The Love and Loss of Joshua James Page 6

  Despite himself, Joshua smiled when the doctor harrumphed and pulled out a chair. Slowly he lowered himself to the seat and looked at the food before him. He was tired and worry gnawed at him. The baby squirmed and whimpered in his arms, then blinked at him with big bright eyes.

  “We’ll have to see what your ma wants to call you, little one,” he said, twirling a lock of fine dark hair around his finger. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his spoon and began to eat.

  “I’ll stay around a few days if it’s not a burden,” the doctor spoke around his food. “Looks like you put up a pretty nice place.”

  Joshua nodded, “We got some vegetables coming and each of us has a sod house to stay in. The girls are staying with Benji today in his.”

  For several minutes the doctor engaged Joshua in conversation about their new home and neither of them noticed Billy carry a cup of hot broth to the bed. Billy had noticed Bridgette stir and as quietly as possible went to help her as she woke.

  “You drink this up,” he whispered, helping her sit into the pillows he stacked behind her.

  “Baby?” she questioned, her voice barely audible.

  “She’s just fine, but she needs her ma ta drink some broth. You git this down and I’ll tell Joshua to bring that little bit to ya.” He smiled, pursing his lips and making his beard wiggle as he helped her with the cup.

  “Joshua,” Bridgette called after she’d finished the broth and Billy had tucked the blankets around her.

  Joshua stood to his feet so fast, he nearly tipped the table over in his hurry to reach her. “Darlin’?” he called, dropping to one knee, holding the baby out where she could see her.

  “It’s another girl.” He added with a smile. “What should we name her?”

  Bridgette reached for the baby and he carefully laid her in his wife’s arms.

  “We’ll call her Fiona,” Bridgette said. “It means fair.” She smiled tiredly, snuggling the baby close. “She’ll need to eat.”

  “I don’t want you straining yourself.” Joshua chided, looking into her brown eyes. They looked hollow and glistened in the bright light of the lamps.

  “I’m her mother.” Bridgette’s words were raspy, but firm, as she pulled at the ties that held her nightgown closed.

  Carefully Joshua helped her adjust her gown and settled Fiona to nurse as the door behind them clicked closed.

  “SEND KATRION TO ME,” Bridgette said. Her voice was weak, her skin was pale and clammy. For three days the doctor had done all he could to restore her strength and ward off the fever, but it was a losing battle and they both knew it.

  “Go on Josh, send me Katie,” she said again, trying to raise her hand. Her glassy eyes were bright with fever and Joshua winced at her stare but rose and walked outside to fetch his oldest child.

  “I’ve got the baby drinking from a bottle now,” the doctor said, picking up her wrist between thumb and forefingers as he stared at the minute hand on his pocket watch.

  “You’ve been a god-send,” Bri said, offering a weak smile. “I’ll be away soon but thank you for your care. I know you’ve done all you could.”

  The lean doctor shook his head. He’d seen this type of case a time or two before and even though he knew that the body’s incapacity for coping with sugars in the system was the cause, he was helpless to do anything about it.

  Some women survived but lost the child. Other times both were lost when the baby was too large to be delivered. He didn’t know how she could so calmly accept her death.

  “You knew from the first time you examined me, didn’t you?” the woman asked as he placed her arm back on the bed. Her pulse was weak but fast.

  “Yes,” he answered simply.

  “That’s why you brought the bottles and things.”

  “I couldn’t tell the future or anything,” he spoke softly. “I just know that things happen when women have babies and you should be prepared.”

  “Thank you.” Bridgette’s words were simple but sincere. “I’m glad Billy has a goat so there’s plenty for Fiona when I’m gone.” A sad smile touched her lips. “I wish I could see her grow, see my girls turn to beautiful young women with hopes and dreams, and maybe husbands.”

  The door to the sod shack creaked open and Joshua walked in, leading Katie by the hand. The little girl’s pale green eyes were large and worried.

