Gold Rush Baby. Dorothy Clark
Doctor. She was quite certain it was what you would request for him. Is there anything else?”
“No. Just keep him warm and quiet, and continue the pain medicine. Give him the broth as often as he will take it. And water. He lost a lot of blood, he needs to replace the fluids he’s lost.” Jacob Calloway reached for the door latch. “I will return to check on him this afternoon. Meanwhile, if he develops a fever or other problems, please come for me. And if he moves and that wound starts to bleed, come immediately.”
“I shall, doctor. Please give Teena my regards.” Viola closed the door, made the smirking Hattie a little bow, then took Goldie into her arms.
“Would you please bring Mr. Stone some broth, Hattie? I’m sure he must be hungry.” She turned and walked into the bedroom. Thomas Stone’s eyes were squeezed closed, his mouth was pressed into a tight line and his face looked more wan than ever in the full light of day. She stared at him, feeling sick to her stomach. If she had stayed with Goldie instead of napping to catch up on her lost sleep, the kidnapping would not have happened. Thomas Stone would not have been shot. He would not be in this pain. If only there was something she could do to make him feel better. Perhaps… She whirled around, to Goldie’s gurgling delight, and hurried to the kitchen.
“Hattie, keep the soup on the warming shelf. And please watch Goldie for me. I think, perhaps Mr. Stone might feel a little better if I wash his face and comb his hair.” She handed the baby into Hattie’s arms, then hurried to the tiny bathing room off the kitchen, draped a washcloth and towel over her shoulder, threw a comb and a bar of her soap into a washbowl and went back to the stove to ladle hot water out of the reservoir on the side.
The hot water felt wonderful on his face. The hint of roses hovered, even after she rinsed the soap away. Thomas thought again of his mother, focused on the past to keep from thinking of how soft Viola Goddard’s hands were. Or about the ache their gentle touch brought to his gut. He hadn’t known, until now, how much he missed the touch of his wife’s hands.
The softness of a towel absorbed the moisture from his skin, dragged across his whisker stubble. He had a flash of vanity, wished he was clean-shaven and looking his best.
“I’m going to wash your hands now, Mr. Stone.” Her voice sounded different, sort of tight and small. Her fingers brushed against his neck, slid beneath the edge of the covers.
“Wait!” He forgot, tried to grab the covers. White heat streaked through his shoulder and chest. He broke out in a cold sweat. “Shirt…cut…off me.” He closed his eyes, silently cursed the weakness, the bullet that had put him in this bed.
“You mustn’t move, Mr. Stone. I will do it.”
The blankets lifted, cool air washed over his right shoulder and arm. He opened his eyes, looked up at her. Her face was taut. She turned to the washbowl, wrung out the rag and soaped it. He held his breath, fought the sickening throbbing in his shoulder.
“You are quite covered in bandages, Mr. Stone. I’m so sorry for your pain.” She lifted his hand. The warm, soapy rag slid over his skin. Her hands were trembling. He saw her catch her lower lip with her upper teeth, turn to the washbowl and rinse out the rag, and swallowed hard against the churning in his stomach.
“I haven’t had the opportunity to properly thank you for saving Goldie.” She wiped the soap from his hand, took a little shuddering breath, put down the cloth and dried his hand with the towel. “I’m so very grateful.” She smiled, but there was something in her eyes…. He tried to block out the pain and nausea and concentrate.
“Your left arm is bound to your chest. To keep it still, I suppose. I shall not wash that hand.” There was relief in her voice. She pulled the covers back over him and picked up the washbowl. “You rest now, Mr. Stone. I shall take care of these things and be back in a moment with some broth for you.”
Thomas closed his eyes, yielded to the weakness. She had tried to cover it, but Viola Goddard had been upset by his bandages. There had been a fear, a vulnerability deep in the depths of her beautiful eyes that belied her cool demeanor as she washed him. A vulnerability that made him want to take care of her. He clenched his hands into fists, caught his breath at the pain that knifed through his chest and prayed for a quick recovery before falling asleep.
Chapter Four
Viola stared down at Thomas Stone’s pale, sleeping face, placed the spoon in the bowl, lifted the napkin off the quilt and carried them to the kitchen.
Hattie glanced at the bowl and frowned. “He didn’t eat but half. How’s he doin’?”
She shrugged and placed the bowl of broth on the warming shelf. “All right, I suppose. At least that’s what Doctor Calloway said. But he looks frightful to me.” She stepped to the end of the stove, out of Hattie’s way, and stood absorbing the warmth. Her growing weariness was causing an inward chill. “If only he had some color in his face. And that horrible weakness. Oh, Hattie, he hasn’t strength enough to even talk without stopping and gasping for air. And it’s my fault.”
Hattie stopped stirring and looked at her. “Your fault? How’d you figure that?”
“I should not have napped. If I hadn’t—”
“I told you to get some sleep whilst I watched over Goldie.” Hattie spooned soup from the pot into a bowl. “Guess the way you figure it, I’m the one to blame. I’m the one shouldn’t have gone to sleep.”
“Oh, Hattie, no! That’s not true.” Viola hurried to the elderly woman and put her arm around her shoulders. “I don’t blame you, Hattie. Please don’t think that. Goldie’s father left her on my doorstep. His note asked me to care for her until he returned. She is my responsibility, not yours. I meant only that. Do not blame yourself.”
“I don’t.” Hattie scooted out from under her arm and plunked the bowl onto the table. “Sit down and eat whilst Goldie and Mr. Stone are sleepin’. You’re lookin’ a mite peaked your own self.”
Viola shook her head, brushed back a curl that fell onto her forehead. “You go ahead and eat, Hattie. I’m not hungry. My guilt over Mr. Stone, and Goldie, and, well, this whole situation, has stolen my appetite.”
“Fiddlesticks! You ain’t to blame for what happened any more than I am. That kidnapper is. And I don’t need two sick grownups and a baby to look after. Sit down and eat.”
She sat. “All the same, I should have been with Goldie instead of napping.”
“Why? So you could have been hurt or worse when that man snuck in here to take the baby, so’s he could get his hands on them gold nuggets the father left for you to use to pay for Goldie’s care?” Hattie turned and walked back to the stove. “It’s likely there was two of them, you know. ’Cause that man wasn’t expectin’ to find us sleepin’ that time of day. I figure God worked things out for the good.”
Two of them. Viola stared at Hattie’s back, her nerves tingling. With all that had happened, she had forgotten about that stone thrown from the woods. It had been a warning. The kidnapper had a partner. What if he decided to sneak into the cabin and… She shivered, gripped her hands and waited for the nervous chill to pass, took a breath to remove any tremor from her voice. “I don’t see how you can say that, Hattie. Mr. Stone is lying in that bedroom too weak to even lift his head off the pillow. How is that God working things out for good?”
“He could be dead.”
“Oh. Yes. He could…” Viola placed her hand on her roiling stomach and drew another deep breath. She couldn’t understand faith like Hattie’s. She had experienced too much of evil. Bitterness rose like bile, formed a metallic taste on her tongue. “If God was involved, why would He have let all of this happen?”
“I don’t figure He did.” Hattie carried her bowl of soup to the table and bowed her head. “Bless this food, Almighty God. Use it to keep us healthy and strong and to help heal Thomas Stone. Amen.” She lifted her head, scooped up a piece