Martha appeared then, hair rough and disheveled, carrying a basin of water and a swath of damp cloth.
“How is she?” David said.
“The same,” Martha said. She took the bucket from near the window and refilled the basin. “Thirsty, but she can manage only a little drink at a time.”
David went into the bedroom to check on his wife, leaving the two young women alone. Martha sighed and covered a yawn with her fist. She sagged down onto one of the wooden rounds.
“Martha, you should get some sleep,” Ellen said. “You’ve been with her all day. I can take a turn now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Jim isn’t home yet, so I’ll be up waiting for him regardless.”
Martha looked at the door and said, “It’s still snowing?”
“It is.”
“Alright,” Martha said with another deep yawn, “rest, even an hour or two, would do me good.”
Ellen hugged her sister. “She’ll pull through, Martha. I’m sure of it.”
Martha lowered her head to rest on Ellen’s shoulder. “Hope so,” she said, then went off to bed.
Ellen took a moment to check on Alma and Walt then, surprised to find both children sleeping and her brother abed and staring at the ceiling. In the other room, Abigail coughed again, and Colton winced at the painful sound of it. Ellen sat down on the floor beside him.
“She’s not getting any better,” Colton said.
“No,” Ellen answered.
“Is she going to…”
“I don’t know,” Ellen said. “But we can’t lose hope.”
Martha was a good, level-headed girl, but too young to fully understand what their mother was going through. Reassuring her that their mother would recover seemed like the best course. A year ago, Ellen would have done the same for Colton, but events on the trail west had changed her brother. Colton wasn’t the same callow youth he’d been when they started out. He’d been through the fire. He’d fought to save his family. He’d killed to keep them safe.
Colton wasn’t done growing up, not yet, but he was well on his way.
Jim thought he’d be a good man someday soon. Ellen agreed.
She tucked Alma and Walt in against the cold, kissing each on the forehead, before going to peek outside one last time. A gust of snow swept inside as soon as the door was open. It was dark outside, almost pitch black, still snowing, still howling, and still with no sign of her husband.
Where is he?
Ellen tried to put Jim’s absence out of her mind. She went into her parents’ room. Her mother lay unconscious on the bed, beads of sweat covering her forehead but with the blanket drawn up tight. Her father knelt at the bedside, holding his wife’s hand to his lips and talking to her.
“In the spring, the valley will be beautiful, dear heart, covered in wildflowers of every shape and color. I’ll take you and the children down to the lakeside and we’ll have a picnic just like we used to. Alma and Walt can pick flowers and you can weave them into their hair. Remember how you did that for Martha and Ellen? You’ll like that, won’t you?”
Ellen set the washbasin at her mother’s bedside and moved up beside her father. She soaked a bit of cloth in cool water, wrung it out, then wiped down her mother’s face. She hated that she couldn’t do more. There might be medicines available, the trading post in Redding might have them, but the passes would be choked with snow now. And medicines were expensive, especially here. Most settlers didn’t carry more than what they needed. Excess weight on the long trip overland too often proved fatal, and that applied even to medicine.
Abigail mumbled again, this time talking to her older brother.
Uncle Charles, a silversmith, lived in Virginia, and Ellen couldn’t help but wish they were back with him. She poured water into a small cup and held it to her mother’s lips.
“Father, you just as well rest. You can take my bed. I’ll be up waiting for Jim. I will see to her.”
“No, I’ll stay a bit longer. I’m not so tired. I don’t need so much sleep.” He gave her a wan smile. “One benefit of old age.”
The front door opened with a bang then, and wind howled through the cabin. Ellen shot to her feet and raced into the front room.
Jim. He made it.
He stood in the doorway, wrapped in wools and skins, covered in a thick coat of white, and looking for all the world like an icicle. Only the gleam in his eyes and the fog of his breath showed he was alive.
Ellen ignored the wet and cold and put her arms around him.
“I’m glad you made it,” she said. “I was so worried.”
He tried to answer, but it was impossible to hear through the wool.
Ellen felt the cold bite into her hands and began unwrapping him. When they were done, slushy melt covered the floor.
Jim frowned down at it. “I worked awful hard on those floors. Shame to see them warp or crack because I tracked snow in.” He gave her a boyish grin. “Course, I wasn’t about to take my coat off out in that.”
“I’m glad you made it. I was worried all night,” she said.
His face took on a gray color. “So was I. I couldn’t see most of the ride home. Had to trust the Appaloosa to find his way.”
Ellen took his hands in hers. He was cold to the bone. “Come by the fire and warm up. I’ve got some stew left. I’ll get it for you.”
