Chapter 10

Ten

"Your patient needs to drink fresh milk every day," Doc said.

Maddie Fairfax looked up from where she knelt in a patch of what looked like green weeds, a flash of surprise and... dismay crossing her expressive features.

Good. Then they were both dismayed. He didn't want to be out here having this conversation.

He'd followed her from camp, keeping his distance. When she'd disappeared in the woods, he'd walked faster. For a moment he worried he'd lost her completely. Like she was some kind of wood sprite sent to steal him away from the caravan.

"Are you speaking of Mrs. Bouye? Where do you suggest she finds a milk cow?" She gestured expansively to the woods and prairie surrounding them, almost knocking over the woven basket at her side.

She did not ask how he'd found out that her eight-months pregnant patient was complaining of her teeth aching. Which meant he didn't have to tell her that he was constantly spying, listening for hints of conversations that mentioned her.

It wasn't about her at all. It was about the folks on this wagon train receiving adequate medical care. Where did he expect this woman to find a cow? Her question prodded him.

"We're nearing the fort in a day or two," he reminded Maddie, who'd gone back to threading her delicate fingers through the fronds of a green fern before she plucked something from its base. "Your patient should purchase a milk cow there."

"She and her husband don't have the money for that," she muttered as she kept on with her task. "These herbs will help."

"The herbs are not enough," he ground out.

She slowly rose to her feet, the movement graceful. He wanted to look away.

He wanted to watch her forever.

Her eyes flashed at him before he'd even blinked. "You can't fix everything. Not out here. Surely you know that."

"Of course I do." Doc was peripherally aware of a young voice calling out, "Doc!" but he couldn't seem to break the stare he was caught in.

Maddie was pink-cheeked, determination narrowing her eyes. A fire inside her that somehow matched his own. As he witnessed her temper spark, he couldn't keep his eyes from dropping to the stubborn set of her lips.

His chest felt tight, like he suffered from a breathing complaint and couldn't catch his breath.

She was?—

"Doc!" The young voice was closer now. Maddie was the one who broke the stare first, her attention moving behind Doc.

Blood pounded in his temples as he turned, now aware of someone crashing through the undergrowth.

Young Alex appeared, red-faced and out of breath.

Doc was both relieved and angry at the interruption. He meant to convince Maddie that her care for the pregnant woman was wrong ?—

"I need ya," Alex gasped as he ran up. "You put in those stitches an' your bandage ain't broke—" The boy broke off his rattled sentence to gulp in a breath. He must've run all the way out here.

Doc was aware that Maddie had knelt back on the ground, foraging again.

"Another animal friend?" There was an impatience to his tone but the boy didn't seem to hear it.

Alex shook his head. "No, it's—can we hurry?"

Doc didn't particularly desire to patch up another in the menagerie he'd been shown three days ago after stitching up the boy's dog.

"Don't you want..." Doc turned slightly as he gestured to Maddie.

Her head came up, and he saw the judgment in her eyes. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "He asked for you," she said in a low voice.

"Doc, it's my sis! She's bleedin' everywhere."

It only took a second to register that what Doc had taken for excitement was fear and that the boy was trembling and gasping with urgency.

Alex had his full attention now.

He started running, the boy beside him. Aware of Maddie abandoning her basket and lifting her skirts to run, too.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Ma told my brother to watch Jenny, but Pa told him to fetch his bridle. I was over by the fire. Paul put Jenny in the wagon, but she fell out!"

That could mean any number of injuries. He'd said earlier that she was bleeding. Had she cut herself? Broken her arm so badly that the bone was protruding?

The wagons in sight, the boy let out a sob.

"Which way?" Doc asked.

The boy bent over and retched, clearly out of breath and worked up from what he'd witnessed and his wild run to find Doc.

"This way," Maddie urged. "Catch up to us," she called back to the boy.

For a breath, he was grateful that she knew where she was going. He spared a moment to ask Alex to fetch his doctor's bag from his horse.

He could hear the pained screams before they reached the circle of wagons.

"How old?" he asked Maddie.

She was breathing as hard as he was, chest heaving. "Not yet two."

That would make things more difficult. A child that age couldn't tell them where it hurt.

Moments later, they slowed and approached two other women, mothers he recognized from the company. They seemed relieved to see him—or possibly Maddie—and faded into the background, revealing a young man no older than thirteen holding one hand over a squirming toddler's cheek. Blood trailed down his arm, was smeared over her face.

The little one slapped at her brother's hold, trailing blood farther.

The young man—Paul?—was crying.

"Miss Maddie, ya gotta help!" he said.

"Let me," Doc said as he shouldered Maddie out of the way. He reached out for the girl. "Be still now."

