Fic: The Siege by miera (2/5)
Meta info in part 1. I'm still tweaking the last few scenes, which is why this is not being posted all at once.
Warning: this section contains descriptions of complications of pregnancy appropriate to the time period, including infant mortality. Please be aware of this before you read, if you find such subjects especially difficult.
Part 1
Part 2
The foothills above Atlantis had yielded the occasional small strike of silver or gold over the years, although never anything to rival the great discoveries further west and south. Ronon knew from the number of abandoned sites scattered around the hills that there had been a time when men had been willing to risk the investment of searching the area for the precious metals.
That time had been before the Wraith. In the last decade their presence had increased, and mining camps, isolated as they were, proved to be easy targets. And the yields from the mines that did find something weren't enough to convince prospecting companies to move in with their hired security forces to protect the camps.
It was unfortunate, really. Such a thing would have driven the Wraith back.
The LaGrange mine, though, had been producing small quantities of silver for a few years and the mine hadn't played out yet. The company back east had established a small protective force, mostly former soldiers, around the camp. Ronon had passed through here several times with Sheppard, most recently back in the early spring, when everything in the narrow canyon that housed the mine's entrance had been muddy and damp.
Warm weather had brought drier conditions, and now the dust bloomed along the pathways between the tents and cabins within the camp and the hastily built saloon and the two whore houses that sat on the edge of the miners quarters.
Miss Fraiser was directed immediately to a tent out behind one of the out buildings. Ronon, being familiar with Janet's temper, was unsurprised at her fury when she saw the conditions surrounding the woman - girl, really - lying in the cot with her belly swollen and her face red. Janet just began snapping out orders.
The other prostitutes who were tending to Carlotta looked askance at him for following Janet into the tent. Babies were women's business, and the men usually stayed outside. In this case, of course, with no one knowing who the father was, there were no men anywhere nearby.
But Janet, supremely unconcerned with whether it was appropriate for him to be there or not, told him to bring fresh water and wood for a fire. More than once, especially when he was hurt, he had chafed at her despotic tendencies, but he'd also learned there was no arguing with her. He nodded, moving swiftly through the camp. One of the mine bosses tried to oppose anyone taking the camp's firewood but Ronon had a good foot of height on the man and one glare settled the question.
He revived the small fire outside the tent and set the water to heat over it. The owner of one of the brothels came out to stare at him, cradling a shotgun pointedly. Ronon stared back until the man went back inside.
The mine changed shifts. As the afternoon wore on, another woman staggered out of the other building. She was also visibly pregnant, and she waddled into the tent holding her back. Janet was going to have her hands full.
Ordinarily, he wouldn't have troubled himself about it. The little midwife was a force of nature. He'd never seen her really thrown off stride by anything, although Lord knew he'd tried more than once. Usually it didn't take much for Ronon to intimidate a person. He'd perfected the surly demeanor he carried around, used it as a weapon as easily as breathing. He'd finally met his match in the diminutive redhead, something that attracted him far more than he was willing to admit even to himself.
But Janet had been swaying on her feet yesterday, and even now with her blood up from working hard, she still seemed weighed down by something. It bothered him to see it. He didn't like the idea of anything upsetting her. And he knew he wasn't going to leave her up here alone either.
Ronon sighed and resigned himself to spending the night. He decided to go talk to the men who guarded the camp, see if they had heard or seen anything interesting in the last few weeks that might shed some light on the puzzle of the Wraith. It might help keep his mind off other things.
*~*~*~*
John eased himself off the back of his horse carefully. Well over a month had gone by since he'd escaped Carson's supervision and he could now handle a gentle ride on horseback every day without wanting to pass out. He no longer needed Elizabeth's help to wash and dress himself, though he rather regretted the loss of her company, not to mention proximity.
Though the distance between them was maybe for the best. After the night in her kitchen, where he'd nearly lost control of himself (again) and pushed her too far (again), he was a little afraid of himself. The memories from the coma were a bit jumbled, but he vividly remembered how it had felt to be in Elizabeth's bed. John had thought he wanted her badly before he was hurt. He had no idea how to control those impulses now, especially when Elizabeth seemed to forget almost as easily as he did where the lines of propriety were. When she looked at him like that, with all the walls down, he flat out didn't care about what was proper or about anything except touching her. With both of them in this state, it was perhaps better that they weren't in such close contact.
Elizabeth seemed heartily glad that he was managing so well, but since that same night in the kitchen, she was quieter and withdrawn from him somehow. She tried valiantly to hide it, and with anyone else she might have succeeded, but not with him.
At first he thought she was simply worrying about his recovery and how long it might take, but now that he was well on his way to being self-sufficient again, he realized that she hadn't spoken at all about the engagement. When he was still limping around and weak as a kitten, he assumed she wanted to wait until he was healthier before making plans. But day by day, he got stronger and the silence stretched.
She still didn't believe him.
And John didn't know how to make her believe, except to show her he meant it.
Which meant making real plans for the future. He could accept forced idleness in the name of recovering, but he was already starting to chafe with boredom. Much as he loved Elizabeth, he couldn't merely live in Atlantis and have no work of his own. And he wasn't so foolish as to think working as a clerk in the store was a good idea. There was such a thing as too much time together.
Over the last couple of weeks, usually when Elizabeth began to get irritated with his hanging around, John had often gone to Vala's café for some company. He'd been spending a lot of time with Cameron Mitchell, who was in and out of the café and looking exhausted. Mitchell worked on the Ferguson ranch on the edge of Atlantis, one of the most prosperous ranches in the territory. Bryce Ferguson was an old friend of Cameron's.
A Wraith raid early in the spring had killed their hired man and seriously wounded Ferguson. Cameron said the man was looking to sell, go back East and see if his health could be improved. And Cameron was thinking of buying the ranch, which gave John an idea.
"Sheppard!" Cameron was in the stockade yard, was looking over a new foal who was currently feeding. "How're you doing?"
He shrugged, tethering his horse to the railing. "Getting there. Beckett says to stop when there's any pain, but then, if I'd done that, I'd still be lying around in bed."
