began to rub her back and talk to her to get through the nightmare to her. He could feel her heart racing right through the flannel of her nightgown.

She awakened and lay there for just a second and then rolled over tightly against him and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close and just held her and quietly talked to her while her breathing subsided and she calmed down. She never even surfaced for air and he wondered what she would be dreaming about that would frighten her so much. She'd had bad dreams several times while she'd been sleeping here under his wagon beside him, but he'd never seen her this afraid.

He felt her slowly relax against him and eventually she went back to sleep, still without pulling away from his chest. She felt wonderful, snuggled against him, but he was far too aware of having a beautiful girl in his arms in his bed to even think about going to sleep again. For several minutes he felt guilty about thinking this way, but then finally remembered they truly were married and that it was all okay—except for the fact that she thought of him more as a guardian or a brother than a husband. He wanted to pull her even closer and kiss her, but knew that would ruin their friendship and make this whole journey uncomfortable for them both. So he just held her while she slept and did some soul searching about why he no longer wanted to leave her in the valley of the Mormons and go on without her.

He could tell she wasn't used to this way of life. She'd admitted never having camped out, and she had to learn to do things like milking the cow Josiah had purchased the day before joining them, and driving a team. All but the most privileged in any country would be familiar with tasks like that. She must have come from a very well-to-do family in Holland, but she had set to work alongside the rest of them willingly and with a happy attitude that was very endearing. Her attempts at learning to knit with her grandmother had become the funniest part of this whole journey and had left them all laughing several times in the evenings. Living and working beside her had dispelled some of the image that she was royalty, but only because she was so sweet and funny and down-to-earth when you got close enough to realize it.