  Bridgette James reached out her arms, letting her daughter fall into them. “Give us a minute,” she said, stroking Katie’s blonde hair and waiting for the men to withdraw.

  “Mam,” Katie’s voice was strained, “are you going away to be with the angels?” Bright tears pooled in her eyes as her heart filled with sorrow and fear.

  “Aye, lass. There’s naught we can do for it now.” She squeezed Katie to her. “I’ll be in heaven with Da’s folks and lookin’ down on ye and yer sisters.” She placed a gentle kiss on the girl’s forehead.

  “I need you to do something for me, Katie,” she spoke again, “I need you to look after your da for me. He’ll be having a hard time of it but you, my love, are strong and brave and I know you’ll look out for him. Promise?”

  Katie nodded her head as the tears spilled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “I will Mam, I promise. I’ll look after Da and Meg and little Fiona. I’ll make sure they’re safe.” She hiccupped softly as anguish collected in her small chest.

  “You’re my brave lass,” Bri said pulling her close again. “I love ye and Meggie and Fiona. Now you have a good cry, then go fetch your Da and the others. I can feel the angles coming.”

  JOSHUA FELT HOLLOW inside. Cold and empty and bereft of all light. He clamped his fist around the handful of black earth he’d lifted from the heap under the cottonwood tree, then reluctantly dropped it into the open grave that contained his heart.

  A small hand slipped into his. It was warm and firm, if frail. He looked down into the serious green gaze of Katie, surprised to see no tears there. He squeezed her hand, trying to find courage for her.

  “Billy, can you take Meg?” Benji’s voice was a mere hint of words as he handed the little redhead to the grizzled older man. Meg snuggled her head into Billy’s neck, bewildered by the strange ceremony the men had just performed as they’d laid her mother in the ground.

  Katie tugged at Joshua’s hand and he turned, following her like some lost pup. The sound of shovels slipping into the mound of dirt barely registered as together he and Katie walked into the tiny shack they called home.

  “I’ll get some lunch on,” Billy spoke as he entered the soddy. “I’m sure these girls can use somethin’ ta eat.” He eyed Joshua critically for a moment, then handed him, Meg. The little girl curled herself around her father, laying her head on his shoulder and patting him on the back gently as if she knew he needed comfort.

  “I done fed Fiona and she’s fast asleep,” Billy continued, moving to the stove and stoking the fire. The sound of pots and pans being shuffled about and other cooking noises soon filled the little house.

  Joshua moved to a battered chair and lowered himself down on it without a word. He gazed around him at the solid earthen walls and heavy log trusses that held the roof. The space no longer felt like home. It seemed empty, nothing more than a pile dirt.

  “Here, Pa,” Katie’s voice pulled him from his dark thoughts, as she offered him a cup of coffee. “You drink that up while me an’ Billy get some lunch.”

  “HERE, GRANDPA.” ERIC’S voice breaking through his thoughts was jarring and Joshua blinked as his grandson offered him a handkerchief. Suddenly he realized that tears were streaming down his face.

  Drying his eyes, he looked around him at his family still seated at the table, the girls had tears in their eyes and Katie sniffed into Will’s shoulder.

  “I didn’t mean to get maudlin,” Joshua spoke. “That’s what happened.” For a few moments, he was quiet as he studied the faces of his six daughters and his sons-in-law. He smiled, softly gazing at his grandchildren.

  “Bri
and I, we were happy during the time we had,” he began again. “Seems you don’t really understand happiness unless you’ve felt a bit of sorrow.” He smiled, lifting his cup. “She was my first love and a bright star that burned out too quickly.”

  “I’m so sorry, Pa,” Fiona said, rising and coming to wrap an arm around her father’s shoulders. “If I hadn’t been born...”

  “Oh, darlin’ it ain’t your fault your mother died. God had a plan for her and for you, even if at the time I didn’t understand. She loved you with everything in her those few days that she had you.”

