Gold Rush Baby. Dorothy Clark

at his face, taut with pain even in slumber, then slid her gaze to where his hand rested on top of the covers. Had he really tried to stop her from looking at his bandage because he had noticed it bothered her? She could not remember a man ever showing concern for her feelings. Not even her father. He had been only a distant figure of authority.

      She put down the glass, stared at Thomas Stone’s bared arm. She had to cover it. From the other side of the bed. His good side. The queasiness returned to her stomach. She rubbed her wrist, erasing the feel of his grip, strong even in his weakened state, and studied his face. It would be all right. He had slipped into a deep sleep. She tiptoed to the other side, lifted his hand enough to free the covers beneath it, pulled them over his arm and shoulder and hurried back to her chair. He hadn’t even blinked. He would sleep quietly until the medicine wore off.

      She picked up the blanket off the floor, shook it out and covered herself, leaned back and closed her eyes. So Thomas had a wife and child who died. What had happened to them? Odd that he had never spoken of them. Of course, they were only acquaintances because of the circumstances, and they weren’t exactly having conversations. He was sleeping most of the time.

      She turned her head and studied his face, shadowed by the low light of the lamp. Is that why he had helped her when Goldie was kidnapped, because he had once had a child? And had he refused her offer to come to her home and let her care for him because he felt it was a betrayal of his dead wife?

      She huffed out a breath, closed her eyes again. She, of all people, should know better than that. Many of her repeat customers at Dengler’s “house” had been married men. And marriage vows had not kept them from their pleasure—not even in the beginning, when she had begged and cried.

      The familiar tightness clamped around her chest, inched up her neck into her face. She forced herself to relax, to slowly pull in air. Simply because Thomas had been considerate of her feelings over the bandages was no reason to ascribe him high motives for everything. No. He may have shown consideration for her feelings now, when he was weak and needed her to care for him. But she must stay wary and watchful, and be very careful. His strength was beginning to return.

      Viola bent, picked up a bright red leaf and twirled it between her finger and thumb. “I’m sorry Mr. Stone was sleeping when you stopped on your way to the clinic to check on him, Teena. But I’m glad you suggested a walk. The fresh morning air feels wonderful.” A worm of guilt squiggled though her. And that fear that never quite left her made her glance back at her cabin. “But I shouldn’t go too far. I want to be back before Goldie or Mr. Stone wakes.” Or someone comes.

      “We will go only to the woods that hide my village from the town, and then return.”

      Viola nodded. She would be able to keep her cabin in sight the whole way. She took a deep breath and glanced over at her friend. Teena looked as calm and serene as ever, but there was a new, happy glow in her dark eyes.

      She sniffed at the air, enjoying the blended scents of the towering firs, the moist, grassy undergrowth and the dirt path they trod. “The air here is so fresh and untainted by the smells of the campfires and trash of the swarms of stampeders.” She frowned, twirled the leaf faster. “Everywhere you go in the area around town, from the harbor to the mountains, the land is covered with the garbage and discards and the broken equipment of the miners. Why is it clear here?”

      “Most of the whites do not travel the path to the Tlingit village. They stay far from my people.” Teena glanced over at her. “There are only a few who come. And they are respectful of our ways and our lands.”

      The happiness was in the soft lilt of her voice, the gentle tilt of her lips. The picture of Teena looking up at Dr. Calloway the night of Goldie’s kidnapping flashed into her head, and she knew. Her stomach knotted. She tossed down the leaf and looked back toward the cabin, searching for a way to put off her friend’s confidence. “Like Thomas Stone?”

      Teena Crow’s long black braids glistened in the sunlight as she nodded. “Yes. Like Thomas Stone. He is good to my people. And he is good for my people. He leads them to God, so their hearts may be healed.” Teena paused at the edge of the woods and turned toward her, her face aglow. “And like Jacob.” The name was a soft whisper of love and hope and trust. “Jacob helps heal my people when they are sick, as I help him heal his people when they are sick.” She smiled, held up her hands and clasped them. “Our two hearts have become one. We are to go to Skaguay and marry. I wanted you, my friend, to know.”

      Viola sucked in air, dared not speak. Teena was so quiet, so serene standing there, bathed in her happiness, she refused to destroy it with the truth of what men really were. Please don’t let him hurt her. She dredged up a smile, hugged her friend and forced joy into her voice. “I’m so happy for you, Teena. I pray you will find every happiness your heart seeks.”

      “It will be so.” Teena gave a soft laugh, stepped back and placed her hand on her chest. “My heart knows this.”

      She nodded, turned and started down the track toward town, searching her tumbling thoughts for an appropriate change of subject. She did not want to talk about the false hope of love. “Will you live at the clinic, or in the house with your people?”

      “My father is with his ancestors. My brother will bring his bride to the house to live with our people one day. It is right that he does.” Teena smiled. “I will go where Jacob wishes to be. For that is right, also.” She gave another soft laugh. “You see, already I find that the hearts of our peoples are not far apart.”

      What had Hattie said? There is good and evil in the world, and bad things happen because of it. It was no doubt the same with the Tlingit people. Hearts are the same in all people. Was there no place to hide? To be safe? She smiled as they reached the point where the road divided and Teena would continue on toward town. “Thank you again for stopping to share your news, Teena. I will tell Hattie as soon as I get home. I know she’ll be delighted for you.” She turned toward the faint path that led to her cabin, looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Come again soon. I enjoyed our walk.”

      “Much better, Thomas.”

      “I feel better.” Thomas watched the doctor put his stethoscope back in his bag and pull his watch from his vest pocket. “I can draw breath easily. And I can speak an entire sentence without gasping. So when can I get out of this bed?”

      “Ah, it’s always a good sign when the patient becomes impatient and starts complaining. Of course, in your case, that does not apply. You have been complaining since you awoke after surgery.”

      “Very funny.” Thomas looked from Jacob Calloway’s grinning face to the fingers circling his wrist. “Well?”

      “Back to normal.”

      He waited, frowned. “And?”

      “And now I check the bandage.” Jacob lowered the covers to his waist. “More good news. There is no seepage.”

      He fought the urge to grab the doctor’s shirtfront and shake an answer from him. As if he could. “Which means?”

      “Which means I must speak to Viola and see if she has more pillows I can use to prop you up a bit. If you give me your word you will not try to lift yourself higher, sit up or move about.”

      “Fine.”

      The doctor’s left brow lifted toward his dark hair. “That sounded a little sour, and came a bit too quickly, Thomas. I will have your word as a man of God.”

      Perhaps twisting Jacob’s shirtfront and choking him would be more satisfactory than merely shaking him. Thomas took a breath, nodded. “All right. I give you my word.”

      “Excellent. Now let me go and find Viola and see about those pillows.”

      Thomas watched Jacob go out the door, tried not to envy him the freedom of movement. There was finally some progress. Not as much as he would like. But it would be good not to have to lie flat on his back and… In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you. The scripture flowed into his thoughts,