"With such a pretty nurse, I'm a little surprised you didn't do just that," Cameron said with a grin. John was no slouch in the flirting department, but Cameron could give him a run for his money. John rolled his eyes, walking along the edge of the railing. A pony - a young mare - was standing near the side of the barn, watching him warily. John coaxed her closer until he could run his palm down her nose.
He and Cameron chatted for a few minutes about town gossip and Ronon's latest report on the Wraith activity. Ronon had left town that morning to go with Miss Fraiser on an errand. John finally brought up his reason for visiting. "How's Ferguson?"
Cameron's jaw tightened noticeably. His eyes flickered up to the house, but he didn't speak right away. Curious, John waited. Finally the other man sighed. "Bryce is in a bad way. He's getting headaches a lot, and last week he fell over in a dead faint in the barn. He wasn't even straining himself."
John knew what living with that kind of weakness meant, but he at least had the consolation that he was getting stronger with each passing day. For a man who was used to being able to work, not knowing if he could get better, it would be misery. "What does Beckett say?"
"He says this one's beyond him. Bryce is going to Denver in the morning to talk to his lawyer about putting the place up for sale." Cameron stopped talking for a moment.
"Are you going to buy it from him?"
Cameron hurled the stick he had been holding away with barely concealed fury. "I can't. I don't have the money. Even if Bryce sold the whole thing to me for a minimal profit so he can get back home, I don't have it." Cameron studied him warily. "Why? You interested?"
John shrugged. "I have some savings back East, but not enough to buy the whole thing." He paused. "At least, not by myself."
Cameron looked at him sharply. "You suggesting we partner up?"
John felt a tiny vestige of panic, now that the truth was out and real and there was no turning back. He pushed it away. "I'm saying I'd be open to discussing it."
Cameron digested that. "That would suggest you're planning to stay in Atlantis permanently."
John looked down, fighting not to grin. "Yeah, I guess it would."
Cameron chuckled, then clapped him on the shoulder. "It's about damn time, if you don't mind my saying so."
*~*~*~*
It felt like a week had passed before Janet was finally able to escape the tent for some fresh air. Her eyes were dry and burning and her whole body ached from weariness. When she looked up, the sky was half covered in clouds, reflecting the setting sun with a strange, yellow glow, like the burning of an eerie flame. She wasn't a superstitious woman, but the bizarre quality of the light matched the foreboding feeling that had grown on her as the day wore on.
Janet shivered.
An arm went around her unexpectedly and she startled. "It's all right," Ronon rumbled next to her. She let him guide her to the fire and set her down on a bench. She stared at the flames vacantly, barely noticing when he put his own coat around her shoulders.
She had been up to the camp more than once over the years, and Janet thought perhaps each time she somehow managed to forget the true filth of the place between her visits. The women in the whorehouses might know all the tricks to avoiding pregnancy that their profession afforded, but basic sanitation was beyond them. It didn't help that the "doctor" who'd been here had died during the fever last year. The man had been a drunken old sot but he had kept conditions from getting impossible. Now there was no medical help closer than Atlantis, which was nearly half a day's ride away.
Her mind churned restlessly. If she'd gotten here sooner, would it have made a difference?
A plate was placed in her hands with some sort of stew on it. She reached to take the fork automatically, but the smell of the food contrasted so strongly with the odors of sickness and death that had surrounded her all day that her stomach turned over in revolt. She bit her tongue to keep the tiny sob back.
"Janet?" Ronon took the plate away from her with one hand. She didn't even register his use of her given name.
She shook her head. She couldn't break down now. It would be a long night ahead and she had another patient to deal with.
But Ronon pulled her closer, bringing her head to rest against his chest and her body trembled in rebellion from too much strain and not enough sleep. With any other man, she would have jerked away. She was all-too-familiar with men who thought all women were delicate little dolls, or worse existed solely for a man's amusement and pleasure. If she gave an inch, they'd take ten miles. So she never gave in, not in the slightest. It usually worked. Even Ronon had been obliged to bow to her will more than once.
But she was so... so damned tired. And it was Ronon, who had certainly faced his own share of prejudices in his life. However numerous his faults were, passing judgment on other people wasn't among them.
For the first time in a long time, her temper and her pride yielded and she leaned against him.
He spoke very quietly. "What is it?"
She closed her eyes. "It... it's too late. I can't do anything..." There was no movement now, no life left. The other women had tried to bring the child for two days before sending for her. Perhaps if she'd been able to get her earlier, the outcome would have been different, but she knew her profession too well.
"And the girl?" he asked lowly.
She winced, though he couldn't see it, not with her face pressed against his shirt. If Carlotta didn't deliver soon, Janet was going to have to try to remove the child surgically, which could very likely kill the girl anyway. If she had Carson here to help, it might have been different, but she was all alone.
Ronon's arms tightened even though she hadn't answered him. One of his hands brushed her hair back from her face carefully. His fingers felt warm against her cheek. "What about the other one?"
A strangled sound, almost a laugh, escaped her, thankfully muffled by the hold Ronon had on her. "She's... old." In truth the other woman wasn't much younger than Janet, but her body had clear signs of other pregnancies, and the life of a prostitute was significantly harder than even that of a midwife. Although the child was still moving, the mother's attitude seemed to clearly indicate she'd be happier for the child not to survive.
Her exhausted mind cast up memories of her own marriage, her feeling of failure at not bearing a child then. That feeling had faded as her husband's temper deteriorated and over the years it had become something of a blessing that she didn't have the burden of raising a child by herself. But now the aging whore seemed to mock Janet's own memories somehow.
She'd begun to cry without realizing it and even as she swiped at her wet cheeks, it was hard to stop with his warm, strong hand stroking her hair gently. She wanted so much to just give in to it, let the tears come and let him hold her for a while. Just for a few minutes not have to be infallible and independent and let someone else care for her for a change. She'd been standing on her own for so very long, and Ronon was a solid and comforting presence around her.
But she knew that time would not give her that chance and she was right. A soft voice called hesitantly from the tent, "Miss Fraiser?"
