Chapter Thirty-Two
Father’s breath still came in harsh gasps.
Grace walked alongside him, her hand at her father’s elbow.
They were both in quite a state, Grace reflected.
While her father had recovered well so far, he still moved stiffly and slowly, and his breathing had worsened over the last few days.
Grace suspected that her father had tried too hard to help with work around the camp, and now he was paying for it.
Meanwhile, she was paying for her own carelessness. Her head still throbbed, even though she’d fallen nearly two weeks ago. At first she’d managed the pain with a bottle of something foul that Dr. Holloway had given her, but she’d somehow managed to misplace it.
That wasn’t really a mystery, though. Grace’s head ached so badly that it sometimes made her vision blur. Forgetting where she’d placed a bottle of medicine wasn’t entirely unexpected given the circumstances.
“Ethan has proven himself to be a rather helpful individual,” her father said, abruptly drawing Grace from her thoughts.
“He has been,” she said, a little startled by the suddenness of the remark.
“I have…” Her father trailed off and cleared his throat. “I have given some further consideration to my earlier remarks.”
“Which remarks?”
“I advised you not to become too fond of Ethan,” he said. “Of late, I have begun to—to reconsider that. I think he cares for you.”
Grace let out an anxious little laugh, unsure how to answer that. She supposed she could tell her father that she was also fond of Ethan, but Grace did not want to mention that—not until she was certain she wanted to marry Ethan. She did not want to give anyone false hope.
“Dr. Holloway has taken good care of you,” Grace said, without addressing her father’s comment.
Her father gave her a sharp look. He had clearly noticed her desperate attempt to turn the conversation elsewhere; anyone would have. Grace’s mind raced, trying to find some other way to persuade her father to discuss anyone but Ethan.
“I don’t think I even need Dr. Holloway’s help,” her father tried to insist. “Besides, he has that new wife he should be spending time with, not nursing folks like me.”
Grace nearly sighed in relief. He’d respected her wishes not to continue discussing Ethan.
“I just exerted myself too much. If I sit for a few minutes, I’ll be fine. Besides, it looks like he has more than enough work to occupy his time.”
Grace’s father gestured to the crowd huddled around Dr. Holloway’s wagon.
There were four children, all of whom could not be older than six, clinging to their mother’s skirts.
Grace had not spoken to the woman much, but she thought that her name might be Elizabeth.
Or maybe Elisa. At that moment, the poor woman broke into a coughing fit so powerful that her entire body shook with the force of it.
Dr. Holloway stood nearby, digging through his medicine chest, glass bottles clinking together as he searched for something.
“It won’t take long,” Grace murmured to her father.
The mother sent Grace a sharp look, and Grace winced, suspecting that the woman was offended. She had probably misunderstood the remark as a snide observation that she was taking too much time with the doctor.
Dr. Holloway glanced up and saw them. “If you need me, I can meet you at your family’s wagon. Richard, I think you should lay down.”
Grace jolted in alarm and looked at her father. He seemed fine to her, at least as fine as a man with broken ribs could be, but maybe Dr. Holloway had seen something she’d missed.
“Thank you, Dr. Holloway,” Grace said. “We’ll do that.”
“You don’t need to come by, Doctor. I keep telling Grace that I just need rest. I’ll go back and lay down,” her father said. “She should stay and have you check her head, though.”
Grace’s jaw nearly dropped. “If Dr. Holloway—”
“I agree. You should let me look at your injury,” Dr. Holloway interrupted. “Head wounds can be very unpredictable, Miss Hawthorne.”
Her father patted her shoulder and started walking unsteadily back to their family’s wagon.
Grace turned her back to him, silently fuming.
She wondered if her father had only agreed to see Dr. Holloway so Grace would let the doctor look her over.
That sounded just like something her stubborn father would do.
“Now.” Dr. Holloway turned to the mother and held up a small brown glass bottle. “You need to take a spoonful of this twice a day, once in the morning, and once at night.”
Grace’s gaze drifted to the children as the doctor continued with his instructions.
Her heart ached in sympathy. The trail was difficult, and she only had Emily to think of.
She couldn’t even imagine how hard the journey must be with four children.
This mother must care very deeply about them if she was going so far with her family.
“Thank you, Doctor,” the woman said.
She took the bottle and walked away, her children following her like little ducklings. The doctor hummed and gestured to his wagon. “Sit. I’ll have a look. Are you in any pain?”
Grace sat and turned slightly so Dr. Holloway would have an easier time reaching her injury. “A bit,” she admitted. “It’s a strange sort of pain, very…intense. It comes and goes, and sometimes the pain is worse, other times better.”
He hummed and parted her hair to look at the damage. Grace tensed as his fingers gently searched the area. She knew that her scalp was crusted with a thick layer of scabs, but she’d been too afraid to inspect them very much.
“How is Kate?” asked Grace.
“She’s fine,” Dr. Holloway said. “Still becoming accustomed to being a doctor’s wife, I think. She isn’t used to nightly visitors.”