But the wailing babe screamed louder and struggled against him when he tried to hold her.

"I got yer bag." Alex ran up, extending the black leather bag toward Doc. He bobbled it and almost dropped it.

"Be careful," Doc barked. There were medicine bottles inside, and if one got crushed, precious remedies would be lost.

"Put it down," he told the boy, who looked frozen, tears welling in his eyes.

Urgency pressed, but it was Maddie coming in just behind Doc's elbow that discombobulated everything. She touched Alex's shoulder, gently pried the bag from his fingers. "Can you add wood to the fire? We need some hot water."

The boy took a deep breath under her gentle command and nodded, steadying himself, rushing to do what she'd asked.

Jenny was still wailing and screaming.

Maddie pressed the bag into Doc's stomach with more force than was necessary. Her eyes flashed at him, devoid of the compassion she'd just shared with the boy.

"Perhaps you'd have more patients if your bedside manner improved," she whispered fiercely.

By the time she'd turned back to the preteen and his young sister, she was all smiles.

"That was scary, wasn't it?" she cooed. She brushed damp hair back from the baby's forehead, her fingers quick and gentle.

She glanced over her shoulder, asking him whether he'd seen the start of a jagged cut near the little one's eyebrow. The rest of the gash was covered over with the older boy's hand.

"Did someone fetch your mother?" This time Maddie's gentle touch went to Paul's shoulder.

He took a shuddering breath, and then Doc saw him visibly calm.

In the span of several heartbeats, she'd calmed all three children. The girl was still crying, but her wailing and screaming had stopped.

"Do you want to come to me?" Maddie asked. With one hand on the girl's back, she reached out her other arm.

The girl went easily into her arms.

Doc inhaled, ready to argue why he should be the one to tend to her wound, but Maddie had already turned in his direction, gently brushing more of the girl's hair out of her face.

"I'm going to sit," she murmured, and then perched on a crate only steps away before waving him over. He joined them, on his knees in front of the little girl, who turned her face into Maddie's neck.

Blood streaked Maddie's jaw and beneath her ear, but she didn't flinch.

"What's her name?" he murmured.

"Jenny," Maddie reminded him gently. "Jenny, this is Doc Jason. He's the one who fixed up Tommy, remember?"

Doc Jason.

He didn't have time for her use of his name to pinch. But he still felt it.

The girl peeked at him with one eye.

In a matter of moments, Maddie had distracted her by helping her clean off a small scrape on her knee. Doc wiped clean the cut that began at her eyebrow and extended down to her cheek. The brothers brought clean rags and hot water and soon enough Doc was ready to start putting in the stitches.

He didn't have to tell Maddie to keep Jenny still. She was singing a song, the brogue in her voice stronger. She gently clasped the girl's wrists in one hand while her other arm banded around Jenny's middle.

He tried not to notice, tried to keep his focus entirely on the small, neat stitches. But he couldn't help seeing Maddie lay her cheek gently against Jenny's hair. How the soft brushes of her fingertips over the girl's skin soothed her. Maddie's voice echoed through his head.

Jenny's mother rushed into camp as he sewed the last stitch, her hair hung wet down her back, eyes frantic.

The woman immediately calmed when she saw Maddie had her daughter. The two boys circled around their ma, talking as fast as possible.

Doc moved away from Maddie and Jenny, using the moment to look for a bandage at the bottom of his bag.

He couldn't help the glance that snuck back toward her.

She was smiling, playing a version of one-handed pat-a-cake with the girl.

She would make a good mother.

The tension inside of him rolled to a boil and he had to turn away. She looked so young . With her entire life ahead of her.

She was a reminder of everything he'd lost.

And everything he'd never have again.

"She pretended to be an upstanding woman, but now Ma says she's not. She's like a soiled dove from one of those saloons."

"Who'd ever want to marry someone like that?"

Hollis rounded a campfire where two teen girls hadn't bothered to keep their voices down. One of the two wore a tightly-braided mass of black curls that reminded Hollis of his mother.

The sun was on its descent and the last of the wagons were circling up. Several of the first wagons had already unloaded, and he was on his way to see Abigail.

It would be another hour before the group met for his announcement, and he still wasn't sure what he was going to say to the company. And now this.

The girl with braids caught sight of him and the thundercloud that must be his expression, because she ducked her head meekly. Her companion was facing away from him when he passed by their supper preparations.

She gestured with one hand. "My ma was worried things out here in the west would be uncouth."

The first teen nudged her friend with an elbow. The girl looked around, and her eyes went wide.

"Evening, Mr. Hollis." The girl with the braids almost gasped the words.