Ronon let her go but only reluctantly. She grasped his hand for a moment as she got up by way of thanks. His calloused fingers squeezed back before he let her go and she composed herself to return to the tent and the endless battle between life and death that was playing out inside.
*~*~*~*
It was late evening when John finally made his way back to the mercantile. Elizabeth looked severely harried. It was early summer now, so the store was almost always busy, and on top of that, she was alone. Laura Beckett was apparently not feeling well and Elizabeth had sent her home for the day.
She was tying up the last few customers and declined his offer to help with a grateful smile. John decided to take a different approach.
The shadows were lengthening across the hills when John banged on the locked door of the mercantile with his foot. Elizabeth opened the door and blinked in surprise at the tray of food. "What?" he asked with a grin. "After all the times you've had to fetch my meals, isn't it about time I returned the favor?"
With the store closed, they went up to Elizabeth's kitchen to eat supper in peace and quiet. John simply ate, listening to Elizabeth recount her tussles with a few irate customers and just enjoying the sound of her voice. A contented feeling, which once upon a time would probably have made him twitchy and uncomfortable, settled over him. He wanted to hold on to this moment, put his arms around Elizabeth and just not let go.
Elizabeth concluded her tirade and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
He smiled. "Nothing."
He knew he was staring and Elizabeth's cheeks turned a little pink but he didn't look away. She avoided his gaze by reaching for her cup of water. "So what did you do today?"
Deliberately casual, John folded up his napkin. "I went to see Cameron Mitchell. Ferguson is looking to sell the ranch, and Cameron needs a partner to go in on it with him. I told him I was interested."
Elizabeth's jaw dropped open and John's suspicions were confirmed. She really hadn't believed him, not truly. He pushed back his irritation. She had no reason to trust his change of heart, he knew that. All these years, he'd fought against becoming entangled in Atlantis every inch of the way. Now the tables had turned and he couldn't be angry at her for not just placidly accepting the whole situation. She wouldn't have been Elizabeth Weir if she didn't over think damn near everything.
But it still frustrated him.
Elizabeth composed herself. "Oh. What did he say?"
John explained that the two other men were going to Denver the next day to fill out the paperwork, and that as an act of good faith, John would be staying at the ranch while Cameron and Bryce were away. Something flickered across her face, something other than surprise, and his expression darkened. "What?"
She tried to avoid the question, but John reached out and took her hand. He had learned a lot about Elizabeth these last weeks, in particular how she reacted to his touch. He wasn't above using every advantage God gave him when dealing with her occasionally baffling mind. "Elizabeth, what is it?"
She squirmed and sighed. "It might be for the best that you're not staying here much longer. Apparently some of the old gossips have been carrying on about an unmarried woman sharing her house with an unmarried man."
John's ears heated up and he growled in fury before he could stop himself. "Spiteful old hags."
"John," she rebuked him quietly.
He sighed, rubbing his thumb against the knuckles along the back of her hand. "Sorry. I don't mean to expose you to any more rumors, Elizabeth, you know that."
Her fingers squeezed his. "I know."
She would have withdrawn her hand but he held on, raising his eyes to meet hers. His stomach was queasy, but he was determined to get through the rest of this conversation before the moment passed. "I have to think the gossiping would die down if the town knew about our engagement."
She looked away. "Did you tell Mr. Mitchell?"
He shrugged. "Officially? No. But he's aware that I'm staying in town for good and I kind of think he got the message anyways."
Elizabeth didn't speak, and in the silence a sudden, awful thought occurred to him. "Elizabeth, if you don't think... I mean, if you've... changed your mind about-"
"No!" she interrupted, folding her other hand over his. "God, John, no. I haven't changed my mind."
"Then what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Elizabeth," he nearly whined.
She sighed. "I'm just not ready to announce it to the entire town. Once it's out, the only question either of us will get will be when the date is going to be set."
He shrugged again. "Then we set a date now, before we say anything."
She tugged her hands free and stood up. "John." She sounded almost petulant, and his temper rose.
"Don’t scold me, Elizabeth. It's not a crazy idea."
She rubbed her forehead. "You're not strong enough yet. You're still recovering."
He got up, advancing across the kitchen towards her. "I was in far worse shape than this when I proposed, and you accepted that proposal. If something's changed between then and now, I think I deserve to know what."
"I'm not ready," she muttered, backing away from him.
He gaped. "Not ready for what? We've both been waiting for this, Elizabeth. For years, we've been waiting and now..."
She avoided looking directly at him and John's heart sank. It wasn't like Elizabeth to hide this way, and it frightened him.
"Elizabeth, please just tell me what's going on."
She folded her arms around herself. "I'm not ready," she repeated. She met his eyes this time, and he saw hurt and something like fear in them. He knew she had valid reasons to doubt him, and he wanted desperately to do something, anything to make them go away. Part of him wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms and kiss her, use what he had learned already about her reactions to make her forget her fear and her worry. Seduce her, if he had to, to try to make her understand.
But he knew her better than that.
Instead he brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers and kissed her gently, just once. "I'm not leaving, Elizabeth. However long it takes for you to really believe that, it doesn't matter. I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes shone with unshed tears in the lamplight. "I want to believe it, John, truly."
He kissed her again, then pulled himself away. "I think maybe I should go back out to the ranch tonight." He'd agreed with Cameron that he would be there the next morning to see the two men off, but he got the feeling Elizabeth needed time to think.
She didn't protest, and he folded up his few possessions and left without either of them speaking again.
*~*~*~*
They had gotten started much later in the day than Cameron would have liked, but Bryce had been sleeping comfortably for once when Cameron checked on him that morning. So he'd gone and rousted Sheppard from bed and taken his time going over the details of the ranch, the animals and so forth, and then packed the wagon himself. The trip to Denver ordinarily didn't take all that long, but Bryce's condition was too fragile for a long trip on horseback.
Finally he woke Bryce, who was now in a foul mood about Cameron "coddling" him. The man had been sitting stiffly in the wagon seat since they left the ranch. His irritation didn't bother Cameron too much. He could see that in spite of the anger, Bryce looked more rested and alert than he had in days. The delay had been worth that.
