Jack Dawson had learned long ago that panic was contagious.
So was courage.
The problem was that at that moment he possessed far more panic than courage.
He simply had no intention of letting Emily see it.
“Lie on your left side.”
Emily stared at him.
“Why?”
“Less pressure.”
“On what?”
“Emily.”
Her eyes filled with terror.
Jack softened his voice.
“Please.”
That did it.
She shifted carefully onto the blanket.
Jack placed folded cloth beneath her hips and covered her with another blanket.
His mind worked through possibilities.
He was no doctor.
He had never claimed to be one.
But he knew enough to understand what a hard, painful abdomen combined with bleeding could mean.
Years earlier, his older sister Sarah had nearly died during her second pregnancy.
Jack had been nineteen.
Their cabin had been three hours from the nearest doctor, and their mother had recognized the danger immediately.
Something inside Sarah had separated before the baby was ready to be born.
The memory had never left him.
The rigid belly.
The blood.
Sarah’s gray face.
His mother’s command:
Get the doctor now.
Jack had ridden a horse nearly to death that night.
Sarah survived.
The baby did not.
Now, kneeling inside the freight wagon while rain hammered the canvas overhead, Jack was looking at something terrifyingly familiar.
“We need shelter,” he said.
Emily gave an incredulous laugh.
“We have shelter.”
“Not this.”
He pointed toward the rock overhang.
“Water’s rising.”
A stream had begun racing along the lower edge of the trail.
Jack knew the terrain.
Another mile and a half west stood an abandoned trapper’s cabin he had used twice before.
Beyond that, another twelve miles through mountain country, lived a widow named Margaret Bell.
Margaret had delivered more babies than most doctors.
If anyone could help Emily until professional care could be found, it was her.
But getting there in this weather seemed nearly impossible.
Staying put seemed worse.
Jack looked outside.
The team was nervous but strong.
Four draft horses.
Heavy harness.
Mud reaching their fetlocks.
He made the decision.
“We’re moving.”
Emily pushed herself upright.
“In this?”
“Yes.”
“You said the trail was dangerous.”
“It is.”
“And now I’m bleeding.”
“That’s why we’re going.”
“Where?”
“Cabin first. Then Margaret Bell’s place.”
“Who is she?”
“Midwife.”
Hope flashed in Emily’s expression.
“How far?”
Jack hated lying.
“Twelve, maybe fourteen miles after the cabin.”
Emily’s hope vanished.
“In this storm?”
“Yes.”
She gripped the blanket.
“What if the baby—”
“Don’t.”
Emily stared at him.
Jack regretted the sharpness immediately.
He crouched beside her.
“We deal with what’s happening now. Not what might happen.”
She breathed shakily.
“What do I do?”
“Stay down. Stay warm. Tell me if bleeding gets worse. Tell me if you feel faint. Tell me if the baby moves.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“The baby hasn’t moved since the pain started.”
Jack’s stomach tightened.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
Jack nodded.
“All right.”
But it was not all right.
He climbed outside.
Rain struck him immediately.
Within seconds he was soaked.
The horses tossed their heads.
“Easy, boys.”
He checked every buckle twice.
The freight wagon was heavy, but the weight might help prevent sliding if he could keep it straight.
Jack tied an extra rope from the rear frame to one of the brake levers, creating a second control he could reach if the wagon began drifting downhill.
He returned inside briefly.
Emily looked smaller than she had twenty minutes earlier.
Not physically.
Something in her had folded inward.
Jack recognized grief preparing itself in advance.
He hated it.
“Emily.”
She looked at him.
“I need you angry.”
“What?”
“Be scared later. Right now, be angry.”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Good.”
Her eyes flashed.
Jack pointed at her.
“That. Keep that.”
“You think irritating me is medicine?”
“No. But giving up kills faster than most things.”
Emily stared at him.
Then, incredibly, she almost smiled.
“Jack Dawson, I may shoot you when this is over.”
“Means you’ll have to survive first.”
He climbed onto the driver’s box.
The wagon rolled into the storm.
For the next hour, the world became water and mud.
Jack could barely see twenty yards ahead.
The horses pulled with heads low.
Twice the wheels sank deep enough that he feared they were stuck.
Both times the team dragged free.
Behind him, Emily made almost no sound.
That worried him.
He called back every few minutes.
“You awake?”
“Yes!”
“You dizzy?”
“No!”
“Baby move?”
Silence.
“Emily?”
“No.”
Jack clenched his jaw.
Lightning flashed.
Ahead, the trail dipped toward a creek.
