Page 17 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)
He liked to imagine Eleanor in that place, because when he thought of her toiling for her food and fighting for her life in Assiniboia, he felt helpless, as if he had failed her in some way.
William could offer Eleanor the life Arran couldn’t.
As the bagpipes continued to play, and the dancers waltzed around the hall, Arran forced himself to stop thinking about Eleanor.
The only way he could do his job and keep her safe was if he guarded his heart.
He would cherish each moment with her, but when the time came, he would see that she was safely delivered back to England. Even if it meant she went with William.
The air had grown decidedly colder when Eleanor and Arran stepped out of the main hall in the wee hours of the morning. The last of the revelers were entering their cabin, and one of the men turned to Eleanor and waved good night.
She smiled and waved back.
The music was still humming in her ears, though the night had grown silent and the prairie around the fort was asleep. Overhead, the stars sparkled in dazzling pinpricks of light and before her lips, fog billowed from her mouth.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Arran asked quietly as he closed the door and joined her on the porch.
“Very much. Thank you for planning it for me. I finally feel like I made progress tonight with the other colonists. I hope I’ll see more of their children at my school.”
He smiled as they began to cross the wide fort yard.
Dancing had a way of breaking down barriers like few other things.
“Do you have much entertainment in the winters?” she asked Arran. “Will I have more of the same to look forward to?”
“The first winter we enjoyed many diversions,” he said slowly. “The buffalo were so plentiful that year, they came to the stockade and scratched their backs upon the posts. The weather was mild, and the snow was minimal.”
“And the second and third winters?”
He took his time as he slowly walked her toward the governor’s house.
“The weather was bitterly cold, and the snow was so deep, the buffalo were scarce. Many settlers were ill, and we did everything we could just to stay alive. When we gathered, it was to hold funerals.” He readjusted the musket on his shoulder and sighed.
“Even if there was anyone to plan the activities, few people would have had the heart to participate.”
The weight of his words dampened the joy Eleanor had been feeling just moments before. “Do you think this winter will be different?”
“I can only hope, though the Indians have told me the signs point to another long, cold winter.”
“And the buffalo?” She’d heard several people discussing the lack of buffalo at the dance that evening.
“The Indians hunt them on the prairies and bring the meat to the fort to sell.” His voice was hard as he spoke. “They haven’t come yet, which is odd for this time of year, since the weather has just turned.”
“And what of our other supplies?”
“You dinna need to worry. ’Tis my job to see that everyone is fed.”
“Do you carry the responsibility alone?” It seemed like a large undertaking for one man.
He shook his head. “When Governor Semple is here, it will fall on both our shoulders. We have wheat and corn stored in the back of the main hall, and there are chickens, pigs, and milch cows in the barn. It might grow lean, if the buffalo do not return. I’ve warned you it won’t be easy, but we will do everything we can to keep the colonists alive. ”
As they drew closer to the governor’s house, Eleanor noticed a light shining from within.
“Who might be awake?” she asked with a frown. It was late and she had thought everyone would be asleep.
They walked faster and when they were a few feet away, the sound of Miriam’s muffled cries could be heard.
Arran opened the door and held it for Eleanor to step into the house.
Nicolette stood with the baby near the fireplace, bouncing the crying child, while William stood farther back, near the foot of the ladder that led to the upstairs. He was in his shirtsleeves and trousers, his hair tousled from sleep.
“What’s wrong?” Eleanor asked as she rushed across the room, not bothering to remove her shawl or bonnet.
“She’s ill,” Nicolette said in her broken English. “I cannot know why.”
Eleanor took the baby and held her close, feeling her forehead. “She’s burning with fever.”
Miriam’s pitiful cries split the air. Her cheeks were aflame with color, and she tensed her body as if in pain. Eleanor could feel a low rumble in her chest as she breathed, and when she coughed, it sounded tight.
“You poor girl,” Eleanor whispered, trying desperately to keep calm and not give in to fear.
“I will send for one of the doctors,” Arran said as he left the house.
Eleanor was surprised that William had not thought to do so already. One of the doctors had been an early settler and the other one had come over with the latest group of colonists. Both were well respected, and if anyone knew what to do, it would be them.
But in the meantime, Eleanor would do what she could. She turned to Nicolette. “Please set a kettle of water to warm over the fire.” She would make ginger tea to help lower the fever, though it would be hard to get the baby to drink it, since she was not yet weaned.
Nicolette began to do as she was asked.
Eleanor turned her attention to William. “We’ll also need cloths and cool water to bathe her skin.”
William stood, almost like a statue, immobile as he stared at Miriam. “Will she die?”
“I pray to God that she will not.” Eleanor put the baby up to her shoulder and lightly bounced as she patted her back, speaking over the baby’s cries.
“We’ll do everything we can to save her.
” She wanted to be patient with William, but her forbearance was growing thin.
“But we will need all the help we can get.”
With a brittle nod, William did as she asked.
It felt like an hour before Arran returned with Dr. Stewart, though Eleanor guessed it to be twenty minutes. Dr. Stewart was the Scottish doctor who had been an early settler to the colony. He was an older gentleman with a thick, white mustache, and an equally thick brogue.
Eleanor had managed to calm Miriam and get her to drink a few teaspoonfuls of sweetened ginger tea. With great patience, she had used the cool water to bathe her forehead and arms, and the baby was now whimpering from exhaustion, though her cries were no longer tearing Eleanor’s heart apart.
Gently, Dr. Stewart took Miriam out of Eleanor’s arms and sat on a chair near the fireplace. “How long has she been ill?” he asked.
Eleanor looked at Nicolette, who was standing in the corner.
“She woke, four or five hours,” Nicolette said.
“She was not showing signs of her illness when Nicolette put her to bed before I left for the dance,” Eleanor told the doctor. “That was earlier this evening, around sundown.” It had been almost seven hours ago. Why hadn’t Nicolette or William called for them when it was clear the baby was sick?
Arran moved close to Eleanor’s side, his steady presence giving her a bit of confidence and hope. He did not touch her, but his nearness, and his concern, were so powerful, it almost felt as if he nestled her into his embrace.
William stood on the other side of the doctor, his brow tight and his gaze locked on his daughter’s face. He did not move or ask any questions.
After several minutes, the doctor stood and held the baby out, looking at William and then Eleanor.
When William did not move to take her, Eleanor went to the doctor’s side and gathered the baby into her arms, snuggling her close.
“The child has croup,” he said. “She is very young to be this sick. I will try to bleed her and restore her humors, and you will need to limit her food, so you dinna feed her fever.”
Eleanor lifted the baby higher to kiss her warm cheek, not wanting to think about starving her, or bleeding her small body.
“Do what you must,” William said, his voice devoid of emotion.
“When will you bleed her?” Eleanor asked.
“I think it best if I do it now.” He went to the table where he had laid a medicine chest upon entering. When he opened it, he pulled out a fleam, which had several different sizes of blades to make the incision for bleeding.
Eleanor turned her gaze from the instrument and pressed her lips together. She couldn’t stop thinking about Arran’s words earlier when he told her about all the death and suffering among the colonists. Would Miriam be the first of many losses in Pembina?
Tears gathered in her eyes as she fought the panic rising in her heart.
Arran came close to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Dinna fash. God is with her. We will do what we can and pray that God does the rest.” The gentle pressure of his hand, and the soft reassurance of his tender words, made tears fall down her cheeks.
She didn’t know what she would do if she lost Miriam.