Treasured Grace Read online

  “I heard him propose again.”

  Grace shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not interested. I suppose in time he will, although I’ll probably have to endure a dozen more proposals before he gives up.”

  “Maybe he’ll marry one of the women who lost their innocence at the mission,” Hope said sarcastically.

  “Pay him no mind. He’s a ninny.”

  “Then so is everyone else in Oregon City, for they’re all saying the same thing. The women who live here are appalled at the very thought of us. We are filth as far as they are concerned.”

  “That’s not true, Hope.”

  “Isn’t it?” She stepped closer and shook her finger at Grace. “Then why do they avoid us? Why do they look away when we come near? If not for that reason—then why?”

  “Fear.” Grace had seen the terrified looks the women wore whenever the attack and the newcomers were mentioned. “They’re afraid that if it could happen to you, it could happen to them.”

  Hope seemed surprised by this answer but quickly covered it. “Well, they should be afraid. We are no safer here than we were at the mission. There are still plenty of Indians around, and they hate us. They will do whatever they can to get rid of us.” She turned and ran back upstairs.

  Grace intended to follow her, but a knock sounded on the door. Surely Nigel hadn’t returned already. She opened the door and found Eletta and Isaac.

  “Oh!” She put her hand to her mouth and then reached out to embrace Eletta. “Oh, I prayed you would be safely brought here. I am so glad God answered my prayer so quickly. Come in.” She stepped back to let the couple enter.

  “We were escorted by some of the friendlies. They delivered us to Fort Nez Perce, and then we were brought here. I mentioned your name, and an elderly gentleman told me we’d find you here. I believe his name was McLoughlin.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it was.” Grace closed the door and directed them to warm themselves by the fire. “Mr. McLoughlin is known far and wide. He founded this town, and as I understand it, he’s responsible for much more. For years and years he was the chief factor of Fort Vancouver.” She paused and assessed the couple standing before her. “Are you hungry?”

  “No,” Isaac said. “They fed us quite well.”

  “Please sit. The settee is well-worn but comfortable.” They did as instructed, and Grace pulled the rocker closer and took her seat. “Where are you staying? Have they given you a place?”

  Again Isaac answered. “They have a room for us at the hotel. It’s more than sufficient for the time being.”

  Grace glanced around the meagerly furnished room. “This is my uncle’s house, otherwise I would insist you move in here. As it is, I must wait for his return.”

  “It’s of no matter,” Eletta said. Her face looked so pale beneath the shadow of her brown wool bonnet. “All of the missionaries have been called in for fear of attacks at the other missions. We were both relieved to know you were safe—your sisters too.”

  “Hope and Mercy suffered a great deal, but they are recovering little by little.” Grace was uncertain how much to say.

  “And are they here?” Eletta asked.

  “Hope is resting upstairs, and Mercy has gone to visit her friend. Do you remember little Mary Ann Bridger? She’s the little half-breed girl who lived with the Whitmans. Her father left her there for schooling.”

  “I do remember her. She was a pretty little thing.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, she’s been unable to regain her health after having the measles. The sick weren’t allowed care after the massacre. Two other little girls died. Mary Ann is lucky to have made it so far, and Mercy likes to go over and read to her.”

  “I’m sure that’s a comfort.”

  Grace nodded. “Any comfort for them is a blessing. They’ve been through far more than any child should have to endure. I only pray they can soon forget all that happened.”

  By the middle of February the women and children who’d come to Oregon City seemed to have settled in. As expected, some had married and were making a new life. Whenever Hope saw them, they seemed more at peace—not really happy, but not as conflicted. Even Mercy seemed less inclined to have nightmares, although on occasion Hope still heard her cries in the night.

  It wasn’t so for Hope. She hated herself for hurting Grace by throwing her bag overboard. She was angry at herself for her weakness and fears. Most of all, she was enraged that a merciful God had allowed the massacre to happen. If God didn’t protect missionaries, whose sole purpose was to share the Gospel and help people better know God, then how could anyone else count on His protection? Hope couldn’t stop pondering that question.

