Violet’s tone remained cheerful, despite her brother’s frown. “She’s asked for my help, James. I can’t refuse.”
“I’ll go with you, Aunt Vi.” Abby covered the pot of stew and stood up, dusting off her britches.
As the two women moved through the wagons, they were surprised to hear a woman’s cry.
“Now what do you suppose … ?”
They halted in front of the Peel wagon. Doralyn Peel was standing with Mordecai and Rourke. Her face was contorted with pain.
“What is it, Doralyn? What’s happened?” Violet hurried to her side.
“It’s Jason. Mr. Stump says he has cholera.”
Violet’s eyes widened as she turned toward the wagon master. “How can you be certain?”
“I’ve seen cholera before, Miss Violet. There’s no denying the look. Jason is already becoming dehydrated. He canna’ keep as much as a drop of water down. His skin is like clay. I plucked it. It wouldna’ even snap back.”
Violet put a hand to her throat. Cholera. It was the most dreaded word she knew. More than the elements, more than Indians, the travelers heading west feared cholera.
Placing her hand on Doralyn’s shoulder, Violet whispered, “Jason is a fine, strong man. He’ll come through this, Doralyn. We’ll nurse him. We’ll stay with him through his ordeal. You’ll see. He’ll be just fine.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Violet,” Mordecai said. “No one except his wife will be able to tend him. Cholera is highly contagious.”
“What about my son?” the woman asked, beginning to cry again.
“He’d be better off in one of the other wagons, but I’m afraid he might carry the illness with him. He’ll have to stay with you, ma’am.”
A low moan came from inside the wagon. Touching her apron to her eyes, Doralyn Peel slowly climbed inside. As she turned to close the flap, her eyes met Violet’s. Violet tried to give her a smile, and found that her lips trembled instead. Turning away, she leaned heavily on Abby’s arm as they made their way back to their wagon.
* * *
“Cholera!” James Market shoved the cork into his jug and set it aside. “Are you sure?”
“Mr. Stump was certain. He said he’d seen it before. He had no doubt that what Jason Peel has is cholera.”
“By God!” Lumbering to his feet, James walked away without another word.
“I’m worried about your father.”
Abby glanced at her aunt. “Why? He left his jug here.”
“That’s why I’m so worried.” Violet’s tone was thoughtful. “What would be more important tonight than his liquor?”
Abby fell silent. Jason Peel’s cholera. But what did that have to do with her father?
The answer wasn’t long in coming. As the two women worked by the light of the fire, they heard the sound of voices raised in anger.
Dropping her mending, Violet glanced at Abby. “I think I hear James’s voice. We’d better see what’s happening.”
By the time they reached the cook wagon, most of the people from the train were gathered around, listening to James Market.
“… careful, we’ll all be infected. I say, if Jason Peel really has cholera, he and his family should be forced to leave this wagon train immediately. Otherwise, the next one stricken might be me. Or you,” he said dramatically, pointing toward Jed Garner.
“I have a wife and baby to think of,” Jed shouted. “I don’t want to see them die.”
“No one wants to see anyone die,” Mordecai said, trying to be heard above the crowd.
“People die every day of cholera. The only way to prevent the spread of this disease is to send the Peels away.”
“What chance would they have alone in this desert?” Violet called.
“You stay out of this, woman. I’m only trying to look out for your safety.”
“Is that what you call it, Market?” Reverend Coulter asked. “I call it running scared.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re afraid to be around a sick man, so you want to send him away and deny he even exists.”
“Oh, he exists, Reverend,” James said quickly. “There’s no denying he exists. And so does the cholera.”
“We can’t just send them away,” Reverend Coulter retorted.
“I hope that little baby of yours—what’s her name? Jenny?—isn’t the next one to come down with cholera.”
Reverend Coulter’s face turned the color of ash. The protest he was about to utter died on his lips.
Pressing his advantage, James Market pointed a finger at Lavinia Winters. “How many children are in your wagon, Mrs. Winters? Three? What chance will they have if this disease spreads?”
Lavinia’s lips compressed into a tight line.
