The wishing tree, p.22
The Wishing Tree, page 22
Cookie was the first to arrive. Grace met him by the barn.
"I've got vittles all ready for you and the men."
He smiled and swiped his sleeve over his forehead. "Miss Grace, you're an angel."
We'll see.
The others soon followed and in less time than it took to tell them supper was ready, they were sitting around the long table stuffing their faces.
She waited until they leaned back. A few reached to undo the top buttons on their breeches, and then thought better of it with a lady present. Satisfied they were as full as they could get, Grace pulled a peach cobbler fresh from the oven. Eyes rolled, groans echoed off the walls, but no one refused it.
Smiling, Grace edged to the head of the table. "I have a favor..." No, that wasn't right. They were hired hands. "I have something I need you to do for me...for us."
Full to bursting, they tilted back their chairs and gave her their full attention.
"Someone's obviously got a grudge against us."
"Yeah," Hank said, picking his teeth. "And we know who that is."
Grace wouldn't name names without proof. "If they steal from us, they steal from you. We can't let that happen. We...you and Jake have worked too hard to build up this herd. No one has the right to take that away."
The legs on Judd's chair smacked the floor. He leaned forearms on the table. "I'll be glad to find that fancy man and teach him a lesson or two. He'll think twice before setting off a blasting cap around here again."
She bit back a smile. "That won't be necessary. Besides, we have no proof it was him who stampeded the herd."
Hoyt stood and propped himself against the wall. "So, Miss Grace, what do you want?"
Drawing in a deep breath, she spit it out. "I want you to take the herd north to Dodge City and I need you to do it first thing in the morning."
"In other words," Hoyt stuffed a piece of straw between his teeth, "you don't want Jake and A.J. to know we're doing it."
Grace gave a single nod. The men fidgeted, and shuffled in their seats-anything to keep from looking at her. Time to hit them hard, appeal to their vanity, their loyalty.
"Both are strong men, determined men, just like all of you. They'll do whatever it takes to see themselves and you survive, even if it means they suffer. I can't let...I refuse to let that happen. And neither should you. I ask nothing of you that Jake or A.J. wouldn't do for you and yours if the situation were reversed."
There were nods all around, slow but all there despite their hesitancy.
Hank rubbed his face. "Never gone without one of them. Who's going to get the price we want?"
Hoyt tossed the straw to the floor. "I'll do it. I've seen Jake and A.J. do it enough times. Be patient. Stand firm."
"And nothing less than forty dollars a head," Grace added. "I understand from Jake that's the going rate."
Eyebrows lifted. More nods followed.
"Now hold on just a minute." Cookie bellied up to the table. "This is all fine and well and I don't have a problem with it at all. I can't say the same about Jake or A.J. What do you suppose they're gonna do when they find out we've up and left with the herd?"
"Don't you worry about that. I'll take care of Jake," she said, with much more confidence than she felt.
Smirking, Judd scratched his beard. "After what I saw at Florine's the other night, ma'am, I believe you'll do just that."
The men chuckled and nodded their agreement. Now...if only Grace could be as sure of herself.
Chapter Fifteen
Doc's opium powder lasted exactly one day. At least that's when A.J. finally stirred. But Jake? He paid the toll for not staying down when he should. And this time his body demanded a higher price.
Fever racked him, sending waves of heat Grace's way each time she neared. Jake barely acknowledged her presence. He alternately burrowed under the pile of quilts or tossed them aside gasping for breath.
She was at a loss to know what to do. All the cool sponge baths in the world weren't going to break his fever, and the doctor could do nothing more. He came by in the morning to change Jake's bandage, said the inevitable, "It has to run its course," and then left.
Grace couldn't bear to look at the wound anymore and cringed with every word. Jake never complained-he was too weak. He sipped water, broth, even tried Grace's special version of milk toast with sugar, cinnamon, and tiny bits of fruit. Each bite was an effort and he never took more than five bites at a sitting.