Jack cursed.
It had been shallow four days earlier.
Now it had become a violent brown channel.
He pulled the team to a stop.
Emily called from the wagon.
“What happened?”
“Water.”
“How bad?”
Jack climbed down.
“Stay there.”
The creek was maybe thirty feet across.
Fast.
Too fast.
Jack walked along the bank.
No bridge.
No alternate crossing unless they backtracked several miles.
He returned to the wagon.
Emily had pushed herself upright despite his instruction.
“Can we cross?”
Jack looked at her.
“Maybe.”
“That means no.”
“It means maybe.”
“Jack.”
He climbed inside.
Emily’s face had gone pale.
Jack checked the cloth beneath her.
More blood.
Not enormous amounts.
But enough.
“We cross.”
He covered her with three blankets and wedged Daniel’s tool chest against the side of the wagon to create a brace.
“Hold this.”
Emily grabbed the leather handle.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping you from being thrown around.”
“And if the wagon tips?”
“It won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
His honesty stunned her.
Jack leaned closer.
“But I know those horses. I know this wagon. And I know that staying here is worse.”
Emily swallowed.
“All right.”
Jack returned to the team.
He unhitched one lead horse, mounted bareback, and rode into the creek alone.
Water surged against the animal’s chest.
Jack guided it farther.
Halfway across the horse stumbled.
Jack’s heart slammed.
Then the animal recovered.
The far bank was steep but passable.
Jack rode back.
He reharnessed the horse.
Then he climbed onto the box and wrapped both hands around the reins.
“Come on, boys.”
The team entered.
Water struck the wheels.
The wagon rocked.
Emily screamed.
Jack shouted over the storm.
“Stay down!”
The horses fought.
One wheel lifted over a submerged rock.
The wagon tilted violently.
Jack threw his weight opposite.
“Pull!”
The lead horses surged.
For one impossible second the rear wheels slid downstream.
Then they caught.
The team climbed.
Mud sprayed.
Wood groaned.
The freight wagon emerged onto the far bank.
Jack did not realize he had stopped breathing until they reached level ground.
Behind him Emily began laughing.
It was not amusement.
It was terror escaping.
Jack turned.
“You all right?”
“I think I hate you.”
“Good.”
“Stop saying that!”
“Still angry.”
Emily stared at him.
Then another pain hit.
Her face collapsed.
Jack jumped down.
He climbed inside.
“Talk.”
“It hurts.”
“Where?”
“Back. Belly.”
“Baby?”
Emily froze.
Her hand pressed beneath her ribs.
A second passed.
Then another.
Suddenly she gasped.
“There.”
Jack’s heart kicked.
“What?”
“He moved.”
Emily began crying.
“He moved.”
Jack closed his eyes briefly.
“Good.”
“He moved, Jack.”
“I heard you.”
She grabbed his hand and pressed it to the side of her belly.
For several seconds there was nothing.
Then a faint pressure pushed against his palm.
Jack looked at Emily.
Her eyes were wet.
“So he’s alive?”
“Or she.”
“Jack.”
He would not promise.
He could not.
But he squeezed her hand.
“The baby’s fighting.”
Emily nodded fiercely.
“Then so am I.”
They reached the abandoned cabin near sunset.
Jack had feared the roof might have collapsed.
It had not.
He carried Emily inside.
She protested immediately.
“I can walk.”
“Then walk tomorrow.”
He kicked open the swollen door.
The cabin smelled of dust and old smoke.
One room.
Stone fireplace.
Rough bunk.
Small table.
Better than the wagon.
Jack built a fire in minutes.
He heated water.
Emily lay on the bunk beneath blankets.
Her pains had slowed somewhat, but the bleeding had not completely stopped.
Jack forced himself not to show what that meant to him.
He gave her water in small amounts.
“Your wife teach you this?” Emily asked suddenly.
Jack’s hands stopped.
“No wife.”
“Mother?”
“Some.”
Emily studied him.
“You knew something when you touched my belly.”
Jack stared at the fire.
“My sister.”
“What happened?”
He did not answer immediately.
Then he sat beside the bunk.
“Sarah was pregnant. Eight months. Started hurting one evening. Belly went hard. Bleeding started.”
Emily’s expression changed.
“What happened?”
“My mother knew it was bad. Sent me for a doctor.”
“And?”
Jack looked down.
“Sarah lived.”
Emily waited.
Jack did not need to say the rest.
“The baby died,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Her hand covered her abdomen.
Jack regretted telling her.
“I shouldn’t have—”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t hide things from me.”
