Chapter Fifteen
It had been four days since the harvest began.
The first half of the fifth acre had been cleared, leaving behind organized piles of wheat, waiting to be bound into sheaves.
For the first time, Josie could see the Montana soil beneath her, clear as day.
Her arms ached with each swing of the scythe, and while she had learned to endure the weight, her mind hazed with exhaustion.
By the time evenings came, she could barely muster the energy to put the children to bed.
When she’d settle herself for bed, it took her a while to sleep, especially when Gideon had cried more than usual the past two nights.
Finding a comfortable position became increasingly difficult for Josie, her body sore and her stomach stretched to its limits.
Josie couldn’t stop thinking about what Travis said.
Days went by, and those words still made her sick.
I can’t risk these children losing another mother.
He didn’t deserve the nightmare of possibly losing his wife again.
He’d worry himself to death, just watching a baby grow inside her.
She couldn’t bear to place that burden on him, yet here she was.
She was his wife now, in sickness and in health, until death parted them.
Josie set down the scythe and wiped her neck with her shawl.
The heat beat down on her, while fatigue gnawed on her muscles.
Her legs and arms ached as if they might give way at any moment.
Glancing over her shoulder, Travis and Aunt Polly worked tirelessly, slashing the stalks back and forth.
You’re weak. Just like Marcus said. You’re no good to Travis or anyone else.
Josie grasped her scythe, ready to resume her work, but was halted by a sudden, sharp pinch in her abdomen that almost knocked the wind out of her.
She leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees, hoping the discomfort would pass, but it didn’t.
Her abdominal muscles tightened, and a wave of nausea washed over her.
Pressure clasped her airways as the pain returned more intensely than the last. Her world blurred before her eyes as a cold sweat broke out above her brow.
She cried out softly, hoping no one could hear her. Breathe in, breathe out. She tried to steady herself, but the ache sharpened, and the familiar dizziness returned. She had experienced this three times before. Tears brimmed in her eyes, stinging as she held them back.
“Please, God, I beg you. Not again. I’ll do better. I promise,” she prayed through her whimpers, her voice barely above a whisper.
You are good for nothing! You are too weak to give me what you promised!
You worthless woman! Josie could hear it as though Marcus was standing before her, just like when she had these same pains.
Perhaps she was weak. Marcus didn’t have to beat her to prove it this time.
Why couldn’t Marcus leave her alone? He was still in her mind, torturing her.
Josie closed her eyes, clenching her teeth as she cried louder—no longer caring if Polly or Travis could hear her. All she wanted was someone to hold her, promising the baby was fine and it would live.
“Josie! Josie!”
Jonas appeared behind her, pulling at her skirt as she hunched over.
She tried to smile and brush off her ailing, for no child should see a woman act this way, especially one who was supposed to be their strong, maternal figure.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the pain increased like a punch to her stomach, making her groan.
“Are you all right, Josie?”
Josie cried louder, bending over and clutching her abdomen as the ache intensified—it was too late, just like those three times before.
She would pay the price for being an evil trickster to a kind man, and no one would love her.
She was better off swinging from the gallows, and no one would care because she had no one.
This family wasn’t hers; she knew that now.
Jonas ran off. “Pa! Pa! Come quick! It’s Josie!”
Josie closed her eyes, pressing her lips together, muffling a cry. Not now. Please, God. Send him away. I want to be alone. He mustn’t see me like this.
Before Josie could protest, Travis was at her side, concern etched on his face. His hands wrapped around her shoulders, steadying her.
“Josie, what’s wrong? What happened?” he asked through rapid breaths.
Josie was too weak to respond, her body shuddering in his arms. Aunt Polly knelt beside her and gently lifted her chin, her eyes filled with concern. “Honey, what’s the matter? Are you hurt?”
Josie shook her head, but the pain made her vision blur.
Her legs wobbled, threatening to give way, and just as she began to collapse, Travis caught her in time.
Her mind spun as she found herself cradled in his arms. Resting her head against Travis’s muscular chest, she let her grief wash over her.
Deep down, she knew she didn’t need a diagnosis; the baby was gone.
