Page 57 of Wagon Train Promises
Hands on her hips, Louise surveyed the area as if taking stock of the situation, though Cecil had watched her through the night hours and knew she had been doing so from the first sign of this.
“Hazel hasn’t shown any signs. Nor have Cecil and I. I’m going to assume that whatever it is, it hasn’t come to us. Can we isolate Hazel and the baby? And, Cecil, you stay away. No need for you to get sick.” She got a black satchel from the back of the wagon.
“Wait,” Cecil called. “Don’t you need to stay with Hazel?” If her theory was correct, she could perhaps avoid getting sick.
“I’m a nurse. I’ll nurse them.” Her look allowed no room for argument.
Joe nodded. “Wise to keep Mrs. Meyers and Little Warrior safe. I’ll bring oxen and move their wagon.”
“We’ll make three camps.” Louise gave instructions to Walt. “One for those who are already showing signs of illness. A third for you who have been with them but aren’t sick. If we are careful…” She shook her head. “And I need holes dug for those who are sick to use.”
Bertie hovered under the other Woods wagon, clinging to his pets. Aware that something was wrong and not understanding.
“Mama sick?”
“Yes, Bertie. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay away.”
“No. I go with Mama.”
Cecil barred his way. “You can see her from here.”
Bertie clung so tightly to his cats that one meowed a protest. “Mama die?”
If Marnie heard, she was too weak to answer, but Irene called out.
“You be good and let her rest. She’ll soon be right as can be.” Clutching her middle, she staggered to the bushes where, out of sight, Walt had dug a trench for a toilet.
“I be good.” Bertie sat as close as Louise would allow, all four pets surrounding him. They soon had three camps set up.
“I’ll tend the sick. You others keep your distance.” Louise indicated where the boundaries were.
“My wife,” Walt protested.
“The best thing you can do is stay well. And keep us supplied with water. The drinking water needs to be boiled.” She turned her attention back to those who were ill. With a glance over her shoulder, seeing they didn’t move, she said, “Water. Lots of it. And get some boiled for them to drink.”
Walt jabbed Cecil and nodded toward the buckets and large containers.
“Water, she said.”
The buckets clanged like bells when he gathered them and trotted to the river. He and Walt filled every container. The heat stung Cecil’s face as he set several containers over the fire.
When Hazel emerged from the wagon with a sleepy Petey and started toward the others, Louise called out. “Hazel, I want you to cook separately. Use the things we had across the river.”
“I’ll start a fire for you.” Joe took two steps in Hazel’s direction when Louise stopped him.
“Let Cecil do it. I want her and Petey isolated as much as possible. Cecil has been with us. Hopefully, we haven’t been exposed to whatever this is. He should look after her.” Her gazedrilled into him as if she was trying to tell him more than those words conveyed.
He shrugged. He wasn’t good at reading minds.
Much like a scolded dog, he slunk over to build a fire for Hazel. He got water for her, not caring that it sloshed over his still-damp boots.
Hazel cooked breakfast for the three of them.
He nursed a cup of bitter coffee as he watched the other campfires.
Joe and Walt prepared food. As Bertie ate, he questioned them over and over about his ma.
“I not want her die. Like Papa die.” His voice broke into a sob, and he bent his face to the furry back of the gray cat he called Smoky.