  From time to time, her thoughts went to John Sager. She couldn’t stop reliving his death, and the nightmares kept her from ever achieving a restful sleep. Then there was what Tomahas had done to her. That was something she could never forget, because as Nigel Grierson had pointed out, her innocence was forever gone.

  It was Monday, so that meant wash day. Grace had managed the wash, but she’d asked Hope to help hang the clothes to dry. Hope didn’t really mind, but she wasn’t feeling well. Her night had been particularly bad, and even now she felt as though her body were a lead weight. Nevertheless, she joined Grace at the makeshift clothesline to do her part. She hoped her willingness might be seen as an unspoken apology of sorts, for she didn’t have the words.

  Reaching for a clothespin, Hope fought off a wave of dizziness and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. If Grace knew she was sick, she’d fuss over her, and that was something Hope didn’t want.

  “Hello!”

  Hope and Grace both looked to see who was calling. Eletta Browning gave a wave as she made her way across the yard. “I knocked at the front door, but no one answered, so I thought you might be outside. It’s such a beautiful day, even though it’s cold.”

  Grace went to give her friend a hug. “I’m so glad you came to visit. How are you feeling?”

  Hope turned back to the line while Grace and Eletta chatted. The sooner she got the laundry hung up, the sooner she could escape the cold and her sister. She secured a clothespin to the end of a sheet just as another wave of dizziness hit. Along with it came the awful nausea she’d been fighting. Without warning, Hope felt the contents of her stomach rise. She ran toward the edge of the river and lost her breakfast. Her vision blurred momentarily, and she collapsed, trying to remain conscious.

  Grace was at her side in a flash. She bore the look of concern Hope had so often seen when her sister dealt with the ill.

  “Are you all right? Let me feel your head.” Grace put her hand to Hope’s forehead. “You aren’t feverish. That’s good.”

  “I just got dizzy and sick to my stomach. It’s been going on all week, so don’t fuss over me. I’m fine.” Hope pushed Grace away and got to her feet. She didn’t feel much better, but she wasn’t about to tell her sister.

  Eletta joined them and looked at Hope with a strange expression. She whispered something to Grace, making Hope feel as if they were conspiring against her.

  She stiffened. “If you two are through talking about me, I would appreciate it if you’d just leave me alone. I can finish hanging the laundry, so why don’t you go have tea or take a walk together?”

  Grace’s face had gone pale. She looked almost frightened. “Hope,” she said, then bit her lower lip.

  Hope frowned. It wasn’t like Grace to act this way. “What? What’s wrong now?”

  “I must ask you something, but I fear I already know the answer.”

  “Stop being so dramatic. Ask your question and leave me be.”

  For a moment she thought Grace had changed her mind, but then her sister stepped forward and asked in a barely audible voice, “When did you last have your monthly bleeding?”

  Hope shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t . . .” She fell silent as she realized what Grace was implying.

  She hadn’t bl
ed since before the massacre. Involuntarily her hands went to her stomach. She shook her head. “No. No.” She backed away, feeling her chest tighten so much that she could hardly breathe. “I can’t be with child. I won’t be. I won’t have his baby.”

  She could almost feel Tomahas’s hands on her again. She could see his leering face hovering over her. She could hardly bear the thought of what was growing inside her body.

  “Make it die,” she said, rushing to Grace. She took hold of her sister’s shoulders. “Get it out of me.” Grace looked shocked, but Hope didn’t care. “Either it dies or I will.”

  Chapter

  20

  As February came to a close and March roared in with wind and rain, Grace remained troubled. Hope, by her calculations, was three months along. Within the first few days of realizing her condition, Hope had begged almost constantly for Grace to help her miscarry before anyone knew what had happened. Even now, as Grace finished making oatmeal for their breakfast, she knew Hope would appear to beg her help once again.

  But what can I do? I cannot murder a baby. No matter its origin.

