Chapter 15

Fifteen

There was a low groan as Alice passed from the shadows outside the camp to the space near the campfire, now burning low. It was late and she longed for her bedroll, but there was more to be done.

She paused for a moment at the fire to feed it a handful of sticks. It popped and crackled, illuminating the dwindling pile of wood to burn.

Today she'd left camp between bouts of tending her sick family and spent two hours scouring the area for more wood or buffalo chips to burn. Both were growing scarce. They'd stayed too long in one place. And there hadn't been a hunting party to go out since they'd separated from Hollis's company.

Food was growing scarce, too.

The twist in Alice's gut grew stronger and stronger each time she'd passed through the camp checking on other families that seemed to grow sicker and sicker. Women who should've been resting instead cooked over campfires, and Alice recognized the haunted, hungry looks in their eyes.

"Alice, that you?" The faint whisper cut through the darkness. Coop, awake in his bedroll.

Alice left the fire, bringing the pail of water and dipper with her. The moon was out, beautiful and full. Between it and the fire, she saw too clearly the feverish light in his eyes.

She laid a hand on his forehead as her other hand held the dipper steady. He touched the handle, brought it to his lips and guzzled down several sips of water.

He was burning up with fever. He felt even hotter than Leo had when she'd checked on him a half hour ago.

His lips smacked as he finished drinking. He laid his head back down as if the effort of holding it up was too much for him to bear. Groaning slightly, he wrapped one arm around his middle.

"You're an angel, sister," he whispered.

She wasn't. She was a very frightened woman. Coop had held out the longest. For days, he'd helped her tote water, wash soiled laundry, even cook as the entire company took sick. Until this afternoon, when he'd succumbed to the fever and stomach cramps.

"Doc got any more medicine?" Coop asked. His eyes were closed. Would he even remember the conversation, or would it be like a fevered dream the next time he woke?

"The quinine is gone." The doc had told her so himself when the two of them, along with the couple of others who hadn't fallen sick, had gathered for a meeting earlier this afternoon. That seemed so long ago now.

"For all the good it did," she muttered to herself. The medicine hadn't seemed to make a difference. But what did she know? She wasn't a doctor. Maybe it did something on the inside, something she couldn't understand.

Or maybe all of this was futile.

The doctor had grown more and more grim as the days had worn on. Had they traveled all this way only to die out here on this plain?

She'd kept the thought at bay as Leo had gotten sick. Then little Sara, Owen, August, Evangeline, Felicity. Collin and Stella. Coop.

One by one, everyone she loved had yielded to the fever. And not a one of them was improving.

They needed more medicine. Different medicine. Food.

Help. They needed help.

They should've gone along with Hollis to the fort. She wanted to cry thinking about it.

Coop shifted in his bedroll when she straightened. She bent to brush her fingertips across his forehead. "Go back to sleep. You need rest."

He never opened his eyes, just mumbled something she couldn't understand.

Heart pounding, she tiptoed through the tents to the one Leo and Evangeline shared. Leo would know what to do.

But when she pulled back the corner of the canvas flap and shook his shoulder, he didn't wake. A touch to the back of his hand revealed he was still burning up with fever.

Fear choking her, she had only one thought.

Get help .

She left the water pail behind and strode through the darkness to where Leo and her other brothers had left the horses picketed for grazing. A soft whicker met her ears. Leo's saddle was heavy enough to make her arms shake as she hefted it and brought it to his horse.

The animal stood patiently as she lifted and pushed the saddle onto its back. She was no horsewoman. It took far too long to locate the buckle beneath the horse's stomach. A new frisson of fear skittered down her spine as she imagined the saddle slipping off completely, her with it.

She leaned her forehead into the patient horse's shoulder. What if she couldn't do this?

A footstep crunched in the dry grasses nearby. "That saddle's nearly bigger than you are."

She whirled before she recognized the voice, scrabbling for some weapon to defend herself. When she realized it was Braddock there in the moonlight, her panic receded.

"What are you doing?" The strong moonlight illuminated his drawn face. She'd passed by his wagon once, seen him sickly, working with one hand pressed against his stomach. He hadn't been immune to the epidemic, but who had been looking after him? He was alone within the larger company.

"I'm riding for help." It was silly to answer him. Surely he could see what she was doing. She fumbled with the buckle again.

"Not alone. Where are your brothers?"

When she kept her shoulder turned to him and didn't answer, he pushed again. "You can't mean to go alone."

She knew the danger. Not long ago, wolves had nearly set on August when he'd been out hunting by himself.

But, "I can't sit helplessly in camp and watch my family die."

The crunch of his footsteps faded away. When she turned her head, he was gone.

Awareness tingled in the lobes of her ears. She fumbled with the buckle, finally slipping the leather through the metal clasp. But the saddle still seemed too loose.

Braddock didn't have to like it that she was going. Surely, he knew she must. That attempting to argue with her wouldn't change things.

But what if he'd gone back into camp to fetch one of her brothers? She strained her ears for the sound of arguing, remembering Braddock's bruises from days ago when he'd fought with Coop.

Tears smarted in her eyes when the leather and buckle slipped through her fingers. The horse sidestepped with a soft neigh.