He should stop and speak to them. They were clearly talking about Abigail, spreading gossip. Anger surged through his veins. Abigail had helped a dozen families throughout their time on the Trail. Maybe more. She'd worked tirelessly to feed folks when they were ill, to help with chores. To triage and help Maddie doctor folks when the tornado had wrecked their company, when the outlaws had attacked.

She didn't deserve this.

And he was the only one who could do anything about it.

He passed by with a grimace instead of a smile and hoped they'd think twice about their talk.

He still wasn't sure of his words when he found Abigail crouched over a fire she must've only just lit. She was feeding twigs from a small supply to grow the flames.

I know this .

For a moment, the memory of her looking up at him with shining eyes from that primitive bow drill blasted through his mind like a stampeding buffalo.

He cleared his throat. "We need to talk."

When she glanced up, her eyes were hooded. "Supper will be ready soon. If you're famished now, I've got some biscuits left from breakfast." Her lashes fluttered down, hiding her gaze from him.

Something tugged deep inside, a wish that he didn't dare admit to.

"I'll eat later," he said.

This time, the look she gave him was pointed. "You've got to keep your strength up." Her eyes softened. "That scrape on your face looks a mite better."

She shifted her attention back to the fire, as if she couldn't bear to look at him for longer. The fire popped, but she didn't jump.

Her words made his chest ache. When was the last time someone had worried whether he'd eaten enough, or that his wounds were healing? Probably his Ma, before he'd left home.

Years ago, he'd told his family he was coming west. He'd had letters from home, but had never written back. Just this spring, he'd received a letter from his brother Booker that he wanted to take the Oregon Trail. But Hollis had left before Booker arrived in Independence.

He hadn't let anyone close enough to care whether he was all right. Not since Dinah had passed away.

"Aren't you angry at me?" He scratched the back of his neck. "You've probably got a right to it after the way I talked to you last night."

There was a prolonged moment where she kept her face averted before she stood, swiping dust off her hands. When she finally glanced at him, her eyes were clear. "No matter what, I hope we're still friends."

Her words threaded hope through the tightness in his chest. Hope he didn't deserve.

But she wasn't done. "I think you need a friend."

Her words left him breathless. He forced down the jolt of affection and warmth her words conjured. Best to shut that down. Or ignore it, if he could.

He let his stare on her harden. "I'm sure you've heard the talk around camp."

A shadow flickered behind her eyes, the minute clasp and release of her hand into a fist at her side.

"I don't want your reputation sullied."

A flash of fire lit her eyes now and a stubbornness lifted her chin. "That's not your problem to worry about."

She moved to the lowered tailgate of her wagon and began pulling things toward her. A large crock. A wooden spoon.

The stubborn woman might not admit it, but she was his responsibility as part of the wagon train. And that included her reputation.

He took two steps closer, took another look around to make sure no one was within listening distance. "It is my problem if I say it is."

She didn't look at him, but he saw the way her lips tightened.

"We should get married," he blurted.

He'd had a different plan in mind, a formal announcement to the company that had been running through his brain since August and Owen had come to him. But he couldn't keep fighting against common sense. And neither should she.

She'd gone still at his words, frozen in place. Now, as she turned toward him, he couldn't bear to see questions in her eyes. Or whatever else he might find there.

It was his turn to avert his face, to pretend he was looking at oxen being led to a nearby stream. "It'll be a marriage in name only," he said stiffly.

A way to protect her. The only way he could figure. August had been right. "Once we get to Oregon, we'll have it annulled and go our separate ways."

She was quiet. Abigail, who had once confronted him with August about his memory problems. Who'd forced him to eat when he'd been poorly.

He steeled himself and arranged his expression to careful emptiness when he looked at her. "It won't mean anything," he said dispassionately. "Not even friendship. When we reach Oregon, it'll be over."

She was watching him with tear-filled eyes that probably saw too much. He'd told her about Dinah when no one else knew.

"Fine." Her agreement was quiet. Determined. But her lower lip quivered and she averted her face.

His stomach twisted. He was doing this to protect her. Not to hurt her. He had to know. "No arguments?"

She shook her head slightly, still not looking at him. Went back to her cooking. After a quiet moment, she began humming under her breath. Had she really settled the matter in her mind that quickly?

His shirt collar felt like it was choking him, like he couldn't draw a full breath.

"Stay here. I'll fetch Owen to do the honors," he muttered before he stalked off.

Owen showed a rare reaction—relief flitting across his expression—when Hollis fetched him. Hollis pushed his prayer book into the other man's hands. "Let's go."

