Forsaking All Others (4 page)

Even in my fevered, drugged state, I knew it. I’d heard this voice every day of my life for the past seven years, save for the one summer we spent apart. The summer that ruined everything. I was fifteen years old the first time he ever said my name, and I could hear him say it now.

“Camilla.”

Only it wasn’t the soft, breathless, love-struck sound it had been all those years ago. No, this was angry. Accusing.

“Camillaaaaaaaa!” Calling for me.

And then, an answer to him. “She isn’t here, sir.” I knew that voice, too, though I hadn’t heard it but once in my life, and that days and days ago.

“You cannot keep my wife from me.”

Nathan.

“Na—”

A cool, small hand clamped itself over my mouth before I could make another sound.

“I will search every one of these tents if I have to.” My husband, the man I’d pledged my life to. He was here. Home was here. I strained to turn my head beneath the surprisingly strong grip of such a minuscule man.

“Private Lambert,” Buckley said calmly, much too calmly given the scene, “it appears I need to perform a second surgery on Mrs. Fox. Will you prepare the anesthesia?”

“Yes, sir.” Private Lambert could no longer look me in the eye.

“You would do well to remember, sir,” Colonel Brandon was saying on the other side of the canvas, “that you are on military property. We are in a hostile situation, and I don’t want to treat you like an enemy combatant.”

“Nathan!” But my plea went no farther than the soft, white palm against my lips.

“Listen, Captain—”

“Colonel.”

“—Colonel Brandon, is it? There’s no need to create hostility where none exists.” That was my Nathan, his voice as slick with honeyed peace as I’d ever heard. “I’m simply a man looking for his wife.”

“Who isn’t here.”

“Seven drops,” Buckley said.

No!
My silent scream.

“If that’s the case,” my ever-charming husband was saying, “then you have no reason not to let me look around.”

“Given what your people did at Fort Bridger, you’re lucky you haven’t been taken prisoner on the spot. Now, I suggest you leave, Mr. Fox.”

For a split second, the hand was ripped away, but I had only time to squeak out, “Na—” before the familiar square of white cloth was clapped over my mouth and nose.

“I’ll be back.” I pictured his eyes, narrowed the way they did when he had that crescent-moon grin—the one that started at the middle of his mouth and curled up to one ear. The one he gave when he wanted you to think you’d won.

“Come ready to defend yourself.”

I locked eyes with Captain Buckley, holding my breath until the pain in my head threatened to split my skull and I exhaled against the cloth.

Then inhaled.

Then, black.

* * *

My stomach roiled; bile filled my mouth. In an instinctive panic I rolled to hang my head over the side of the cot, but that put weight on my left arm, and the crippling pain of the action sent me flat on my back, gagging.

“Here, now.” Captain Buckley’s voice came through the darkness and I felt myself being raised to sit up. A cool, smooth surface grazed my chin.

My heaves produced little, as I’d had nothing more than water and broth for days, but my stomach fought valiantly to expel even this meager content.

“It happens sometimes with chloroform,” Captain Buckley said.

My throat raw from effort, my body came to a shuddering rest, and I relaxed against him. He slowly lowered me to be propped up by a bedroll and blankets, and I willed myself to die. But I had a final request.

“I want to see my husband.”

“I can’t help you there.”

“He was here. I heard him. Right before—” My stomach cramped again, and my entire body responded.

“You see? You’re in no shape to see anyone.”

There was one man to whom we all answered, though, and as I found myself once again at rest, I risked saying only two words.

“Colonel Brandon?”

“Hm.” Buckley seemed to be waiting for me to settle; then, without a word, he left. My hope that he would return with the colonel was short-lived because in an instant he returned carrying a tin cup filled past its rim with snow.

“This is fresh. Clean. Sent down from the heavens just a few hours ago.” He produced a spoon, scooped it full, and held it against my lips. “Don’t need to swallow. Just let it melt against your lips.”

I took a measure of comfort at the coolness of the snow. It was, after all, the first contact I’d had with the world outside this tent in so many days. I savored it, fresh against my lips, and felt my entire body succumb to its nourishment.

“Better?”

I nodded.

