Sarah's Heart by Ginger Simpson

least she didn’t suffer
discomfort. Staggering under the added weight, each step was a challenge for
Wolf, his feet sinking in the fine sand along the riverbank. He ducked beneath
the rocky overhang and sidestepped his way to his bedroll, kneeling there to
put his burden down.
    “Molly, where are
you?” She called out again, her blue eyes clouded with fevered confusion.
    Brushing
silken strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re fine.” He used his most assuring voice. “Molly isn’t here, but
I’m going to help you.”
    Her blonde head
lolled to the side again, and Wolf pawed through his belongings, looking for
the parfleche that held his medicinal herbs. He’d made a wise decision to leave
his belongings here until he found the wagon train. After all, this was his
home.
      He found the small doeskin bag and crawled a
few feet away to the fire pit just outside. Reaching for a handful of dried
grass and bark from his stash, Wolf created a tinder ball in the middle of the
rock circle. With diligence, he continued striking a piece of flint against his
knife blade until a smoldering spark sent a small cloud of smoke spiraling
upward. Wolf bent and gently blew, watching the embers
brighten, then ignite into flames. He fed the small fire more dried reedy grass
and bark until it had fully blossomed, then added some larger pieces of
driftwood he’d found along the creek. With the fire crackling, he went to
water’s edge, knelt and filled a small cooking pan and returned to the pit. He
rifled through his medicinal parfleche, found the piece of cloth that held the
precious willow bark, and measured a small amount between his thumb and
forefinger then dropped it into the liquid. As soon as the water bubbled, the
fever-reducing tea would be ready. He scanned the area for his cup, wishing he
had some ground red elm bark to use as a poultice. He crawled to his tin coffee
mug and heaved a sigh. Would the herbal tea even help?
    “Molly, Molly, where
are you?” Her voice sounded so weak.
    Wolf inched back to
the fire and tested the water with his finger. Deeming the potion boiled long
enough, he dipped the cup into the liquid and filled it half full. He carefully
made his way back to where his patient lay.
    “Here, try and drink
this.” He lifted her head, watching her eyelids flutter open to reveal a pained
stare. “It’s good, it’s going to help you,” he said.
    The woman parted her
lips and sipped. At the taste, her face contorted into a shriveled mass. She
coughed.
    “Oh, Molly, what is
that stuff?”
    How much longer
would she continue calling him Molly? He put the cup to her lips again.
“Please, drink it all. It will ease your fever.”
    She obliged,
finishing the pungent beverage, then pushed the cup
away. “My leg hurts so bad , Molly. It feels as though
a fire is burning….”Her lids closed and she lapsed into unconsciousness again.
    While she slept,
Wolf prepared and applied another mud poultice to her leg. He bathed her
forehead with cool water and held her hand while she called out for someone he
could only assume was a friend or sister. He prayed to Wakan Taken that her
life be spared—his plea made only for the ‘the blonde one’. He didn’t know her
name, yet he cared if she lived or died.
      Wolf’s eyelids suddenly felt leaden from lack
of sleep. He blinked rapidly, daring not succumb lest she need something from
him. He gazed at the horizon, at the beautiful shades of pink and orange left
by the descending sun, then back to the woman who slept on his sleeping mat.
The hues stole into the shadows and colored her cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, the
tea worked. He felt her forehead. Her skin seemed cooler to the touch, and she
wasn’t calling for Molly anymore. He ran a dampened cloth across her brow one
more time, then with a wide yawn, stretched out alongside her. It wouldn’t hurt
to rest his eyes for just a moment.
    A scream jolted him
awake to pitch blackness. For a moment he forgot where