Читать книгу Would-Be Wilderness Wife - Regina Scott - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Two days. Surely she could survive two days. She’d sat longer vigils in the wards in Boston, taking breaks only for short naps, determined to cheat death. Two days was child’s play.

Of course, normally, when she sat with a patient, she was either alone in the ward or a doctor or other nurse was nearby. This was the first time she’d served as a nurse in someone’s home.

She found it decidedly unnerving.

For one thing, the Wallin house was anything but quiet. Levi had pounded up the stairs and thrown himself in bed on the other side of the loft. The buzz a short while later confirmed that Simon wasn’t the only brother who snored. Beth crept up the stairs more quietly before slipping into a darker corner and emerging in her nightgown, then climbing into her own bed. The logs popped as the house cooled with the night. Wood settled in the small fire she’d had Drew rekindle. Something with tiny claws scampered across the roof over Catherine’s head. Mournful calls echoed from the woods, as if all nature worried with the Wallins.

But worse was her awareness of Drew. He had agreed to take turns with her during the night, then left to finish some chores. She felt as if the entire house breathed a sigh of relief when he entered it again. His boots were soft on the stairs, and the boards whispered a welcome as he crossed to her side. He laid a hand on her shoulder, the pressure assuring, supportive. Then he turned and disappeared downstairs again.

Her pulse was too fast. She took a breath and leaned forward to adjust the covers over her patient again.

She had barely managed to restore her calm when he returned carrying a wooden platter and a large steaming pink-and-white china bowl with a spoon sticking from it.

“You’ve had nothing to eat,” he reminded her. “You’ll need your strength.” He set the platter across her lap. On it rested a bowl of stew, a crusty loaf of bread, a bone-handled knife and a pat of creamy butter.

Catherine’s stomach growled its answer. “Thank you,” she said. She bowed her head and asked a blessing, then scooped up a spoonful of Beth’s stew. The thick sauce warmed her almost as much as his gesture.

As she ate, he reached down, sliced off a hunk of the bread and set about eating it. Crumbs sprinkled the front of his cotton shirt, and he brushed them away, fingers long and quick. She wondered how they’d feel cradling her hand.

A hunk of venison must have gone down wrong, for she found herself coughing. He hurried to pour water from the jug by the bed into a tin cup, but she waved him back.

“I’m fine,” she managed. Swallowing the last of the stew, she set the bowl on the platter. “Thank you. That was very good. Beth is a talented cook.”

“Ma taught her.” He went to lean against the fireplace, the only spot in the room where he could stand completely upright. His gaze rested on the woman on the bed, who seemed to be sleeping blissfully through their quiet conversation. “She taught us all, saying a man should know how to care for himself.”

Catherine couldn’t argue with that. “My father had a similar philosophy. He said a woman should be able to fend for herself if needed.”

“Yet he never taught you to shoot?”

He seemed generally puzzled by that. Catherine smiled. “There’s not much call for hunting near Boston, at least not for food. I suppose parents try to teach their children what they need to survive in their own environment. I wouldn’t expect your mother to teach you how to dance.”

“There you would be wrong.” Even in the dim light she could see his smile. “Pa used to play the fiddle, and Ma said if she didn’t teach us boys to dance, she’d never have a partner.” His smile faded. “Not that she needs one now.”

Catherine had never been one to offer false hope, yet she couldn’t help rushing to assure him. “We’ll make sure she gets well.”

Her words must have sounded as baseless to him as they did to her, for he said nothing as he pushed off from the hearth. He gathered up the dishes and disappeared down the stairs once more.

Catherine sighed. That exchange was simply a reminder of why it was better to stay focused on her task of nursing the patient, not on the emotional needs of the patient’s family. She had found ways to comfort grieving loved ones before her father and brother had been killed. Now she felt hurts too keenly.

She tried to listen to Mrs. Wallin’s breathing, which seemed far more regular than her own, but from downstairs came the sounds of dishes clanking, the chink of wood on metal, the splash of water. It seemed Mrs. Wallin had taught her sons to wash up, as well. Their future wives would be pleasantly surprised.

She expected him to return when he was finished, but the house fell quiet again. She added another log to the fire, then checked her patient once more. All was as it should be. The wooden chair didn’t seem so hard; her body sank into it. The warmth of the room wrapped about her like a blanket. She closed her weary eyes.

