“It is.” She smiled. “May I come in?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kate climbed into the wagon and hooked the lantern to a rib of the wagon cover. She settled by his side, cup of tea in hand. Mr. Thomas smiled up at her, showing the gaps of several missing teeth. But his eyes were having a hard time focusing. There were dark circles around them, and they stood out in stark relief against his ashen face. Kate’s brow creased, but she kept her voice light. “Now Mr. Thomas, you can’t go gettin’ sick on me. Who’s going to play harmonica with me at next Saturday’s dance?” She lifted his head, bringing the cup to his lips. He struggled to drink, a terrible cough rattling in his lungs.
He fell back. “I’m sure there’s all sorts of young whippersnappers who’d be right tickled to play next to you, Miss Kate.” Another cough.
“But none so skilled as you!” she bantered, her voice strained. Kate pressed a hand to his forehead. Another soaring fever. “You're not going anywhere, Mr. Thomas. Come, let's have some more tea.” Mr. Thomas managed to sip half a cup before exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a fitful sleep. Kate stayed with him, refreshing the compresses on his forehead, flexing her aching hand and barely healed knuckles. Her heart yearned to be with her mother, but she just couldn’t leave him, notalone like this. She held his hand, fighting sleep, keeping vigil as the night deepened.
Kate woke to a gentle hand squeezing her shoulder. The lamp had burned out. “Danny?” she whispered groggily.
“It’s Jacob,” came the soft reply. “I heard ’bout your ma being sick and went to check in on y’all. Ian told me where you were.” Jacob settled next to her in the darkness. “How’s he doin’?”
Kate heaved a weary sigh, checking Mr. Thomas’s forehead for the hundredth time. “No better.” Her voice caught.
“But no worse, I bet, thanks to you.” His deep voice rumbled softly. He took her hand. “It’s past midnight. Let me take you back.”
She shook her head, sitting up straight, gathering her strength. “No. No, I can’t just leave him. He’s all alone.” Jacob’s thumb stroked the back of her damaged hand, gently running over the fading cuts and bruises on her knuckles. It was so soothing. She closed her eyes, and a small sigh escaped her lips.
“I’ll stay with him,” he said quietly.
She tried to search his face in the darkness. “Are you sure? No, your ribs, Jacob. You shouldn’t. You need to rest too.”
“I’ll be fine. Just tell me what I gotta do.”
So Kate quietly gave him instructions on cool compresses, onion poultices, and peppermint tea. Checking Mr. Thomas’s temperature one last time, she climbed out of the wagon and into the crisp night air. Her knees nearly buckled underneath her. But Jacob caught her, looping her arm through his, keeping her steady. She smiled up at him wearily, the starlight bathing his strong features in a soft, silver glow. What would she do without him? Jacob had turned into someone she could depend on, someone who was there for her when she needed someone to lean on. She laid her cheek on his shoulder, letting him guide her footsteps home.
“Sorry, folks. Proctor says we keep goin’ or we won’t make Oregon ’fore freeze up,” Sebastian said, expertly spitting tobacco juice to the side.
“Almost a third of the train is sick! How can that be a good idea?” Kate nearly yelled in her indignance.
“No way ’round it, I’m afraid. Better get movin’. We’re breakin’ camp in an hour.” And he walked off.
Fuming, fatigue clouding her mind, Kate stood there, hands hanging limp at her sides, watching her father and brothers slowly break camp. She saw the worry that tensed their shoulders and drew dark circles under their eyes. Ma wouldn’t get any better if she couldn’t rest, and how could a body rest being jostled and jarred in the back of a wagon all day? Kate couldn’t believe the callousness of Proctor’s order. She put a shaking hand to her forehead.Lord, how can we manage?
Kate looked for Jacob, craving his unshakable nearness, before she remembered he was taking care of Old Man Thomas. She heaved a sigh. All she wanted was for him to walk up to her and tell her it was going to be all right and hold her in his arms until it was all over. Even in the haze of her fatigue, the thought surprised her, but she pushed it away. She couldn’t spare even a moment to think about her errant emotions.
By nightfall Ma had developed a rattling cough, and Danny and Ian’s faces were flushed with the beginnings of the fever. She ordered them both to bed and worked furiously caring for her family. Peppermint tea, cool compresses, onion poultices. Broth and water when they could take it. Her hand ached as she worked. Her body cried out for rest, but she wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, not for a moment. Not until all the people she loved in this world were pulled out from the death grip of this fever.
That night, Davie Leighton died.
Kate woke to the cry of a man whose heart was utterly broken. In the gray light of the coming dawn, she found James on his knees, clutching the lifeless body of his tiny son to his chest, rocking him, wailing his brokenness to the cold light of the early morning stars. Tears welled up and spilled down Kate’s cheeks. “Oh James,” she whispered, her voice catching. “I’m so sorry.” She knelt beside her friend and wept with him, sharing in his grief, wishing with all her heart she could’ve done something more.
James looked up at her, anguish etching his face. “She doesn’t even know,” he whispered hoarsely. “She’s too sick. She doesn’t even know.”
Kate’s heart broke anew. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I can’t lose her too!” he cried out, frantic, eyes wide.
“I know, I know,” Kate said. She stroked little Davie’s limp curls as fresh tears coursed down her face.
James bowed his head over his son’s still body. He laid a gentle kiss on Davie’s forehead. “You’re no longer in pain, my little one. Mama and Papa will see you up in heaven in a little while, all right? Say hi to Jesus for me.” James took a shuddering breath. “Please, Lord, take care of him for us. Tell him it’ll be all right and that we love him. We love him so much.” He turned to Kate, eyes filled with haunted agony. “Will you help me bury him?”
Kate nodded, unable to speak.
They buried Davie on the side of the trail as the first rays of the sun broke over the eastern hills. Aaron spoke words over the tiny bundle as they laid him in the ground. Kate played a hymn, the strains of the melody merging with the gentle song of the waking prairie, lifting their grief to the sun. By the grace of God, James gathered up his wagon and left that small mound of fresh soil under the vast blue sky. Maria was still delirious with fever.
Two days later they had buried four more, including Old Man Thomas.