“I know you are probably in a great deal of pain right now. But we need to wait until it’s safe to give you anything more. Do you understand?”

I nodded again and looked at the cup in a silent request for more snow. He complied.

“As for Colonel Brandon—” his narrow eyes remained focused on my mouth—“you’ll be happy to know that he is just as anxious to see you. He’s waiting only on my word that you are up to the meeting. You need to be strong. We don’t want him to think you’re not up to travel, now, do we?”

I shook my head, fighting to keep my breath steady, my stomach still. Captain Buckley wiped away the melted snow that dribbled down my chin.

“Very well, then.” He set the cup squarely by my side and went to the tent flap, opening it but an inch to say, “Fetch the colonel.” A long, lanky shadow moved to obey. Private Lambert, no doubt.

“I know you are in pain,” he repeated upon his return. And I was, so much so that the throbbing of it rang in my ears, making his voice seem very far away. “You mustn’t let on to Colonel Brandon just how much. Do you understand? He needs to think you are much stronger than you are, for all our sakes. Otherwise, he won’t move the camp, and we’ll all be stuck here like open targets in the snow. Can you manage?”

I nodded, saving my strength to speak my mind later.

“Good girl. You just let me speak for you.”

At that moment, Colonel Brandon stooped to Captain Buckley’s stature and came through a bright gash of sunlight. He removed his hat and held it to his chest, saying, “Mrs. Fox,” in a greeting fit for the queen’s parlor. I attempted to return his salutation, but Buckley’s steadying hand on my shoulder gave me permission to remain quiet.

“How is she?” Colonel Brandon asked as if I’d suddenly disappeared.

“Weak,” Buckley said. “Extremely so, I’m afraid.”

“And the, uh . . .” I couldn’t be certain whether he himself was aware of wiggling his fingers.

“You’re no stranger to such surgery. You know it’ll be a week at least before we’ll know the extent of her recovery.”

Brandon lowered his voice. “We don’t have a week. Can she be moved?”

“With great care, I believe so, sir. In fact, the fresh air might do her a world of good. I assume more suitable quarters have been arranged?”

I followed their conversation, my eyes darting from one to the other, full of unanswered questions, but something told me the less I spoke, the more I’d learn.

“Two buildings left intact,” Colonel Brandon said, frustrated. “Well, one in good shape and half of another.” For the first time since saying my name, Colonel Brandon focused his attention on me and went to his knees at my bedside. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Fox? Be truthful with me.”

“I—” I swallowed and tried again. “Is my husband here?”

“Your husband? No.”

“He was. I heard him.”

“I’ve tried to tell her,” Captain Buckley piped up from behind. “The medicine and the cold, it can all play tricks on the mind.”

I scowled over Colonel Brandon’s shoulder. He’d said no such thing, but there was a particular purse to the doctor’s lips that warned me to keep silent.

“The situation is very complicated right now,” the colonel said, calling my attention back to him. “And very dangerous. I have to do what I think is best for you and, equally important, what is best for my men.”

“What could it matter—?”

“I’m not in the habit of planning military strategy with women.”

“I want to go home, to my husband. Before there’s any real trouble.”

“That isn’t possible.”

No softening of his eyes. No sympathy. No promise.

My heart began to race, and with its fury, the pounding in my head increased, bringing with each beat the intense, throbbing pain. “Am I a prisoner, then?”

“Of sorts.”

“More like property,” Captain Buckley interjected, to the colonel’s disdain.

I closed my eyes while the remnants of fresh snow turned bitter to my taste. “I don’t understand.”

“If it’s any consolation, Mrs. Fox, I don’t know that I fully understand either.”

He stood then, clapped a gentle hand on Buckley’s shoulder, and ushered the doctor outside for a moment, leaving me alone with my fear.

Father God, this is my deliverance? To be maimed and imprisoned? I will trust you, as I have no choice. But please, Lord, be not far from me.

Moments later Captain Buckley reappeared and went immediately to his bag and retrieved the small vial of black liquid.

I turned away. “No.” While the pain might have been close to unbearable, I did appreciate the clear head. I needed to think. To understand. To pray and listen for the Holy Spirit’s comfort. Guidance. “You said I had to wait. That it wasn’t safe.”