Frustration surged. Worry made her almost frantic. She stepped toward the horse again. The sound of approaching hoofbeats, quiet and slow and thudding into the soft ground, made her heart race.

She grabbed the horse's reins and turned to look.

Braddock again, bareheaded. Leading a horse.

He came straight to her, dropping his horse's reins to the ground when he was a few feet away. He moved to the saddle she'd had trouble with after murmuring something low and incomprehensible to the horse, who had no compunction about allowing Braddock to tend to his saddle.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded in a whisper.

"Going with you." He said the words so easily, in such a matter-of-fact manner.

Not like how she blurted, "You can't. It isn't appropriate for us to be alone together."

A flush fired in her cheeks.

He finished with the saddle, giving it a tug to ensure it was secure, and then turned to face her in the moonlight.

"Who's going to stop me? No one else in camp has the strength to sit a horse."

"Neither do you." The familiar feeling of battling words with him stole over her so quickly that it stole her breath. It was easy, so easy, to slip back into the verbal sparring that had begun their secret relationship. The first time she'd snapped at him, she'd frozen in place, certain she was going to be fired from her job as maid in his grandfather's household.

She hadn't been fired.

And their arguments had slowly changed into flirtations.

The reminder of all of it stole her breath and made her words sharp. "I don't want you to go. I don't need you."

The moonlight shone bright enough for her to see the change in his demeanor. Something slipped over his expression, as if he withdrew into himself. He was grave when he said, "Whatever you think about me now, it was never my wish to hurt you."

When should we tell your brothers? She could hear his voice in her memory, so clearly. They had sat on the bank of the creek that snaked through his grandfather's estate, fingers interlaced. When should we tell your grandfather? she'd countered.

"I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you," he said quietly.

She couldn't meet his gaze.

She'd spent every day of this journey nursing her hurt. She'd ignored him, ignored any consideration that he might've been hurt too.

It didn't matter, she told herself. He had abandoned her when it had counted most. There was no salvaging anything they'd once had—all of it was lost. The only thing that mattered now was finding help for her family and the others in camp. Nothing else.

"Let's go." She said the words stiffly, moved past him to boost herself into the saddle.

She couldn't help the awareness that he mounted up and pushed his horse into a walk just behind her. She'd ask her horse for a faster pace when they weren't so close to camp.

All of this would be easier if she could simply ignore Braddock. But she'd never been able to do that. Not from the very beginning.

"Should we send out two men as a hunting party?"

It took a moment for the words to register for Hollis, who'd been staring at the western horizon as the sun rose behind him.

The sky was lighting up, but he felt filled with darkness.

He shook himself and turned his unshaven cheek to Mr. Keller, who stood a little behind him, waiting expectantly. The man was pale and drawn, but at least he stood upright today.

Some of the travelers had begun to overcome the illness and recover.

But not Abigail.

"We've little fresh meat in camp," Mr. Keller said, pushing for an answer that Hollis didn't feel equipped to give.

"If you need the meat, and there are at least two of you fit to go, then go." His voice emerged coarse, like he hadn't spoken in a week, and Hollis saw the flash of surprise cross the other man's face before he nodded and walked away.

Hollis had spent most of the night with his head in his hands. He couldn't bear to sit at Abigail's side. He'd left that to Maddie, who'd dabbed her forehead with damp cloths to keep the fever down, dribbled water into Abigail's slack mouth.

Hollis had sat outside the camp and mourned. At the center of himself, there was an inferno of anger—and guilt.

He knew better.

He never should've let Abigail close.

Another footstep in the grass and he sighed. He didn't feel capable of leading the wagon train in this moment, but he had to find strength from somewhere. The people in his remaining company had trusted him with their lives. Somehow, he needed to put aside his own fierce grief and lead them.

It was Maddie, the deep lines around her mouth showing her exhaustion. But there was something more. A sadness written in her eyes. For one moment, terror and pain seized him.

"Abigail is resting," she said quietly. "She was awake for a few moments earlier."

The horrible fear that had grabbed him by the throat receded, but his heart didn't heed. It still pounded in his chest like the hooves of a horde of buffalo.

"You should go to her."

He was already shaking his head before she finished the statement. He couldn't bear it.

Maddie's expression darkened. "Mrs. Miller passed away a few minutes ago." Alex, Paul and little Jenny had lost their father only yesterday. Now their mother was gone, too.

Hollis strained his ears and thought he could hear children crying over the quiet sounds of a camp just waking up.

"I'll make arrangements for her burial," he said.

Maddie nodded, eyes downcast. A tear slipped down her cheek and she quickly raised one hand to brush it away. He took a longer look at her. She was pale, but he didn't think she'd been affected by the illness.

Her hands trembled. More tears threatened and she blinked rapidly, her lips pinching. "I'm not usually such a watering pot."

He put a hand on her shoulder.

When she inhaled, he felt the slenderness of her shoulder. "I was hoping the wagons—Owen's part of the company would have made the fort last night," she admitted. Her eyes didn't quite meet his.