They ate the lunch packed away for the trip, let the horses rest and water, and the heat and the food made Bryce fall asleep. Cameron guided the horses, comfortably alone with his own thoughts. Maybe all Bryce needed was some real rest, a chance to heal. If they hired Sheppard full-time, then maybe Bryce could stay in Atlantis and get better there. Cameron had his doubts about what the tedious journey back east would do to his old friend. Even if the doctors there were better, the trip itself might finish the man.
As the afternoon began to fade, Bryce stirred. The nap didn't seem to have helped, as he now looked rumpled, and he shifted on the seat uncomfortably. He stretched, putting his feet up and drinking from the canteen, wincing at some pain in his chest. But his thoughts appeared to be back in Atlantis. "So, I guess Sheppard is giving in to the inevitable."
Cameron chuckled. "Looks that way." It was fairly obvious that Sheppard taking a job in town was a major step for the man's courting of Miss Weir. "To tell the truth, I never understood what a lady like Miss Weir is doing with someone like Sheppard."
"He doesn't seem like her type, that's for sure," Bryce said.
"She doesn't seem like his type either," Cameron countered. That entire relationship was a bit of a mystery to him. He liked Miss Weir, of course, and she was a very beautiful woman. She just seemed a bit stiff and formal with people a lot of the time. Part of that had to do with being a lone woman running her own business here in such a dangerous place, he knew. There were plenty of people, men especially, who'd take that kind of independence the wrong way. Though, knowing Miss Weir, she'd slay with a glance anyone who got out of line with her.
Which was why the attraction between her and Sheppard, who was the type of man who got "out of line" with people as a matter of principle, was baffling. Why would any man want a woman who would always be nagging at him about propriety and so on?
Bryce shrugged. "Sometimes you want what you think you shouldn't have." He shot a look at Cameron, who glowered at the dig. However Bryce continued to stare past his shoulder. "What's that?"
He pointed to the southeast and Cameron turned. In the distance something was moving along the horizon. "Horses," he said finally, squinting. "Line of 'em."
"Indian?"
"I don't think so." Indians in the territory were mostly confined to reservations nowadays, although roaming bands had been known to come down from the mountains. The riders didn't appear to be natives, though. "Prospectors, maybe? Or supplies for one of the mining camps?"
"Right. Probably nothing." But Bryce frowned and Cameron saw his own unease reflected in his friend's face.
They rode on, the silence now tense, until they crested the top of a hill. Off to their left was what was what the locals called the "Long Valley" since it was an unusually wide and lengthy dip in the landscape, unbroken by any major rises for several miles. It was surrounded to the west by the foothills of the Rockies and to the east by the ridge of hills that lay between them and Atlantis. They were skirting the northern-most edge of the valley before going down the path towards Denver.
Bryce put a hand on his arm and Cameron's blood ran cold. Well to the south, away from them, the valley was swarming with men and horses. Even at this distance, they could see all of them were armed to the teeth. They appeared to be filing up out of the valley in two lines, one heading northeast and one heading southeast.
Wraith. An army of Wraith.
And they were headed towards Atlantis.
Cameron reached for his gun immediately, but Bryce's fingers tightened on his arm. They had to try and get away unseen.
"We could head for the fort," Cameron said quietly as they watched. There was an army encampment along the South Platte river. "Try to get reinforcements."
"I don't think we'd make it. We need to warn Atlantis."
Cameron nodded. His first instinct was to go back anyway. Carefully he twitched the reins, guiding the horses to turn around and take them back home.
They were nearly back on their way when a shot rang out distantly. Both of them swore and Cameron slapped the horses hard, urging them to a desperate run. Behind them, a large group of men had started to charge down the valley.
*~*~*~*
Elizabeth climbed the steps into the mercantile carefully, carrying two mugs of tea, one for herself and one for Laura. The younger woman took the cup gratefully. She looked tired, and though she said she felt all right, it was clear her stomach was still bothering her. Elizabeth was beginning to worry. It had been over a week that Laura had been unwell and selfishly Elizabeth knew she couldn't handle the store on her own.
There was currently a lull in the customers, though, probably due to the mid-afternoon hour. The street outside was quiet. The older children in town were needed to work at home just now, so the school was closed for a few weeks. Daniel Jackson, the schoolteacher, had taken advantage of this to go to St. Louis to visit friends. The saloon wouldn't open for another hour yet, and even the café had been nearly deserted.
Savoring the peace, Elizabeth retreated to her office. Though she intended to go over some invoices, she found herself staring absently at the tea and trying not to yawn.
She'd been awake far into the night, arguing with herself over what to do about John. She tried to convince herself that his departure for the ranch was indicative of him not truly being ready to settle down, but in her heart she knew that wasn't true. He'd left in order to give her room to think, not because he didn't want to stay.
All night she'd been uncomfortably conscious of the emptiness of the spare room at the end of the hall. It was strange how quickly she'd gotten used to John being there all the time. She pursed her lips at the irony. All those years waiting for John to come back after his extended trips, and within a few short weeks she couldn't bear to be apart from him for a night.
By three in the morning she had been pacing back and forth, getting angrier by the minute. Why couldn't she say yes? What was wrong with her? Was she fundamentally incapable of accepting happiness? She'd had good reason to be hesitant when John proposed to her weeks ago, even if she knew John always kept his promises, no matter what. But he'd been injured and weak when he proposed. It had been prudent for her to wait and give him time to consider whether he had made a mistake.
Weeks had gone by. Without her saying a single word, John had begun to look for work, to make plans to stay in Atlantis, completely on his own. She could not have asked for a more blatant sign that he was certain about settling down and making a home here.
So why wasn't she happy? Was she that fickle to only want a man when she couldn't have him? That when he was standing before her, offering her everything she'd said she wanted, she lost interest? The thought had tortured her until she fell into bed at dawn for a couple hours of restless sleep.
Elizabeth ran a finger around the edge of the mug in her hand. John wasn't going to leave. She knew that, just as surely as she knew that she loved him.
