Gold Rush Baby

“Good. You let me know when. Now I’ll go down to the smithy and check with Duncan. If he’s got a couple good, sturdy locks in stock, I’ll come back and put them on your doors tonight.” Frankie opened the door, paused. “If not, I’ll have him make you some. It won’t take him long, if he’s not busy. And if he is, I’ll see to it he gets to them fast as possible.”

Viola nodded. “Thank you, Frankie. You have relieved my mind a good deal.” More than you can possibly know. “Tell Mr. MacDougal to put the locks on account. I will stop by and pay him as soon as Mr. Stone is well enough for me to leave him.” She closed the door, lifted Goldie into the air and smiled up at her. “There, sweetie. Now you will be safe…and so will I.” She lowered the laughing baby to her chest, held her close and hurried to the bedroom to check on Thomas Stone.

“How are you feeling, Thomas?” Jacob Calloway set his black bag down, then pulled back the covers. “That light-headedness and nausea any better?”

“Somewhat. It’s not a problem so long as I don’t try to…lift my head.” Warm fingers circled his wrist. Thomas slid his gaze to the watch in the doctor’s other hand, waited. The watch was tucked back in a vest pocket with no information offered. “Well?”

“Steadier and stronger. It should be back to normal soon, as long as you follow my instructions and drink plenty of water and take broth often.”

“And I’ll be able to get out of this bed then?”

“It’s going to be a few days, Thomas. Aside from the weakness due to your loss of blood, you need to limit movement and give this wound time to begin to heal. I put in some deep sutures to stop the bleeding, but only a few loose ones at the surface. You’ll have quite a scar, but any infection will be able to ooze out.” Jacob leaned down, peered closely at the bandage on his shoulder. “Hmm, we’ve got some seepage here. I’ll cleanse this and apply a new bandage.” He turned his attention to removing the bandage.

Thomas sucked in a slow breath, gathered his strength to talk against the pain. “Look, Jacob, I respect your skill, but—”

“No buts, Thomas.” Jacob delved into his bag, splashed liquid from a bottle onto a clean white cloth. “Hold still now.”

The cloth touched his shoulder, cool and moist. And then the burning started. He gritted his teeth, willed himself not to flinch away.

“There, that’s got it. Now for the bandage…” Soft cloth covered his wound. Jacob’s fingers brushed against his sore flesh, secured the bandage in place. “You will stay flat on your back in that bed until I say you can move, Thomas. Unless you want to rip that wound open and make everything worse. Now, let’s take care of your personal needs, then I will go back to the clinic. I’ll come check on you again tonight.”

A few more days until he could get out of this bed. And then, how long before he could go home to the solitude of his hut? How long must he be here with the baby? And with Viola? The woman pulled at his emotions in a way he had never experienced before, not even with Louise. She was eye-catchingly beautiful it was true. But it was something else. Something he couldn’t put a name to. But it was there all the same. When he’d first looked into her eyes he’d felt that sudden, sure connection. And it hadn’t gone away. It had gotten stronger.

Thomas pulled in more air, set his jaw and stared at the chimney stones against the opposite wall. It didn’t matter how long he stayed, or how strong the draw he felt toward Viola Goddard. He had made a vow to never again subject a wife to the primitive living conditions necessary to his missionary work with the Tlingits and the men swarming up the Chilkoot Trail to the gold fields. He intended to keep that vow. Being the cause of Louise’s and Susie’s deaths was enough guilt and regret to carry.

Chapter Five

“Sorry. So sorry…”

Viola started, opened her eyes, blinked and stared into the darkened room. Who was Thomas speaking to?

“I’ll carry them— Auugh!”

“Mr. Stone, no! Don’t move!” She threw off her blanket and rushed to the bed, placed her hand on his good shoulder to stop him from trying to rise. “Lie still. You will injure yourself!” His eyes opened, his good hand lifted, clamped around her wrist. She jerked, grabbed for his fingers. “Let go of—”

“Don’t try to stop me, Seth. That’s my wife and child. I’ll bury them myself.”

He was dreaming. Viola’s panic died. She stopped pulling at his fingers, stared into his unseeing eyes. The reflected, low flame of the oil lamp gleamed in their green depths, revealed shadows of pain.