Grace hummed. She hadn’t seen much of Kate since the wedding, and she’d assumed that was because the woman wanted to spend more time with her new husband.
“Have you noticed anything unusual since you hit your head?” Dr. Holloway asked. “Blurred vision? Difficulty remembering things?”
“Maybe,” Grace said hesitantly. “I did have that medicine I was taking to help the pain, but I appear to have lost it.”
“Is that the only thing?” She could hear the frown in the doctor’s voice.
“I think so. I don’t remember hitting my head either, but…but I remember everything else.”
“You’re healing nicely,” Dr. Holloway said. “I think that—”
A gunshot shattered the air. Grace bolted to her feet, looking around wildly. It sounded like it had come from further down the wagon train. She moved instinctively to the sound. What had happened? Someone might be hurt, and—
“Grace, what are you doing?”
A hand grasped her arm, and Grace started. She looked wide-eyed at Ethan, who stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Stay back,” he said.
Stay back.
“What if it wasn’t an accident?” Ethan asked, lowering his voice. “Stay behind me.”
Terror sank into her veins, settling there like a heavy mist. Ethan was right. What if it wasn’t an accident? Ethan began walking, his steps quick, and Grace followed behind him. Already, a crowd was gathering by a wagon.
Grace stuck close to Ethan, a lump rising in her throat. If it wasn’t an accident, if they might be in danger, she’d prefer that Ethan not walk towards it either. Grace doubted that he’d listen if she asked him to stay away though.
They reached the gathering crowd. “What is it?” Ethan asked, his voice sharpened with authority.
A masculine groan answered, and a scream froze in Grace’s throat. No. It couldn’t be her father. She had heard him yell and groan in pain as the wagon wheel rolled over his ribs, and these sounds were so similar.
But it couldn’t be her father. That was impossible. It had to be,
No, no, no. It couldn’t be him.
Ethan forced his way through the crowd, Grace following him closely.
There was blood on the ground. Her father’s pained face stared at her, his hands feebly pressing against a bright red spot on his stomach.
Grace felt like she was processing things out too slowly.
She’d heard a gunshot, and her father was lying on the ground, drenched in blood.
Someone screamed and screamed and screamed, the sound so piercing and hurt that Grace could hardly believe it was human.
Ethan dropped to his knees beside Richard, pressing down on the wound hard. “Get help!” he shouted at the crowd.
She was the person who kept screaming, Grace suddenly realized.
Ethan’s words seemed to jolt the crowd into motion, at least. Suddenly everyone was moving, talking, surging into action.
Grace dropped to her knees at her father’s side, tears gathering in her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no, no…”
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that this was all some terrible nightmare, that she would wake up and her father would be fine.
Grace had already almost lost him once when the wagon wheel crushed his ribs.
To see him clinging to life once more made her want to scream and cry and rage, maybe all three at once.
Grace couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. Her head hurt and her eyes burned and her chest ached so badly that she thought her heart might burst right out of her chest. Grace moved without thought, pressing her own hands against the wound, her fingertips brushing against Ethan’s.
“Here!”
A quilt was thrust at Ethan, and he covered the wound with it before pressing down on it again. Grace sobbed, and her father’s listless eyes swept over to her. His lips parted like he wanted to speak, but he managed only pained groans.
“Please,” said Grace. “Please, you—you have to—you have to be—”
Dr. Holloway joined them. “I need to see the injury,” he told them.
Ethan moved the quilt. Dr. Holloway took a penknife and sliced through the blood-stained shirt. Blood gushed across her father’s pale skin, and Grace sobbed. Another scream filled her throat, and she clenched her jaw to keep from wailing.
She had the wayward thought that Emily, at least, was not seeing this. Her daughter was safe with Hannah, who had taken charge of watching some of the children.
“H—how bad is it?” Her father’s words were slurred together like he’d been drinking. “I-is it…”
“Uncertain,” Dr. Holloway said. “Ethan, continue applying pressure. Derek, I’ll need water and clean cloths or rags.”
Grace roughly rubbed her eyes and rose unsteadily to her feet. Pins and needles pricked at her legs, making her stumble. “What can I do?” she asked in a shaking voice. “Th-there must be something.”
Dr. Holloway had said it was ‘uncertain,’ and there was so much blood.
Grace wrapped her arms around herself, as if she was trying to physically hold her shattering body together.
She wanted to know who’d done this, and she wanted to pray for her father’s safety.
Grace was drowning beneath all her wants and needs.
It was as if she was paralyzed and moving all at the same time, and it was all just too much.
Her father was bleeding out.
Derek had already returned with his own water and the cloths. Dr. Holloway’s hands were stained with blood, and Grace’s father was so still. For a terrible moment, she feared that her father might be dead—
But no, his chest still rose and fell. He was alive.
Grace sank to the ground beside Ethan, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Dr. Holloway is taking care of him,” Ethan said. “Everything will be fine.”
But he couldn’t possibly know that.