The men and the girl stood back a little, blocking Eric's view of the injury.
He could see Naomi's face, though, and she might have felt his gaze, for she glanced his way.
The sorrow in her eyes made his chest clench. If only he could stride in there and help. What could he do though? Dinah was right that he could bring the most benefit by keeping Mary Ellen occupied. The girl pressed into his leg now, clutching Dolly as she studied the group around Sean.
He rested his hand on his daughter's head. "Here, princess. Let's go back and finish our book." He would sit in a chair this time so he could get up easier if there was an opportunity to help.
A few minutes after he'd settled with his daughter in his lap and the book open before them, Jonah and Miles stepped from the room, their faces lined with exhaustion.
Jonah's gaze flicked to Eric, his eyes wary.
Eric held his tongue. The last thing he wanted was to say something to raise the man’s ire during this tense time.
Did he dare ask about Sean’s condition?
Jonah turned away, barking orders to his younger brother. "Get two buckets of clean water. I'm sure they'll need it for Sean. Maybe three. I'll fill the wood box."
They strode outside, leaving the room quiet once more. He tried to focus on the book and his daughter, but the murmur of women's voices made him strain to try to make out their words. They were too soft to understand.
By the time, the men had each made two trips inside with their respective loads, Lillian stepped from the bed chamber.
Eric could sit still no longer, so he eased his daughter to the floor and pushed to his feet. Rising from the chair was far easier than from the floor, no question about it.
"How is he?" Jonah spoke Eric's question before he could, and they all studied Lillian’s face as she moved into the kitchen area and pulled a big pot from a lower shelf, which she placed on the cookstove.
"Dinah says it didn't cut the main artery, just a smaller one. But he lost a lot of blood. I'm making soup to help rebuild his strength." She sounded so determined. Like a grown woman, not a girl of twelve or thirteen.
Her own brother was the one suffering in there, yet she hadn’t collapsed on the floor in a fit of sobs. She was out here cooking, doing what she could to help.
Eric stepped closer, moving around the others to reach the stove. "What can I do? I'm a deft hand at chopping vegetables."
She didn't spare him a look but pulled a sack from a crate and plopped it on the counter. "Cut these potatoes into the pot. Thin slices. Make sure you cut off the eyes."
Cut off the eyes? He'd been stretching the truth a little with the wordsdeft hand, but surely he could manage to slice a few potatoes. ...and cut off their eyes, whatever that meant.
When he pulled the first spud from the bag, a memory slipped in. Their cook back in Charleston—where his family had lived until they moved to Wayneston when he was fifteen—had let him watch her work sometimes. She'd talked about how potatoes were actually seeds and would sprout if left too long before being eaten. She'd called these sprouts eyes, if he remembered right.
He worked slowly with the first potato, making sure he cut out the roots of each sprout, then making small slices into the pot.
Lillian moved far faster, chopping radishes and carrots.
“Hmm,” he murmured. “I’d better step up my pace if I want to keep my job.”
She didn’t look at him, but he caught a cornerof her mouth ticking up. Maybe that was the best he’d get, all things considered.
In the living area, Jonah had scooped up Mary Ellen and was talking with her quietly. Perhaps Eric should have stayed with his daughter, doing what he'd been told. But he’d felt like Lillian needed someone with her just now.
And as he slid glances at Coulter and Mary Ellen, he couldn't deny how well the two seemed to know each other. How comfortable they were with each other. Coulter pretended to steal Mary Ellen's nose, but when he asked her where it was, she shook her head. Then he tickled her belly, and she convulsed in a fit of giggles.
That laughter. Eric would never ever grow tired of the sound, no matter how much he heard it. The fact that Jonah was the cause this time niggled in his chest, but at least his daughter was finding joy. The merriment lightened the tension in the room too. Even Lillian cast a half-smile toward the pair.
A savory aroma was already beginning to waft from the bubbling concoction in the pot, making his middle gnaw. The Coulters surely wouldn't allow him to stay all day, but he'd be here as long as he could be useful. Perhaps they'd share a few bites of this stew. It certainly looked like enough to feed the entire Coulter clan.
Which he wasn't a part of. Nor did he wish to be.
He had the business he and his father had worked so hard to build back in Washington. He would only be here until the river thawed next spring, and by then he'd either have worked out a safe place for his child to thrive here, or he'd be taking her back home with him.
Today's injury had confirmed something he’d already known—this mountain country could be treacherous. It was not a safe place for a young girl to grow up.
