Treasured Grace Page 3

  “Well, it’s in the past, and hate isn’t productive. Besides, there simply wasn’t enough space in the wagon to take much with us.” Grace tried not to remember how upset she too had been. “Anyway, we need to stay here for the winter. It’s safe, and we will have plenty to eat and a roof over our heads. Come spring, the message we sent with the others heading to Oregon City should have reached Uncle Edward, and he’ll advise us what to do next.”

  “What if he doesn’t want us?” Mercy asked, her blue-green eyes wide.

  Grace shrugged. “We will deal with that when it comes—if it comes to that. Right now we need to do what we can to be helpful and obey the rules Dr. Whitman laid out for us.”

  The next week was chaotic. Measles began to strike people at the mission as well as the Indian village. Dr. Whitman figured that given the incubation period required for the illness to manifest, one of the other wagon trains must have exposed the mission. Nevertheless, it seemed the disease was spreading like wildfire. There were so many sick that Grace was constantly busy.

  Mrs. Piedmont was particularly fussy and wouldn’t allow anyone but Grace to advise her on her sick daughter. Because of Mrs. Piedmont’s confidence in Grace, some of the other women came to her as well. Grace was careful to avoid administering herbs and tonics in case word got back to the doctor. Instead she encouraged the women to utilize the healing properties of vinegar and mentioned various herbs that she had found helpful. She also insisted they boil their drinking water.

  When Mercy showed the telltale signs of measles, Grace did what she could to make her sister comfortable and instructed Hope as to how she could help. Hope had mostly been busy washing clothes, and she was grateful for the break.

  “My hands have never been so chapped,” Hope said, holding them up for inspection. “They used to be so soft and pretty.”

  “Rub some of the rose hips salve on them. They’ll feel better almost immediately. As for Mercy, make sure to get fluids into her at least once an hour, and keep moving her from side to side. Don’t let her sleep on her back unless you prop her up. Bathe her with the tepid vinegar solution in this jar.” Grace handed the concoction to Hope, then cast one more glance at the sleeping Mercy. “There’s a bundle of mending beside her pallet. Make yourself useful and do what you can to repair some of those things, but don’t leave her. She’s very ill.”

  Hope plopped down on the floor and pushed back her waves of dark brown hair. “I won’t go anywhere. I’ll see that she has constant care.” She sighed and picked up a shirt from the pile of mending. “I suppose I shall be quite accomplished at sewing by the time we leave this place. That and washing clothes seem to be my lot in life. I don’t know why we ever came west. St. Louis was a wonderful city. I’m sure you could have found a perfectly good place for us there.”

  “There’s no sense in talking about it. We aren’t going back anytime soon.” Grace could see Hope’s expression grow gloomy. “At least you have a roof over your head, and you’ve already had the measles, so you won’t have to contend with that misery.” Grace waited for Hope to offer further complaint, and when she didn’t, it made Grace smile. “I’m glad you understand. I’m going to go check on the sheep and then stop in at the mission house.”

  “If you see that handsome Johnny Sager tell him I said hello,” Hope said, looking a bit flushed. “I had a very pleasant time talking to him the other day while I was fetching water. He helped me carry the buckets back.”

  Grace gazed heavenward. The last thing she needed was her sister falling in love. “Just remember to give Mercy water every hour.”

  The sheep were settled in a pen not far from the main mission grounds where Dr. Whitman had instructed the travelers to park their wagons, and they seemed unconcerned about their surroundings. Grace knew Nigel was looking after them, but the distance from the mission made her uncomfortable. With the Indians a constant presence, she feared they might steal her animals.

  It was funny that her original plans in coming west had been tied to ministering to the Indians. The Right Reverend had been firmly fixed on the idea of bringing salvation to the savages, while Grace just wanted to get to her uncle. Frankly, she was afraid of the Indians, and she knew Hope and Mercy felt the same. A part of her heart told her that the fear was simply of the unknown. But stories from her father’s and grandfather’s years of fighting in various Indian wars had left her with an uneasy feeling.