Only to snap them open as someone picked her up and held her close.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as Drew’s face came into focus.

He was already starting for the stairs, head ducked so that it was only a few inches from hers. “You fell asleep.”

Catherine shifted in his arms. “I’m fine. Put me down. I have work to do.”

Beth had sat up in bed and was regarding them wide-eyed as he started down the stairs. “Let Beth watch Ma for a while. I’ll spell her shortly. We’ll send for you if anything changes.”

He reached the bottom of the stairs and started across the room as if she were no more than a basket of laundry destined for the line. “I can walk, sir,” she informed him.

He twisted to open the door. “That you can. I’ve seen you do it.” He paused on the porch to nod out into the darkness, where the only light was the glow from a few stars peeking through the clouds. “But our clearing isn’t a city street. There are tree roots and rocks that can trip you up in broad daylight. I know the hazards. Best you let me do the walking.”

She hadn’t noticed that the space was so bumpy when they’d arrived. Indeed, it had seemed surprisingly level; the grass neat and trim. Very likely the goats cropped it. Still, she didn’t relish tripping over a rock and twisting her ankle. She hardly wanted to stay at Wallin Landing a moment more than necessary, and certainly not long enough to heal a sprain.

So she remained where she was, warm against his chest, cradled in his arms, as Drew ferried her across the clearing to another cabin hidden among the trees. Her legs were decidedly unsteady as he set her down on the wide front porch and swung open the door to enter ahead of her. She heard the scrape of flint as he lit a lantern.

The golden light chased the darkness to the far corners of the room, and she could see a round planked table in the center, set over a braided rug and flanked by two tall solid-backed chairs. A little small for a knight of the round table, but cozy. As if he thought so, too, Drew’s cheeks were darkening again, and he seemed to be stuffing something white and lacy into the pocket of his trousers.

“There’s a washstand and water jug in the corner,” he said, voice gruff. “The necessity’s between the two cabins.”

In a moment, he’d leave her. Perhaps it was the strange surroundings or the lateness of the day, but she found herself unwilling to see him go. Catherine moved into the room, glanced at the fire simmering in the grate of the stone hearth. As if he was watching her, expecting her to find things wanting, he hurried to lay on another piece of wood.

“Should be enough to see you through the night,” he said, straightening. “But I can fetch more from the woodpile if you’d like.”

Was he so eager to leave her? “No need,” Catherine said. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. You could answer one question, though.”

She thought he stiffened. “Oh? What would that be?”

“Who’s Mary?”

Now she waited, some part of her fearing to hear the answer. His face sagged. “My little sister. The one who died. Ever since Ma took ill, she’s been asking after her. We think maybe she’s forgotten Mary’s gone.”

His pain cut into her. She wanted to gather him close, caress the sadness from his face.

What was she thinking?

“She’s delirious,” Catherine told him. “It’s not uncommon with high fevers.

He nodded as if he understood, but she could see the explanation hadn’t eased his mind. She should think of something else to say, something else for him to consider, if only for a moment. She glanced around the room again. Her gaze lit on the ladder rising into the loft. Oh, dear. Her hand gripped her wide blue skirts.

“Is that how you reach the sleeping area?” she asked, hoping for another answer.

“There’s a loft upstairs,” he said, “but the main bed’s there.” He pointed toward the fire.

What she’d taken for a large cupboard turned out to be a box bed set deep in one wall. The weathered wood encircled it like the rings of a tree. Catherine wandered over and fingered the thick flannel quilt that covered the tick. Blues and reds and greens were sprinkled in different-size blocks, fitted together like a child’s puzzle and stitched with yellow embroidery as carefully as her father’s sutures.

“Ma made that when I turned eighteen,” he explained, a solid presence behind her. “Those are pieces of every shirt she ever sewed for me. Waste not, want not.”

How could she possibly sleep under something so personal? Catherine pulled back her hand and turned. “Perhaps I should stay with my patient.”

He took a step away from her as if to block the door. “Beth and I can handle things. You deserve your rest.” He nodded toward the bed. “She left you one of Ma’s clean nightgowns, I see. If you need anything else, just holler.”

Yell, and have nearly a half dozen men appear to help her? Some women would have been delighted by the prospect. She could imagine her friend Maddie crying out and then sitting back with a grin to watch the fireworks. But Catherine felt as if fine threads were weaving about her like her father’s surgery silk, binding her to this place, these people.

