Part 13 (1/2)

Hannah watched Jessie ride out of the yard. She turned as Kate came quietly into the kitchen.

”I need to go home, Hannah,” Kate said softly. ”I'm sorry.”

”No need to be sorry,” Hannah said, packing some hot biscuits into a basket along with a jar of jam. ”Take these. You'll be hungry sooner or later.”

Kate smiled fondly. ”You've been very kind. I don't know how my mother or I would have managed without all your help. Thank you.”

Hannah looked at her steadily, noting the tear stains still damp on her cheeks and the hint of misery in her eyes. It wasn't any of her affair, but it was plain to see that the child was suffering. Seemed to her that Jessie Forbes had looked the same when she had come to the back door just after sun-up asking if she might wait for Kate. Didn't take much sense to see that something serious had happened, and she had a feeling she knew what it was. If it was Martin and Martha coming between those two, she didn't see any hope for it.

She sighed and handed Kate her cloak. ”Sometimes those that loves us cause more hurt with the loving than they do with anger. You have to be forgiving, if you can.”

Kate kissed Hannah lightly on the cheek and nodded, knowing that she had already forgiven her parents. She wished she could have had their understanding, but there was no time left to wait. She was not leaving to spite them, merely to save herself. As she hurried home in the cold morning sun, she turned her mind to the future, and, finally, hope returned to her heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

KATE'S HEAD ACHED terribly and the house seemed intolerably warm as she hurried about gathering up the few clothes and personal treasures that she could not leave behind. Her father was at the newspaper office and her mother was out running errands. It was the first chance that she had to pack. She had written a letter to her parents explaining what she had done, praying with each painful sentence that they would understand and someday believe that she was happy. She put the envelope on her bedside table, intending to leave it in the kitchen the next day for them to find. She wanted to get everything ready so that she could leave as soon as the house was empty in the morning. Tomorrow was Martha's day to visit her new friends at the ladies' weekly luncheon gathering. Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow I will go to Jessie and we will make a new life.

It had only been twenty-four hours since they had parted, but she already missed Jessie terribly. Now, when things were so very hard, she needed her near. Jessie was always so calm, so steady. So strong. When she thought of Jessie leaving the ranch, Kate's heart ached. She had only to envision Jessie standing on the wide front porch looking contentedly out over her land, or astride one of her great horses, grinning and confidant and so totally at peace, to know what a great sacrifice Jessie was making. Kate hated for Jessie to give up such a part of herself, but she could not imagine any other way. They could not stay, and Kate could not give her up. They must go, because to lose Jessie would surely kill her.

She opened her travel trunk, the one she had packed with such optimism less than a year before. She pa.s.sed a trembling hand over her forehead, wiping with a handkerchief at the icy sweat that had broken out there. She felt suddenly cold. s.h.i.+vering, she reached for a shawl. She finished filling the suitcase, adding to the top her slim book of sonnets. She remembered sitting by Jessie's bedside reading them, and the thought of Jessie warmed her even as her body grew more chilled. She dragged the heavy valise toward her closet, suddenly lightheaded. She grasped the dresser for support, dizzy. She had had no breakfast, being much too nervous to eat. She could not recall if she had eaten dinner the night before. It was becoming more difficult by the moment for her to think clearly.

”I must get something to drink,” she murmured, frightened by the trembling in her limbs. She descended the staircase unsteadily and made her way carefully to the kitchen, one hand trailing along the wall, struggling to stay upright. She found a pitcher of tea her mother had left in the heavy icebox and carried it with shaking hands to the table.

”A bit of bread and honey is all I need,” she murmured, her vision wavering slightly. She laid the shawl aside, much too warm now.

As she reached for a gla.s.s, her head spun and a wave of nausea overtook her. She clutched the counter, her knees buckling, the room swirling about her. A curtain of gray obscured her vision, and she was dimly aware of the cool kitchen floor under her cheek. Barely conscious, too weak to rise, she called Jessie's name. She lost all sense of time. At some point she was aware of being moved, and voices rising and falling somewhere far away. She struggled weakly, protesting incoherently, as someone removed her clothing. She tried desperately to focus, knowing there was something she must do. Somewhere she must go. Eventually her body surrendered to the fever and she slipped into total unconsciousness, Jessie's name, unspoken, on her lips.

Jessie paced the length of the porch, watching the dusk give way to darkness. A tarp-covered wagon stood waiting behind the house, packed with all they would need for their trip over the Rockies. Star and Rory were fed and bridled, ready for the journey as well. She stood at the rail, one arm braced along the porch post, staring toward the cookhouse. There were lights in the windows and the smell of stew in the air. Jed would be there, with the men. G.o.d, it was hard, saying goodbye.

Jed had said little when she told him she was leaving. He had stood quietly, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of hay, as Jessie explained that she would send legal papers giving him the authority to handle all the business affairs of the ranch. She thought at one point her voice would give out, but she held steady and looked him in the eye while she talked.

When she finished and fell silent, Jed had looked past her toward the mountains, as if gauging the climb. ”You'll need to hurry if you're going to beat the snows,” he said finally.

”Yes,” she replied, waiting.

He had taken off his hat and brushed it lightly against his thigh. They leaned against the corral fence, the two of them, hunched in their heavy jackets, eyes tearing faintly in the cold wind. ”I know you ain't running from the law,” he said at length.

”No.”

”There are only two things I know that will make a man leave his home,” Jed remarked quietly, his eyes still fixed on the distant hills. ”The law, or a woman.”

