Loving Against the Grain (Into the West #2)

Chapter 25

 

“Get up! You have to get up, Emmie!”

The hissed directive, along with the ungentle hands grabbing at her arms, drew Emmie back from the yawning abyss of unconsciousness where she didn’t have to contemplate the fact that Noah might be gone from her for good. Her heart and mind couldn’t fathom that possibility. Who would take care of her and little Becky if Noah was dead? Who would hold her in his arms and tell her he loved her? How could she live if her reason for living was gone? With these thoughts and more swirling in her mind, Emmie tried to subside once more to the cookhouse floor, but Muriel, whose voice and hands it was, wrenched her back into the horror of the here and now.

“Don’t you dare, Emmaline Lawson! These men need us; Noah needs us. You are not going to wallow in self-pity right now! You have to be strong! It’s not just about you.”

Anger flared beneath the debilitating sorrow enveloping Emmie, and she snapped up at her friend, “It’s not your husband who might be dead! Stop telling me how to behave!” Nevertheless, she struggled to her feet to confront Muriel, whose own white face and haunted eyes revealed a sympathy she didn’t bother to hide.

“I know it’s not my husband, and that you face a monstrous heartache I can only imagine. But you still have little Rebecca to care for. And all these wounded men coming in need our help right now. Be strong for them, and I swear I’ll be there for you, whatever happens. You’re not alone, Emmie.” Impulsively Muriel reached out and grabbed the heart-shattered woman and clasped her in her arms, shedding a tear along with the bereft Emmie.

 The slamming open of the kitchen doors and the shouts of the men bringing in the wounded broke them apart. Grabbing Emmie by her upper arms, Muriel stared into those watery blue, so-sad eyes and urged, “You can do this, Em. We can do this. I mean, you don’t even know if he’s dead yet. Don’t borrow trouble.”

Staring into Muriel’s sympathetic eyes, Emmie whispered brokenly, “I can’t live without him, Muriel. I love him so much.” Silent tears dribbled down her cheeks as Emmie took a fisted hand and pressed it over her heart. Could you feel your heart crack in two when someone you loved so much left this earth? Did part of that life-affirming organ just crumble to dust in your body, leaving its remaining counterpart to labor on within your chest, much like the living half of a couple struggled to survive in the world minus her soul mate?

Sensing her friend’s imminent breakdown, Muriel pulled Emmie to her one more time, whispering, “I know, sweetie. But he wouldn’t want you to neglect little Becky. You know that.”

As if understanding she was under discussion, Rebecca began to fuss on the trestle table where Muriel had plopped her when Emmaline dropped to the floor. On her back, with little fists waving in frustration for her inability to move yet, the baby drew both women’s attention. The quiet tears began coursing down Emmie’s face faster as she drew away from Muriel to reach for her baby; hers and Noah’s baby. Quickly she drew the child close, holding her so tightly Becky squawked. The two mothers’ eyes met over the baby’s fuzzy head. With trembling lips and quivering chin, Emmie whispered brokenly, “He loved her so much!--”

“Cookie! Throw a curtain up! We gots broken legs an’ arms here! My God, what a disaster!” One of the unhurt loggers, a harbinger of the mountaintop disaster, burst through the kitchen doors, effectively cutting off whatever else Emmaline was going to say. As the women looked up at the interruption, the cookhouse despot, who’d been moving toward the kitchen already, turned toward the two women and barked, “Muriel, start tearin’ dishtowels into bandage-sized pieces! Miz Lawson, this ain’t no place for a youngin’! Git that baby outta here!”