Authors: Jody Hedlund
They shared a smile, and Priscilla whispered a prayer of thankfulness in her heart. Her own strength had faltered many times during the trip. But Mabel was right. In experiencing her weaknesses, she was learning just how much she needed the One who could truly sustain her.
“We’re going to make camp for the night here,” Eli said from above her.
At the hint of happiness in his voice, Priscilla looked up.
“We did it.” His eyes were alight with excitement.
She sat up. “What did we do?”
“We made it through. The worst is behind us.”
“Then we’re safe?”
“McLeod’s man says we can probably make it to Fort Walla Walla in three, maybe four, days.”
Relief expanded through her chest. “We’re that close?”
He nodded.
“Praise the Lord,” Mabel said.
Priscilla smiled. She reached out her hand to him. She knew how important this accomplishment was to him. He’d succeeded in doing something no other man had ever done in the history of their country—he’d brought two women over the long, difficult trail to the West.
“You’re an amazing man, Eli Ernest.”
“Guess I was wrong from the start,” he said softly. “The Almighty’s shown me loud and clear that wherever a wagon could go, a woman could go. And even beyond.” His eyes filled with an apology that made her heart hum.
“It hasn’t been easy, and if not for you—”
“You persevered bravely. You both did.” He offered a smile to Mabel too.
Then his fingers gripped Priscilla’s, and he tugged. “Come with me.” The invitation in his eyes swept over her like warm maple syrup, its sweetness flowing right to her heart.
“I saw some cherries downstream.” He hefted her up. “Let’s go pick some.”
Her heart sped with anticipation.
“You two run along.” Mabel gave her a knowing smile. “If anyone asks where you’ve gone, I’ll point them upstream in the opposite direction.”
Heat rushed into Priscilla’s cheeks.
Eli grinned and pulled her along.
Her weariness evaporated. A surge of energy spread through her limbs, and she strolled beside him, her heart pounding at the thought of being alone with him.
What would he do? What would he say?
He pushed back branches and stepped over logs. Their footsteps crunched among the twigs.
Richard stepped out of the brush and intersected their path. He spread his feet apart and crossed his arms over his chest. Anger turned his boyish face into that of a fierce warrior.
Eli frowned. “What’s wrong, Richard?”
The boy’s ebony eyes narrowed to slits. “You kill my brother. Now I kill you.”
Priscilla shuddered at the venom in his words.
“I didn’t kill him. You were there.” Anguish transformed Eli’s voice. “You saw that I did everything I possibly could to save John’s life.”
“You save Mrs. Doc. Why you not save my brother?” Richard shoved Eli’s chest.
“I tried to save him.”
“You no good medicine man.” Richard pushed him again.
“I don’t want to fight you, Richard.” Eli maneuvered Priscilla until she was well behind him.
“Bad medicine man must die.” The boy doubled his fists and threw one at Eli’s chin. It connected with a thud.
Priscilla screamed, and Eli stumbled.
He rubbed his chin. “Come on. Don’t do this. Don’t you think I hated to lose John too? That it tore me up inside? That I wished I could have done more for him?”
The boy jumped at Eli, his fists swinging.
Eli pushed him away. “I refuse to fight you.”
But Richard pummeled Eli in the stomach and wouldn’t stop. Eli grunted but didn’t lift a hand against the boy. His only move was to raise his arms to deflect the blows to his head.
Priscilla screamed again. “Stop, Richard! Please stop!”
Eli stumbled back until he fell into the sharp brush. Richard pounced on top of him.
Why wouldn’t Eli fight back? The boy seemed determined to kill Eli, and with the strength of his anger, she didn’t want to find out if he was capable of murder or not.
Her hand dropped to her hip, to Running Feet’s knife hidden beneath her dress. With trembling fingers, she inched up her skirt, turning her side away from Richard. “Let him go now, Richard!” She’d never wanted to use the knife, never thought she could.
Her fingers groped for the scabbard. “You don’t know how much I prayed that God would spare John and take me instead.”