Marriage was about more than love, of course. Compatibility, respect and trust were vitally important. Elizabeth remembered talking to her mother when Simon had first been courting her about how generous and respectful he had been. John, of course, wasn't quite the gentleman Simon had been, but if his words weren't always dignified and his actions always proper, she knew he always respected her. And she trusted John, of course.
Something nagged at her. She did trust him. She trusted John with her life. Shouldn't that mean she could trust him with her body, her heart?
Elizabeth couldn't quite pin down why the question bothered her so, but before she could pursue the thought, Laura called for her in the front of the store. Elizabeth set down her cooling tea and went back to work.
*~*~*~*
It was late afternoon when Ronon placed the last shovel of dirt over the second grave.
Janet stood mute and still alongside the three or four women who'd come to witness the burial. There were black circles under her eyes and Ronon suspected it was only sheer force of will keeping her from keeling over.
Carlotta and her unborn child had died during the night. He didn't want to think too much about what Janet had been forced to try and do to save them. In the morning, the other baby had been delivered safely, but Janet's relief was short-lived. The little boy had been pale and blue and had grown weaker with each hour. A couple of hours ago, he found Janet holding the still bundle of blankets in her arms.
The camp had no official grave digger. Ronon had taken a shovel and done the task himself, knowing that Janet wouldn't leave even a dead whore and a dead whore's child to be tossed into whatever shallow grave the saloon owner bothered to scratch out.
He stepped aside, and the other women began to place rocks over the mounds of earth, to keep animals from digging into the spot.
There were still blood stains on Janet's skirt. When she had emerged from the tent this afternoon, she had been a complete mess, blood smeared on her apron, her shirt and her arms. One of the women had brought her water to wash and Ronon had silently handed her his extra shirt to change into. She had thrown her ruined shirt and apron into the fire viciously. Now at least she was a little cleaner. The look in her eyes haunted him, though.
Ronon put a hand on her shoulder gently. "Let's go."
It was stupid, really, to leave the protection of the camp. They wouldn't make it more than halfway back to Atlantis before they ran out of daylight and the clouds building across the sky threatened rain. But she looked so hollowed out and tired, he couldn't stand the thought of making her stay in this place any longer.
She only nodded in assent. He packed their things and saddled the horses. By the time he returned to the small campfire, Janet was asleep sitting upright on the bench. Ronon hesitated for a moment before lifting her up in his arms. He managed to get her to climb up onto his horse without her waking fully. He swung himself up, wrapping an arm around her and holding the reins with his other hand. With Janet's horse tethered to his own, and Janet asleep in front of him, he guided the horse down the trail and away from the camp.
*~*~*~*
Cameron rode as if the devil were after him. Which had been the case until a short while ago.
He bent low over the horse's neck, blocking out the pain from the bullets lodged in his arm and his side. Even though the Wraith army he and Bryce had run into had stopped pursuing him, he couldn't rest yet.
Cameron doubted that he would ever forget Bryce Ferguson's face, gray with pain and fatigue, grabbing the reins to the wagon and halting the horses as they fled. When Cameron stared in confusion, Bryce shook his head towards the horizon, towards and Atlantis and said one word, "Go."
He had wanted to argue. He had wanted to deny that any of it was happening. But it was already too late.
He had left one of his guns and his extra ammunition with Bryce, who crawled into the back of the wagon, staying low, armed with a rifle and two smaller guns. Cameron slashed the reins, freeing the horses before he climbed up on the back of the nearest one. Then he'd paused to look into the wagon one last time.
"The ranch is yours. The will's on file with the lawyers," Bryce had said.
"Bryce-" He hadn't known what else to say.
"Get out of here, Mitchell. I'll kill as many of the bastards as I can, but you need to get back and warn them."
Cameron was pretty sure the Wraith had torched the wagon. He prayed his old friend had died before that happened.
Bryce Ferguson's last act in this world had been to sacrifice himself so Cameron could warn Atlantis. Cameron had no intention of letting that act go to waste.
*~*~*~*
Part 3
Warning: this section contains descriptions of complications of pregnancy appropriate to the time period, including infant mortality. Please be aware of this before you read, if you find such subjects especially difficult.
Part 1
Part 2
The foothills above Atlantis had yielded the occasional small strike of silver or gold over the years, although never anything to rival the great discoveries further west and south. Ronon knew from the number of abandoned sites scattered around the hills that there had been a time when men had been willing to risk the investment of searching the area for the precious metals.
That time had been before the Wraith. In the last decade their presence had increased, and mining camps, isolated as they were, proved to be easy targets. And the yields from the mines that did find something weren't enough to convince prospecting companies to move in with their hired security forces to protect the camps.
It was unfortunate, really. Such a thing would have driven the Wraith back.
The LaGrange mine, though, had been producing small quantities of silver for a few years and the mine hadn't played out yet. The company back east had established a small protective force, mostly former soldiers, around the camp. Ronon had passed through here several times with Sheppard, most recently back in the early spring, when everything in the narrow canyon that housed the mine's entrance had been muddy and damp.
Warm weather had brought drier conditions, and now the dust bloomed along the pathways between the tents and cabins within the camp and the hastily built saloon and the two whore houses that sat on the edge of the miners quarters.
Miss Fraiser was directed immediately to a tent out behind one of the out buildings. Ronon, being familiar with Janet's temper, was unsurprised at her fury when she saw the conditions surrounding the woman - girl, really - lying in the cot with her belly swollen and her face red. Janet just began snapping out orders.
The other prostitutes who were tending to Carlotta looked askance at him for following Janet into the tent. Babies were women's business, and the men usually stayed outside. In this case, of course, with no one knowing who the father was, there were no men anywhere nearby.
But Janet, supremely unconcerned with whether it was appropriate for him to be there or not, told him to bring fresh water and wood for a fire. More than once, especially when he was hurt, he had chafed at her despotic tendencies, but he'd also learned there was no arguing with her. He nodded, moving swiftly through the camp. One of the mine bosses tried to oppose anyone taking the camp's firewood but Ronon had a good foot of height on the man and one glare settled the question.
