Prairie Courtship by Dorothy Clark

Author:Dorothy Clark [Clark, Dorothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steeple Hill
Published: 2010-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

Emma stared at the fort. Indians roamed around the area, going in and out of the fort at will. So many Indians. She flicked her gaze toward the conical skin shelters dotting the grassy field. At least they were on the opposite side of this tongue of land formed by the Laramie and North Platte rivers. She drew her gaze back, lifted it skyward to the guardhouse overhanging the wide, gated entrance in the palisade wall. Surely they would watch and see her safely across—

“Dr. Emma! Dr. Emma!”

Emma whirled about. Mary Fletcher was running toward her. “What is it, Mary?”

“Ma says come quick!” The young girl clutched her side and drew in a ragged breath. “Daniel cut hisself bad…with the hatchet!”

“Where is he?”

“They’re bringin’ him…to…yer wagon.”

“Stay here until you catch your breath!” Emma lifted the hems of her skirts and ran back across the inner oval toward her wagon. Charley Karr was climbing the slope from the river, young Daniel draped across his arms. Hannah Fletcher walked at his side, holding her son’s hand. There was a bloody gash in the calf of the boy’s leg, a gash so large it was visible even over the distance. She scrambled up to the driver’s box of her wagon, gave a hard shove that folded the collapsible canvas overhang back against the first rib of the wagon body. Sunlight poured down on the driver’s seat. She climbed over it, scooted across the red box behind it and yanked a sheet out of the chest.

“Where do y’ want me to put him, Doc?”

“Here—on the driver’s seat.” She flapped the sheet open and spread it over the tops of the seat and red box.

Charley Karr hopped up onto the wagon tongue. “Y’ might want to take that there sheet off, Doc. He’s bleedin’ pretty bad.”

“I know, Mr. Karr. Please put him down.”

The man shrugged, leaned forward and placed Daniel on the seat then stepped down.

Emma glanced at Hannah Fletcher. The woman’s face was pale, but her grip on her son’s hand was firm. “Please come up into the box, Mrs. Fletcher. I may need your help.”

The boy bit down on his lower lip, stared up at her out of hazel-colored eyes that were clouded with pain and fear. The freckles marching across his nose and cheekbones stood out in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin.

Emma smiled, then fisted her hands, placed them on her hips and shook her head. “You are supposed to use the hatchet on firewood and trees, Daniel—not on your leg.”

“I k-n-now, Dr. Emma. It s-slipped.”

She glanced at his calf. “That’s a nasty wound. I shall have to clean it, then stitch it up.” The boy’s face turned pasty white. He swallowed hard. She patted his shoulder. “But I promise you, you shall not feel it.” She glanced up at Mrs. Fletcher, read the disapproval in her eyes.

“Daniel is eleven years old, Dr. Allen. He’s old enough to know the truth.”

“That is the truth, Mrs. Fletcher. Now, please sit down and let Daniel rest his head in your lap while I get things ready.

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