Next Chapter Scott arives at Lancer!
Their travel time slowed as the group left the plains and the wagons rolled into more rugged country. The weather seemed to get hotter and the land dryer. Scott couldn't wait to get out of the area. Riding along, his horse stumbled on some loose shale and Scott muttered a curse his grandfather would have killed him for, Mac only grinned. He wondered if his grandfather was out looking for him or if he just didn't care to put in the effort. A year ago that thought would never have crossed his mind, now he couldn't help but wonder. Sounds of retching stopped Scott's ponderings. Was another person ill? Late at night around the campfires, Scott had heard the word cholera whispered fearfully. He truly hopped they would be spared, Mac had told him all about it and Scott wouldn't wish it on anyone, even Peter Blackley.
Over the next couple days Scotts fears were realized. The wagon train came to a complete standstill and people were dying. Everyone hid their fears by working hard to help the sick. Scott tried not to dwell on it all as he ran from one depressing chore to another. As he was hurrying back from one of his many hunting trips Scott remembered the time when he first understood what death was. It was after a horrible epidemic in Boston when he helped nurse Sarah, Shawn's youngest sister, until she died. Grandfather hadn't been home so he was allowed to help the family, who was more of a family to him than his own. Little Sarah had died and Scott had held her and helped burry her. It was then he realized what his birth had done to his mother. Now as he watched families being ripped apart he mourned for the people left behind and prayed they wouldn't become bitter like his grandfather.
"There you are," Mac beckoned him over to the small group of women making broth. "Catch anything?"
Scott glared at the audacity of the man, of course he caught something, he never came back until he had.
The women took the rabbits and handed him a bowl of broth pointing to a wagon. Scott carefully climbed into the back of the Blackley wagon and headed for Lisa.
"Hello Miss Blackley may I have the pleasure of serving you some broth," asked Scott adding a fake accent to make her giggle?
"Please, Mr. Scott," she answered weakly.
Lisa was pale and thin, hiding his surprise Scott held the spoon up to her lips and dribbled some broth into her mouth. The girl tried hard to keep it down but in the end Scott had to grab the bucket.
"Come on Lisa," he encouraged her.
The girl shook her head sadly, she just couldn't do it.
Down hearted, Scott jumped from the wagon and came face to face with Mr. Blackley.
"She still can't keep anything down?"
Scott just shook his head and headed over to get more broth. Caring for dying people was the hardest things he had ever done. The next wagon he visited the patient was even further gone. Lifting the kid onto his lap so he wouldn't choke Scott carefully dribbled broth down his throat. The boy couldn't finish, in fact he was so weak, the kid died in Scott's arms. Choking back a cry, Scott handed the boy over to his family and leaped out of the wagon. Running as hard as he could Scott barely noticed the women's startled cry or Mac's astonished face. Clawing at the side of a steep hill Scott pushed himself up until he was at the very top. Out of breath he collapsed in the grass and stared in agony at the many fresh graves dotting the area. So many were dying without finding the dream they had come so far to discover. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he curled up against a straggly tree. There were now even more broken families. With that thought in mind, Scott felt himself drifting off to sleep. The last couple days filled with death had just been to much.
Sitting up and moaning Scott rubbed his backside as he tried to remember falling asleep. The sun had set and a soft yellow glow had settled over the cliffs. Sliding down the hill and entering camp Scott was relieved nobody took notice of him. Then he realized everyone was circled around another fresh dug grave. Had he been sleeping that long? Walking over to Mac he eyed the grieving family and was stunned to see that it was the Blackleys.
"Not Lisa," he whispered?
Mac nodded, "Frank too," he added sympathetically.
Sagging against the man, Scott clapped his hands over his eyes so no one could see him cry. His grandfather had said men didn't cry. Emotion gave someone else power over you. Scott had always tried to be strong but this was to much. These people were his friends, despite the fact Frank could be a pain and Lisa a know it all.
"Let it out kid I know how much you liked them," Mac encouraged.
Once again tears streamed down his face as the clods of dirt buried his friends forever.
The next couple days were a blur to Scott. Some of the families survived the illness and slowly healed while others joined Lisa under the dirt. Scott didn't have a clue about what was going on, he was very sick himself. Day after day he fought fever and nausea. He felt every bump of the wagon as it made its way over the rocky soil and then finally over the mountain passes. He was so hungry yet couldn't keep anything down, so thirsty but couldn't drink any water, so hot yet he couldn't find any relief. He never knew when the wagons stopped in San Francisco for good or when his horse was sold to pay the doctor 's bills. All he knew when he woke was that he was in a strange place and weak as a baby.
"Help," he whispered hoping someone would come and tell him where he was.
"Mac?" What had happened to the man?
The door flung open making him jump as Mac charged through.
"Scott my boy I thought we had lost ya for good!"
"Naw I'm kinda hard to loose."
"Still as full of sass as ever," grumbled Mac with the biggest grin on his face.
"Thats kinda hard to loose too," teased Scott closing his eyes for a moment.
"Well don't use up all yer energy thinking up trouble, you still need to find yer father. I found a stage to Green River. Soon as yer well enough to travel, you can head home an meet yer Pa."
Scott smiled his thanks and drifted off to sleep very content.
TBC
