The Parson's Christmas Gift (18 page)

“You’re strong, too. No one deserves a life like that.”

She dismissed him, moving back to the seat by the fire. “I started saving what money I could, so I could buy a ticket to someplace far away. I figured Hank would be happy to see me walk out. But he came home one night, full of plans and hope and liquor. He found my satchel with the money I’d hidden. He was furious. He would’ve killed me that night, but he was drunk and he tripped. When he did, I grabbed the flatiron and I—I hit him.” Over and over.

She pictured the dingy room above the saloon even now, wrinkled her nose at the coppery scent of blood that flooded her memory. She would’ve sworn Hank was dead when she left. He certainly wasn’t moving. But then, her only thought at the time had been to get away. She shivered against the chill of the memory.

She forced her mind back to the present, to the warmth that surrounded her in this room. She cleared her throat and twisted her head to look at Zane, surprised to find him sitting close.

“I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, never a good or right decision. But my biggest regret is that I didn’t make sure Hank was dead before I left. It’s haunted me ever since. I didn’t want him to die, not really. But I wasn’t sorry, either.”

Her breath shook. How could she explain? “Things would be so much easier now if he had.”

“We’ll work this out, you’ll see,” Zane said. “But I can’t help if you leave. I can’t protect you out there.”

“You can’t protect me anywhere, Zane. That’s the whole point.”

“Let me try. Don’t give up now.”

She sank into the cushions and shook her head. Didn’t he realize it was pointless? “They’d lock you in the cell beside me.”

“It’d be worth it if it helped you.”

A tear dripped on her hand. “I’m not worth it. And Miss Rose needs you. Just let me leave.”

Zane slid to the floor before her. “You know I can’t do that. Reed already knows about the posters. Do you really want to live like this, always running, always waiting to be found out?”

Wasn’t he listening? Of course, she didn’t want to live that way. But what else could she do? If she could just get away and rest….

“I’m tired, Zane.”

“I know you are. All the more reason to stay.” His gray eyes caught her attention.

“Will you give me a few days? I can help the doctor. I need to be sure Miss Rose is well.” She looked at the dying fire. “Then you can wire Reed.”

She strained for any sounds of discomfort coming from Miss Rose’s room. But it was silent except for the whispers of wheezy breathing, the ticking clock above the mantel and the fire as it crackled.

He weighed the decision in his mind, she could sense.

“All right. Miss Rose will need you. The whole town will.” His voice was low but determined. “Then we’ll contact Reed. He can help us sort this out. He could talk to Hank. Maybe he’d help to clear you—”

“No.” She shook. “Hank won’t help me. Not without a higher price than prison. Jail would be better.”

Zane opened his eyes, as if he had been praying. Then he pushed her hair back, searching her face. What did he expect to see? She relaxed into the warmth of his touch in spite of herself.

“We’ll do it your way.” He took the satchel from her grasp. She had forgotten she still held it. “We’ll pray. God can work this out in ways we can’t even imagine. You have to believe that. I’m praying that you will. In the meantime, you’ll promise you’ll not run?”

She nodded her head in agreement. What was one more broken promise?

J
ourney leaned back on her knees and swiped a hand across her forehead. She hardly recognized the church sanctuary. Instead of pews facing the pulpit in neat rows, they lined the edges of the room, some with patients resting precariously on them, a few holding tired caregivers. Other patients slept or tossed on cots and piles of blankets scattered about the room.

The heat Doc Ferris ordered to keep the sick comfortable made the room oppressive for those trying to keep up with the continual washing, cooking and treating of those in need. The odors of sickness and the smell of turpentine the doctor had used as an antiseptic mingled in the air.

She heard the outer door open and turned toward the entryway. Where could they fit another person or find the energy to care for another patient?

Zane tapped snow from his hat with his free hand as he entered. She stretched to her feet, grateful to see he came alone. A three-day growth of beard darkened his face, and she could see the sag of his eyes from across the room. With a weary smile, he wound his way through those lying on the floor.

“How are you holding up?” he asked. He clasped her warm hand in his cool one.

“I could ask you the same. Have you rested at all?”

He grinned. “Guess that’s a ‘no’ for us both.”

“I slept after you left this morning. We’ve been taking turns between us.”

“But there’re fewer workers than we started with.” He glanced around the room. “You have to take care of yourself, too.” He squeezed her arm lightly and heaved a deep sigh. “How’s Miss Rose?”

She looked over to the cot in front of the pulpit. Under the high pile of covers, Miss Rose’s pale form lay. “She’s been awful quiet. Too quiet, but Doc says she’s no worse.”

“Let’s go outside and see how Sam’s coming with the bonfire. You could use the fresh air,” Zane said.

She hesitated. The patients seemed to be settled for a moment, or at the very least were being cared for by another attendant. But Miss Rose, what if…?