She stiffened slightly, pushed her hands a little deeper in the pockets of her jacket. ”Yes.”

He looked at her, and all he saw was the same clear gaze and steady strength he had always seen. ”Ain't nothing you can do but leave?”

Her eyes grew dark with pain, the anger gone now. ”No.”

”Well,” he said after another long pause. ”When you feel you can come back, it will all still be here waitin'. I can a.s.sure you that.”

They had remained a while longer, their shoulders barely touching, watching the sky cloud over and the wind blow bare branches around the yard. She was glad for his company because it kept the sadness away.

That had been hours ago, and Kate should have arrived before sundown. Jessie looked up the road in the descending gloom for the hundredth time, even though she knew in her heart that Kate would have come by now if she were coming at all. Something must have happened. Perhaps she had been discovered. A faint voice in the back of her mind kept whispering that perhaps Kate had changed her mind, that Kate would have come had she wanted to. Perhaps when the moment had come, Kate could not say goodbye. Too much risk, too much loss. Jessie could almost understand if that's what had happened. It would be harder for Kate than for her, leaving everything behind. Maybe what they shared wasn't enough, maybe - maybe -- ”No,” she growled under her breath, beginning to pace again. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't! She remembered Kate's eyes when Kate had declared that she loved her. She remembered Kate's touch, and her smile, and her soft sighs as they lay quietly wrapped in one another after loving. Of course Kate would come. She had said that she would! But the night said otherwise.

When total darkness finally surrounded her, Jessie sat on the steps, weary from the hours of anxious waiting, elbows propped on her knees, her head down. She stared bleakly at nothing, her mind a blank. The star-filled sky revolved slowly overhead and the night air drew down around her, but she remained motionless, impervious to the cold that slowly chilled her to the bone. When all the lights were out in the bunkhouses, and even the night seemed to sleep, she roused herself. Star and Rory still waited patiently, tied to the wagon, and she could not leave them unsheltered in the brutal wind. Mechanically, she walked them down to the barn, removed their bridles, and led them into stalls. Then she made her way back up to the house, pausing on the porch to search the dark with desperate eyes, hoping to see salvation emerge from the shadows. She swayed slightly, grasping the banister to steady herself, running a hand over her face, surprised at the moisture on her cheeks. She couldn't feel anything. Then, very slowly, she turned her back to the road, walked into the house, and shut the door behind her.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

FOR FOUR DAYS the illness had raged through New Hope, and a growing panic seized the townspeople. Almost half the families in town had been struck by the fast-moving influenza, and everyone knew someone sick with the high fevers, wracking coughs, and suffocating b.l.o.o.d.y fluids in the lungs. In some homes there had been deaths, mostly among the very young or the very old, the ones with little strength to fight the rampaging infection. But here and there it was a young man or woman, struck down suddenly, and taken within hours. Those who had escaped the disease were afraid to go out and the streets lay eerily deserted. The few who were too restless or too stubborn to stay inside congregated at the saloon.

Frank had come down sick the previous day, and Mae and those of her girls who were still well were looking after the customers in the bar. Conversation was slight, most men lingering remorsefully over half-finished drinks, not wanting to talk of news that seemed all bad. Mae tried to keep up appearances, chatting briefly with each newcomer, forcing a smile. She stared in surprise at the newest face in the long row of unshaven men leaning against the bar. Thaddeus Schroeder nodded h.e.l.lo, his face drawn and pale.

”Thaddeus!” Mae said warmly, ”Never expected to see you in here during daylight hours. Wish it was under better circ.u.mstances. What can I get you?”

Thaddeus smiled wanly. ”A good strong whiskey, Mae. Things are getting terrible, just terrible.”

Mae looked at him pityingly and poured him a drink. ”How are your people, Thaddeus?” she asked gently.

He looked at her with sorrowful eyes. ”My John Emory's ailing with it, but the Doc said last night that the boy had pa.s.sed the crisis, thank the good Lord. He wasn't sick at all just three days ago, and then --” His voice broke and he looked away. ”So fast. It comes so fast.” He cleared his throat and reached for the gla.s.s that Mae had filled for him. ”The Doc says we're probably lucky to have lived through that terrible spell in '52. Makes us stronger now, he says.”

She patted his hand. ”That's fine, Thaddeus, just fine.”

She had missed the terrible epidemic that swept over the western plains and beyond over a decade before, decimating the Indian populations and new settlers as well, but she had seen the effects of the devastating infection in the crowded tenements of New York City, and death looked the same everywhere. She prayed that this outbreak would be over quickly, and the losses few. Lord, life was hard enough without this, too.

But Thaddeus was beyond consoling. He had come to the saloon because he needed to talk, and he couldn't burden his wife, who was so busy herself looking after the boy and helping the neighbors, too. He continued to ramble, almost to himself. ”There are so many, Mae. So many others sick with it.” He sighed. ”More will die, G.o.d help us.”

”Thaddeus,” Mae said kindly, touching his hand. ”These people are strong, pioneer stock. They'll survive. Don't you be giving up hope now.”

He raised remorseful eyes to hers. ”It's Martin and Martha Beecher I feel so bad about. They're not like the rest of us, not used to such hards.h.i.+ps. I feel like it's my fault for bringing them out here. That girl is going to be on my conscience, Mae!” Tears brimmed in his eyes and he reached quickly for his pocket handkerchief.

Mae stared at him, an awful fear crowding out her breath. ”Thaddeus, what are you talking about?”