Was she really ready to be that close to anyone again?

* * *

Drew left Catherine and returned to the main cabin so he could help Beth, bringing with him the lacy doily his sister had left on his table and depositing it on her bed. He dozed for a while on one of the beds he used to share with his brothers, rousing twice to poke Levi into silence. Beth woke him before dawn and stumbled off to bed herself. Drew leaned against the hard rocks of the hearth and watched his mother.

She was a proud woman, sure of her skills and her faith. Unlike Catherine, she’d never followed any calling but the keeping of hearth and home and the running of the family farm while his father was logging. She’d been the steadying presence behind Drew the past ten years, always ready to provide advice and comfort, a loaf of bread and a warm quilt. Sometimes he felt as if each stitch formed the word love.

More than one man over the years had attempted to court her. But his mother had refused to leave her claim, even after most of her sons had land of their own. He remembered the day not long after his father had died when men had come from town to try to persuade her to move in closer.

“A widowed woman with five boys and a girl?” one of them had scoffed. “You can’t manage this property alone.”

“I’m not alone,” his mother had said, putting one arm around Drew and the other around Simon as their siblings gathered close. “If this is what the Lord wants for us, He’ll make a way.”

The Lord must have wanted them at Wallin Landing, for they’d been here ever since.

His mother was still sleeping when his brothers left for their work and Beth started about her chores of feeding the chickens, checking for eggs and letting the goats, horses and pigs out to pasture. Simon came upstairs long enough to assure Drew that everything else had been taken care of.

“We’ll have the oxen,” he murmured, glancing around Drew as if to make sure their mother was sleeping peacefully. “And I wanted to let you know that John figured the costs for the plow. We should have enough from that spar for Captain Collings to make a good down payment. Then we can put James’s field in corn and make better use of those horses he was so set on.”

Drew nodded. James had convinced them to invest in the strong horses when another local farmer had given up his claim and needed to sell out. Drew had hoped to put the beasts to good use expanding the fields. Their family had run perilously short of corn and wheat the past two winters, and any profit they might have made logging had been eaten up by purchasing cornmeal and flour from town. He and his brothers were determined to lay in a greater store this year.

“Do what you can today,” he told Simon. “If Ma feels better, I can come finish the job tomorrow.”

Simon’s face tightened, and he took another look at their mother before heading down the stairs. Though he hadn’t spoken the words aloud, Drew could feel his doubts.

If Ma ever felt better.

Please, Lord, make her well!

Sometimes it seemed as if he’d been fighting off illness and injury his whole life. What he hated most was the feeling that there was nothing he could do but wait.

The house settled back into quiet. The sun rose over the lake, golden rays spearing through the windows and leaving a patchwork of color as bright as his mother’s quilts across the worn wood floor. Still Drew waited. When his mother finally stirred, he straightened and strode to her side. Her gaze was more alert than he’d seen it in weeks.

“What did you do with my pretty nurse?” she asked.

Drew took her hand and clasped it in his. The skin felt warm from the covers but not as dry and hot as it had been.

“We wore her out,” he said, giving his mother’s hand a squeeze. “But I’ll fetch her back for you shortly. In the meantime, are you hungry? Thirsty?”

She cocked her head as if considering the matter, and Drew noticed that her hair was stuck to her forehead like a row of ginger-colored lace. He put his hand to her cheek and found it cool and moist. Was it possible? Had the fever broke during the night?

“Now, why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, pulling back her hand and touching her hair. “Oh, but I must look a fright!”

Drew smiled, relief making the air sweet. “You never looked more beautiful to me, Ma. Shall I make you biscuits?”

She started to yawn and hurriedly covered her mouth with her hand. “Ask Levi. That boy makes better biscuits than the rest of you combined—light as a feather.”

“He’s out working,” Drew told her. “You’ll have to settle for my cooking instead.”

She was regarding him out of the corners of her eyes, as if she knew she was about to ask something she suspected he wouldn’t like. “You might ask Miss Stanway to join us for breakfast.”

Not her, too! “Don’t you go getting any ideas about Miss Stanway, Ma,” Drew said. “She’s here to nurse you.”

