Читать книгу Gold Rush Baby - Dorothy Clark - Страница 10

The water roared over the mountain ledge in a silver deluge that washed the face of the layered rock, foamed over and slithered through the piled boulders, then whispered its way into the creek flowing toward town.

Toward the cemetery.

Viola shivered, studied the deep shadows beneath the towering firs. She spotted no one lurking in the depths, and moved forward until the woods opened onto a small clearing and she could see the fence. And the gate.

She should have stayed and made the sheriff listen to her. What if the kidnapper was expecting a woman? What if he saw Mack coming and sensed a trap? Bile burned its way into her throat. She leaned back against the massive trunk of a tree, its branches laden with yellow leaves, and closed her eyes. Please, Lord. She’s a helpless little baby. Please protect her.

A violent shaking took her. Tears stung her eyes. She took a deep breath, blinked them away, and opened her eyes and stared at the gate. If there was one thing her past had taught her, it was that tears never helped. The light grew dimmer, slid toward deep purple. Twilight back home. Nearly midnight here.

A figure emerged out of the shadowed distance, strode across the cemetery and stopped by the gate. She watched Mack Tanner sweep the woods with a long, searching gaze, willed him to hurry and do what the kidnapper asked. He pulled a small bag from his pocket, held it aloft, then bent from the waist and placed it on the ground at the foot of one of the gate posts, turned and walked off the way he had come.

It was done. Now they had only to wait. Where were Thomas Stone and Dr. Calloway and the sheriff? She scanned left and right, saw nothing but trees and rocks and shadows. Where was the kidnapper? What if he didn’t come? What if he’d seen one of the men? Or her? What if he left with Goldie? The shaking took her again. She shouldn’t have come. She should have listened to the sheriff and stayed at home. Maybe…

Movement at the edge of the woods caught her eye. Her heart jolted. Was that him? She stared into the shadowy gloom formed by the thick growth of trees, made out the blanket-wrapped bundle the man carried, a gun in his other hand.

Lord, don’t let him see me. Keep Goldie safe.

She pressed back against the tree trunk, felt the rough bark bite into her palms and back, the pulse throbbing at her temples and the base of her throat. Footsteps neared, turned away, stopped. Where was he?

She strained against the silence, broken only by the sibilance of the creek flowing by. Her ears failed her. So did her lungs. They were as frozen as the glaciers atop the high mountains. She inched her head to the left. He was there, crouched behind a pile of huge rocks, looking toward the cemetery.

Time stopped. She dug her nails into the bark to hold herself from running to him and snatching the baby away. She stared at the bundle. It was quiet…still. Why wasn’t Goldie moving? Or cooing? She loved to wave her little fists in the air and chatter her baby talk. Fear seized her, dropped like a rock into the pit of her stomach. Rage burned away the ice in her lungs. She took a deep breath, clenched her hands. If he had hurt the baby…

She jerked, yanked her head back. He had glanced her way. Had he seen her? She checked to make certain her long skirt was hidden, inched her head to the right and peered around the opposite side of the tree trunk. What was he doing? Heart pounding, she watched as the man rose to a half stoop and moved toward a dead tree beside the pile of rocks. He placed the bundle in the hollow base of the tree, gave another scan of the area, then, gun raised, stepped into the small clearing and walked toward the cemetery.

She held her breath and waited. I’m coming, Goldie. Oh, baby, don’t be afraid. I will get you as soon as he is far enough away that I can get across the clearing. No! She jerked her gaze toward the movement on the right, saw a man slipping through the trees toward the stones. Toward the bundle. They had set a trap. There were two of them! They had never intended to return Goldie. Could she reach the baby first?

She grasped her skirts, lifted the hems, then let them fall and leaned back against the tree again. The distance across the open area was too great. She would follow the man. She glanced toward the kidnapper. He was opening the gate, reaching down for the gold. When he turned back, she— Her thoughts froze, focused on the sheriff who was edging around the small building in the middle of the cemetery.

A stone flew out of the woods and crashed against the pile of rocks. She jumped, gasped.

The kidnapper looked up, spun around and raced back toward the stones.

The sheriff shouted and gave chase.

Goldie! She had to get her! Viola whirled, saw a man break from the woods and sprint toward the rocks. Thomas Stone!

The kidnapper stopped, raised his gun.

“No! Don’t—”

The report of a shot slammed against her ears, echoed off the mountain. Thomas Stone lurched, ran forward, grabbed the bundle and ran back into the woods. He had saved Goldie! Joy flooded her. She grabbed her skirt, lifted her hems. Another shot rang out. The kidnapper staggered, fell. She turned and ran. Shouts, grunts and curses followed her to the woods.