“C’mon.” He squeezed her arm. “We’ll be right outside. Doc will call us if there’s any change.” His voice grew louder as he looked toward the doctor, stooped over a patient in the back corner.

“Sue Anderson isn’t doing well,” she whispered.

Journey thought of the day they’d quilted together. She couldn’t help but think that Sue’s notions of romance might thrill at the idea of having her fevered brow mopped by some handsome benefactor. Instead, she had a kindly old doctor who likely was as poor as a church mouse for her attendant. The influenza hadn’t taken note of her privileged status nor held any illusions of romance.

“Go on,” Doc Ferris said. “Rose’ll rest easy for a while. Bring in more hot water when you return.” He nodded them out the back door.

The cold air felt clean and fresh after the heat of the church. She slipped into the coat Zane handed her. Sam poked at the fire blazing under a large kettle, boiling bed linens and cleaning cloths. Both the chill of the air and the warmth of the fire reddened his face.

“How you holding up?” Zane asked him.

Sam greeted them with a nod. “Tending fire’s the easy part. Journey’s the one that’s got to tend the folks inside.”

“How’s Abby? I haven’t seen her lately,” she asked.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and replaced his hat. “She’s tired this morning—been busy keeping the store open, making sure folks can get what they need. And she’s been cooking and baking up a storm in that kitchen. But she misses you and wishes she could help here. I let her sleep this morning.”

“She deserves it,” Journey said.

“We’re all in this together.” Sam rubbed his hand over his face. “If you can take over the fire, Zane, I’m heading out for Virginia City. Doc needs more quinine.”

“You want some company? That’s a lot of snow to get through on your own.”

“It’ll be faster sending one man, I think. Besides, you shouldn’t be out gallivanting around the country with that arm busted and all. I’m packed for the trail already. Just wanted to give Doc a hand before I left.”

Zane took his fire prod and nudged his friend’s shoulder with his own. “Then by all means, get going. We’ll take it from here. You take it easy out on that trail.”

“Will do,” Sam said, clamping his hat down. He walked to the tree where he’d tied his horse and mounted. “I’m riding straight through, so I aim to be back late Thursday night, no later than Friday morning.”

“We’ll be expecting you.” The men shook hands and Sam headed out.

Journey watched him nudge his horse into a trot back through town and off to the north and west. “How long have you known him?”

“Sam?” Zane stopped poking logs to toss another one onto the fire. He took his time brushing his glove off on his denim pants, as if his mind couldn’t remember that far back. “We’ve been friends a long time. Our families came west together during the gold rush in California and then moved to Montana when that played out and things got crowded. He’s like my own family. He even introduced me to Sarah. She and Abby were best friends.”

For a moment, all was silent save the water bubbling in the large basin perched over the fire. His eyes took on a faraway look, and a smile appeared on his face—Journey found herself wondering about his wife.

Everyone had loved her. Just hearing them say her name made that plain. She imagined what Sarah must have looked like, pretty and tall, with sleek brown waves falling around a porcelain face. Miss Rose and Abby had mentioned Sarah’s beauty both of face and spirit many times.

Journey poked a loose hairpin into place. When had she brushed her hair last? She must look a sight. And likely smelled worse. She wiped the smoke and grime from her face.

“You have a smudge,” he said, pulling her from her reverie. The pad of his thumb brushed against her cheek, and something in his gaze changed. He leaned forward, his hand cupping her cheek.

Then he blinked and his lips parted in a gasp. He turned back to the fire, clearing his throat.

“What about you?”

Her heart jumped. “What about me?”

“Do you have any family?” He concentrated on the glowing blaze, but she sensed her answer mattered.

“No, not really. There was a woman who…worked with my mother. She helped me to leave that place. I always thought she must be what an aunt was like. I don’t know much about Mama’s family.” She hugged her arms around herself. “After she died, Hank became the closest I had, until—”

Until Walten? When had she started thinking of them all as family?

She turned back to the church. “I need to tend Miss Rose, make sure she’s warm enough.”

Zane turned also. “Didn’t we just come out to cool off from that heat?”

“To see that she’s not too heated, then—”

“Why not stop over and see if Abby can use a hand? Let her know how Miss Rose is doing?” Zane tipped his head to look under the brim of her hat, with a hand on her shoulder to still her. He leaned the tree limb he used to stir the fire against his bound arm. “I’m sure she’d like the company.”

She glanced across the snow to the mercantile, squinting against the sun’s reflection. Abby had done so much over the past few days to make sure food and supplies were on hand. “I could run over for just a few minutes.”

She headed off without a backward glance. The packed snow under her feet marked the path worn by many trips between the two buildings. Her feet felt like lead as she pulled herself up the few back steps to the mercantile.