She coughed into her hand, but the noise still sounded healthy to Drew. “Yes, of course she is. And I expect I’ll need a great deal of nursing yet, probably for days.” She lowered her hand and heaved a great sigh.

“I have a feeling you’ll be up and about in no time,” Drew said. On impulse, he bent and pressed a kiss against her cheek. Her face was a rosy pink as he started for the stairs.

Thank You, Lord! The thanksgiving was instant and nearly overwhelming. Catherine had been right. His mother was going to live. Their family was whole awhile longer.

Oh, he would have to watch Ma and his brothers while Catherine was at the Landing if he wanted to remain single, but Catherine probably wouldn’t be in their lives much longer if his mother’s recovery was as rapid as he hoped.

His spirits didn’t rise as high as they should have at the thought.

He was halfway to his cabin when he heard the noise—the drum of horses’ hooves rapidly approaching. As he pulled up, the sheriff’s deputy, Hart McCormick, and several other men from Seattle galloped into the clearing, faces set and bodies tensed.

“Deputy,” Drew said with a nod as they reined in around him. “Something wrong?”

McCormick tipped back his broad-brimmed black hat and narrowed his sharp gray eyes at Drew. “Could be. One of Mercer’s belles went missing yesterday, and Scout Rankin tells me you might have had something to do with it.”

Drew held up his hands. “There’s no need for concern. Miss Stanway is here and perfectly safe.”

Still Deputy McCormick glared at him, as if sizing up Drew’s strength, taking note that he was unarmed. McCormick was tall and lean, with close-cropped black hair and eyes the color of a worn gun barrel. He’d earned the reputation of being one tough character, having thrown off a rough beginning before riding down a number of outlaws in the two years he’d served as deputy. Drew didn’t like his chances if the lawman decided to take him on.

Just then, one of the horses pushed forward, and Drew realized the rider was a redheaded woman. Though she wore a divided skirt so she could sit astride, the way she clutched the reins told Drew she didn’t have much experience with horses.

“Then you won’t mind bringing her out, now, will you?” she challenged, sharp words softened by an Irish accent.

Deputy McCormick relaxed in his seat. “Miss O’Rourke is particularly concerned about her friend.”

Drew lowered his hands. “She’s staying in that cabin over there. If you’ll give me a moment...”

“Hold these,” the redhead commanded, tossing the reins at Drew. As he caught them, she threw one leg over the horse and slid to the ground. “I’ll just be fetching her myself.” She stalked across the clearing, gait stiff.

“Bit of a spitfire,” McCormick commented, watching her. His mouth hitched up as if he liked what he saw. “Still, there’s something to be said for a woman who speaks her mind.”

“Yeah,” one of his posse members threw out. “Spinster.”

The others laughed.

“Being uppity seems to be a pretty common failing among those Mercer gals,” another commented, scratching his grizzled chin. “Doc Maynard said this Miss Stanway gave him an earful for some of his practices.”

“She gave us an earful, too,” Drew said, watching as Miss O’Rourke hopped up on the porch and rapped at the door. “And Ma is alive because of it.”

That sobered them. McCormick touched his brim again in obvious respect. “I’m sorry to hear your mother was ailing, Wallin, but I’m glad to know she’s on the mend.”

The door to the cabin opened. Catherine stood in the shadows, hair tumbled about her shoulders, his quilt bundled around her. Stocking feet peeped out from below. The sight hit him square in the chest, and breathing seemed impossible. One look at her friend, and she gave a glad cry and a quick hug before pulling Miss O’Rourke inside and shutting the door.

Air found its way into Drew’s lungs. What was it about Catherine that made him react this way? He’d seen pretty girls before—not many and not often it was true, but still.

“I thought you said she was stuck-up,” one of the men commented with a frown to his friend. “She looks mighty nice to me.”

“I heard they started calling her the Ice Queen,” another agreed. “Looks as though the Wallins managed to thaw her out.”

“Maybe that’s why she needs a quilt,” the deputy said with a warning look to his posse. “Either that or she’s trying to shield herself from the criticism of people who came West themselves to escape it.”

His men had the good sense to look abashed.

McCormick returned his gaze to Drew, shifting on the horse so that his gun belt brushed the saddle horn. “The way I figure it, what you do with the gal is between you and her, so long as she’s in agreement. If she has no complaints, we’ll be on our way.”