“Do you want me, Viola? I thought I heard you call.”

She jumped, glanced over her shoulder at Hattie standing in the doorway in her rumpled nightgown, her gray hair hanging down around her plump shoulders, and shook her head. “Thank you, Hattie, but no. Everything is fine. Mr. Stone was dreaming.”

“Night, then.” Hattie yawned and padded off into the other room.

Viola took a calming breath and turned back. Thomas Stone’s eyes were closed, his mouth parted slightly in slumber. She tugged gently at his fingers. His grip tightened. She fought back resuming panic, the queasiness rising in her stomach. The man was sleeping. He didn’t know what he was doing. No matter, he was injured and Hattie was near. She was safe. She took another breath, tapped his cheek. “Wake up, Mr. Stone.” He blinked, stared up at her. She held her voice steady, tapped his hand. “Please let go of my wrist.”

His gaze dropped. He stared, frowned. “What…” He sucked in a breath, pressed his lips into a tight line.

“You were dreaming. And thrashing about a bit, which has probably increased your pain. I’ll get the medicine.” She pulled at his fingers, slipped her wrist from his grasp while he was still confused. His hand dropped to the bed.

Viola stepped back, moved to the window and pulled the bottom of one curtain back a slit. A narrow streak of midnight sun spilled down the wall and washed over the commode stand. Please, Almighty God, don’t let him have hurt his shoulder. Please don’t let it bleed. She opened the bottle, filled the spoon and turned back to the bed, on his wounded side. She would not make the mistake of standing by his good arm again. “Here is your medicine, Mr. Stone.”

He opened his eyes, fastened his gaze on hers. “I’m sorry for…whatever happened, Miss Goddard. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

His voice was tight with pain. She shook her head. “You were dreaming, Mr. Stone. And I am fine.”

His eyes darkened. “No, you’re not. You’re trembling.”

The words came out from between his gritted teeth. She looked down at the quivering medicine in the bowl of the spoon. Never admit fear. “I guess I am more fatigued than I realized. You had better take this before I spill it.” She held the spoon to his mouth. He swallowed. “I will get you some water in a moment. But first I must look at your bandage.”

“No. That upsets you.”

How did he— Oh, when she had washed his hand. Viola stared down at him, uncertain of how to respond to his concern—if that’s what it was—then turned and laid the spoon on the medicine tray. “I cannot deny that is true, Mr. Stone. But this is no time for such foolish weakness.” She turned back, reached for the covers.

“Please, don’t.” He slid his good hand toward her.

She jerked back, caught herself and leaned forward. He could not reach her unless he turned onto his wounded shoulder. “I’m afraid I must. The doctor warned me that if you moved you could cause your wound to begin bleeding again. If that happens, I am to go for him immediately.” She braced herself and lifted the covers, let out a relieved sigh. “There is no sign of bleeding.”

“You’re brave…”

His words were halting, slurring. “Don’t go to sleep, Mr. Stone. You must have some water. Doctor’s orders.” She replaced the covers, poured water into a glass and picked up the spoon. She managed to coax half of the water into him before sleep overcame his will. She gazed down at his face, taut with pain even in slumber, then slid her gaze to where his hand rested on top of the covers. Had he really tried to stop her from looking at his bandage because he had noticed it bothered her? She could not remember a man ever showing concern for her feelings. Not even her father. He had been only a distant figure of authority.

She put down the glass, stared at Thomas Stone’s bared arm. She had to cover it. From the other side of the bed. His good side. The queasiness returned to her stomach. She rubbed her wrist, erasing the feel of his grip, strong even in his weakened state, and studied his face. It would be all right. He had slipped into a deep sleep. She tiptoed to the other side, lifted his hand enough to free the covers beneath it, pulled them over his arm and shoulder and hurried back to her chair. He hadn’t even blinked. He would sleep quietly until the medicine wore off.

She picked up the blanket off the floor, shook it out and covered herself, leaned back and closed her eyes. So Thomas had a wife and child who died. What had happened to them? Odd that he had never spoken of them. Of course, they were only acquaintances because of the circumstances, and they weren’t exactly having conversations. He was sleeping most of the time.