  As Grace started back for the mission house, she was surprised to see her friend Eletta approaching. She was accompanied by a young man Grace knew to be Francis, or Frank, Sager.

  “Eletta, I was hoping to come and see you.” The Brownings had been given a place in the mission house, as Dr. Whitman wanted to discuss the new mission they were to set up some seventy-five miles to the north-northeast.

  “I stopped at the emigrant house, and Hope told me you’d come to check on the sheep. Young Frank offered to show me the way.”

  “You shouldn’t come out here by yourself, Mrs. Martindale,” the boy interjected. “Dr. Whitman doesn’t like the women to be out here alone.”

  Grace glanced around, then smiled at the fifteen-year-old. “I suppose there are all sorts of hidden dangers.” She felt perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but there was no sense in arguing with him. “I’m grateful to you for the warning.”

  Frank nodded. “If you’re ready to go back, I’ll walk with you.”

  “That would be very kind.” Grace took hold of Eletta’s arm as Frank led the way. “How are Mr. Browning and Dr. Whitman getting along?”

  “Quite well, although Isaac has said nothing to him about having Cherokee blood. The doctor tends to look down on folks of mixed race, but Isaac believes it will better open the door for him to minister to the Indians if they know his grandmother was one of them.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m afraid I’ve had few dealings with Indians, but the Right Reverend thought them savage children.”

  “Well, we shall see soon enough. That’s why I came to find you,” Eletta continued. “Isaac says we’re leaving in the morning.” Grace’s face must have betrayed her surprise, because Eletta stopped. “I know. I wish we could stay, but Isaac thinks we should press on and establish our mission because that’s what God has brought us here to do.”

  “His heart is definitely in the right place.” Grace noted that Frank hadn’t seen them stop, so she urged Eletta to continue toward the house. “We should keep up with our protector.”

  Eletta nodded and resumed their walk. “Isaac believes, as do I, that we are in God’s hands and the Indians need to hear the Gospel.” She gave a sigh. “I hope you and your sisters will come to visit us one day. I shall miss our friendship.”

  “Perhaps we might write letters, although I know that delivery will be at the mercy of men trekking back and forth across Oregon Country. Still, it would be good to at least hear how things are going.”

  “Isaac has introduced me to a couple of the Nez Perce Indians. They are friendly and Christian. Both have been baptized and taken Christian names.” Eletta said this as though it would put to rest any of Grace’s concerns. “They helped build us a cabin and will show us the way.”

  “I hope it won’t be a difficult journey,” Grace said, hoping to sound encouraging. “I heard there are regular runners between the missions. Perhaps in time I could accompany one of them and come to see you.”

  At this Eletta’s face lit up. “Oh, I would cherish that. Isaac said that once we are fully established, he wants you and your sisters to feel free to join us. I know you hope to locate your uncle, but just in case that doesn’t happen—you have a home with us.”

  They reached the mission house, and Frank left them without another word. Grace took the opportunity to give her friend a hug. “I shall miss you so.”

  Tears formed in Eletta’s eyes. “As shall I. I don’t know what I would have done on the journey here without your friendship and healing gift.”

  The sound
of raised voices brought the women’s attentions to the front of the house, where Dr. Whitman was dealing with one of the Indians. The native man was clearly upset and motioned several times to the village.

  “There is death and sickness,” the Indian said.

  From where she stood, Grace couldn’t see too many details, but the Indian’s scowling face was enough to make her stay put.

  “I will come and tend to your people,” Whitman promised. “As I always have.”

  “You must come now,” the Cayuse man insisted.

  “I cannot leave just yet. I have sick to attend to here. I will come as soon as possible.”

  The man shook his head and stormed off. Dr. Whitman remained only a moment before heading back toward the kitchen door.

  “That’s the closest I’ve been to a Cayuse.” Grace gave a shudder. “I’m not sure I care to be any closer. I’ve heard that among all the tribes, the Cayuse are the most aggressive.”

