Keeping Faith. Hannah Alexander

to a Dr. Snow I spoke with in England last year, cholera is definitely caused by bad drinking water, hence my concern, of course. As I’ve stressed, we have no idea how much contamination that creek is carrying with it or how far north it started. Everyone who was in the water could be in danger if they swallowed anything, and that cut on Luella’s arm worries me.”

      “Is there no treatment to prevent them from developing the illness?”

      “I wish there was. We can try to force as much water from them as possible.”

      “More than rolling them over the logs?”

      “Yes. I wish I’d brought ipecac,” she said. “But I had an order that didn’t come in before we left. I’ve sent Heidi for some salt and pure water. If we can give them salt water to drink and then dilute what’s left with clean water, it’s logical we could ward off some contagion,” she said. “Thank you for gathering the logs for us. I know it’s a long shot, but we’ll take what we can right now.”

      “I’ll help with that.”

      As he turned to leave, Victoria touched his arm. “Wait, Joseph. They don’t listen to me as they do to you. Some of the people are still hovering too closely to the water for my liking. That bank could collapse with them at any second. We need to move them into the forest.”

      He took her hand, which was still soft despite her habit of taking turns at the reins of the mules pulling the Ladue wagon these past four weeks. “Except for Buster Johnston, I think the rest are willing to listen. I’ll do all I can.”

      “I appreciate it.” She returned to her patients.

      Victoria had once told him his touch gave her strength she didn’t know she had. He missed her touch. He’d lain awake too many nights out on the trail during the years after his father passed, and he’d recalled her gentle touch, the feel of her lips against his, the sparkle of her tears when he’d left her for the plantation with the belief that it was his responsibility to take over the running of it as the oldest son.

      Victoria hated slavery. They’d disagreed about it often, but he hadn’t changed his mind until he’d arrived at the plantation. He’d felt a kick of knowledge in his gut for the first time. He’d seen slavery from her eyes, heard her voice in his head and knew he would not be able to stay. He planned to return to St. Louis and walk back into Victoria’s arms a changed man. That had never happened.

      Oh, he’d changed, all right. He’d been ravaged by bitterness upon arriving back in St. Louis and finding that Matthew had for sure taken care of Victoria. He’d married her.

      And Joseph became a man who led others across country, and saved his money and brooded about the treachery of the friend he’d once trusted and the woman he still loved.

      * * *

      “My friends, it’s time to start treatment.” Victoria leaned over Luella and nodded to Joseph, Mr. Reich and Mr. McDonald, who held others over the logs, facedown. “This won’t be comfortable, but we need to try to prevent contagion if we can.” She raised her eyebrows at Joseph and they got started.

      Despite all, she couldn’t prevent a lingering look at Joseph. He appeared to have everything in hand, up to and including a threat that if the Johnston boys didn’t move their wagon they might well lose it. Buster didn’t listen.

      Despite Joseph’s deep, calm voice and manner, the anxiety in Victoria’s belly tightened like a snake she and Matthew had once seen wrapped around a man’s arm when they journeyed overseas. The man eventually lost his arm. What was this wagon train going to lose as a result of this catastrophe?

      The clouds lifted as she worked with Luella, but the sunbeams didn’t lighten her spirits. Too much could go wrong, and she felt the burden of responsibility for these people. Would Matthew have done this? Would he have had other options? When working with him, she’d felt confident in her abilities, but after losing her mentor she’d lost that confidence, despite the obvious approval Matthew had always shown for her skills.

      Luella gagged on the cup of salted water.

      “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Victoria said, holding her friend as the poor woman lost the water she’d swallowed.

      Luella nodded and took another sip.

      Victoria watched Joseph repeat the same actions with Claude and one of the younger men. He worked with such gentleness. What a good doctor he would have made. If she’d known ahead of time the heartbreak that would ensue after she refused to accompany Joseph to his parents’ Georgia plantation, would she have gone? What a mystery about the fiancée, Sara Jane. She’d never forgotten that name, and she needed to know more. What would their lives have been like now if she’d given in to his pleas to go with him? They would never know.

      She studied Joseph’s firm-set chin, his narrowed eyes. Then she allowed her gaze to wander across the expanse of his shoulders, the corded muscles down his neck. When he’d first walked into the clinic last month, she’d nearly rushed into his arms, all dignity abandoned. It was a good thing she’d learned better self-control in her profession. Memories of her husband’s murder seven months ago, however, had returned in a tempest. Seeing Joseph had made her feel safe for the first time since her widowhood, despite old resentments from their past.

      And yet, was she safe? Were any of them safe? She could still close her eyes and see that telltale hoofprint of the horse Thames had ridden the day he’d killed Matthew. She’d seen them on this very trail a couple of days ago, that distinctive print packed into mud and left to harden.

      After her first sighting, she’d tried to tell herself the horse would have been reshod by now, but what if the horseshoe was shaped to the hoof? If that were so, then it would be easy to track him across the state. She just needed to make sure he didn’t track them.

      She would tell Joseph about the whole thing as soon as she knew for sure. Maybe she could find more tracks once they crossed the creek. Fresh tracks in the mud, perhaps?

      She was just finishing with Luella and checking the others when a whoop and a loud cry reached them from the wagon camp.

      “Oh, Lord, have mercy!” Audy Reich called out from her perch beside the fire where she’d been soaking beans to cook. She jumped up and ran through the trees toward them. “I hear some mighty cracklin’ from up north. Captain, better get that young man away from there. Something big’s coming down that creek!”

      Chapter Three

      Loud pops resounded through the forest like shots from a rifle. Hundreds of rifles in excruciating succession. But Victoria knew that sound. She’d heard the same several times when caught in an ice storm and the ice grew so thick on the branches that they broke. Limbs were breaking.

      The creek had claimed another tree, and this one was a giant. She glanced downhill at the creek and saw a huge shadow being thrust forward by the water—for sure a giant tree uprooted. Its limbs grasped out toward everything near the swollen creek, and from the vantage point of the hill on which she stood, she saw the tree wrenching with it other trees, rocks and mud, creating a dam that blocked the motion of the water.

      The creek spread and splashed far above its banks. The dam would break at any second. She could hear the creaking of wood and rumble of water under pressure. The forest blocked her sight of the place where Joseph had left Buster moping beside his wagon near the creek.

      “Buster!” Gray’s shout of horror bled into the roar of the water. He shot through the trees and down the hill toward his brother with the speed of a wildcat.

      Joseph and Reich leaped forward and raced down the hillside behind him. Heidi started to cry, and her mother put an arm around her.

      Mr. Reich’s voice rang out through the valley. “Get away from the creek!”

      The man’s voice boomed with authority, but Victoria knew how little regard Buster had for that. She left the others and followed the men, sliding through