Travis’s legs devoured the field as he sprinted to the cabin with Josie cradled in his arms. He didn’t slow, didn’t pause for breath—only the desperate need to get her to safety drove him forward.
Seeing her hunched over in pain made something snap within him.
She seemed fine earlier that morning. How could one’s health slip so fast?
She was exhausted like everyone else; however, exhaustion didn’t leave one crying, bent over, and limp with extreme pain.
Only his father had suffered like this—pushed too hard because of Travis’s irresponsibility. A lump formed in Travis’s throat.
Bursting through the cabin door, he glanced down at Josie’s pale face. She stirred, clinging to his shirt with her fists as she cried out. How could you do this again, Travis? Why must you hurt everyone you care for?
The children ran after him, demanding to know if Josie was all right.
Aunt Polly was already hitching up the wagon, ready to fetch the doctor.
What worried Travis the most was that the town’s healer went for medical help.
Dr. Gordon and Aunt Polly had always butted heads about their patients’ well-being—whether they needed natural substances or science.
What could be so wrong with Josie that even herbs couldn’t help?
Travis kicked Josie’s bedroom open, darting towards the bed. But when he laid her down, he felt a wet sensation on his hand. He looked down, seeing blood, bright red blood on his palm. His heart seemed to stop, and his stomach clenched so violently he thought he might be sick.
“No. No. No. It can’t be,” he whispered.
His mind spun all over the place, but his one focus was keeping his wife alive.
He watched helplessly as she writhed on the bed, her body trembling with pain.
Josie’s eyes remained tightly shut, teeth clenched, while she gripped the blankets as if holding on for dear life.
Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, and her damp hair clung to her face, slick with sweat.
Seeing the once-determined Josie reduced to this state tore him apart, dragging him back to a dark place he swore he’d never revisit.
He was here again—in the same room, covered in his wife’s blood, waiting on the doctor.
Travis stumbled backward, his hands clutching the back of his head as he fought to hold back tears, threatening to break free.
Sophie’s labor had been excruciating and drawn out—her body too fragile to fight, fidgeting and moaning in bed, tears of agony streaming down her face.
“You’re a doctor, do something!” Travis had screamed, grabbing Dr. Gordon by the collar and shaking him in desperation.
Dr. Gordon then gulped, placing his hand on Travis’s shoulder.
They hadn’t seen eye-to-eye, especially when the doctor suggested a vile procedure to take away Gideon’s chance at life.
That disagreement had only deepened the rift between Dr. Gordon and Aunt Polly.
Yet even Aunt Polly had admitted that Sophie needed a doctor that day.
Travis’s heart stopped beating when Dr. Gordon explained Sophie wasn’t going to make it—but there was a way his son could.
He could let both of them die or save Gideon.
Travis remembered looking into Sophie’s eyes, seeing how much life was drained from her.
He didn’t want to admit it, but his wife was dying.
Travis should have listened to the doctor when he said another pregnancy would kill her.
“Save him,” Sophie whispered in a voice one could hardly call a whisper. "Save our baby."
Travis’s eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t bear to let Sophie go, but he knew she’d never forgive him if he didn’t try to save Gideon.
After agreeing to her wishes, he watched in horror as Dr. Gordon performed the deep incision to deliver their son.
Travis clung to Sophie’s hand, his heart shattering with each of her screams. By the time Gideon cried, Sophie managed a weak smile, and then she was gone.
Lying motionless on the pillow, she didn’t look like herself anymore—this wasn’t the vibrant girl Travis had fallen in love with. He had, in his own way, killed her.
“Pa? What’s wrong with Josie?”
Travis glanced over his shoulder, seeing Ivy and the other children peeking through the crack in the door. His heart sank—this was not something they should see. Without hesitation, he stretched his foot out, bracing it against the door to stop it from opening any farther.
“Stay back,” he said, his voice tight, trying to keep the panic from spilling. Their eyes gaped, brimming with tears.
“Ivy, I need you to take your siblings to your room and stay there until I come for you. None of you need to be here.”
“But Pa,” she wailed. “Will Josie die like Ma?”
“Josie gonna die?” Lillian asked, her bottom lip quivering.
“Please don’t let her die, Pa,” Jonas cried, his face red from tears.