“Those were my orders, yes, but unfortunately your physician is outranked.” He caught my chin in his hand and forced me toward him. “Now open.”

I gritted my teeth.

“Please, Mrs. Fox.” He wedged his finger between my lips, and seizing the opportunity, I bit down. Hard. Hard enough to feel his delicate bone between my teeth. He yelped and I released my grip, only to feel the sting of his slap against my face. As shocking as that was, it came as a welcome distraction from my ever-throbbing hand.

“Give me a wounded soldier any day,” Buckley muttered, shaking his hand. “They understand the perils of war.”

With that, he grasped the bundle wrapped to my wrist, and while at first his grip meant nothing, given the padding of gauze and bandages, soon the pressure eked its way through, and what had been a constant, familiar pulsation now became a silent, tangible scream as he pressed and pressed upon the wound. I fought not to cry out. Clenched my jaw, bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. I arched my back in protest, thrashed my head, but soon it all rose within me, and the tiniest pressure of his thumb made its way to the place where I’d once worn my wedding band.

I screamed, calling out, “Nathan!” And when I opened my mouth to call his name again, the bitter, familiar black drops landed on my tongue, to be chased away with pure white snow.

Chapter 4

I recognized the sound of heavy sleds scraping over the snow and the muffled clomp of hooves. The gentle jostling woke me—the opposite effect of being rocked to sleep. The sweet, clean, cold smell of snow pierced my lungs, such a refreshing change from that of the ever-burning fire. I opened my eyes and saw peach-colored canvas stretched above me. On the other side of it was the sun.

From what I could tell, I was lying atop a pile of skins—most likely buffalo—with my arms folded across my chest. My left hand throbbed mercilessly, but there was nothing I could do to alleviate my discomfort. I was wrapped—swaddled, really—in several wool blankets, cocooned like an Indian baby on its mother’s back. However, I was alone. I craned my neck, twisting it in hopes of getting a glimpse through the front opening to see who was driving. Remembering the conversation between Colonel Brandon and Nathan, I almost hoped it was my husband taking me home, even if I felt like some trussed-up prey. At least I would see my girls.

My mouth and my throat felt like they’d been lined with tree bark. Still, I fought the pain to swallow before attempting to capture the attention of whoever might be at the reins.

“H-hello there!”

My best effort at shouting was nothing more than a croak no louder than the sound of the sled’s runners, and even that had robbed me of what little strength I had. This, then, was what Jonah must have felt all those days in the belly of that great fish. I tried to take some comfort in knowing that I was surely in God’s hands, as my own will had been handed over to him the moment I left my home so many days ago. Unwilling to succumb one more time to the depths of unconsciousness, I forced my mind to dwell on what I knew to be true: I had broken away from the bonds of the Mormons’ false teaching.

And quite possibly been thrust into the hands of a greater danger.

No! I pushed the doubt from my mind. Colonel Brandon was a fine Christian man.

Who lied to your husband. Then lied to you.

My eyes ached to produce tears, but none would come. I forced down the bile threatening to rumble up from my empty stomach. Now was the time for strength. Bracing against the pain, I rolled my shoulders once, twice, until I could move within the confines of the blankets. That helped, just to breathe a little. I lifted and contorted myself until my legs were equally free, which is when I discovered I was still dressed in the long shirt and woolen socks. No clothes, no shoes, and no way to find such items in the surrounding darkness. Not that I had any plans to jump to my escape, but the state of my undress restricted me as much as the blankets. I sat up—straight up—for the first time since awakening in the Army tent. Whether from the chloroform, the motion, or my lack of food, I immediately felt dizzy and reached out for the side of the wagon to keep me steady. Still, even that bit of initiative strengthened me, and I gingerly turned my body around until I was on my knees.

I clutched at the canvas opening to hold me steady and, taking a deep, strengthening breath, tugged it open. The onslaught of sunlight sent me reeling backward, and I buried my face in my sleeve until I felt I could look up again. When I did, the shocked expression on Private Lambert’s face made me wonder if, in fact, I hadn’t died sometime prior and come back to haunt him this snowcapped morning.

“You need to lie back down, ma’am.” Private Lambert’s voice cracked in surprise.