  He patted her hand where it rested on his shoulder. “Your Ma understood more about lovin’ than I did. She gave all of herself to it, every minute of every day. Even if we’d known what would happen before, your Ma would have chosen you over her own life.”

  “I ain’t saying it wasn’t an awful hard time then, it was, but God has his purpose in even the darkest hour.”

  He looked down the table to his best friend Benji, who sat holding hands with his wife Cathleen. “What happened next none of us expected.”

  “What happened next, Grandpa?” Eric asked, leaning on the table and wondering about this heritage he’d been privileged to be a part of.

  “Well like, I said we’d all built us some sod houses. That one at the back where you and your pa first lived was the very same one me and the girls lived in then. Old Billy, he moved right in with me for a while, helpin’ with Fiona and the like.” He paused, staring into his coffee cup a minute, wondering when the brew had gone cold.

  “We’d planted some vegetables and had plenty of stores to keep us through the winter. We’d no sooner harvested our little garden than Brion come in and told me he was leavin’.”

  The old man looked around at the people at the table and thanked Fiona for the fresh cup of coffee she handed him.

  “It was only a couple of weeks after Bridgette had passed and he came in like a winter storm, looked me in the eye and said he was leavin’. Said he was goin’ over to that fort ta send a letter home and then he didn’t know what he’d do. When I pressed him, he said he might go into the mountains and see what he could find.”

  Chapter 9

  FORT FAYETTE, WYOMING

  September 1868

  “CAN YE POST THIS FER me?” Brion Blakely asked the clerk at the rough desk in the fort’s offices.

  “Yes, of course,” the man said, eyeing the tall, red-haired man with a mixture of curiosity and fear. The man’s hair was long and wild and his beard was shaggy and unkempt. But his brown eyes were what held the clerk’s attention. They flashed anger the way a thunderstorm flashed lightning.

  The clerk had seen men like him before. Men who were either running away from trouble or running toward it and an early grave. He hoped that whichever it was for this young man, that it wouldn’t catch up to him.

  “The James crew is safe and sound,” the big man barked again, “but if you boys are out that way, they can check in on them.” Without a word, the fierce-looking man turned and walked out of the office into a chilly day, mounted his chestnut horse and leading a sleek brown packhorse, rode away.

  “Where you headed, mister?” a young soldier called to Brion as he kicked his horse into a trot. The soldier could barely be called a man, his chin bearing only the hint of whiskers.

  “The mountains,” Brion snapped, hefting his rifle in his hand and laying it across his saddle bows.

  “There’s been some trouble out that way,” the boy called. “You watch out for yourself.”

  The sound of galloping hooves was his only reply.

  “GOD WATCHES OVER FOOLS and children.” A woman’s voice invaded the blackness that surrounded Brion and he strained to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t budge. He felt his head being lifted, felt something warm and bitter trickling into his mouth, and his throat reacted on its own.

  “Crazy people everywhere nowadays.” The voice spoke again, but he could feel himself drifting away. Something seemed to be poking him in his shoulder, and his side hurt. Why did his side hurt? He couldn’t remember as he slipped back into the blackness.

  Brion’s first sensation was cold. He was cold, his toes were cold, his hands were cold, even his backside was cold. Determinedly he forced his eyes open, only to see more blackness. He was sure he’d opened his eyes. Was he blind? Something wet seemed to trickle over him, running along his chest and down his rib cage. He shivered, sending a spasm of pain along his side. Groggily, he tried to raise himself up, but he felt so cold.

  “You alive,” a woman’s voice barked. He wasn’t sure if it was a question or statement, but he didn’t answer. “You been away three days now,” the voice continued. “You lucky you are not dead.”

  “Where...” it was all he could manage as his tongue seemed heavy as lead.

  “You not know the name of this place anyway.” The voice came again, then warm hands pressed to his chest, sending a ripple of heat through him. “You cold. Good, no more fever.” Something was removed from his eyes and he blinked into the relative brightness of the gray light that surrounded him.

