Chapter 4

Cecil shifted Petey so he couldn’t see his mother. If she?—

He wouldn’t allow the thought and shook her foot. “She’s warm.” He studied her shoulders. “She’s breathing. Hazel! Hazel! Wake up!”

“Mama?”

Petey’s voice achieved what Cecil and Louise hadn’t been able to, and Hazel stirred.

She moaned and tried to sit up. “My head hurts.” She lay down again.

Cecil didn’t know what to do. “You’re the nurse.” In other words, what would you suggest we do?

“I feel like she needs to at least drink some water.”

“I’ll fetch some fresh.” He handed Petey to her and trotted down to the river. Those on the other side gathered around the campfire, eating their noon meal. They seemed so far away, but they hadn’t moved. It was only that…

He scooped up water and hurried back to the wagon.

“Take Petey so I can help her.” As soon as they’d transferred the child, Louise shook Hazel and demanded she sit up. She half dragged the other woman upright.

Groaning, eyes unfocused, Hazel swayed from side to side. “Dizzy,” she mumbled. “Headache.”

“I know.” Louise’s tone was gentle. “Drink this water, and then you can lie down again.” She held the cup to Hazel’s lips, and the woman drank. After three mouthfuls, she took the cup and drained it.

“More.” She drank two more full cups and then lay down.

“That was good. I think she’s dehydrated.” Louise pulled up the skin on the back of Hazel’s hand. “See? I’ll let her rest a little while and then give her more water.”

“She’ll be fine, won’t she?”

“I’ll make sure she is.”

“What would happen if you didn’t insist that she drink?”

She drew in a long breath. “It can be serious.”

“As in—?” He didn’t have to say the word fatal before she nodded. He’d heard of being thirsty but not dehydrated. Though, come to think of it, didn’t travelers die of thirst and sometimes do strange things?

“It’s good you knew what to do.” He might have let her sleep until it was too late.

Louise returned to the fire.

Cecil let Petey pat his mother’s feet before he followed. He settled the baby on a hunk of wood between his feet. If something happened to Hazel, there would be plenty of family members to care for the youngster, but the idea brought no consolation. Petey had already lost his father. That was enough for the child to bear.

“How long will you let her sleep?” He couldn’t keep his gaze off the feet visible at the end of the wagon. If it depended on him and the limited information Louise gave, he’d have Hazel sitting up right now, draining cup after cup of water.

“Until the soup is ready. The broth will do her good.” She stirred the mixture, lifted a spoonful, blew to cool it, and then sipped it. “A few more minutes.”

Fine. She knew how to treat Hazel. But Cecil’s nerves twitched. If things went wrong while he was here with the two women?—

Well, he wouldn’t think of it. He would tend them as he had his grandmother. Air filled his lungs as the tension in his chest eased, and he turned back to the baby.

“Pat-a-cake. Pat-a-cake.”

Petey rocked with enthusiasm over the game and perhaps over the attention.

Cecil’s gaze drifted to the wagon.

Petey grabbed his hands and demanded more play.

Louise brought bowls and ladled soup. “I’ll let it cool a bit.” She set them down and headed back to the wagon.

Leaving Petey with two sticks to bang together, Cecil got to his feet. “Do you want help getting her up?” He meant to give it whether or not she said she wanted it.

Her answer was a shrug as she returned to Hazel, who still appeared to be sleeping.

“Hazel, wake up. It’s time to eat.” Louise shook her friend. When there was no response, she shook her harder and called her name louder.

Cecil reached for Hazel’s arm. She had to get up. She had to eat and drink. They weren’t going to stand by and let her fade away.

“Wake up.” He tugged on her arm until she was in a sitting position and held her as she swayed and moaned. “Louise made soup. It smells wonderful. Petey is ready to eat.” He eased her forward until her legs hung over the end. He gave her a few minutes to steady herself, then nodded to Louise. “Let’s help her over to the fire.”

Louise grasped Hazel’s arm on one side, and with Cecil on the other, they helped her down and held her between them as they walked to the fire. He pushed a log in place beside Petey, and they lowered her to it.

Petey pressed to her knee. “Mama.”

The way Hazel’s shoulders rose and fell suggested she was filling her lungs.

Cecil hauled a log close to Hazel and sat guarding her. He glanced up at Louise. “I’ll watch her,” he murmured.

She nodded. “The food is ready. Would you ask the blessing?”