  But Hope had threatened to take her own life, and her actions of late truly worried Grace. She’d heard Hope ask several people about the depth of the river and the danger the falls created. It would be easy for her sister to simply walk out of the house and into the waters of the Willamette. The thought troubled Grace more and more each day. She also wondered if any other women from the mission were in the same situation as Hope.

  Mercy came into the kitchen looking morose. Mary Ann Bridger was worsening. Grace wanted nothing more than to shelter her sister from the pain of losing a dear friend, but there was no hope of it. Dr. McLoughlin had told Grace in private that it was unlikely Mary Ann would recover. Grace was doing her best to prepare Mercy for the inevitable.

  “Would you like a little coffee this morning?” Grace asked. “It might help you feel better.” She brought a half portion in a cup.

  Mercy looked at the coffee and frowned. “I don’t like it. It’s always bitter.”

  “Well, we can fix that with a little sugar.” Grace smiled and retrieved the sugar bowl. She sprinkled in a couple generous spoonfuls and stirred. “There. That ought to help considerably.”

  Mercy sipped from the cup and nodded. “It’s better. Thank you.”

  Grace dished up three bowls of oatmeal and put them on the table. “Why don’t you call Hope, and I’ll get the cream.” The cream and milk had come compliments of Nigel, and while Grace didn’t want to encourage him, Mercy and Hope needed the nourishment.

  Mercy got up from the table with a sigh. “She’s just going to be mad and tell me to go away.”

  “We must encourage her to join us.”

  Mercy shrugged and went to find her sister. Grace brought the cream to the table and had just taken her place when Mercy returned. “She said she’d be here in a minute.”

  “Truly? Well, that’s an improvement.” Grace smiled and handed Mercy the small pitcher of cream.

  “Grace, I don’t understand why Mary Ann isn’t getting well. I wish you were her doctor.”

  “Dr. McLoughlin is very capable. He even uses many of the same remedies I would use.” Grace touched Mercy’s arm. “Sometimes no matter how much medicine is given, a person . . . can’t get well.”

  Mercy’s eyes filled with tears. “But she’s my friend.”

  Grace nodded. “I know.”

  “It’s those Indians’ fault. They killed so many people and then wouldn’t let the sick ones have any medicine. I hate them.”

  Grace was surprised by Mercy’s uncharacteristic attitude. Usually she was gentle and forgiving of everyone. Of course, she’d gone through a lot at the hands of the Indians. “Hating them won’t change anything.” Grace reached up to smooth back Mercy’s dark brown hair. “Hate is something that hurts the giver more than the one it’s intended for. I know it’s hard to hear, and I didn’t always feel this way, but we need to pray for the Indians instead.”

  “You didn’t see how awful they were, Grace.” Mercy leaned back in her chair. “I was in school and we hid up in the loft. The boys helped us get up there. We lay there very quiet, and when the Cayuse came into the room, they didn’t know we were there.”

  Grace sat very still. Mercy had never told her anything about the attack, and she didn’t want to do anything to stop her sister from speaking.

  “We didn’t know what was happening, but we heard the screaming, and Eliza Spaulding said the Indians were probably killing everybody. I started to cry and so did the others. I didn’t want them to kill Hope or Mary Ann. I couldn’t do anything to help them, though, because they were in the kitchen.”

  Mercy looked down at her bowl, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “It was so very bad, Grace, and I was so afraid. The Indians came back and told us to come down. They knew we were up there, so we did. They were horrible, and Eliza asked one of them something in their language. He didn’t answer but laughed, and I asked her what she said. She’d asked him if he was going to kill us.”

  “Oh, Mercy.” Grace put her hand to her mouth to keep from saying anything more for fear Mercy would stop talking.

  “Everything seemed to happen at once, but after most of the shooting stopped, we children were all rounded up and made to stand outside the house. We could see dead bodies in the mud, including Mrs. Whitman. After a long while of standing, the Indians made some of the women join us, including Hope. She had blood on her and I thought she was hurt, but she wasn’t. I found out later it was John Sager’s blood.”