  “I’ve heard that as well,” Eletta replied. “I’m grateful we’ll be working with the Nez Perce. Although I’ve also heard the two groups are close. Apparently there has been a lot of intertribal marrying.”

  “Mrs. Martindale! Mrs. Martindale! I cut my finger,” Jimmy Piedmont called, running toward Grace. He held up his right hand. “Can you fix it?” The children on the wagon train had been used to approaching Grace for help.

  She smiled at him, then looked to her friend. “I’d best see what I can do. I’ll come inside once I determine the damage done.”

  Eletta nodded and left Grace to her doctoring.

  “So, Jimmy, how did this happen?” Grace examined the boy’s finger. The cut was deeper than she’d expected.

  “I cut it on the axe.”

  “The axe? How?” Grace reached into her pocket and produced a small bottle of vinegar.

  “Well, John Jacob dared me to touch the edge and I did.” He grimaced as Grace poured vinegar to cleanse the wound. “It was sharper than I thought. Yeow! That smarts.”

  “I hope you learned your lesson. Blades are not for touching.” She recorked the bottle and slipped it back in her pocket, then pulled out a small roll of cloth. Using this, she bound the boy’s wound and had just tied the cloth when a man demanded to know what she was doing.

  Grace looked up to find Dr. Whitman approaching. “I’m treating his cut.”

  “You are not a doctor. Such matters are best left to me.” He stopped and looked down at the boy. “What happened?”

  Jimmy looked terrified and backed away. “I touched the axe. I’m real sorry. I didn’t mean to do wrong.”

  “Go inside, young man, and I will come and tend you.” Jimmy hurried toward the house while Dr. Whitman turned on Grace. “You are not to interfere in such matters.”

  “It was a simple cut. I cleaned it with vinegar and wrapped it. Surely you cannot find fault with that. After all, it is only what any mother might have done. I don’t suppose you forbid them from tending to their own children’s needs.”

  He fixed her with a hard gaze. “You are not his mother.”

  “No, but he was used to seeing me care for people on the journey here. I am a healer and midwife.”

  “Obedience and conformity to rules is critical to our welfare here. I am the physician, and I will see to the needs of the people.”

  “I’m not generally given to arguments, Dr. Whitman. Especially when I am so indebted. However, I have trained all my life as a healer. My mother taught me as her mother taught her. I know a great deal, and I don’t appreciate you reprimanding me when you know so very little about me. I might be of use to you.”

  The doctor was clearly surprised by her remarks. For a moment he sized her up. “I am formally trained as a physician, and I alone will be responsible for the welfare of my people and of the Indians nearby. I am well known for my skills and called upon to travel many miles to tend to the ill and wounded. You, Mrs. Martindale, would do well to learn your place.”

  “I know my place.” Grace put her hands on her hips. “I am good at what I do. I believe it is a gifting from God and can hardly believe a minister of the Word would suggest such a gifting was invalid simply because it didn’t come with a certificate. A minister ought not to be so proud that he can’t accept folks for who they are and what they’re capable of doing.”

  Without waiting for his reply, Grace turned on her heel and left. Muttering to herself, she rounded the corner of the house and plowed headlong into a tall, dark-haired stranger.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to right herself.

  He took hold of her shoulders to steady her. “It’s not a problem. I’d have suffered worse to hear someone stand up to Whitman that way. He can be rather arrogant.” His dark eyes seemed to see right through her. “I’m Alex. Alexander Armistead.”

  Grace nodded and pulled away from his touch. “I’m—”

  “Mrs. Martindale,” he finished with a broad grin and added, “the healer.”

  Chapter

  3

  Alex couldn’t help but like the Martindale woman. She was feisty and confident, much like his sister, Adelina. At least Adelina had been that way ten years ago when Alex last saw her. He frowned, pushing the memory aside to focus on the pretty young woman in front of him.

  “I truly didn’t mean to eavesdrop, Mrs. Martindale. I couldn’t help myself though. When I heard you standing up to Whitman, I was shocked. Few men will even stand their ground with him. You’re what my trapper friend Gabe would call ‘up to beaver.’ It means you can hold your own.”