“I’m not saying the same thing is happening.”
“But you think it could be.”
Jack met her eyes.
“Yes.”
Emily stared toward the fire.
Tears slipped down both cheeks.
“I already buried one person I loved this month.”
Jack said nothing.
“I cannot bury my child too.”
He wanted to tell her she would not.
He wanted to promise it.
Jack Dawson had learned that promises made by frightened men were often lies wearing better clothes.
So instead he reached for her hand.
Emily gripped his immediately.
“Daniel wanted a daughter,” she whispered.
Jack listened.
“He pretended he didn’t care. Said healthy was enough. But every time we passed a little girl, he’d smile.”
Her voice broke.
“He made a cradle.”
“In your wagon?”
“Yes.”
Jack remembered a bundle of carefully wrapped wooden pieces.
He had assumed they were shelving.
“He made it in sections so we could carry it west.”
Emily wiped her cheek.
“He said when we reached Fort Bridger, he’d assemble it before anything else.”
Jack looked at the fire.
“We brought it.”
Emily turned.
“What?”
“The wood pieces. Wrapped in canvas. I loaded them.”
Her mouth opened.
“I thought they were scrap from the wagon,” Jack said. “But they were tied too carefully.”
Emily began crying harder.
Jack nearly apologized.
Then she smiled through the tears.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Outside, thunder rolled farther away.
The worst of the storm was moving east.
That meant nothing.
The trail ahead remained dangerous.
Emily suddenly squeezed Jack’s hand.
He looked down.
“What?”
Her eyes widened.
“Something feels different.”
Jack leaned closer.
“Pain?”
“No.”
She shifted.
Then gasped.
Warm fluid soaked the blanket beneath her.
Emily stared at him.
Jack stared back.
“My water,” she whispered.
Jack’s pulse jumped.
“No.”
“What?”
He checked quickly.
Too much clear fluid.
Too soon.
Emily was only seven months along.
Jack stood.
“We leave at first light.”
“Why not now?”
“Because the mountain trail after dark will kill us before your condition does.”
Emily pushed herself upright.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know that trail.”
“You said waiting was dangerous!”
“It is!”
“So is staying here!”
Jack’s voice rose for the first time.
“I am trying to keep two people alive!”
Silence followed.
Emily stared at him.
Jack turned away.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re scared.”
He did not answer.
“Jack.”
He looked back.
Emily’s expression had softened.
“You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
The admission seemed to settle something between them.
She reached for his hand.
“When Daniel got sick, everybody kept telling me he would recover.”
Jack sat again.
“They meant well.”
“They lied because they were afraid.”
Jack nodded.
Emily held his gaze.
“Don’t do that to me.”
“I won’t.”
“If you think something is dangerous, tell me.”
“All right.”
“And if you think the baby could die—”
Jack’s jaw tightened.
She continued.
“Tell me.”
“All right.”
“And if you think I could die?”
He struggled with that one.
Finally:
“Yes.”
Emily exhaled.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I would rather be afraid of the truth than comforted by a lie.”
Jack almost smiled.
“You’re strange.”
“So are you.”
Another contraction seized her.
Jack watched the clock he kept in his vest.
Seven minutes later came another.
Then six.
Then eight.
They were irregular.
But they were coming.
Jack rose.
He loaded the rifle.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready.”
“For what?”
“For morning.”
Outside, coyotes began calling from the dark hills.
Jack placed more wood on the fire.
He sat in the chair beside Emily’s bed.
“Sleep if you can.”
“You?”
“I’ll stay awake.”
“Jack.”
“What?”
“If something happens while I’m sleeping?”
“I’ll wake you.”
Emily watched him for a long time.
Then closed her eyes.
Within twenty minutes exhaustion pulled her under.
Jack remained beside her.
Every few minutes he looked at her face.
Then her breathing.
Then the bloody cloth.
Then the fire.
Toward midnight the clouds broke apart.
Stars appeared through the small window.
Jack should have felt relief.
Instead he heard something outside.
A horse snorted.
Not one of his.
Jack stood slowly.
His hand moved to the rifle.
Another sound.
Leather creaking.
Hoof against stone.
Someone was approaching the abandoned cabin.
At midnight.
After a storm.
Jack stepped toward the door.
Behind him, Emily opened her eyes.
“What is it?”
Jack lifted one finger.
“Stay quiet.”
A shadow moved past the window.
Then a man’s voice came through the darkness.
“Dawson?”
Jack froze.
He recognized the voice.
And for the first time that night, hope entered the cabin from somewhere other than Emily’s unborn child.