A.J. fared better. He was up and around from time to time with little pain. Pretty agile on those crutches too. He said little about the herd being gone. Just accepted it and spent the time he was up working on furniture. All in all, he and Millie seemed fairly content. Now that their romance was out in the open, so was their affection. It was hard not to smile at the two of them, harder still not to get caught up in the children's excitement.
Grace mopped Jake's forehead. At least he slept soundly. She tucked the quilts under his chin, and carried the basin to the kitchen. The place was a mess-clean but cluttered. There weren't enough hours in the day to nurse Jake and take care of everything else. Grace did what she had to do and let the rest sit. If visitors didn't like it, they could either leave or lend a hand. Far as she knew, most people around these parts would fall into the second category.
In the days since the men were hurt, Mrs. Cyrus had sent bread and pies home with the children everyday. Florine stopped by with a couple of her girls to do laundry and churn butter. And Reverend Harrington turned out to be pretty handy with a hammer. The porch was fixed, good as new, and now he tackled the barn.
On tiptoe, Grace stretched for a look out the window. She could hear him pounding away, but couldn't see him. The door to A.J.'s workshop was open too. Either they were in there or by the barn, but somewhere the two had their heads together.
Grace put two glasses and the pitcher of lemonade Millie had made the night before on a tray. They all deserved a break.
She found them where she expected-near the barn. Using the corral post as a backrest, A.J. sat with his leg propped on a coil of rope. Reverend Harrington...Paul... stood on a ladder nailing a new plank into place.
Grace had a hard time calling him Paul. To her he was simply Reverend or the reverend, although he definitely didn't look the part around here. His clerical collar and clothing were gone, replaced by the same work clothes every ranch hand wore, except he filled them out better. And as far as Grace could see, his preacher outfit hid a lot.
"Are you two ready for a break?"
"Looks like you're the one who needs one." A.J. took the tray from her, and then set it on the grass.
Paul scrambled down from the ladder and joined them. "How's Jake this morning?"
"No change. Maybe worse." It wasn't something Grace wanted to admit to herself much less to anyone else. "Doc says there was a lot of damage. He could be bleeding inside. I've never seen a wound look nastier."
Red streaks shot across Jake's midsection from the site of the injury. Morning and night she and the doctor drained it of pus. And still...
"You know," the reverend poured a glass of lemonade down his throat, and then wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, "if my mama were around, she'd come up with a poultice or a tea that would set Jake right in no time."
"Yes, my ma is pretty good at healing too." Grace's reply was absentminded as she thought of all the people who came to her mother for healing. They'd go to her before thinking of going to the doctor, a fact that didn't sit well with the old geezer. Grace had always taken it for granted. Healing never interested her that much. She didn't have the knack for it. Jake was paying for her inattention now.
"Why not send her a telegram to ask her advice?" A.J. said.
Grace stripped a blade of grass with her fingernail. "My parents couldn't afford to send a telegram back." She scanned the passing clouds, and wished for the answer there.
"We could take Jake to her," Paul suggested.
She shook her head. "He'd never survive the trip."
He stretched on his back and laced his fingers under his head. "Is there anyone who can bring the medicine?"
"Ma can't leave the little ones. She wouldn't let Mary Belle travel by herself. And Pa has too much work on the farm."
"Then I'll go get it." He jumped to his feet and brushed the grass from his breeches.
Grace stared up at him. The man was crazy. A day and a half there. Another day and a half back? "Jake won't last that long."
He snapped his head up and cut her a stern stare. "I never expected to hear someone of your caliber whine, Grace. And I certainly never expected you to give up. If you wait much longer, you can be sure there will be nothing left to do."
She couldn't meet his gaze. He was right-she was giving up. It was hard not to when exhaustion and worry weighed her down. Not even the magic of the wishing tree seemed to help.
Grace scoffed at the superstition. She was willing to put her faith in a tree that did nothing, yet she refused to consider asking her mother for help.
"I'll telegram my mother telling her what I need and asking her to have someone meet you halfway with medicine."
