Читать книгу Prairie Courtship - Dorothy Clark - Страница 12

Emma sighed and clutched the edge of the driver’s seat to steady herself as the wagon lurched over the rough terrain. And she thought she was uncomfortable riding Traveler all day. She could only imagine how sore she would be tonight from this day’s continual bone-shaking travel. But at least her patient was being spared. The sling bed Mr. Thatcher had created worked perfectly. No matter how badly the wagon bucked, Jenny simply swung back and forth, the length of the leather thongs keeping the bed from too violent a motion.

Emma tightened her grasp against another lurch and grimaced. Too bad the driver’s seat was not a sling. It would certainly make her ride more comfortable. She considered the idea a moment, then discarded it and resigned herself to endure the punishing jolts. A sling seat was not possible. The box beneath her held Traveler’s feed.

The front wheels dropped into a rut and Emma glanced over her shoulder at Jenny. Her stomach—her personal measure of concern—tightened. The toddler looked perfectly normal. But if she did not wake soon…

Emma’s face drew as taut as her stomach. She lifted her hands to adjust her scoop bonnet that had been jarred awry. The wagon ricocheted off some unforgiving obstacle, and she bounced into the air, then slammed back down onto the hard wood seat. “Ugh!”

A shrill whistle sounded ahead. Emma looked forward, saw Josiah Blake standing in his stirrups and circling his arm over his head, and heaved a sigh of relief. It must be time to rest and graze the stock. Which meant the buffeting would stop—at least for a while. And the break would give her time to check on Anne and ease her feelings of guilt for being unable to watch over her today. She would insist Anne come and ride beside her wagon when their journey resumed.

“Circle up!” The call passed from wagon to wagon, faded away down the line.

Emma frowned and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Anne’s pain had been worse last night and she was sure the wild ride in the wagon yesterday had re-injured her sister’s mending ribs. Not that Anne had complained. As usual, she said nothing, simply endured whatever pain assailed her mending body. It was only an increased pallor, an involuntary wince and tightening of her sister’s face that had alerted her to Anne’s worsened condition.

Emma gripped the seat harder. Sometimes Anne’s quiescence made her want to shake her. She and William, cousin Mary, even Mary’s pastor had tried to reason with Anne, but none of them could sway her from her notion that her pain was deserved punishment for surviving the accident that had claimed the lives of her husband and baby. It made treating her more difficult. Anne did not want to get better.

Emma heaved a long sigh and released her grasp on the edge of the seat as the wagon followed the Lewis vehicle into the familiar circle and stopped. Across the oval, the source of her concern and frustration rode into view behind her halted wagon and dismounted, her movements slow and careful. Clearly riding was irritating Anne’s injuries, but being tossed around in the wagon was little better. Oh, if only Anne had listened to reason, at this moment they would both be aboard one of their uncle Justin’s steamboats on their way home to Philadelphia with William and Caroline! Home to the bosom of their family where Anne would receive the love and attention she needed.

A sick feeling washed over her. Emma swallowed hard, faced the thought that had been pushing at her all day. Perhaps she did not possess the skills needed to be a good doctor. She did not know what more to do for Anne. Or for little Jenny. Her learning was but a poor substitute for Papa Doc’s medical experience, or her feisty temperament for their mother’s patient, loving care.

“Mama? Maaaamaaaa!”

Jenny! Emma whipped around and scurried over the red box into the wagon, all speculation about her possible inadequacy forgotten at the toddler’s frightened wail.

“Shhh, Jenny, shhh. Everything is all right.” She smiled and patted the little blanket-covered shoulder. Round blue eyes, bright with tears, stared up at her. She studied their clear, focused gaze, held back the shout of relief and joy swelling her chest. The toddler’s tiny lower lip protruded, trembled. She touched it with her fingertip and shook her head. “No, no. I will get your mama for you. But you must not cry, Jenny. It is not good for you to cry.”