“What can I do to help?”
“I need to check on Luke. He looked like he was sick.”
“He is.”
“Could you stay with your mother while I see to him?”
“Of course.”
“While I'm gone, I'll see if I can find something for you to eat.”
“No. Don't. I couldn't keep anything down.”
“How about something to drink? I heard they have apple juice.”
“All right.” The ship nosed into a wave, and Jean's face turned gray. Sweat broke out on her upper lip. “I need the basin.” Immediately Laurel handed it to her, and Jean wretched. Laurel sponged her face.
His steps heavy, Will left.
Susie whined, then started to cry. “I think she's hungry,” Laurel said almost apologetically, knowing that feeding the baby would be difficult for her mother.
“I'll have to nurse her,” Jean said weakly. “Here, give her to me.” She unbuttoned her blouse and put Susie to her breast.
For several minutes nothing was said. Susie nursed and fell asleep. “Please take her,” Jean whispered.
Laurel placed the baby between two pillows at the end of the bed and covered her with a blanket. Susie looked angelic, her face free of worries. Laurel wished her life could be so simple.
Jean stared at the bunk above her. “I hate being sick—not being able to care for my family.”
“You always take care of us. Now it's our turn.”
Jean nodded, pulled the blanket up under her chin, and closed her eyes. Laurel settled back in the wooden chair and replayed the scene she'd had with Adam. Immediately her anger and frustration returned.
“Is everything all right?” Jean asked. “You look troubled.”
“I thought you were asleep. I'm fine.”
“I don't believe you.” Jean fluffed her pillow and carefully resettled her head.
“It's just that Adam Dunnavant. He makes me so angry.”
Jean gave her a questioning look. “What's he done?”
“He as much as said the farmers won't make it in Alaska, and he was so rude to Robert.”
“Robert?”
“Robert Lundeen. You met him on the train. Remember, he's the one whose father died just before they left.”
“Oh, yes—a nice young man,” Jean said weakly. She pushed herself up on one elbow. “Could you give me some water?”
Laurel filled a glass from the pitcher beside the wash basin and held it to her mother's lips. Jean sipped a little, then pushed it away. “I dare not drink anymore.” She lay down and was quiet for a few moments. “Oh, this seasickness is a terrible thing. I'll be glad when we get to Seward.”
“Adam said the seas are supposed to stay rough all the way there. He thinks he knows everything.”
“I hope he's wrong about the bad weather.” Jean looked at her daughter. “Why do you care what he thinks?”
“It's just that he's always certain he's right. It's infuriating.”
Jean raised an eyebrow. “All you have to do is stay away from him.”
“That's just it. I try, but every time I turn around, he's there.”
“Walk away.”
“I try.”
“You sure you don't care about him?”
“Adam? Of course not. I could never be interested in someone like him. When I'm ready to settle down, I want someone steady and decent. Adam's pushy and nothing more than a flirt.” She stared at the wall. “I've decided not to talk to him again.”
Chapter Nine
“I FOUND ANOTHER PAIR OF SOCKS AND SOME GLOVES,” LAUREL SAID, SITTING on the edge of Luke's deck chair where he lay huddled beneath three layers of blankets. “I'll help you put them on.” The ship rolled over a large swell, and Laurel nearly toppled off her seat.
Luke peered up at her through miserable eyes and mumbled, “Thanks.”
“I'm sorry you're so sick. You aren't feeling any better at all?”