“Abby?” she called out, easing her way through the door. Hearing no response, she moved into the tiny kitchen in back of the store, which connected the business to Sam and Abby’s home. A small pile of wood lay scattered near the low flames. Rags littered every flat surface. Abby certainly had been busy to let this mess happen. She couldn’t remember a time when Abby’s home wasn’t meticulously clean. She walked into the shop, coming in behind the counter.

“Abby!”

Her long form lay on the floor, stretched on her side in an odd slump. Journey knelt down and shook her shoulder.

“Abby, can you hear me?” Her skin felt hot, even through her woolen dress.

She grabbed a heavy blanket from the shelf and spread it over her. “I’ll be right back.” She ran her hand over Abby’s clammy face. “I’m going for help.” Abby sighed but Journey sensed she didn’t realize anyone was there.

“Zane! Zane, where’s Doc?” Journey called, running from the store to the church.

She found him pushing a wad of sheets into a steaming pot.

“Zane, it’s Abby! She’s sick.”

He abandoned the boiling pot and met her halfway up the path.

Together they moved back to the shop. Abby hadn’t shifted. Zane bent down on one knee, grasping the blanket to pull under her as he scooped Abby up from the floor.

“Get another blanket to throw over her, Journey. We’ll get her to the church.”

“You can’t, Zane. You’re hurt.”

His head snapped back. “I can if you help me. Lean her up.”

Journey pulled Abby’s arms carefully, holding her head as it lolled to the right. Zane braced in behind her and clutched Abby around the waist with one arm so that her upper body balanced against his broad chest.

“Grab her legs.”

She obeyed, biting the inside of her cheek as she struggled to balance under Abby’s long form.

Lurching and stumbling, they made their way down the steps and across the yard to the church’s back door. She heaved a sigh of relief when Doc Ferris appeared at the corner and took a firmer grip on Abby.

She raced ahead of them into the church, tripping up the steps into the sanctuary that seemed to shrink with every new patient.

Doc and Zane followed close behind. Zane’s labored breathing echoed above the pounding in her ears.

The doctor’s chin jutted toward the pulpit. “Set up a cot over near Miss Rose. It’ll save you from running between them.”

She swallowed over the tight knot in her throat. Her eyes washed with tears, and she couldn’t tear her attention away from Miss Rose’s tiny, hidden form. The doctor’s hand grasped her shoulder.

“Come on, now,” he said gently. “We need to stay focused. They need us.”

She nodded yet couldn’t seem to make her feet move, until Zane sank onto the floor by the door, Abby limp in his arm. She scrambled to the pile of blankets the women of the community had brought in and traipsed back through the patients to set up the last available bed. Unfolding one blanket only partially made for a thick pad to soften the rough fabric of the cot. She helped Zane and Doc slide Abby onto it.

“I found her lying on the floor,” Journey said, her voice low. “She’s so hot, Doc. Burning up.”

She nudged Zane aside to lay a heavy quilt over Abby, then stood back, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Restless movements from around the corner of the pulpit drew her to Miss Rose’s side. The woman shivered; her eyes opened a slit but remained unfocused. Journey grabbed a cup half full of tepid water and held it to her lips, supporting her head with her other hand. Only a few dribbles made their way down Miss Rose’s throat before leaking from her lips over her cheeks.

Tucking the blanket closer to Miss Rose’s chin, she moved back to help with Abby. She seemed paler, if that were possible, except for bright spots of color on each cheek.

Doc Ferris handed her a bottle of white powder. “Mix one spoonful of this into a tin of water for her.”

“I’ll do it, Doc,” Zane said, pushing up from Abby’s side with one arm.

Doc looked at her, then back to Zane. “No, right now I need you to rest a minute so you can go for Sam. He can’t have gotten far.”

Zane moved to get his coat, before realizing he still had it on. “I’ll be back quick as I can,” he said, pausing at the door.

Journey stepped over to him. She sensed his urgency. The thought that his best friend could lose his wife, as he had, brought a flicker of something to his soft gray eyes. Was it fear? She put her hand on the arm of his coat to stall him.

“You’ll pray, won’t you?” She pulled back and wrapped her arms around herself. Why did he look at her like that? Like she’d lost her mind? He prayed all the time, didn’t he?

“I mean,” she stammered, “when you were gone and then Hank said…]Well, Miss Rose prayed for you and you came back. A little worse for wear, maybe, but all right.” Still, he stared. “Zane?”

“Right,” he said. His voice sounded dry, far away. “You’re right. I will be praying. I have been. And when I get back, maybe we can pray together.”

She looked around the shadowed room filled with fevered bodies and weary workers. Could her prayers help at all? God never stops listening, Miss Rose had said. “Go on,” she said, turning him around and all but shoving him from the room. “Catch Sam. Abby needs to know he’s here. Besides, we need you here. Go on, now. Hurry.”

She shut the door behind him. If her prayers worked, he’d find Sam before he got out of town.