Owen only trailed him for a step, then fell in beside him. "You'll have to move your bedroll, camp together," he said.

"I know," Hollis snapped.

He'd barely come to terms with what he'd agreed to. He'd deal with the forced closeness when it was time.

Abigail was waiting for them, her meal ready to be put on the fire but covered with a cloth.

Hollis didn't want any eyes on them. Not for this. This was between him and Abigail. He marched out in front of Owen and Abigail until they were out of eyesight and earshot from camp. Awareness of how quickly the camp announcement would be upon him rankled his nerves.

Facing Abigail made Hollis's insides knot.

Owen started reading from the page Hollis had marked. Hollis had said the words enough times that they flowed over him like water.

He tried to ignore the way Abigail watched him, her expression grave, eyes big in her face. Tried to recall Dinah and the speaking of their own vows, tried to pull her into this moment, overlay Abigail's face with Dinah's.

But his past was fuzzy and vague and when he blinked, Abigail filled his vision.

She was the one sharing this moment with him, the one whose fingers trembled in his when Owen made them clasp hands. Or maybe that was him shaking.

Was this a mistake? Was he making everything worse?

Her grip steadied him, gave an anchor when he felt as if a stiff breeze would be able to knock him over.

She spoke her vows in a clear voice, her eyes shining with promise.

That wasn't what they'd agreed to, a voice inside him shouted. This was a farce! It wasn't real! But when it was time for him to speak his own vows, the words were full of an unexpected gravity.

He wrestled with his feelings, forcing the twisting thing inside him to agree that this was all to protect Abigail. He'd keep her close, physically, just to make sure the gossip didn't touch her, and he could deliver her safely to Joseph.

Hollis would keep the walls in his heart sturdy and secure. He wouldn't share himself with her the way he had while they'd been lost to the wilderness. He couldn't afford to care.

"You'd better kiss her to make it official," Owen muttered.

Hollis's heart jerked in his chest. He hadn't thought of this complication.

Then Abigail reached up on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his mouth. Her hand was a brand as it touched his cheek and then was gone.

"I'll fetch you before I meet with the men." Was that his voice, the gravel-filled grunt?

"I'll be ready."

"I'll be ready." Abigail had said the words, but she didn't feel ready when Hollis returned to find her a scant handful of minutes later. She was shaken. In disbelief.

She'd married Hollis.

But it wasn't an occasion for celebration. It was grief that filled her. Grief over a loveless marriage.

He didn't speak to her, only offered his arm in silence. She took it, aware of the strength in his muscled forearm beneath her fingertips, the brush of her shoulder against his biceps.

I take thee, Abigail, to be my wedded wife.

She'd seen the pure panic in Hollis's eyes, everything else in his expression frozen as he'd repeated the words Owen prompted. He didn't want this marriage. She'd known it from the way he'd offered to marry her.

But she'd also spoken true. He needed a friend. Needed a helpmeet. And she could be that for him. Even if it wouldn't last past the end of their journey.

I take thee, Hollis, to be my wedded husband.

She'd meant the vows she'd spoken before Hollis and Owen and the Lord. She couldn't say when it had happened—though definitely before they'd been lost to the raging river—but she'd begun to care deeply for Hollis, for the man who held himself apart. Who cared for every single person, no matter how big or how small, on this wagon train. Who pushed himself harder than anyone else.

But she had no expectation that he'd ever return her feelings. She would never forget the expression on his face when he'd told her he'd lost his wife.

Hollis was a man who loved deeply. No doubt his wife had been someone terribly special. Someone he'd chosen, not been forced to marry.

Abigail would never compare to her. She didn't dare try.

But she could still help him.

As they passed through the camp, she caught curious, wide-eyed gazes from several of the women corralling children and preparing supper.

Hollis remained stoic, focused. His mind probably on addressing the men. It was left to Abigail to smile gently, to pretend that it didn't hurt that these women thought she was immoral. She knew the truth.

She was surprised to see Leo, Evangeline, Owen and Rachel waiting near an empty crate. She'd seen Hollis stand on one before to address the crowd of men all around.

"I thought you might need some support," he murmured to her so low that no one else could hear.

The nerves that had been jangling as they'd walked began to settle as warmth trickled into her chest. Evangeline smiled, but Rachel sent a pointed look to Abigail's hand on Hollis's arm. When he let go of her and stepped up onto the crate, the women flanked her, their husbands standing just behind.

Hollis let out a shrill whistle that quieted the murmuring crowd.

"I understand there's been some restlessness in camp while I was away." His voice boomed out over the settlers and the empty prairie around them as stars began to peek out from the velvety blue sky. A few men at the front of the crowd cast sheepish looks toward the ground.