He felt the hit of hearing his former friend's name. He'd been watching for the other wagons too. Today marked the sixth day since they'd parted ways. Even if Owen and the others had stayed to rest and heal, they should've arrived yesterday. Shouldn't they?

"You need the doc?" he asked.

Her lips formed a stubborn line. "No."

But she still seemed so fragile.

"When was the last time you slept?" he asked.

She started to open her mouth and then pressed her lips together, shaking her head. She wouldn't say? Or she didn't know?

Worry tangled his gut in knots. Maddie might not have a medical degree, but she had been caring for patients since the beginning of the journey. The company would be lost without her compassionate nursing.

"Go and lie down. I won't hear you argue," he said when she opened her mouth to protest. "You sleep for a few hours. If I see you out of your tent, I'll set a watch on you."

Another tear slipped free, and she gave in reluctantly. He watched her cross the expanse of grass and then slip inside her tent.

Only after the canvas flap closed did he run a hand down his face. What now?

Sixteen lost .

And it was his fault.

He stole another look at the fort as a dry wind fluttered against his face. There had to be soldiers inside who could help them. Even if the fort doctor had no medicine for their illness, having men to help provide food and tote water, feed his company, help care for the ill... it might've made all the difference.

A shrill whistle caught his attention, pulled it toward the east. Galloping hoofbeats soon followed.

Two riders on horseback.

Hollis recognized Leo's horse and his heart went into his throat. He crossed through camp, aware of the couple of men who followed him out from between the circle of wagons.

It wasn't Leo on that horse.

It was Alice. And... Robert Braddock?

They were riding in a straight line toward the fort, but when he hailed them with both arms waving, they changed direction slightly.

Alice reined in as she neared him and was off the horse before the animal had stopped. She threw herself into Hollis's arms. Shocked, he hugged her for a second before she pushed back.

Braddock remained on his horse. He was hatless and hunched in the saddle as if he were seasick. He was as pale as Maddie had just been, but his nose and the bridge of his cheeks were pink from the sun.

"Please tell me you've a doctor from the fort and everyone is recovered." Alice gestured to the circled wagons wearing an expression of hope. One that Hollis hated to destroy.

Sixteen lost .

He shook his head and her expression darkened.

"Your company isn't faring well?" he asked.

He saw the worry in her expression, felt the concern that Braddock seemed to echo from horseback.

"We need help."

He wanted to ask her how it was that she could ask for help when her stubborn half-brother could not.

"Owen and Leo might've been hit the hardest of all," she said, "but every member of my family is ill and—" She cut herself off, shaking her head.

Despair swamped him. He had to clear his throat to get the words out. "The garrison refused to help. Too afraid of getting infected."

Alice's gaze cut to the fort, determination in the set of her jaw. "I don't care. I'll go in there and make them help us."

She might be slight of stature, but in that moment, she seemed fierce as a warrior.

"They won't let you in," Hollis said. Determination wasn't a match for firepower, and those soldiers had plenty of it.

"I don't care," she repeated. This time, Hollis caught the glint of tears in her eyes before she blinked them away. She went back to her horse and boosted herself into the saddle.

"They'll send you away," Hollis said to Braddock. Maybe the man would see reason.

Although he had never seen the two interact in camp. There was some tension there in the way Alice carefully avoided Braddock's eyes, the too-long glance at her from the city-slicker. Why were they working together now?

"I'm going where she goes," Braddock said.

And then they were gone. Hollis watched them ride away, out of sight before they reached the buildings of the fort.

It was useless. If Hollis thought he'd get any compassion from the commander, he'd have approached again and again.

Aimlessly, he wandered through the quiet camp. Many travelers still slept. A few made breakfast. Some mothers checked on their children. He stopped outside the wagon where Abigail had been put. He strained his ears but couldn't hear her breathing. Only the solid beating of his own heart in his ears.

If anything, he felt more lost than he had when Dinah had passed. How could that be? He'd loved Dinah with all of his heart.

He wasn't the same man any longer. That much was certain. He'd grown up. Lost some of the naivety of a man in his younger years. But not all of it. Wasn't there some part of him that had believed he could have Abigail in his life and not lose her?

He should check on her. Cool her head and neck with damp cloths.

But he couldn't bear seeing her fade away, especially knowing that this was his fault.

It couldn't have been that long that he stood there, staring into nothing, questioning everything. Surely not longer than a half an hour. But when he blinked, there were Alice and Braddock riding back on their horses.

And behind them, a line of soldiers from the fort.

He froze until Alice drew up yards away. "We're going back to the company," she said, a fierce victory in her expression. But Braddock looked shifty, somehow.

"All of you?"

She shook her head. "Some of the men will stay and help here."

Relief flooded him. "Thank you."

"Come back with us," she said. "My brothers should never have split the company. Come back and help, and set them straight."

He heard a rustling from the wagon behind him. Was Abigail rolling over? Making herself more comfortable?

"Owen needs you," Alice urged.

"I'll go," he decided. It was better than staying here, losing Abigail little by little.

"I'm going with you." Abigail, shaky but upright, peeking out from the wagon's canvas covering. Her eyes were on Alice. It was Alice who she spoke to, not Hollis.

"I can ride."