He studied her for a long moment, then shook his head. “I don’t need anything.” He tried to lie flat in the bed. A moan escaped his lips.
Laura was immediately at his side. “Well, for now you may not need a friend, but you do need a nurse, and you’re stuck with me.” She helped him to a better position, then straightened to put out the lamp.
“Miss Evans ... Laura,” Will said, his voice much softer. “I’m sorry. I know I’m difficult. Thank you for your help.”
She gave him a hint of a smile. “You’re welcome, Will.”
9
Will was relieved to sit in the leather wingback chair rather than be propped up in the bed. Curtis had helped him to get into the chair and put his leg and foot up on the ottoman. It took another pillow under his leg to make things comfortable, but Will found it improved his spirits.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he considered what his future might hold. His plans to work with the Indians used to be so clear, but now he didn’t know what he wanted to do. The Indians were responsible for killing his mother and sister. How could he possibly go and work alongside them after what had happened? What if he even ended up assigned to the very men who killed his family? His anger at the thought of anyone attacking innocent stagecoach passengers was enough to make him desire revenge rather than sharing the Gospel.
For days now, Will had tried to pray about the matter, but he couldn’t move beyond the anger he felt toward God. Why bother to pray? He had prayed for his mother and Sally, and it did them no good.
I don’t understand any of this. None of it makes sense. Why were those people allowed to die? They didn’t do anything wrong.
Will had heard that there was a strongbox aboard the stage. That, along with other possessions from the passengers, had been taken. The driver and his guard had both been armed with rifles as well as revolvers. Those were gone, and they were dead. There had been a fine saddle on top with the luggage. That was missing, and the luggage had all been riffled through. The contents left behind had been strewn on the snowy roadside.
Will could picture it all, including the way the people had been left to die. Edward had given him the details as best he could when Will insisted that he needed to know. Will had been certain it would help ease his mind to understand the way things had happened, but it didn’t.
The Indians—most figured they were Sioux, from the arrows left behind—had come charging at the stagecoach. The driver and guard had been killed first, causing the horses to go out of control. The passengers who had weapons returned fire. Apparently they weren’t very good shots, however, because while there had been a bit of blood found in the snow, Edward said there were no additional bodies, and so the sheriff figured the blood had been left by one of the victims when they were tossed out of the stage and searched.
Whether Edward lied about the situation regarding Will’s mother and sister, Will didn’t know, but the deputy said they’d been treated in a most humane fashion. Each had been shot once in the heart with guns. Where the men had been scalped, the women had been untouched and left in their seats in the stagecoach. They had been searched and their purses taken, as well as their jewelry. Mother’s wedding ring and her grandmother’s emerald ring, which she alwayswore, were missing. As was Sally’s necklace and the pearl ring their parents had given her on her eighteenth birthday.
The necklace had been a gift from Will on Sally’s last birthday. She had been so enthralled with the inscribed gold locket that she pledged to never take it off. Each time Will had seen her after that, the necklace had been prominently displayed around her neck. He’d shared all this information with Edward and promised to write to his aunt Willa in Mississippi to see if the two were carrying anything else of value. He’d still not managed to work up the courage to write that letter.
How could he tell his aunt that her beloved younger sister was dead? That her niece had been slain at her side by savages? That his insistence they come to Cheyenne had put them in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it resulted in their death?
His head pounded, and he pressed his hands on either side to ease the pressure. What was he to do? How could he ever make any of this right?
Perhaps he should send word to Mr. Blevins and tell him that he’d changed his mind regarding the reservation work. He didn’t see how he could move forward, but at the same time, he didn’t know how he could walk away. This was something he’d wanted since he was a boy and heard his grandfather’s and father’s stories about working with the native peoples. His mother’s and sister’s deaths weren’t the result of all Indians, just a handful of malcontents who had plotted and carried out the attack.
There were good Indians and bad, just as there were good and bad white men. Will could hardly blame all tribes and their numbers for the actions of a few. But at the moment, he felt an overwhelming hatred for everyone. The Indiansfor the attack. The stage driver and his helper for not having been wiser or more alert. The men in the coach who weren’t good shots, and frankly anyone else who had even the most remote role in what had taken place.
He even wanted to hate Laura for her part in running him down, but he couldn’t bring himself to that. He didn’t know why he wanted to hate her, except that her presence reminded him of what he’d lost. She offered the kind of tenderness and gentle healing that his mother would have given. In fact, Laura reminded him a great deal of his mother. He nearly smiled at the thought of how Laura refused to be put off by him. His mother would have been the same way. She would have ignored his whining and growling, and followed it up with a stern reminder that there were folks elsewhere who had it worse than he did. But this time, Will wasn’t sure that was true.
A light knock sounded on the door, and Laura swept into the room. She had her dark auburn hair carefully pinned in place and had donned a dark navy skirt and matching jacket. Her white blouse was trimmed with ruffled lace down the front, and she’d pinned a cameo at the base of her throat.
“Good morning, Will,” she said, moving to the window to open the drapes. “You simply must see the day. It’s so bright and beautiful. There isn’t a cloud in the sky.”
“I have a headache.”
She stopped midstep. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sorry. I’ll leave the drapes closed.” She moved to the fireplace and stirred up the burning wood before adding a log. Once there was a roaring blaze, she stepped back and turned once again to face him. “I hope you are staying warm enough.”
“It’s been fine. Mrs. Duffy checks on it every hour.”
“She’s a wonderful lady. So capable,” Laura replied, comingto where he sat. “Are you ready to return to bed? I can call for Curtis.”
“Maybe in a little while. I’m trying to push myself to endure a little more each day.”
“My friends from church are coming here in a few minutes. They’re all ladies that you know, and they want to pop in to say hello and let you know that they’re praying for you. After that, I’ll serve lunch. We can set you up at the table with us if you really want to push yourself.”
“No, I wouldn’t be good company. I’d just as soon eat here alone.”
“Very well.” She felt his forehead. “I’m so glad you’ve no fever. The doctor was quite worried about infection, but I would say we no longer have to worry about that. You’re healing nicely from the surgery. I know you’re still having headaches and the light still bothers you. Is there anything else that is causing you trouble? What about the nausea?”
“It comes and goes. Mostly it’s not a problem. I’m fine.” He thought again of his mother. She would be appalled at how badly he had been treating Laura.