"That's not surprising around this time on our journey. Supplies start to dwindle. Wagons break. Things get difficult."

Abigail saw the nodding heads, the way some of the men listened intently. Hollis was wise to remind everyone that he'd done this twice before. That he knew what they were experiencing.

"The worst thing that can happen to a company is for complaining voices and gossip to bring division."

Beaumont, toward the front of the crowd, frowned. He muttered something to his neighbor, but Hollis didn't seem to notice the small moment of dissent.

"There were a lot of wagon masters you could have chosen in Independence. You chose to travel with me for a reason." This man, this leader was determined and confident. "I haven't told you this story, but maybe I should've before we pulled out. On my first overland journey, our company split because of some differences of opinion. The part of our company that left suffered great losses—more than half of them didn't make it to Oregon alive. The company I led lost two." He spoke the words seriously, without an ounce of bragging in his tone.

She shivered. She knew how much those losses would have affected him. Some of the men glanced nervously at their neighbors.

"Before we left, you gave me your trust. I ask that you remember why you came to me in Independence. Why you wanted to travel with this company and not on your own. I will get you to Oregon as safely as I can."

He earned several nods, but she couldn't look away from his face. This Hollis was charismatic, a born leader. Who wouldn't follow him?

"Some of them don't seem convinced," Leo murmured from somewhere behind her in a voice so low she barely heard it.

Owen grunted. Agreement?

"There's also been some speculation about my personal life and that of one of our fellow travelers."

Her face flamed as several gazes landed on her. Her heart pounded and her palms went sweaty.

"Breathe," Evangeline whispered.

Hollis glanced over at her, and she recognized affection in his expression. He continued to address the crowd. "As far as I'm concerned, our private lives are our own business, but if it will settle your minds, I'd like to introduce my wife, Abigail."

He extended a hand toward her.

Leo and Owen clapped heartily. A few of the crowd joined in, at first awkward and slow until a spatter of applause spread through the rest.

Abigail had only seen this warmth in Hollis's eyes when his memory had been gone. She knew it wasn't real, that it was for the benefit of the crowd, but she beamed back at him. That's what he wanted, wasn't it?

"I'm certain I don't need to remind you how indispensable my wife has been thus far on our journey. She's doctored many of you, helped your wives when they had a sick child to care for, shared her own food supplies. Her optimistic spirit is unmatched in this company. I know you can all understand why I fell for Abigail."

Her insides knotted as his statements followed one after another. She understood his reasoning, but she knew the truth, too. She fretted and worried as much as anyone else. But Hollis made her sound hopeful and bright.

He continued speaking, telling the men that they'd reach the nearest fort in a few days.

As he wrapped up and the gathering began to disperse, Evangeline gave Abigail a hug. "You'll be good for him!" she whispered in Abigail's ear.

Rachel must have overheard. Her brows pinched slightly in concern. "Let me know if I can help in any way," was her whisper.

Most of the company, Evangeline and Leo included, believed their union to be real. But perhaps Rachel had guessed the truth.

"Our nearest neighbors have a sick little boy," Evangeline said. "I thought to check on them. Perhaps you'd like to come with me?"

Abigail became aware of Hollis at her elbow. "Abigail and I can check on them together."

His expression was serious as he scanned the groups of men dispersing to their families.

"And then you'll eat dinner," Abigail murmured.

"Already a haranguing wife," Owen teased, though his eyes held a serious glint.

Evangeline and Leo chuckled.

Hollis excused them.

In a nearby camp, the mother and child were pale and complained of stomachaches. Abigail offered to bring them some broth as soon as she could. She made small talk for several moments while Hollis spoke to the woman's husband.

As they left, walking together toward her cookfire, she asked, "Is there anything to be worried about?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. Husband said they'd drank water straight from the river after the flooding. Who knows what could've been stirred up in it. It'll likely pass in its own time."

His mind was clearly on something else, his eyes vacant and words distracted.

When someone called out to him, his eyes glittered as he leaned in close, brushing his nose to her cheek—pretending to kiss her goodbye?

"Don't forget your supper," she called after him.

He waved over his shoulder.

Only as she reached camp and focused on her tasks did she let loose of the tight rein she'd kept on her emotions since the moment Hollis had said, "We should get married."

With her head ducked over the cooking pot, she could admit to what she didn't dare breathe to anyone: she wished it was real.

The marriage.

The way he looked at her.

She'd seen what no one else seemed to be able to see. The lines around his eyes, the weight of responsibility he carried for the company.

She knew him.

Knew she shouldn't hope.

He'd loved his Dinah dearly. There was no room in his heart for Abigail.