Thomas Stone was sitting with his back to a tree, the unwrapped baby in his arms. He smiled when she skidded to a stop, dropped to her knees and reached for the baby. “She’s all right.”

Viola nodded, clutched Goldie to her breast and looked at him. “Thank you, Mr. Stone. I—” She stared. The left side of his shirt was soaked with blood. “He shot you.” The whispered words brought a crooked grin to his face.

“It appears so.” He tried to rise, grimaced, sank back and closed his eyes. The blood stain spread.

Her heart clutched. “Don’t move, Mr. Stone. I’ll get the doctor.” She put Goldie on his outstretched legs, lurched to her feet and ran.

“He’s coming around, Viola. He’s going to be all right.”

Her lungs emptied in a long sigh. “Thank You, Lord.” She fought back grateful tears and brought up a smile. “And thank you, Dr. Calloway.”

He shook his head. “You were right the first time—thank the Lord. If that bullet had been a little closer to…” He stopped, smiled. “But it wasn’t. I was able to extract it safely.” The smile morphed into a frown that knit his brows together. “The problem now is his recovery. He lost a lot of blood before we got him here to the clinic, and more during the operation. He’s going to be as weak as that baby you’re clutching as if you’ll never let her go. And he won’t be able to move for a few days, and not use his left arm normally for weeks. He’s going to need constant care. I don’t know where we will find that for him. The clinic is full. And there is no place—”

“He’s not married?”

“No. And it’s certain he can’t go live in that hut of his on the Chilkoot Trail.” Jacob Calloway shook his head, sighed and massaged the back of his neck. “I’ll keep him here in the clinic overnight of course, but then I’ll need the room for other surgical patients.” The frown returned. Then he gave her another tired smile. “Why don’t you go home now and get some sleep. Morning will be here soon, and when the laudanum that thug gave Goldie wears off, she is going to be demanding a lot of attention.” His smile widened. “You can put her down, you know. She’s safe here.”

“Not yet. It’s for my sake I’m holding her.” Viola kissed the baby’s silky, dark hair, squelched the war raging inside her. It was clear what she must do. “You said Mr. Stone is ‘coming around.’ May I see him?”

He studied her for a moment then nodded. “All right. He keeps muttering about a baby. It will likely do him good to see you holding the baby safe in your arms. But you can’t stay but a minute. Like I said, he’s lost a lot of blood and needs rest.”

“I understand.” Viola rose, and hugging Goldie close, followed Jacob Calloway through his small surgery, to the tiny room where his surgical patients recovered, her steps reluctant but determined. She smiled at Teena Crow, stepped to the bed and looked down at Thomas Stone. Her heart almost stopped. She had never seen anyone so pale. Only his eyebrows gave his face color. Even his blond hair seemed to have paled.

“I didn’t realize he was so… I will thank him tomorrow.” She took a steadying breath, looked up at the doctor. “You said Mr. Stone will need care and a place to stay, Doctor. I have room. Please bring him to my cabin when he recovers and—”

“No.”

Viola glanced down. Thomas Stone had opened his eyes. Though his voice was weak, the look in those green eyes left no doubt that he meant exactly what he said. The tension left her. She had offered to care for him. Her obligation was satisfied. It was not her fault the man refused. Still, she stood rooted to the spot, unable to walk away. The man was in dire straits and most likely not fully aware of his situation. “This is no time to stand on pride, Mr. Stone. I am in your debt for saving Goldie, and Dr. Calloway has said you will need constant care—until you are recovered. Staying at my cabin is the sensible solution. I live close by, and the doctor will be able to come visit you daily.”

“No.” His voice was weaker this time, but the tone just as adamant. “Woman…repu…ta…tion…” His eyelids closed, fluttered, but refused to open.

“You’ll have to leave now, Viola. He needs to rest.”

She nodded, stared at Thomas Stone’s pale, still face. Surely, he hadn’t meant he was concerned for her? Of course not. It was his own reputation as a missionary he was concerned about. “No one’s reputation will be sullied, Mr. Stone. Hattie Marsh lives in my home and will help me care for you. Now, rest well. And I will see you tomorrow.” There was no response. She must have put his worries over his reputation at rest.

She looked up at Jacob Calloway. “As I was saying, Doctor, please bring Mr. Stone to my cabin when he is sufficiently recovered. I will have a bed ready for him.” She glanced at Teena, mouthed “thank you” and left the room.

“No.”

“Don’t be foolish, Thomas. If you don’t go to Viola Goddard’s, where will you go? You need care.”