  Slowly as his eyes began to focus, he could make out a rock face a few feet above him, and the soft glow of a fire somewhere in the distance. He studied the rock above him for a few minutes, trying to understand where he was and how he had gotten there. The last thing he could remember was his horse walking along a narrow path leading toward a deep valley.

  “What happened?” he croaked, his throat was sore and raspy.

  “You are a very stupid man. That is what happened,” the voice spoke again, the words harsh but the tone kind. A shadow danced above him and a moment later a woman’s face drifted above him, taking his breath away.

  She had long black hair, black like coal or obsidian, and dark brown eyes edged in thick, black lashes. Her face was broad and round at the top, with high cheekbones, but tapered, heart-like, to a pert chin and a strong jaw.

  His eyes seemed to lock on hers, unable to look away until she started rubbing something rough and warm against his bare chest, making him jump.

  “Don’t go moving around. You hurt yourself again,” she snapped, still rubbing at his chest and shoulders.

  Brion was feeling much warmer suddenly. His pulse quickened as the woman efficiently dried whatever had been poured on him to bring his temperature down.

  “Silly boys should not be around in the mountains at this time of year all alone.” The woman spoke again. Her stilted English making him wonder even more who she was and where she had come from.

  “I’m not a boy.” He tried to argue, but his whole body protested.

  The woman pulled away from him, rocking back on her heels and glared. “Then why I am finding you in the creek, half-frozen and nearly dead?” she asked flatly.

  He opened his mouth to protest, but she waved him away. “You come to this place, riding your horse too fast. He slip, fall in stream. You stupid.”

  Brion bristled as the comment. Would this woman ever quit calling him stupid? He didn’t want her to think he was some foolish boy off on an adventure. She was too pretty to think of him as stupid or a boy.

  “Here,” she snapped, rising to her feet in one smooth fluid motion. “Put this on, it is dry.”

  Slowly he eased the buckskin jacket over his head as sore, strained muscles screamed in protest. The soft hide felt smooth and warm on his skin and smelled of clean leather.

  The woman returned this time with a small copper bowl in her hand, which she set on the hard floor of the cave. “I help you sit up, then you eat.” She didn’t wait for his approval to the idea but simply placed her hands under his arms and half lifted, half slid him backward on the skin robes he was resting on.

  She was unnervingly strong for someone of her size, she could almost stand upright in the cave.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, unsure what else he could do. He suddenly felt completely at her mercy and it sent a little thrill through him to think of it.

&n
bsp; The woman handed him the bowl, then walked away. He noticed how her buckskin dress hugged her hips in a very becoming way and quickly turned his attention to his soup. It was salty and full of shaved jerky, but it tasted good.

  “What’s your name?” Brion finally managed as the hot liquid soothed his throat.

  “I am Wynonna,” she said, crossing back to him with her bowl and lowering herself cross-legged onto the hard earth.

  “And you’re the one who found me?”

  “Yes.” She sipped her soup.

  “Are you traveling with someone?”

  “No.” Her eyes sparkled as if they were playing a game.

  “Do you think you should be out here all alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now wait a minute.” Brion bristled. “Why is it all right for you to be out here on your own but I’m stupid for being out here on my own?”

  Wynona shook her head as if the answer were plain for anyone to see, making her glossy black hair swing over her shoulders.

  “You do not belong here.”

  “Now wait just a minute.” He pushed himself up, wincing with the effort. “I have as much right as anyone else to be up here in these mountains.”

  “Yes, you have right, you do not belong.” She sipped her soup again as if that explained everything.

  “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself out here.” He bristled, “I can fish and hunt and I ride well.”

  Wynonna raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “Then why you here bruised and battered?”

  Brion’s temper was threatening to get the better of him. This woman, though beautiful, was downright infuriating.

  “If you so smart, why come to the mountains with no winter coat? Why you fall in the water and nearly freeze to death?” She placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward, glaring at him.