“If you want to know what I think, the people on this wagon train have the right to protect themselves. I vote we order the Peel family to leave this train tonight.”
“Wait a minute.” At the sound of Abby’s voice, the crowd turned to study her.
“I understand your fear of cholera. But we have a duty to be humane,” Abby said in a pleading voice. “The Peels paid their money, the same as everyone else. They have a right to the protection this train offers. Instead of sending them away, why can’t we just ask that they fall behind the others?” Glancing at Mordecai for support, Abby went on quickly, “That way, they won’t be able to contaminate the rest of us. But they’ll be close enough to fire a shot if they need help.”
“That sounds fair to me,” Reverend Coulter said. The relief in his voice was evident. He wished he had thought of this solution himself.
“I like that better than sending them away completely,” Aaron Winters said. His wife nodded her head in agreement.
“I still say they should be sent away,” James Market shouted. “This calls for a vote of the majority.”
Mordecai interrupted him. “This is my wagon train, Market. I’ll tally the vote. And if there’s a tie, I’ll cast the deciding one.” Glancing over the crowd, the wagon master said, “Miss Abby has suggested that the Peel wagon pull back from the train until the illness is cured. I will add to that, any wagon containing a cholera victim will be asked to do the same.” He saw the way the people began reflecting on the possibilities of their own family members becoming ill. When they realized that they could suffer the same fate as the Peels, they were willing to look for more humane treatment. “I ask for a show of hands,” Mordecai said.
After counting the hands, he said, “James Market has suggested that the Peel wagon be sent away from the train and left on its own. I will add, any other wagon whose family members become ill with cholera will be forced to do the same.” Glancing at the scowl on Market’s face, Mordecai said, “I will now see a show of hands for that suggestion.”
Only Jed Garner raised his hand. Swearing, James Market went off in search of his jug. Quickly the crowd dispersed. This was not a night to be out. This was a night to draw close around the family and pray that each would be spared the fate of Jason Peel.
* * *
Each morning as the travelers broke camp they would turn to look at the Peel wagon, far back but keeping pace. Whenever Abby went out to hunt, she left some of her game along the trail, with a marker, where she knew Doralyn and Jonathon would find it. Her heart went out to the mother and son who valiantly contended not only with illness but with isolation.
The night was unbearably hot and still. The moon was obscured by dark clouds. James had gone off to drink with Jed Garner. Violet lay in the back of the wagon, occasionally dabbing at her face and arms with a damp cloth. Abby walked some distance from the wagons to a dry creek bed. If only there were water, she thought, bending to touch the sun-bleached stones. How she longed to strip off her clothes and swim in cool, refreshing water. Thoughts of another night drifted into her mind. A night when Rourke had watched while she stripped naked and swam. Just the thought of it brought the heat to her cheeks.
“I thought I’d warned you to stay close to camp.”
At Rourke’s low voice, she whirled and saw him standing just a foot away.
“And what about you? Why are you out here?”
“It’s my job to keep an eye on things. I always check out the territory after the others go to sleep.”
Abby hadn’t given much thought to what Rourke did. Yet she wasn’t surprised. It was like him to see to even the smallest details. Small wonder that people felt safe with Rourke.
“It’s too hot to sleep. I was just wishing this creek hadn’t dried up.”
“We won’t find as much as a trickle until we reach the Sierras,” he said. “But I sure would enjoy seeing you swim.”
She saw the smile light his eyes and was glad for the darkness that hid her blush.
“A gentleman would never bring up a subject that might make a lady uncomfortable.”
“I never said I was a gentleman.” Rourke threw back his head and laughed. “Damned if you don’t sound exactly like your Aunt Violet when you talk like that.”
Abby started to turn away, but Rourke caught her by the arm. “What’s your hurry?”
“I should get back. They’ll start to miss me.”
“Your aunt is probably asleep by now. And your father won’t head back to his wagon until the jug is dry. By then, he won’t be able to see who’s in the wagon. Or care.”
Abby hung her head at his words. It was true. Everyone knew about her father.
“Abby.” With his thumb and finger, Rourke lifted her chin until she met his gaze. “I’m sorry about your pa. But he has nothing to do with you. Nobody blames you for what he does or says. You can’t make him behave any more than a breeze can tell the moon when to shine.”