* * *
Grace had never expected that someone to be Mary-Belle or that her mother would allow her sister to accompany the good reverend all the way back to the ranch. Yet there she sat, pretty as could be, in the buggy next to Paul. To make matters worse, Doc was coming down the road right behind them.
"Your sister?" Millie asked. She and A.J. enjoyed dusk on the new porch swing.
"Yes...Mary-Belle."
"They look pretty chummy," A.J. said. "Do you suppose your mother made Paul marry her before they left?"
What he meant as a joke alarmed Grace. Here the reverend was doing them a favor, and trying to save Jake's life. The man had given up his time to help them around the ranch until A.J. and Jake recovered. He'd even humbly offered Grace his hand in marriage should she find herself in a family way. To have her mother push off another daughter was unthinkable.
Grace watched them approach. Even Ma wouldn't be that bold. Mary-Belle was a little young for marriage. Paul was a preacher, instantly trustworthy in her mother's eyes. Not a disreputable cowboy like Jake.
They pulled to a stop in tandem with Doc. Paul jumped down and trotted to the other side of the buggy to give Mary-Belle a hand down. There was something different about her. A maturity that didn't exist weeks before, or maybe it was Grace's perspective that had changed. She was no longer the older sister in charge. They were now equals.
For the first time ever, Grace wanted to hug her. She gave in to the impulse. Hesitant at first with this new burst of affection, Mary-Belle hugged back.
"Ma sent me to help. Reverend Harrington says there is no time to waste. I'll need a basin of hot water."
"I have a pot on the stove. Come."
Mary-Belle pulled her mother's healing basket from behind the buggy seat. No, not her mother's basket. This one was newer, larger, and earned Grace's instant respect. She might not have had the knack for healing, but Mary-Belle did. This basket was a right of passage.
"Grace, what's going on here?" Doc's gaze fell to the basket.
He already knew the answer. "This is my sister, Mary-Belle Marshall. She's a healer."
His eyebrows slammed together. He puffed up his chest indignantly.
A.J. never gave him the chance to talk. "You said there was nothing more you could do, Doc. My brother is in there dying. I can't let that happen if there is something, anything I can do to save him. Paul and Grace think Mary-Belle can help. Now you can stand by and quietly let her do what she needs to do, or you can leave."
The old man stared down at what he had to see as his competition. To her credit, Mary-Belle didn't flinch. She simply met his gaze.
"I'd prefer to stay and see what she intends to do."
"Without a word," A.J. added.
Doc tilted his head and swept his arm before him. "After you, Mary-Belle."
"It's Belle, please. I really don't care to be called Mary-Belle."
Something else Grace didn't realize about her sister. How could they have lived together all their lives and be such strangers?
She zipped ahead of the two, anxious that Jake be covered before they enter the bedroom. Healer she might be, but Grace wasn't certain Mary-Belle...Belle was ready to see a fully naked man. She tucked the sheets to his waist, and then stepped aside.
Belle set her basket on the bedside table and peeled Jake's bandage away. She didn't flinch or screw up her nose in disgust, but let her gaze pass over the wound as she nodded.
"I'll need that hot water now, please."
Grace turned to get it, but Millie was already there with the basin. She set it next to the healing basket and left.
Next Belle brushed Jake's hair from his forehead and pressed her lips there. Nodding again, she pulled herbs and plants from her basket along with mortar, pestle, and linen. So much like their mother-calm, confident. Grace could only watch and admire her skill as she ground her ingredients and mixed a poultice.
Satisfied with her efforts, Belle dabbed the yellow-gray paste to Jake's wound, and then covered it with a patch of linen. She pulled a small bowl and spoon from her basket, steeped some leaves in it and passed it all to Grace.
"Once this cools, you need to try to get it down his throat. We'll need to sit him upright and try to wake him. He must drink the full cup, even if it takes an hour to spoon it down his throat. Then again in another four hours. Perhaps Reverend Paul will be able to help us."