She turned her head and studied his face, shadowed by the low light of the lamp. Is that why he had helped her when Goldie was kidnapped, because he had once had a child? And had he refused her offer to come to her home and let her care for him because he felt it was a betrayal of his dead wife?

She huffed out a breath, closed her eyes again. She, of all people, should know better than that. Many of her repeat customers at Dengler’s “house” had been married men. And marriage vows had not kept them from their pleasure—not even in the beginning, when she had begged and cried.

The familiar tightness clamped around her chest, inched up her neck into her face. She forced herself to relax, to slowly pull in air. Simply because Thomas had been considerate of her feelings over the bandages was no reason to ascribe him high motives for everything. No. He may have shown consideration for her feelings now, when he was weak and needed her to care for him. But she must stay wary and watchful, and be very careful. His strength was beginning to return.

Viola bent, picked up a bright red leaf and twirled it between her finger and thumb. “I’m sorry Mr. Stone was sleeping when you stopped on your way to the clinic to check on him, Teena. But I’m glad you suggested a walk. The fresh morning air feels wonderful.” A worm of guilt squiggled though her. And that fear that never quite left her made her glance back at her cabin. “But I shouldn’t go too far. I want to be back before Goldie or Mr. Stone wakes.” Or someone comes.

“We will go only to the woods that hide my village from the town, and then return.”

Viola nodded. She would be able to keep her cabin in sight the whole way. She took a deep breath and glanced over at her friend. Teena looked as calm and serene as ever, but there was a new, happy glow in her dark eyes.

She sniffed at the air, enjoying the blended scents of the towering firs, the moist, grassy undergrowth and the dirt path they trod. “The air here is so fresh and untainted by the smells of the campfires and trash of the swarms of stampeders.” She frowned, twirled the leaf faster. “Everywhere you go in the area around town, from the harbor to the mountains, the land is covered with the garbage and discards and the broken equipment of the miners. Why is it clear here?”

“Most of the whites do not travel the path to the Tlingit village. They stay far from my people.” Teena glanced over at her. “There are only a few who come. And they are respectful of our ways and our lands.”

The happiness was in the soft lilt of her voice, the gentle tilt of her lips. The picture of Teena looking up at Dr. Calloway the night of Goldie’s kidnapping flashed into her head, and she knew. Her stomach knotted. She tossed down the leaf and looked back toward the cabin, searching for a way to put off her friend’s confidence. “Like Thomas Stone?”

Teena Crow’s long black braids glistened in the sunlight as she nodded. “Yes. Like Thomas Stone. He is good to my people. And he is good for my people. He leads them to God, so their hearts may be healed.” Teena paused at the edge of the woods and turned toward her, her face aglow. “And like Jacob.” The name was a soft whisper of love and hope and trust. “Jacob helps heal my people when they are sick, as I help him heal his people when they are sick.” She smiled, held up her hands and clasped them. “Our two hearts have become one. We are to go to Skaguay and marry. I wanted you, my friend, to know.”

Viola sucked in air, dared not speak. Teena was so quiet, so serene standing there, bathed in her happiness, she refused to destroy it with the truth of what men really were. Please don’t let him hurt her. She dredged up a smile, hugged her friend and forced joy into her voice. “I’m so happy for you, Teena. I pray you will find every happiness your heart seeks.”

“It will be so.” Teena gave a soft laugh, stepped back and placed her hand on her chest. “My heart knows this.”

She nodded, turned and started down the track toward town, searching her tumbling thoughts for an appropriate change of subject. She did not want to talk about the false hope of love. “Will you live at the clinic, or in the house with your people?”

“My father is with his ancestors. My brother will bring his bride to the house to live with our people one day. It is right that he does.” Teena smiled. “I will go where Jacob wishes to be. For that is right, also.” She gave another soft laugh. “You see, already I find that the hearts of our peoples are not far apart.”

What had Hattie said? There is good and evil in the world, and bad things happen because of it. It was no doubt the same with the Tlingit people. Hearts are the same in all people. Was there no place to hide? To be safe? She smiled as they reached the point where the road divided and Teena would continue on toward town. “Thank you again for stopping to share your news, Teena. I will tell Hattie as soon as I get home. I know she’ll be delighted for you.” She turned toward the faint path that led to her cabin, looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Come again soon. I enjoyed our walk.”