He revived the small fire outside the tent and set the water to heat over it. The owner of one of the brothels came out to stare at him, cradling a shotgun pointedly. Ronon stared back until the man went back inside.
The mine changed shifts. As the afternoon wore on, another woman staggered out of the other building. She was also visibly pregnant, and she waddled into the tent holding her back. Janet was going to have her hands full.
Ordinarily, he wouldn't have troubled himself about it. The little midwife was a force of nature. He'd never seen her really thrown off stride by anything, although Lord knew he'd tried more than once. Usually it didn't take much for Ronon to intimidate a person. He'd perfected the surly demeanor he carried around, used it as a weapon as easily as breathing. He'd finally met his match in the diminutive redhead, something that attracted him far more than he was willing to admit even to himself.
But Janet had been swaying on her feet yesterday, and even now with her blood up from working hard, she still seemed weighed down by something. It bothered him to see it. He didn't like the idea of anything upsetting her. And he knew he wasn't going to leave her up here alone either.
Ronon sighed and resigned himself to spending the night. He decided to go talk to the men who guarded the camp, see if they had heard or seen anything interesting in the last few weeks that might shed some light on the puzzle of the Wraith. It might help keep his mind off other things.
*~*~*~*
John eased himself off the back of his horse carefully. Well over a month had gone by since he'd escaped Carson's supervision and he could now handle a gentle ride on horseback every day without wanting to pass out. He no longer needed Elizabeth's help to wash and dress himself, though he rather regretted the loss of her company, not to mention proximity.
Though the distance between them was maybe for the best. After the night in her kitchen, where he'd nearly lost control of himself (again) and pushed her too far (again), he was a little afraid of himself. The memories from the coma were a bit jumbled, but he vividly remembered how it had felt to be in Elizabeth's bed. John had thought he wanted her badly before he was hurt. He had no idea how to control those impulses now, especially when Elizabeth seemed to forget almost as easily as he did where the lines of propriety were. When she looked at him like that, with all the walls down, he flat out didn't care about what was proper or about anything except touching her. With both of them in this state, it was perhaps better that they weren't in such close contact.
Elizabeth seemed heartily glad that he was managing so well, but since that same night in the kitchen, she was quieter and withdrawn from him somehow. She tried valiantly to hide it, and with anyone else she might have succeeded, but not with him.
At first he thought she was simply worrying about his recovery and how long it might take, but now that he was well on his way to being self-sufficient again, he realized that she hadn't spoken at all about the engagement. When he was still limping around and weak as a kitten, he assumed she wanted to wait until he was healthier before making plans. But day by day, he got stronger and the silence stretched.
She still didn't believe him.
And John didn't know how to make her believe, except to show her he meant it.
Which meant making real plans for the future. He could accept forced idleness in the name of recovering, but he was already starting to chafe with boredom. Much as he loved Elizabeth, he couldn't merely live in Atlantis and have no work of his own. And he wasn't so foolish as to think working as a clerk in the store was a good idea. There was such a thing as too much time together.
Over the last couple of weeks, usually when Elizabeth began to get irritated with his hanging around, John had often gone to Vala's café for some company. He'd been spending a lot of time with Cameron Mitchell, who was in and out of the café and looking exhausted. Mitchell worked on the Ferguson ranch on the edge of Atlantis, one of the most prosperous ranches in the territory. Bryce Ferguson was an old friend of Cameron's.
A Wraith raid early in the spring had killed their hired man and seriously wounded Ferguson. Cameron said the man was looking to sell, go back East and see if his health could be improved. And Cameron was thinking of buying the ranch, which gave John an idea.
"Sheppard!" Cameron was in the stockade yard, was looking over a new foal who was currently feeding. "How're you doing?"
He shrugged, tethering his horse to the railing. "Getting there. Beckett says to stop when there's any pain, but then, if I'd done that, I'd still be lying around in bed."
"With such a pretty nurse, I'm a little surprised you didn't do just that," Cameron said with a grin. John was no slouch in the flirting department, but Cameron could give him a run for his money. John rolled his eyes, walking along the edge of the railing. A pony - a young mare - was standing near the side of the barn, watching him warily. John coaxed her closer until he could run his palm down her nose.
He and Cameron chatted for a few minutes about town gossip and Ronon's latest report on the Wraith activity. Ronon had left town that morning to go with Miss Fraiser on an errand. John finally brought up his reason for visiting. "How's Ferguson?"
Cameron's jaw tightened noticeably. His eyes flickered up to the house, but he didn't speak right away. Curious, John waited. Finally the other man sighed. "Bryce is in a bad way. He's getting headaches a lot, and last week he fell over in a dead faint in the barn. He wasn't even straining himself."
John knew what living with that kind of weakness meant, but he at least had the consolation that he was getting stronger with each passing day. For a man who was used to being able to work, not knowing if he could get better, it would be misery. "What does Beckett say?"
"He says this one's beyond him. Bryce is going to Denver in the morning to talk to his lawyer about putting the place up for sale." Cameron stopped talking for a moment.
"Are you going to buy it from him?"
Cameron hurled the stick he had been holding away with barely concealed fury. "I can't. I don't have the money. Even if Bryce sold the whole thing to me for a minimal profit so he can get back home, I don't have it." Cameron studied him warily. "Why? You interested?"
John shrugged. "I have some savings back East, but not enough to buy the whole thing." He paused. "At least, not by myself."
Cameron looked at him sharply. "You suggesting we partner up?"
John felt a tiny vestige of panic, now that the truth was out and real and there was no turning back. He pushed it away. "I'm saying I'd be open to discussing it."
Cameron digested that. "That would suggest you're planning to stay in Atlantis permanently."
John looked down, fighting not to grin. "Yeah, I guess it would."
Cameron chuckled, then clapped him on the shoulder. "It's about damn time, if you don't mind my saying so."
*~*~*~*
It felt like a week had passed before Janet was finally able to escape the tent for some fresh air. Her eyes were dry and burning and her whole body ached from weariness. When she looked up, the sky was half covered in clouds, reflecting the setting sun with a strange, yellow glow, like the burning of an eerie flame. She wasn't a superstitious woman, but the bizarre quality of the light matched the foreboding feeling that had grown on her as the day wore on.