The best they could do was to prop Jake up on a tower of pillows and quilts. Waking him was nearly impossible. He barely acknowledged Grace and ignored any offer of tea.
But Belle would not be refused. She pinched his nose closed until he had no choice but to open his mouth or smother. Even then there was little fight left in him. He accepted the tea, and then drifted off to sleep.
They set up watch around his bed. Every hour Belle changed the bandage and reapplied the poultice. Every four hours Grace shoved tea down Jake's throat. By morning she swore he had some color in his cheeks. Belle refused to say either way, but she just kept to her task and only broke away for a little something to eat.
It was mid-afternoon when the sweats hit Jake. Belle steeped mint leaves in a basin of hot water, and then passed a baby-soft cotton cloth to Grace. Finally, something Grace was familiar with.
Left alone with Jake, she bathed the sweat from him each time it glistened upon him, and urged his fever to break and release him. His arms, his legs, his chest, his forehead. Down and around. Over and over. Until minutes turned into an hour, and then two. It could take days and Grace wouldn't care. Whatever it took to bring him back.
She wrung the cloth into the basin, and was ready to mop them from head to toe all over again. When she looked up, it was to see his eyes slit open, watching her every move
"Well...hello there." Smiling, she dusted her fingers through his hair. "How are you feeling?"
Like he'd been to hell and back. He was stiff, sore. Hard as he tried, Jake couldn't remember much beyond coming in here to lie down.
"Thirsty," he croaked.
"I'll get some water." She tucked the sheet around his waist. "Mary-Belle and Doc will probably want to look you over first."
Her sister was here? And caring for him? Grace took off before Jake could ask her any questions. Minutes later, Mary-Belle walked into the room with Doc tagging along behind. She went to his side without a word and pulled back the bandage.
"Good. Very, very good. Although you'll still need to take care for awhile."
Doc peered over her shoulder and nodded. "I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. You are quite a healer, Belle."
"As long as it doesn't deal with childbirth. I've always been glad to leave that to Grace." She smiled up at Grace as she walked in with pitcher and glass. "He's back on the mend for sure now. I still want him to drink the tea for another week, but he can start eating soft foods. I'll even let him get up and move around tomorrow."
Jake had news for her. He was going to have to move around today. He had a powerful need to relieve himself. With Doc's help he pushed upright and gulped down a glass of water.
"Now...if all of you wouldn't mind, I need a few minutes of privacy."
They looked at him like he was crazy. A lift of his eyebrow communicated his purpose. On her way out, Grace set the thunder jug by the bed.
Jake slid his legs over the side. The effort made him dizzy. In all his life, he'd yet to use a thunder jug. Real men went to the outhouse. This might be the exception. Newborn kittens had more strength than he did. Jake had his pride, but he wasn't stupid either.
Yet he sat there, staring at the thunder jug, having to pee so bad his eyeballs were ready to burst and just couldn't let go. He'd never been able to use the damned thing. As a child he'd just open the bedroom window and whiz. His mother could never figure out why flowers wouldn't grow in that spot.
He eyed the window. Tempting. But he wasn't a boy anymore. What if one of the children saw-or the ranch hands? Somehow he had to make it to the outhouse.
Step by step he closed in on the wardrobe, and then slid the doors open. He stared, disbelieving. All of his clothes were gone!
"Grace!"
Footsteps tapped a hurried path his way. She whipped open the door, ducked in, and snapped it shut.
"What are you doing out of bed?"
"Where are my clothes?"
"Answer my question."
"Answer mine."
A stand-off. Wonderful. "Just get me some breeches."
"Why?"
Jake couldn't believe this. They were his clothes, and he had every right to them. Why was she being so damned stubborn about this? Why are you? Just tell her the truth. Embarrassment tied his tongue. He was twenty-eight years old and couldn't use a blasted chamber pot.
He pointed to the infernal device. "I need a bigger target." When she still didn't move, he added more firmly, "Now, Grace."