“I just wish he was different.”
“Wishing won’t change anything.”
A hint of a smile touched her lips. “Don’t tell my Aunt Vi that. She used to tell Carrie and me that all we had to do was wish hard enough and we could have anything.”
Brushing a wisp of hair from her cheek, Rourke stared into her eyes. “If you could have just one wish, what would it be?”
Abby found her gaze drawn to his mouth and felt a jolt. What she wanted was to kiss him. To kiss him and never stop. But that wasn’t something she could dare to tell him.
“Aunt Vi says if you tell, you won’t get your wish.”
“Is that so?” His fingers stayed on her cheek, warm and soft, then slowly slid around her neck until he was cupping the back of her head. Slowly he lowered his face, until their lips were almost touching.
Standing on tiptoe, she lifted her face to his. And then, so slowly she thought her heart would break from the waiting, he brushed her lips with his.
It was the gentlest kiss, like the touch of a snowflake to her tongue when she was a child. Such sweet, sweet seduction. Slowly, slowly, the pressure on her mouth grew, until she brought her arms around his neck and pressed herself to him.
She heard his little intake of breath. Instantly his arms were around her, molding her to him. The hands at her back were strong and firm. The lips that touched hers were no longer gentle, but grew demanding. Inside her veins, fire and ice collided, leaving her dazed and clinging.
“Rourke.” She sighed, struggling for breath. “I wish … oh how I wish …”
“You don’t have to say it,” he murmured against her temple. “Just wish it hard enough. And I’ll wish it too. And together we’ll have it.”
She stepped back. The clouds parted. In the sliver of moonlight, he saw the look in her eyes. Desire. And he knew that now, finally, she could be his.
Moving into his arms, she brought her arms around his neck and drew his head down. Lifting her lips to his, she gave a sigh from deep within, and he felt the little shudder that passed through her slender frame. And then he was lost in the kiss, knowing that no other woman would ever thrill him as she did.
His hands moved along her sides until they found the swell of her breasts. With his rough thumbs, he stroked until she moaned and whispered his name.
They were so caught up in each other that at first they didn’t hear the shout that went up from the wagon train. But as the cry grew, they lifted their heads and turned to stare.
“Fire!”
Everyone on the train rolled from their wagons to look at the sky. A bonfire lit the darkness. Even with nearly a mile separating them, the members of the wagon train could smell the acrid odor of burning flesh.
“Oh my God! Rourke, it’s the Peel wagon.” As tears sprang to her eyes, Abby whispered, “The last thing Mordecai told Doralyn before she pulled back was that when a person dies of cholera, his body and all his belongings have to be burned in order to avoid spreading the contamination.”
Rourke tried to draw her close against him, but she pushed away, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Oh, dear God. Poor Doralyn. Jason has died.”
“You don’t know that, Abby.”
“Yes I do. And so do you.”
Rourke thought about the men he’d seen, lying in the fields of battle as the life slowly drained from them. How cruel it had been, dying in a strange place, far from home.
“Doralyn and Jonathon will be all alone now. All alone.” Abby’s voice held a trace of anxiety. “They’ll need us. I have to go.”
He wanted to comfort her. But there were no words to say. In silence, they began to walk, then broke into a run, side by side until they reached the wagon train. And as they parted, they both found themselves going over the names of the people on the train. Who would be the next victim?
Chapter Twenty-three
They didn’t have to wait long. By morning, two new wagons had pulled back from the train.
Lavinia Winters, suffering from chills and fever, hid her condition from her family until it was no longer possible to keep quiet. Stricken with a bout of prolonged vomiting, she was forced to admit to her husband that she had been ill for more than two days. While she had been bravely hiding her symptoms, he realized, she had exposed him and their three children as well.
As the wagon turned in preparation to leave the train, the children waved a solemn goodbye to their friends, and Abby noted that the two oldest Winters children were crying. Perhaps the youngest were the luckiest, she thought. They were still too young to know fear.
Reverend Coulter offered a prayer for the Winters family as the wagon train pulled ahead.