“Good idea.”
She had to wait for several men to finish talking with the doctor and his nephew, but at last Dr. Brownsville turned to her.
“Forgive me, miss. Did you wish to speak with me?”
“Yes.” Forsythia held out her hand to meet his warm, quick grip. “First, let me say how terribly sorry I was to hear about your wife.” Empathy gripped her chest again with the words. She knew the pain of losing your beloved.
“Thank you.” Lines of grief bracketed his eyes, yet he smiled beneath his neatly trimmed brown beard. “And you are?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” Forsythia’s scalp heated. “Miss Forsythia Nielsen. I’m traveling with my sisters—and brother Clark.” She nodded across the clearing at Lark. The lie caught on her tongue, but she pushed the discomfort away. This way was best under the circumstances, they’d all agreed.
“And you wished to ask me . . . ?”
“Yes.” Why was she scattered all of a sudden? “The family in the wagon in front of ours—the wife is ill. We’ve been nursing her as best we can since we found them a week ago, but she’s growing weaker. At first it was dysentery, we thought, but now I’m not sure. And she’s pregnant, over seven months along, as best we can figure.”
“I see.” The doctor frowned. “Might I come take a look at her? Would she and her husband be willing?”
“I’m sure they would.” Relief flooded her. What a gift to have a doctor in this train. “Would you like to follow me now?”
“Certainly. Just let me explain to Jesse.”
A moment later, Dr. Brownsville returned, bag in hand. He smiled at Forsythia. “Ready?”
“He seems a nice young man, your nephew.” She led the way, skirting darkened wagons and firelight. Oxen lay resting, chewing their cud after the labors of the day.
“He is. He lost his parents years ago and has been passed from one part of the family to another, finally landing with me. I hope this journey will be a good, fresh start for him. He’s all the family I have now.”
Forsythia fell silent, honoring his grief. Only a few days, so fresh. How many more would be buried from this wagon train before they reached their destinations? She pushed away the morbid thought.
“Here we are.”
Thomas stooped near the Durhams’ fire, clumsily tidying up from supper. Robbie sat on the ground near him, whining sleepily. Poor little boy, it was past time he was in bed. Alice, of course, was too weak to do anything about it, and Thomas seemed unable.
Forsythia cleared her throat. “Mr. Durham, you remember Dr. Brownsville from the meeting? He’s here to take a look at Alice, if you’re willing.”
“Much obliged.” Durham straightened and came to shake the doctor’s hand. “We don’t know what’s wrong with her. I hope you can help.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Dr. Brownsville squatted to Robbie’s level. “And who do we have here?”
The little boy leaned against his father’s leg, a finger in his mouth. “Robbie.” He sniffled and wiped his sleeve across his nose.
“Would you like me to finish tidying up, Mr. Durham, while the doctor sees to Alice?” Forsythia offered. “That way you can get Robbie to bed.”
Thomas nodded as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Sure.” He lifted his son and led the doctor to the wagon.
Forsythia busied herself with the Durhams’ dishes, scouring burned beans from the pot as best she could in the tepid dishwater. Dishes done, she wrung out the cloth and hung it to dry from a hook on the side of the wagon. She shook her head. This family needed help.
She turned to see the doctor climbing down from the wagon, lantern light from within framing his bearded silhouette against the canvas cover. He alighted with a soft thud on the dirt.
Forsythia approached him, drying damp hands on her apron. “What do you think?”
“Hard to say.” The doctor blew out a breath and rubbed his beard. “As you said, no dysentery now, but she is weak and running a slight fever.”
“That’s not good. What about the baby?”
“I can hear a heartbeat, fairly strong. We won’t know more until she gives birth—hopefully not for some weeks. She isn’t strong enough now.”
“Do you see any signs of labor?”
“She says she’s been having some tightenings, but that’s also normal at this stage.” He shook his head. “All we can do is try to get her strength up with rest and nourishing food. And pray.”
“Yes.” So he was a praying man. Not a surprise, from what she’d seen of him so far. “I asked the folks ahead with the cow for some milk and whipped it with egg for her today. They said we could have more in the morning.”
“Good. Crumbling a biscuit and soaking it in the milk might help too.”
Forsythia nodded. “We’ll try that. Thank you so much, Doctor. I’m very grateful for your input, and I know the Durhams are too.”
“Sorry not to be of more help. I’ll check in on her as I can, and please keep me informed, Miss Nielsen.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then released it. “They are blessed to have friends like you and your family.”
Forsythia watched him disappear into the darkness, headed for his wagon. Bless that man, dear Lord, for his kindness. Heal his heart. And please, Father, bring strength and healing to Alice and her little one.
Durham appeared at her side, lantern in hand. “Robbie’s asleep. Alice too. Doc tell you anything else?”
“She’s running a slight fever.” Forsythia rubbed her arms against the evening chill. “We need to focus on getting her strength up before the baby comes.”
“She has to get better.” His voice hollow, Durham extinguished the lantern and hung it from the wagon side. “I don’t think I can live without her.”
14
They could do with some fresh meat.
Lark watched a hawk soaring overhead. It circled lower, then dove for its prey. A rabbit, most likely. This grassy region must be full of them, and the woods by