Dr. Calloway sounded decidedly exasperated. Too bad. He was not going to spend a couple of weeks under Viola Goddard’s care. He wouldn’t do it. In spite of what she said, there was her reputation to think of. And there was the baby. Thomas mustered what little strength he could find and opened his eyes. “I’ll go to…my hut.”

“That’s ridiculous, Thomas. You’re too weak to even lift your head off the pillow. How do you expect to— Stop that!”

Jacob gripped his good shoulder and held him pinned to the bed. He hadn’t strength enough to push the restraining hand away, let alone sit up with one arm. Not that he wanted to try again anytime soon. The agony that shot through his upper chest at his movement was enough to hold him still.

“I told you not to try and move, Thomas. Any strain could start that wound bleeding again, and if that happens, I doubt I could save you. Here, swallow this, it will help with the pain.” The doctor held a spoon to his mouth. He swallowed. “Good. Now, stay quiet. I am keeping you here the rest of the day. But this evening, Sheriff Parker is coming to help me move you to Viola Goddard’s cabin. There is no choice here. You need care.”

He had no strength left with which to argue the matter. Time enough for that tonight, when he would be stronger. He closed his eyes and waited for the knife-like pain to subside. Felt the darkness slip over him….

“Here is the quilt from my bed, Hattie. The coverlet is fine for me.” Viola rushed from her bedroom into the living room, the quilt overflowing her arms. “If we double it, you should be nice and warm here on the settle.”

Hattie stopped tucking the sheet around the thick, feather tick that padded the seat of the long, wood settle, faced Viola and fisted her hands on her ample hips. “Stop fussin’, Viola! I been takin’ care of myself for close to seventy years, and I reckon I can do so now. This mattress we’ve fixed up here on the settle will make as fine a bed as any I’ve e’er slept on. Now, go on with fixin’ up that bed for Mr. Stone, and leave me get my work done.”

“You are a pure gem, Hattie!” Viola hugged the short, round woman, then dropped to her knees beside Goldie, who was lying on her back on the braided rag rug, waving a rattle and cooing. “And so are you, little Miss Goldie.” She grabbed the baby’s free hand, kissed the tiny palm and then kissed her way up the pudgy little arm to her round, rosy cheek. The baby squealed, laughed and kicked her feet.

A knock on the door stopped the play. “That must be Mr. Carson to pick up his mending.” Viola rose and shook out her long skirt, brushed back a curl that had escaped her snood, and went to answer the door. “Oh, Mr. Foster. I was not expecting you until tomorrow.”

“I know I’m early, Miss Goddard, but I got a chance to join up with three other men going up to Dawson today. Heard tell there’s been some new sites opened up, where the gold is just laying on the ground waiting for someone to scoop it up. I aim to be that someone.” The wiry little man grinned. “I’m hoping I don’t have to go without those shirts you was mending for me. That blue one is my lucky shirt.”

Viola nodded and stepped back to let him come inside. “Your lucky shirt is ready. As are the rest. I’ll get them for you.”

She walked to the large wardrobe where she kept her sewing work, and pulled out the shirts tied up in a neat package. “Here you are, Mr. Foster. I hope your blue shirt works for you.”

“It will.” The man took the package, glanced up at her. “Having you sew it up will make it doubly lucky, Miss Goddard. Tell you what— When I strike it rich I’ll give you half!”

Viola stiffened. She wiped the smile from her face and cooled her voice by several degrees. “Fair payment for the mending is all I want, Mr. Foster.”

He nodded, looked down. “I reckon I know that by now, Miss Goddard. My payment is in the scale.” He made a little bow. “Good day to you. And to you, Hattie Marsh.” He walked away whistling.

“And to you, John Foster! You old fool.” Hattie’s voice was rough with hurt. “Go on and join the others who risk their lives o’er and o’er, just cause some miner gets drunk and starts spinnin’ tall tales about gold just waitin’ to be claimed.” The elderly woman snapped the quilt through the air, folded it and jammed one side down between the mattress and the back of the settle. “Old fools ne’er learn! But at least that one doesn’t have a wife to leave behind, lonely and grievin’ when he don’t come back.”

“Oh, Hattie.” Viola rushed over and put her arm around the plump woman’s shoulders. “Your husband never meant to leave you.”

“I know. None of them do. That’s why they’re old fools! And him no better than the worst of them. Sellin’ all we had to outfit hisself for minin’ gold. Then dyin’ up there. And me left with no one to care about me, nothin’ in my pocket and nowhere to go. It was a blessin’ when you took me in and gave me a home, Viola Goddard. A true blessin’.” Hattie patted her hand and smiled up at her. “You’re my family now. You and little Goldie. Now, go put the dust from the scales in your poke, and get back to work on that bed. No tellin’ when Dr. Calloway will be bringin’ your patient.”