  Now that she had started the story, it seemed Mercy couldn’t stop. “The Indians grabbed Frank Sager and shot him right there beside us. I just knew they were going to kill me too and I wanted to run, but Hope held on to me. She told me to stand very still and not cry or yell. She told me not to look at the bodies anymore but to close my eyes, so I did. But, Grace, it didn’t help. I kept seeing all that blood.”

  Grace could see it all in her mind. The vivid images did nothing to reassure her that her sisters would quickly recover. No one should ever have to endure such a terrible nightmare. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ve wished so many times that I’d insisted you come with me to Eletta’s. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t give to remake that decision.”

  Mercy didn’t seem to hear her. She continued looking at her oatmeal, but Grace had the feeling she was back at the mission, lost in those horrific moments of the massacre. “When the yelling stopped, some of the Indians were arguing. Eliza said they were trying to decide whether to kill us. They decided they would wait and made us go to the emigrant house. Hope and I went to our pallets, and Mary Ann came too. We waited there together, holding on to each other, and I fell asleep. When I woke up the next day, I thought it had all been a bad dream, but then I looked at Hope and saw the blood on her dress, and I knew it had really happened.”

  Mercy stared blankly across the table, and Grace wanted nothing more than to wipe those memories from her mind. Mercy had seen things no child should ever have to see. Grace prayed God would give her insight—some word or thought that might ease Mercy’s sadness.

  “All those people were dead,” Mercy whispered and finally looked at Grace. “And now Mary Ann is going to die too.”

  “But you need to remember something.” Grace gently touched her sister’s wet cheek. “Those people loved God. Mary Ann loves God. I’m sure she’s asked Jesus to forgive her of her sins and be her Savior. I know we’ll see each other in heaven one day.”

  “Is that truly all you have to do to go to heaven?”

  Grace nodded. “In Romans ten, the Bible says, ‘That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.’ I know you understand. You asked God to save you long ago. I know you are a believer of the truth.”

&
nbsp; “But I remember the Right Reverend saying that even the demons believed in God.”

  “They do believe in God. They know He exists—it is no question to them. But truly confessing Jesus is more. It’s accepting our sin and knowing that His sacrifice on the cross was the only thing that could ever make things right between us and our Heavenly Father. And then we must believe that God raised Jesus from the dead and that if we put our trust in Him—God will raise us from the dead as well.”

  Mercy considered this a moment. “So those people who died at the mission—they aren’t really dead?”

  “No, not spiritually.” Grace smiled. “And Mary Ann, though her body will fail her, her spirit—if she belongs to Jesus—will live forever with Him.”

  For the first time in a long while, Mercy smiled. “Then I will make sure she belongs to Jesus.”

  Hope heard Mercy sharing her story of the massacre and took advantage of the distraction to go into the bedroom her sisters shared and look through Grace’s new collection of herbs and medicines. Every day since learning about the child she carried, Hope had contemplated how to take her own life. She had considered many violent acts but felt cowardly when she considered actually following through. But then she remembered what the Indians had said prior to the massacre, that Dr. Whitman was poisoning melons and meat with arsenic to kill them. Everyone knew arsenic was deadly.

  She found Grace’s bottle of arsenic without any difficulty. Grace had clearly marked each of her tonics and mixtures as she reacquired them. She’d even made new batches of vinegar and forced Hope and Mercy to take their daily dose.

  Hope turned the bottle over in her hands for several seconds, wondering if she truly had the strength to take her own life. “Well, it’s certain I don’t have the strength to live.” Exhaustion washed over her. She didn’t truly want to die, but she couldn’t imagine a future that included bearing the shame and accusing gossip, let alone the child of Tomahas. Why couldn’t Grace understand that and help her to miscarry?

  Hope looked at the bottle again and knew there was no other answer. She pocketed the arsenic and left the room. With any luck, Grace wouldn’t miss the bottle until Hope had a chance to ingest the powder.