He rose but kept a hand on Hazel’s shoulder as he gave one of the quickest prayers ever. “Lord God, thanks for the food and Your care. Amen.”

When Louise brought bowls of soup, Hazel stared at the contents without a sign of interest.

“You must eat,” Louise said.

“Eat!” Petey reached for the bowl.

“Very well.” Louise gave the boy a spoonful, then held one to Hazel’s mouth. “Please try it.”

Hazel opened her mouth to accept the warm liquid, her swallow audible.

Cecil ate his portion without paying attention to the taste as Louise alternately continued to spoon soup to the other two. He would offer to feed one of them, but would Hazel stop eating if anything changed? Best he not take the chance.

His bowl was empty. He set it aside.

Louise began a second bowlful for Hazel and Petey. It was almost cleaned out when both refused more.

“That’s good.” Louise leaned back on her heels.

“I’ll get fresh water.” He trotted to the river and sloshed water into two pots. Back at the fire, he set one to heat for washing the dishes. From the other, he scooped a cup and offered it to Hazel.

She lifted her gaze to him. Ah. She focused better than earlier.

“Good to see you improving.”

“Thanks.” She took the cup and drank several mouthfuls. “I’m sorry for being a nuisance.” Her weak voice barely reached his ears.

Louise sat close to her friend. “You’re never a nuisance.”

Another audible swallow as Hazel drank more water.

He left Louise with Hazel and the baby and gathered all the used dishes together to wash.

“I can do that.” Louise half rose.

“I don’t mind.” The warm water felt good while he cleaned each dish. The towel squeaked over a bowl as he dried it. “Remember, I said I took care of my grandmother when she was failing? That meant cooking for her and washing the dishes.” He put the clean bowl on a tray. “There’s something satisfying about keeping things clean and orderly.”

Laughter trickled from her.

“What?”

“We are crowded together in wagons. Sometimes, it’s impossible to find something you need among the many boxes. I don’t suppose you would consider this clean and orderly.” She waved to indicate the wagon and widened the circle to include the pots and pans around the fire.

“Well.” He dried another bowl. “At least it’s clean.”

She laughed again. “In other words, you’re making the best of the situation?”

“I try.” Not only here but also wherever he was.

She studied him, interest in her eyes. “Might I be correct in thinking you always do?”

“Do what?” He had to know exactly what she meant before he answered.

“Always try and make the best of a situation?”

“Guess I do.” More than that, he also tried to help others do the same, but she didn’t know that. Nor likely care. Though, come to think of it, they were alike in that sense. She cared for people’s health. He cared for their happiness.

“I’d like to lie down again.”

Hazel’s request interrupted his thoughts. And might have prevented him from saying something silly. Like look how we work together in balance.

“Do you mind watching Petey for me?”

“Of course not,” Louise answered before Cecil could.

“I’ll help you.” He tossed the drying towel over his shoulder and hurried to Hazel’s side.

Louise stepped back. Why wasn’t she rushing forward to help as he expected? But Hazel stood before him, or rather wobbled, and he held her steady as he guided her back to the wagon.

When he helped her lie down, she sighed deeply. “I’ll be fine as soon as I rest.”

How much rest did it take to make her feel herself? Would Louise know? He waited to make sure Hazel settled. Then he returned to where Louise stood holding Petey and voiced his question.

“You said yourself, she’s improving.” Her words were firm, reassuring, but her eyes held doubt and worry. Did she see something about Hazel that he didn’t?

Even though shewanted to take care of her friend, Louise let Cecil help Hazel to the wagon. They needed time together. She’d had Cecil to herself, apart from the baby, all morning. It had been pleasant.

She shouldn’t be enjoying herself with the man she thought her friend would marry.

But what were they to do when Hazel couldn’t stay awake for more than half an hour?

“I’ll bake biscuits. Petey should have a nap.”

Cecil looked toward the wagon. “No doubt Hazel will rest better if he isn’t beside her. Maybe he’ll settle behind the seat.” He picked up the baby and trotted to the wagon, climbing aboard at the front. Louise nodded her approval as he took a quilt from the stack, spread it on the floor, and then settled Petey on it. When the baby fussed, he patted his back and sang softly.

Louise clasped her hands at her waist as she watched and listened. He was a good man. Good with the baby. Good with Hazel. All around good.