“Go back to the camp, Priscilla.” Eli’s voice was haggard. Blood trickled from a gash on his chin.
“Why won’t you defend yourself?” she asked.
“I came to help the Nez Perce.” He gasped for a breath. “I know my strength. I refuse to use it to hurt this boy or any of the natives. Not here. Not ever.”
Desperation poured over her like the cold water from the nearby stream.
She inched the knife out of its scabbard and hid it in the folds of fabric. If Eli wouldn’t help himself, then he left her with no choice but to save him.
“Richard, please, I’m begging you to release Eli,” she said, her voice cracking on a sob. “He’s not perfect—he can’t save everyone, although he tries.”
Richard’s fist slammed into Eli’s mouth, and he fell back against the brush with a grunt. “He let my brother die,” the boy shouted.
He pounded again and again. Then the boy slipped his hands around Eli’s neck and squeezed.
“Stop.” Desperation propelled Priscilla’s steps toward the boy. “You know you’ll always regret it if you hurt him.”
The boy glanced over his shoulder at her, and his eyes wavered with doubt.
The strength of her fear pushed her closer until she swung the knife from behind her back and pointed it at Richard. “Please don’t make me use this against you.”
His dark eyes widened, and he loosened his hold on Eli’s neck.
With a wheezing cough, Eli scrambled to sit up and catch his breath.
Richard’s focus flickered to Eli and back to her.
“Eli is a good man. Your people need him.” She reached a hand toward Richard, and her knife wobbled. “And though he won’t be able to save every life, he will be able to save many.”
Richard shifted.
“Don’t you want to give your family, your people, hope?”
He let go of Eli and sat back on his heels.
“I would have died for John if I could have,” Eli said hoarsely. “As hard as it is for me to admit this—I can’t do everything. I can’t save everyone. Only God has that kind of power.”
A tear trickled down Richard’s cheek.
“And someday,” Eli continued, his voice broken, “maybe I’ll die in my efforts to save your people. I’m willing to do that. To sacrifice my very life if need be.”
Eli’s eyes connected with hers, and for the first time, she knew he understood—understood that she was willing to sacrifice her life too. And if they must die for the people they’d come to love, then they would do it together.
She tossed her knife to the ground, reached both arms toward Richard, and gathered him into an embrace.
For a long moment he sobbed against her, releasing the tears he’d held back during the past weeks, venting his grief and anger.
Finally Richard wrenched away from her. “I go to my people now. Tell them my brother dead.”
“You cannot go by yourself.” Priscilla reached after him. “It’s too dangerous.”
But Richard was already slipping through the trees away from them.
“Will we see you again?” she called, starting after him.
Eli wrapped his fingers around her wrist and stopped her. “Let him go.”
The boy wound through the woods and, without a backward glance, was gone.
Heaviness weighed on Priscilla’s heart, and she turned to Eli.
He’d already ripped off part of his sleeve and was pressing it against the slash on his chin. “We still have many things to learn about the natives, their emotions, their customs, their way of life. I’m sure it won’t be the last time I get beat up by one of them.”
She gingerly touched the rag. The blood was already seeping through the thin linen. “Will I need to give you stitches again?”
His eyes took on a sparkle. “Are you looking for a reason to torture me?”
She gave him a shaky smile. “If I had to sew you back together, I’m not sure who would hurt more, me or you.”
He tried to grin but winced. He reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips, and brushed a kiss against her palm. “My brave and beautiful wife.”
The softness of his lips and the tenderness of his words sent a ripple of warmth to her belly. And when he tugged her forward, his eyes wide with invitation, she stumbled along behind him, her heartbeat tripping with anticipation.
He led her beside the river until they were well out of sight of the camp.
“I see the cherries,” she said. The crimson clusters were like jewels after the past days of eating nothing but cold duck.
She plucked a handful and savored each one slowly. They weren’t as sweet as the ones she’d grown up eating, but the juicy tartness was a bite of heaven.
“Welcome to Oregon Country.” His eyes shone. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
She took a deep breath of the crisp air laden with the scent of pine. In some ways, the woodland was very much the same as any wooded hill she’d explored around Angelica. If only it weren’t seven months of wearisome, perilous travel away.
