Chapter 14

Fourteen

Two days later, Abigail dipped a small cloth into a pail of cool water and even the effort to lift it back out felt like climbing a mountain. All she wanted to do was lie down.

This wasn't the time for that. She knew it. And yet…

She forced the notes of mama's lullaby from her chest in a hum as she dragged her arm up, wrung out the cloth, and then used it to dab the brow of a young boy lying on a pallet on the ground next to his parents' wagon, burning up with fever. His parents fared no better, sleeping next to him, faces pink with fever.

After Abigail had done what she could to cool the boy's face and neck, then dribbled a scant few drops of water in his mouth, she stood on shaky legs, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. She took the pail with her. Where was she needed now?

Afternoon sunlight warmed her, pricking her skin with tiny beads of sweat. The fort stood several hundred yards away, a grouping of squat buildings behind a barricade that appeared half-built. Or maybe someone had started it and given up. Hollis was there, bringing help.

That was her only solace as the weight of the pail pulled her shoulders down. They had pushed the oxen faster and longer so that they could reach the fort as soon as possible. But almost half the company had been left behind. Abigail missed Felicity dearly, and it'd only been thirty-six hours since she'd seen her friend.

She traded out the pail of used water for a clean, fresh one with a dipper inside. She leaned against the nearest wagon, taking respite in the shade of its canopy. Just for a moment.

Surely Hollis would arrive with help soon.

Hollis had been taciturn and pensive, almost angry, since the company had split. She didn't know how to help him, how to let him know that he wasn't alone. He didn't want her for a wife, but at one time she'd been his friend. Maybe she could still be that.

She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the edges of a piece of folded paper inside. She brought it out, needing the comfort from her brother's letter. She'd found it tucked in one of the books Evangeline had lent her, still in Abigail's wagon. The letter was one of the only things of Abigail's that hadn't been destroyed or lost when the twister had decimated the wagon she and Felicity had shared at that time.

She unfolded it and ran her fingers over the artful script. Her brother had always had an affinity for learning. She could remember him sitting at the table in mama's work kitchen, practicing his letters.

Longing gripped her. When would she see her beloved brother? Surely his presence would provide the stability she had been aching for since her boss's betrayal.

Hollis strode across the expanse between the fort and wagons. Alone.

The set of the wagonmaster's shoulders radiated tension. Abigail's stomach knotted as she waited for his approach.

He took the dipper from her and paused in the wagon's shadow, expression grim.

"No one is coming to help," she guessed.

His eyes were shuttered. He handed back the dipper. "They won't let any of us come in the fort, not with typhoid among our group." He looked so defeated. "And they won't send their doctor—or anyone else—to help."

She felt breathless fear, worry that must be an echo of his own. What will we do ?

He glanced down at her hand, where she still clutched the letter. "What's that?"

Did he need a distraction? She could provide that. "Joseph's last letter to me." She pressed it against her chest, wishing it was her brother himself. "I don't know how he managed to send money for my passage. God's providence, I suppose. Joseph didn't know about Mr. Smith."

Hollis's brows drew together. "What about Mr. Smith?"

The old betrayal sliced through her. "Mr. Smith promised to help me save for the trip since I couldn't open a bank account. He stole my money."

She felt Hollis's stillness beside her. Pushed on to finish the story. "He didn't want me to leave. Didn't want to have to find another cook for the family, I suppose." The feeling that he'd wanted to trap her still made her insides clench tight.

"It wasn't right," Hollis said, his nostrils flaring. "Did you tell the authorities?"

"No. I just… left. And found Joseph's gift waiting for me."

Hollis's eyes watched the horizon now. "Joseph saved me once too. On that first journey I took across the prairie."

He blinked, stirred. As if he hadn't meant to say that. "I saw him the last time my train reached the Willamette Valley. He was hale, and..." His eyes shadowed briefly. "He couldn't keep his eyes off a young woman from a neighboring village."

Joseph? He'd always been more interested in his books than in young women.

Hollis shifted his feet. "I wouldn't be surprised if you arrive to find them married."

Unease slithered through Abigail. Hollis glanced behind her, as if to check on the camp, unaware of the turmoil his words had caused.