“Much better, Thomas.”

“I feel better.” Thomas watched the doctor put his stethoscope back in his bag and pull his watch from his vest pocket. “I can draw breath easily. And I can speak an entire sentence without gasping. So when can I get out of this bed?”

“Ah, it’s always a good sign when the patient becomes impatient and starts complaining. Of course, in your case, that does not apply. You have been complaining since you awoke after surgery.”

“Very funny.” Thomas looked from Jacob Calloway’s grinning face to the fingers circling his wrist. “Well?”

“Back to normal.”

He waited, frowned. “And?”

“And now I check the bandage.” Jacob lowered the covers to his waist. “More good news. There is no seepage.”

He fought the urge to grab the doctor’s shirtfront and shake an answer from him. As if he could. “Which means?”

“Which means I must speak to Viola and see if she has more pillows I can use to prop you up a bit. If you give me your word you will not try to lift yourself higher, sit up or move about.”

“Fine.”

The doctor’s left brow lifted toward his dark hair. “That sounded a little sour, and came a bit too quickly, Thomas. I will have your word as a man of God.”

Perhaps twisting Jacob’s shirtfront and choking him would be more satisfactory than merely shaking him. Thomas took a breath, nodded. “All right. I give you my word.”

“Excellent. Now let me go and find Viola and see about those pillows.”

Thomas watched Jacob go out the door, tried not to envy him the freedom of movement. There was finally some progress. Not as much as he would like. But it would be good not to have to lie flat on his back and… In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you. The scripture flowed into his thoughts, brought him up short. He closed his eyes and opened his heart. “Forgive me, Lord, for murmuring and complaining. I thank You for Your care. Please heal me quickly, so I am not a burden to Miss—”

“These pillows will work perfectly, Viola.”

Thomas opened his eyes, slid his gaze toward the door, listened to the footsteps approaching. Surely Jacob was not bringing Viola Goddard in here. His bandages! He braced himself for the pain he knew would follow and groped for the covers, froze when Viola, carrying a pillow, entered the room followed by Jacob Calloway, his arms wrapped around more pillows.

Viola looked his way, her steps faltered, he looked at her eyes, followed her gaze to his uncovered chest, and clenched his hand on the edge of the blanket. Choking was not fit punishment for Dr. Calloway. He would have to think of something more dire.

“You stand there, Viola—” the doctor dropped the pillows on the bed and indicated the spot next to his wounded shoulder “—and I will go around to Thomas’ s good side and lift him. When I have his head and shoulders high enough off the bed, I want you to place the pillows—two beneath his head and one beneath his shoulders. Thomas—” Jacob looked down at him, no longer friend, but all doctor “—do not tense your body, and do not try to help. All right, everyone ready? I shall lift on three. One…two…three.”

Pain sliced across his chest, drove the air from his lungs. Thomas gritted his teeth and set his jaw, fought down a swirl of nausea. His vision blurred, then cleared to reveal Viola leaning over him, her teeth clamped down on her full lower lip, her violet-blue eyes gentle with sympathy. The soft warmth of her hands touched his back as she placed the pillows beneath him. “All right, Doctor.”

He stopped himself from tensing as Jacob lowered him and withdrew his arm. The softness of feather pillows in rose-scented cases embraced him. Cold sweat chilled him. He shivered, closed his eyes, drew a breath. The nausea ebbed.

“He can have solid food now, Viola. But I want him to continue to drink a lot of water. And he may begin moving his good arm a bit now. But only up and down slowly.”

“All right, Doctor.”

The covers were pulled up over his chest and shoulders. Soft hands tucked them under his chin—her hands, with that same faint hint of roses clinging to them.

“Give him the pain medicine with his meals, even if he says he doesn’t want it. He’s a stubborn cuss. But if you appeal to his godly side, he will come around.”

“I shall remember that, Doctor. Now, if there is nothing further, I will go and tell Hattie she does not need to fix any broth for Mr. Stone, that he will share our dinner.”

Thomas opened his eyes, watched Viola walk from the room, then fastened his gaze on Jacob Calloway. “You have a lot to answer for when I get out of this bed, Doctor. I do not want Viola subjected to such tasks again.”