Janet shivered.
An arm went around her unexpectedly and she startled. "It's all right," Ronon rumbled next to her. She let him guide her to the fire and set her down on a bench. She stared at the flames vacantly, barely noticing when he put his own coat around her shoulders.
She had been up to the camp more than once over the years, and Janet thought perhaps each time she somehow managed to forget the true filth of the place between her visits. The women in the whorehouses might know all the tricks to avoiding pregnancy that their profession afforded, but basic sanitation was beyond them. It didn't help that the "doctor" who'd been here had died during the fever last year. The man had been a drunken old sot but he had kept conditions from getting impossible. Now there was no medical help closer than Atlantis, which was nearly half a day's ride away.
Her mind churned restlessly. If she'd gotten here sooner, would it have made a difference?
A plate was placed in her hands with some sort of stew on it. She reached to take the fork automatically, but the smell of the food contrasted so strongly with the odors of sickness and death that had surrounded her all day that her stomach turned over in revolt. She bit her tongue to keep the tiny sob back.
"Janet?" Ronon took the plate away from her with one hand. She didn't even register his use of her given name.
She shook her head. She couldn't break down now. It would be a long night ahead and she had another patient to deal with.
But Ronon pulled her closer, bringing her head to rest against his chest and her body trembled in rebellion from too much strain and not enough sleep. With any other man, she would have jerked away. She was all-too-familiar with men who thought all women were delicate little dolls, or worse existed solely for a man's amusement and pleasure. If she gave an inch, they'd take ten miles. So she never gave in, not in the slightest. It usually worked. Even Ronon had been obliged to bow to her will more than once.
But she was so... so damned tired. And it was Ronon, who had certainly faced his own share of prejudices in his life. However numerous his faults were, passing judgment on other people wasn't among them.
For the first time in a long time, her temper and her pride yielded and she leaned against him.
He spoke very quietly. "What is it?"
She closed her eyes. "It... it's too late. I can't do anything..." There was no movement now, no life left. The other women had tried to bring the child for two days before sending for her. Perhaps if she'd been able to get her earlier, the outcome would have been different, but she knew her profession too well.
"And the girl?" he asked lowly.
She winced, though he couldn't see it, not with her face pressed against his shirt. If Carlotta didn't deliver soon, Janet was going to have to try to remove the child surgically, which could very likely kill the girl anyway. If she had Carson here to help, it might have been different, but she was all alone.
Ronon's arms tightened even though she hadn't answered him. One of his hands brushed her hair back from her face carefully. His fingers felt warm against her cheek. "What about the other one?"
A strangled sound, almost a laugh, escaped her, thankfully muffled by the hold Ronon had on her. "She's... old." In truth the other woman wasn't much younger than Janet, but her body had clear signs of other pregnancies, and the life of a prostitute was significantly harder than even that of a midwife. Although the child was still moving, the mother's attitude seemed to clearly indicate she'd be happier for the child not to survive.
Her exhausted mind cast up memories of her own marriage, her feeling of failure at not bearing a child then. That feeling had faded as her husband's temper deteriorated and over the years it had become something of a blessing that she didn't have the burden of raising a child by herself. But now the aging whore seemed to mock Janet's own memories somehow.
She'd begun to cry without realizing it and even as she swiped at her wet cheeks, it was hard to stop with his warm, strong hand stroking her hair gently. She wanted so much to just give in to it, let the tears come and let him hold her for a while. Just for a few minutes not have to be infallible and independent and let someone else care for her for a change. She'd been standing on her own for so very long, and Ronon was a solid and comforting presence around her.
But she knew that time would not give her that chance and she was right. A soft voice called hesitantly from the tent, "Miss Fraiser?"
Ronon let her go but only reluctantly. She grasped his hand for a moment as she got up by way of thanks. His calloused fingers squeezed back before he let her go and she composed herself to return to the tent and the endless battle between life and death that was playing out inside.
*~*~*~*
It was late evening when John finally made his way back to the mercantile. Elizabeth looked severely harried. It was early summer now, so the store was almost always busy, and on top of that, she was alone. Laura Beckett was apparently not feeling well and Elizabeth had sent her home for the day.
She was tying up the last few customers and declined his offer to help with a grateful smile. John decided to take a different approach.
The shadows were lengthening across the hills when John banged on the locked door of the mercantile with his foot. Elizabeth opened the door and blinked in surprise at the tray of food. "What?" he asked with a grin. "After all the times you've had to fetch my meals, isn't it about time I returned the favor?"
With the store closed, they went up to Elizabeth's kitchen to eat supper in peace and quiet. John simply ate, listening to Elizabeth recount her tussles with a few irate customers and just enjoying the sound of her voice. A contented feeling, which once upon a time would probably have made him twitchy and uncomfortable, settled over him. He wanted to hold on to this moment, put his arms around Elizabeth and just not let go.
Elizabeth concluded her tirade and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
He smiled. "Nothing."
He knew he was staring and Elizabeth's cheeks turned a little pink but he didn't look away. She avoided his gaze by reaching for her cup of water. "So what did you do today?"
Deliberately casual, John folded up his napkin. "I went to see Cameron Mitchell. Ferguson is looking to sell the ranch, and Cameron needs a partner to go in on it with him. I told him I was interested."
Elizabeth's jaw dropped open and John's suspicions were confirmed. She really hadn't believed him, not truly. He pushed back his irritation. She had no reason to trust his change of heart, he knew that. All these years, he'd fought against becoming entangled in Atlantis every inch of the way. Now the tables had turned and he couldn't be angry at her for not just placidly accepting the whole situation. She wouldn't have been Elizabeth Weir if she didn't over think damn near everything.
But it still frustrated him.
Elizabeth composed herself. "Oh. What did he say?"
John explained that the two other men were going to Denver the next day to fill out the paperwork, and that as an act of good faith, John would be staying at the ranch while Cameron and Bryce were away. Something flickered across her face, something other than surprise, and his expression darkened. "What?"