Joseph had sent for Abigail, had painted a grand picture of the new business he'd help her get started out in Oregon. A cafe, where she could put her skills in the kitchen toward crafting her own future.

She wanted it. A business that was hers to run. The stability of building a clientele of repeat customers, always knowing she'd have an income. No Mr. Smith to steal from her. She would be her own boss.

But if Joseph had a new wife, what if that woman didn't want him to spend their money helping Abigail get her business off the ground?

Maddie ducked out of the Carters' wagon and caught sight of them as she climbed down the wagon wheel. She headed their way. Hollis moved to intercept her, speaking urgently.

Abigail should go and check on the next family. The Wards? Or someone else? It was difficult to order her thoughts. The sun was on its descent. Did it feel hotter out here?

She was pushing off the wagon when Maddie reached her.

"I was just going to check on Mrs. Madigan," Abigail said.

A sadness showed in Maddie's expression. "She's gone."

For a moment, Abigail felt nothing. And then a rush of grief. Mrs. Madigan had been a lovely older woman who had been like a grandmother to many folks on the wagon train. She'd always had a kind word to say.

Gone.

Abigail's eyes skipped past Maddie to Hollis, who was kneeling next to Mr. Fordham, who'd risen up on one elbow.

"Does he know?" Abigail whispered.

"I just told him."

Hollis's mouth was grim as he spoke to Mr. Fordham. He would have another loss to write in his logbook. He'd gotten the awful news, and he'd gone right to work. He hadn't said one word of comfort to her.

I have nothing to give you .

He'd said the words two days ago. She'd known what they'd meant, but somewhere deep inside, she'd held onto a thread of hope. One so thin and frayed that it snapped now, and she felt herself sink into a mire of emptiness.

Hollis had told her, repeatedly, that he didn't want a second wife. He didn't want her.

Abigail was the one who had chosen to hope, to believe that she might be enough to change his mind.

There was loss all around her. So much loss.

And what was waiting for her in Oregon? More uncertainty. Perhaps things had changed too much between her and her brother since he'd left four years ago.

Would she never find the peace she craved?

"Abigail?"

She heard Maddie's voice as if from far away, but suddenly, everything was too much. Too much grief, too much pain.

Too hot.

"I need to sit down." She said the words. Or tried to. The pail slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers as her legs grew weak.

"Abigail!"

She felt Maddie's arm—strong for such a slight woman—grab her waist, felt the scratch of grass as she was lowered to the ground.

"Hollis!"

Abigail had lost her sight—no, her eyes had simply closed. She forced them open, saw a hand, felt a cool touch on her forehead. She focused on the sky, with high, wispy clouds skittering to the south.

"She's burning up."

Her eyes had slid closed again. Was that Maddie speaking?

"Open your eyes." Definitely Hollis's voice, the command deep and gravelly. She didn't dare disobey.

Tears slipped from her eyes as she opened them to meet his intent stare. His cool hand rested on the skin of her jaw and cheek.

"My head hurts," she whispered.

Was she the only one burning up?

"I'm sorry." Sorry she couldn't be enough for him to love. Sorry for everything he'd lost. Sorry for the little boy who'd grieved so fiercely.

"Don't drift off," he ordered. "Stay awake."

But this time, she couldn't make her body listen.

She slipped into darkness.

Hollis felt the bottom of his stomach drop out as Abigail's fever-bright eyes closed.

"Abigail. Abby. Wake up."

She didn't respond. He still held his palm against her cheek and tapped her with his forefinger.

Maddie let go of Abigail's wrist, where she'd been counting the beats of her heart.

"How long has she had the fever?" Maddie asked.

He shook his head, helplessness rolling over him like a rogue wave in an overflowing river. Despair threatened to suck him under. "I don't know." He could barely get the words out, and when he did, they were rough with emotion.

He had been too scared to get close to her in these past days since they'd left the wagon train. Scared of himself—of what he'd do if he got near enough to clasp her hand in his again.

Two days ago, he'd almost kissed her. Had barely come to his senses in time. Or maybe didn't have any sense left, not when his instincts kept urging him to turn to her, to grab onto her and not let go.