“Do you think you would have been happier going to India?” He picked a cherry and popped it into his mouth.
She stopped. “From all I’ve learned about myself during this trip, I’m fairly certain I would have ended up being a terrible missionary there too.”
“You’re not terrible, Priscilla.” He took her hands into his. “I’m sorry I led you to believe that you wouldn’t make a good missionary—”
“Well, you were right.” She slipped her hands out of his and busied herself picking cherries and dropping them into the basket she’d made with her apron. “I’m not really sure what I thought missionary life would be like, but I certainly wasn’t prepared for anything I’ve experienced.”
“Maybe you were naïve and unaware of the realities of the calling. But you have a willing heart.” He turned her until she had no choice but to face him. “If you could survive the long hard trip here, then I think from hereafter you can handle anything that might come your way.”
She couldn’t meet his gaze and stared instead at the top button of his shirt.
“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want you to leave—to go home.” His fingers caressed her chin and then forced it up so she was helpless to do anything but look into his eyes. “I almost lost you again today, and I don’t want to lose you. I want you to stay here in Oregon Country—with me. Always and forever.”
Her breath hitched. “What about giving me an annulment and sending me back ho—”
He put a finger on her lips, stopping her words. “The day I married you, I made a covenant to you and to God to be a loving husband in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, as long as we both lived. I’m realizing I can’t desert you or send you away when things get hard. After making vows to you, you’ve become just as much a part of God’s plan for my life as the mission is.”
He moved his fingers from her chin to her cheek and made a soft trail down to her neck.
Her pulse thrummed.
His fingers stilled at the base of her throat. His eyes darkened with something that took her breath away. It was desire, but surely so much more than that. . . .
He untied her bonnet and pushed it back, letting it fall into the brush. Then, before she could protest, he unpinned the tight knot of her hair at the back of her neck.
The heavy strands cascaded down her shoulders and across her chest.
He stepped back, and his gaze swept over her.
Heat rippled through her stomach.
“I’ve dreamed about doing that—ever since our wedding night.”
The heat swirled into her cheeks.
His fingers tentatively touched the curls floating by her ear.
She leaned her head against his hand.
He dug into the thickness, intertwining his fingers as if he couldn’t get enough of her. His chest rose up and down. And when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I haven’t forgotten about the thank-you that you owe me.”
“And I haven’t forgotten either.”
The hand that was buried in her thick hair tipped her head back so her lips were exposed, open, and parted with readiness.
He dipped his head, and she closed her eyes, her body singing with desire for him.
His lips teased hers before moving to the pulse in her throat and tasting her there.
She gasped and abandoned her apronful of cherries.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“You do?” Hope sprang anew in her heart.
“I’ve just been an idiot and too proud to let myself admit it.” His declaration reflected in the clear blue of his eyes. “I can’t delude myself any longer. I have to confess. I’m madly and passionately in love with my wife.”
She traced the scar on his cheek, savoring the thrill of his words.
“I don’t expect you to return my love. I know I need to earn it still—”
She moved her fingers to his lips and silenced him. “Oh, Eli. I think I fell in love with you that first day when you walked into my church and put me in my place.”
He chuckled. “Well, if putting you in your place is what did it, I’ll have to make sure I humble you more often.”
“You’d better not.” She smiled. “Once a lady, always a lady.”
“Only now you’re
my
lady.”
“I’ll always be yours.”
His fingers combed her hair back. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
“Why don’t I show you my answer?” She stood on her toes until her lips touched his. With the softness of a flower petal, she caressed him.
His breath caught.
She tilted her head back and smiled.
“I guess that means yes.” His voice was low, and the charge in it sparked her nerves in anticipation.
“So what about our business arrangement?”
He cocked one of his brows. “And just what are you asking, Mrs. Ernest?”
She flushed. “I was thinking maybe we don’t need to be business partners anymore.”
He gave her a slow grin and his eyes sparkled. “Why don’t I show you
my
answer?”