  “Well, that’s true enough. Experience has been a dear teacher.”

  “But a fool will learn at no other.” Alex smiled. “My mother used to say that.”

  “Exactly. I’ve learned plenty over the years, and he had no right to chastise me. He has no idea of what I can do,” Mrs. Martindale replied, not wavering from meeting his gaze. She cocked her head slightly to the right. “How is it that you know my name?”

  “Like I said, I overheard.”

  She nodded. “I’d prefer it if you would call me Grace. My husband is dead. He succumbed to cholera last week.”

  He nodded, not sure what to make of that simple statement. She sounded so matter-of-fact, not at all grieved. Uncertain what else to say, he replied, “Then you should call me Alex.”

  “What is it you do here, Alex?” she asked, seeming to size him up.

  “I’m a free trapper. Been hunting and trapping this part of the world for nearly ten years.”

  “So you don’t live at the mission?”

  He shook his head. “I trap with a couple of other men. We just turned in our furs at the fort and are making plans to hunker down for the winter. I usually stop by the mission when we’re in the area. Whitman is cordial enough to let me share his table when I do. He really is a decent sort.”

  The wind stirred, and she pulled her shawl closer.

  Alex motioned to the house. “Perhaps you’d feel better inside.”

  “No. He’s in there, no doubt. I need a little more time to regain my composure. I’m sure to have to apologize later. After all, we are here because of Dr. Whitman’s kindness.”

  Alex thought her such a strange young woman. She was willing to stand up for herself yet considered keeping the peace of utmost importance due to her host’s generosity.

  “So have you come west to start a new life—a great adventure?”

  Grace shook her head. “Not really. I’m not the adventurous type. Not like you.”

  Alex chuckled and crossed his buckskin-clad arms. “I don’t know about that. We’re both adventurous, or we wouldn’t be here in the wilds of Oregon Country.”

  She nodded and seemed to consider his words. “I suppose you could say that. Although our reasons for being here are probably different.”

  “And why did you come here?”

  She looked past him toward the river. “I suppose it’s common enough knowledge. I was put together with the Right Reverend Martinda
le to come west and preach the Gospel to the savage Indian.”

  “Put together?”

  She sighed. “Yes. I needed to come west with my sisters, and the Right Reverend needed a wife. Otherwise the mission board wouldn’t send him west.”

  Alex could hardly believe that such a beautiful young woman hadn’t already been snatched up by some eager bachelor from her youth. Still, she didn’t appear to be a woman given to lying.

  “So you wed a complete stranger in order to come to Oregon Country. Why was it so important that you come here?”

  Grace’s green eyes widened in what appeared to be fear—even horror. She quickly pressed herself between the wall of the house and Alex’s frame and took hold of his arm. Alex turned around to find his good friend Sam Two Moons approaching. Like Alex he was clad in buckskin, but his long black hair flowed around his shoulders and down his back like a mantle. Alex had to admit he looked pretty fierce.

  Alex turned back to Grace as she clung to his arm. He gave a laugh and called over his shoulder, “Sam, you’re scaring the lady.” Sam stopped mid-step, and Grace straightened to peer around Alex. “Grace, this is Sam Two Moons. He and I trap together along with Gabe. I assure you he’s perfectly harmless . . . unless you are a wild animal with a salable fur.”

  She bit her lip and let go of Alex’s arm. Sam offered her a smile and gave her a nod. “But he’s . . . an Indian.”

  Alex laughed. “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Sam chuckled as Grace’s face reddened.

  She straightened but let Alex remain between them. “How do . . . you do?”

  Alex and Sam looked at each other and broke into laughter. “I assure you, Grace, Sam is completely safe. I know Whitman warned you against the Indians, but Sam’s almost white.”

  “Hardly,” Sam countered. “I wouldn’t want to be white. Too much trouble.”

  Grace seemed to accept that the threat was minimal. She stepped away from Alex and squared her shoulders. “Are you Cayuse?”