“Threats? Tsk, tsk.” Jacob smiled and picked up his bag. “Remember your profession, Pastor Stone. Brotherly love and all of that.”

“No need to concern yourself, Jacob. If you do not ask Viola to do any more nursing tasks all will be well. And if you do, I will love you the whole time I am pummeling you.”

“You’re not smiling, Thomas.”

“No. I’m serious, Jacob. The sight of my bandages upsets Viola. I do not want her subjected to that again.”

“I see.” Jacob narrowed his eyes and studied him. “Methinks thou doth protest too much. The question is…why?” He lifted a hand in farewell and walked out the door.

Why?

The question hung suspended in the empty room, bald and begging to be answered. Thomas closed his mind to its challenge. He looked out the window, lifted his gaze beyond the trees in Viola’s backyard, to the mountains that enfolded the town of Treasure Creek, and thought about the prospectors climbing the Chilkoot Trail in search of gold. How foolish those men, thinking happiness rested in possessing the precious metal or the things it could buy.

Viola slipped the bottle from between Goldie’s lips, blotted away the sweetened goat’s milk pooled at the corners of her tiny mouth and rose from the rocker. She knelt on the floor, kissed the warm, soft cheek and laid Goldie in her cradle. The baby’s eyelids fluttered, opened, slid closed again. Viola smiled, drew the blankets up, then sat back on her heels and looked at the handmade cradle. Goldie would soon be outgrowing it. As soon as she could leave Thomas to Hattie’s care, she would go to Tanner’s and look through the catalogs and order a crib for the baby.

She glanced toward the bed to check on Thomas, found his gaze on her and suppressed a shiver. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I didn’t want to say anything. I thought I might wake the baby.”

There was sadness in his quiet words. And in his eyes. Or was she imagining it because she knew about his child? She rose, shook out her long skirt and crossed to the bed. “Goldie sleeps quite soundly for a baby…I think. I’ve no experience with babies.”

“From what I’ve seen, you’re very good with her.”

“Thank you.” She reached up and tucked a lock of hair Goldie had pulled free back under her snood. “Would you like some water? Or perhaps some bread and butter? It will be a while until supper, and you must be hungry after having only broth since you were…wounded.”

“No bread and butter. But I will have some water please. And no spoon. Now that I am permitted to move my arm, I can handle the glass myself.” He grinned, chuckled. “Foolish of me to feel that is such an accomplishment. I’ve been feeding myself for years now.”

She stared at him, taken aback by the deep, rumbly sound of his chuckle, the warm, fluttering response in her own chest. Dengler, and the men who visited her in his house, never laughed in a pleasant way. Nor did his thugs. Their laughter was cruel. The urge to smile died. She poured Thomas’s water and handed him the glass—hovered nearby while he drank it, lest he start to spill.

“Thank you.” He held out the glass.

She stared at it, empty now, with nothing to spill if he grabbed her wrist.

“Is something wrong?”

She glanced at him, met his gaze and shook her head. “No, nothing.” She snatched the glass, drew it away from his hand. “Would you like more water?”

“Not now. What I would like is for you to sit down and rest.” His gaze swept over her face. “You look tired. I’m afraid you’re exhausting yourself caring for me.”

“I’m fine.” She turned away from him, uncomfortable and tense. Why did he say things like that? She put the glass on the table and reached to close the curtains.

“Would you leave the curtains open please?”

She lowered her hands, looked at him. “You do not want them closed so you can sleep?”

He shook his head. “No, I have slept enough, and I like looking outside. It makes me hopeful. There is nothing like God’s sunshine to cheer you up.”

His smile was warm, friendly. It increased her discomfort. Thomas did not act like the other men she had known, which made her very uneasy indeed. She didn’t know what to expect from him. She went to the rocker and picked up the jacket she was mending for Ezra Paine, freed the threaded needle from the fabric, where she had stuck it for safekeeping and took another neat stitch in the row, repairing the slash in the sleeve. A knife slash. Now she understood that. She glanced at the ridge of scar tissue on the edge of her hand. She was familiar with things like knife cuts and bruised flesh. But not with a man who considered a woman’s needs. How was she to respond to such remarks from Thomas Stone? What was she to think…to believe?

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.