She spun away. Biscuits. That’s where her attention should be. She measured out ingredients, kneaded the dough, and shaped the biscuits, and as the portable oven they usually used was with the others, she put them to bake in the Dutch oven. She set the cast-iron pot over the bed of coals and surrounded it with more coals. By rights, she should have baked these before their noon meal to accompany the soup, but they’d enjoy them with supper. Or maybe a midafternoon snack with tea.

Now, there was a good idea. She chuckled as she recalled mentioning that Cecil had a good idea.

“I hear you laughing.”

She hadn’t noticed him cross the soft grass. Didn’t realize he stood behind her until he spoke.

“Care to share what amuses you?”

She straightened and came round to face him. Something in his dark eyes compelled her to tell him. “Biscuits and tea would make a nice afternoon break.” Though break from what? But it was too late to pull the words back and find some more fitting ones.

“That’s a good idea.”

“I’ve been known to have a few.”

His eyes sparkled. He laughed.

Yes, he’d gotten the reference to their earlier conversation. His quiet chuckle bubbled inside her. She tried to pull away from his gaze. Tried to deny the sensation in her heart of joy and?—

The biscuits!

She spun away, her breath racing in and out, and hurried to check on them.

They were golden brown. She lifted them out with a long-handled spoon and set them on the nearby platter. Without looking toward Cecil, she plopped in the rest of the unbaked biscuits and returned the Dutch oven to the heat.

Meanwhile, Cecil put water over the fire to boil.

“Should we get Hazel up to have tea with us?” he asked.

Louise’s heart stopped its silly bouncing. Of course, he wanted Hazel to join them. And by rights, she should, too. But the woman was exhausted.

“I thought of leaving her to rest until Petey wakes up.”

“Of course.” He found tea leaves in the box of supplies and added them to the hot water.

Shouldn’t he sound more disappointed? Or was he that eager for the fresh biscuits? She brought over a jar of preserves. Then they sat down with biscuits and jam ,each with a cup of fragrant tea.

He followed his first bite with a swallow of the hot liquid and sighed. “Good. Thanks.” He hoisted a biscuit to indicate what he meant.

They ate in silence that grew increasingly uncomfortable.

“This reminds me of my grandmother.” Cecil broke the awkward silence.

“How’s that?” If he meant because she reminded him of an old woman, she might be hard-pressed to remain calm, even though her training had forced her to deal with all sorts of cantankerous people without reacting.

“She had to have her morning coffee, but afternoon tea was a must until the end. Tea with cookies or biscuits or cake. Always a sweet of some sort. I remember one time—” A smile tugged at his lips. “She was too weak to bake, but there were no cookies. I’d never baked before, but she said there was no time like the present.” His grin seemed to invite Louise into his memories.

“Even in her weakened condition, she was as stubborn as one of those oxen.” He nodded toward the animals grazing by the trees. “Sweet and cooperative unless they’re required to do something they don’t want to.” His gaze remained on the animals, or perhaps he was seeing into his past. Remembering?—

“I said I couldn’t make cookies. I’d make a mess of it.” Warmth filled his eyes as he looked at Louise. “You know what she said?”

Of course, she didn’t. She shook her head.

“She said, ‘Cecil Miller, I am going to sit right here at the table and make sure you do it right. Now pull out that cookbook and open it to the page.’ I asked what page. With a smile, she said, ‘You’ll see it.’

“And I did. ‘You mean the one all spattered with grease?’

“‘Ignore that and start measuring,’ she said.

“‘Gramma,’ I protested, ‘I’ve never seen you use this recipe.’”

“She laughed. The soft, sweet laugh I heard all through my childhood. ‘You’ll soon learn it by heart, too.’” He grew quiet, pensive.

“Did you?”

“I did. Raisin-oatmeal cookies. I still think they’re the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”

“Partly because of the memories, I’d venture to guess.”

His smile was so full of fondness that it made her swallow hard. “You’d be right.”

“You could make them here.”

He lifted one hand dismissively. “I’d need an oven.”

Of course, he would. She looked across the river. “How long before we can join the others?”

He ate the last of his biscuits and drained his cup. “I can’t say.” He set aside his dishes and went to the bank, looking across the rushing water. “It hasn’t lowered any. In fact—” He looked from one side to the other and didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to. She knew what he meant.

The bush that had its feet by the edge of the water now had it up to its knees.

The river had risen since this morning. Where was all the water coming from? How much more would come their way?

She turned back to study the wagon. It was a good fifty feet from the edge of the water and on a bit of a hill.

Still. If the water continued to rise, how safe were they?