"Please, not her." He didn't know where the guttural whisper came from. He bowed his head, fighting the tears that wouldn't help anything. He was still reeling from the news that Mrs. Madigan had passed. He knew—he knew!—how this sickness could kill.

And now Abigail...

He couldn't even think about what losing her might mean to him.

"Can you lift her into the wagon?" Maddie pressed.

He raised his head to meet her concerned gaze.

"She'll be more comfortable there," Maddie said.

He had to pull himself together. But he was shaking as he rose to his knees, gathered Abigail to him and stood to his feet.

He could feel her fever heat radiating through her dress and his shirt. He'd thought she looked peaked when he'd spoken to her only moments ago. Why hadn't he asked if she needed to rest?

Because he was a fool.

Maddie looked pale too. Exhausted. In camp, there had been only a handful of folks who hadn't been touched by the typhoid. And Maddie was running herself ragged.

"Is the fort's doctor coming?" Maddie asked as Hollis moved to lay Abigail inside the wagon, where a blanket had already been spread and the crates and barrels shoved to one side.

"No one is coming," he grated out.

He'd felt the helplessness of it, the biting words from a sergeant who had kept a good ten feet from Hollis once he'd understood the company was ill.

"A doctor has a duty to help—" she started.

"Then maybe we should've forced our camp doctor to come with us."

She flinched, and he realized he'd growled the words. Almost bitten her head off.

This wasn't her fault.

"Then... we're on our own?" Her words trembled.

Hollis nodded gravely. "They won't send anyone or allow us into the fort until we're completely well."

Desperation seized him. He'd made the best choice he could, seeking help at the fort. Only to find that he'd perhaps doomed them all.

Owen was right. Hollis wasn't fit to lead this company.

Abigail's head lolled to the side, limp and unresponsive.

"If she can get through the fever..." Maddie trailed off.

He knew. If she fought through the fever, she'd be weak and weary but alive. And if she didn't?

Memories flitted through his mind, too fast for him to catch any of them completely.

Holding Abigail the night they'd been stranded in the woods.

The determined moue she'd made when he'd been barely conscious after his concussion and she'd ordered him to eat.

The turn of her face, a glimpse just long enough to see her dawning smile. Feel the tug in his gut.

Their kiss.

Watching her walk alongside Felicity, in the early days of their journey. Keeping his distance, because if he spoke to her, he'd want to know her.

It's been there between us, from the beginning .

She'd been right. There'd been a recognition inside of him from the moment he'd seen her on the boardwalk in Independence. A connection that once ignited, he hadn't been able to ignore but fully able to deny.

Looking at her pale skin, her slack expression, he couldn't pretend any longer.

He hadn't meant to, he'd tried his hardest not to, but somehow he'd fallen for her anyway.

And now she was sick. She could die. Just like Dinah. The baby. Charles.

He was going to lose her.

Maddie said something to him, but he couldn't make out the words as he backed out of the wagon and whirled away. He had to get away, escape.

He ran out into the open prairie, ran until his legs burned and his lungs were on fire.

Stopped to lean both hands on his knees. Retched into the prairie grass.

He was cursed. He'd known it for years.

And now he'd cursed Abigail because he'd been too weak to push her away. She'd gotten close, and now he was going to lose her.

He screamed at the sky, a wordless shout that barely touched the pain rolling over him.

Why did God hate him? Why was He punishing Abigail for Hollis's sins, whatever those were?

There was no answer. No strike of lightning to take Hollis's own worthless life.

That would be too easy.

He turned back the way he'd come, wishing for the emptiness he'd known when the berries had stolen his memory. The fort was there, so close but out of reach. The wagons a reminder of all the travelers he'd failed.

He couldn't leave Maddie to tend to the ill by herself. It wasn't fair to do that to her.

Hollis trudged back toward the wagons. What had become of the travelers they'd left behind?

Was the doctor right? Had their isolated patients and extra rest done more than Hollis's pushing to reach the fort? Or was Owen suffering just as he was?

Hollis had no answers. No prayers, no hope of Divine providence. Only a desperate grief that swamped him as he made his way back into the camp.