She tried to avoid the question, but John reached out and took her hand. He had learned a lot about Elizabeth these last weeks, in particular how she reacted to his touch. He wasn't above using every advantage God gave him when dealing with her occasionally baffling mind. "Elizabeth, what is it?"
She squirmed and sighed. "It might be for the best that you're not staying here much longer. Apparently some of the old gossips have been carrying on about an unmarried woman sharing her house with an unmarried man."
John's ears heated up and he growled in fury before he could stop himself. "Spiteful old hags."
"John," she rebuked him quietly.
He sighed, rubbing his thumb against the knuckles along the back of her hand. "Sorry. I don't mean to expose you to any more rumors, Elizabeth, you know that."
Her fingers squeezed his. "I know."
She would have withdrawn her hand but he held on, raising his eyes to meet hers. His stomach was queasy, but he was determined to get through the rest of this conversation before the moment passed. "I have to think the gossiping would die down if the town knew about our engagement."
She looked away. "Did you tell Mr. Mitchell?"
He shrugged. "Officially? No. But he's aware that I'm staying in town for good and I kind of think he got the message anyways."
Elizabeth didn't speak, and in the silence a sudden, awful thought occurred to him. "Elizabeth, if you don't think... I mean, if you've... changed your mind about-"
"No!" she interrupted, folding her other hand over his. "God, John, no. I haven't changed my mind."
"Then what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Elizabeth," he nearly whined.
She sighed. "I'm just not ready to announce it to the entire town. Once it's out, the only question either of us will get will be when the date is going to be set."
He shrugged again. "Then we set a date now, before we say anything."
She tugged her hands free and stood up. "John." She sounded almost petulant, and his temper rose.
"Don’t scold me, Elizabeth. It's not a crazy idea."
She rubbed her forehead. "You're not strong enough yet. You're still recovering."
He got up, advancing across the kitchen towards her. "I was in far worse shape than this when I proposed, and you accepted that proposal. If something's changed between then and now, I think I deserve to know what."
"I'm not ready," she muttered, backing away from him.
He gaped. "Not ready for what? We've both been waiting for this, Elizabeth. For years, we've been waiting and now..."
She avoided looking directly at him and John's heart sank. It wasn't like Elizabeth to hide this way, and it frightened him.
"Elizabeth, please just tell me what's going on."
She folded her arms around herself. "I'm not ready," she repeated. She met his eyes this time, and he saw hurt and something like fear in them. He knew she had valid reasons to doubt him, and he wanted desperately to do something, anything to make them go away. Part of him wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms and kiss her, use what he had learned already about her reactions to make her forget her fear and her worry. Seduce her, if he had to, to try to make her understand.
But he knew her better than that.
Instead he brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers and kissed her gently, just once. "I'm not leaving, Elizabeth. However long it takes for you to really believe that, it doesn't matter. I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes shone with unshed tears in the lamplight. "I want to believe it, John, truly."
He kissed her again, then pulled himself away. "I think maybe I should go back out to the ranch tonight." He'd agreed with Cameron that he would be there the next morning to see the two men off, but he got the feeling Elizabeth needed time to think.
She didn't protest, and he folded up his few possessions and left without either of them speaking again.
*~*~*~*
They had gotten started much later in the day than Cameron would have liked, but Bryce had been sleeping comfortably for once when Cameron checked on him that morning. So he'd gone and rousted Sheppard from bed and taken his time going over the details of the ranch, the animals and so forth, and then packed the wagon himself. The trip to Denver ordinarily didn't take all that long, but Bryce's condition was too fragile for a long trip on horseback.
Finally he woke Bryce, who was now in a foul mood about Cameron "coddling" him. The man had been sitting stiffly in the wagon seat since they left the ranch. His irritation didn't bother Cameron too much. He could see that in spite of the anger, Bryce looked more rested and alert than he had in days. The delay had been worth that.
They ate the lunch packed away for the trip, let the horses rest and water, and the heat and the food made Bryce fall asleep. Cameron guided the horses, comfortably alone with his own thoughts. Maybe all Bryce needed was some real rest, a chance to heal. If they hired Sheppard full-time, then maybe Bryce could stay in Atlantis and get better there. Cameron had his doubts about what the tedious journey back east would do to his old friend. Even if the doctors there were better, the trip itself might finish the man.
As the afternoon began to fade, Bryce stirred. The nap didn't seem to have helped, as he now looked rumpled, and he shifted on the seat uncomfortably. He stretched, putting his feet up and drinking from the canteen, wincing at some pain in his chest. But his thoughts appeared to be back in Atlantis. "So, I guess Sheppard is giving in to the inevitable."
Cameron chuckled. "Looks that way." It was fairly obvious that Sheppard taking a job in town was a major step for the man's courting of Miss Weir. "To tell the truth, I never understood what a lady like Miss Weir is doing with someone like Sheppard."
"He doesn't seem like her type, that's for sure," Bryce said.
"She doesn't seem like his type either," Cameron countered. That entire relationship was a bit of a mystery to him. He liked Miss Weir, of course, and she was a very beautiful woman. She just seemed a bit stiff and formal with people a lot of the time. Part of that had to do with being a lone woman running her own business here in such a dangerous place, he knew. There were plenty of people, men especially, who'd take that kind of independence the wrong way. Though, knowing Miss Weir, she'd slay with a glance anyone who got out of line with her.
Which was why the attraction between her and Sheppard, who was the type of man who got "out of line" with people as a matter of principle, was baffling. Why would any man want a woman who would always be nagging at him about propriety and so on?
Bryce shrugged. "Sometimes you want what you think you shouldn't have." He shot a look at Cameron, who glowered at the dig. However Bryce continued to stare past his shoulder. "What's that?"
He pointed to the southeast and Cameron turned. In the distance something was moving along the horizon. "Horses," he said finally, squinting. "Line of 'em."
"Indian?"
"I don't think so." Indians in the territory were mostly confined to reservations nowadays, although roaming bands had been known to come down from the mountains. The riders didn't appear to be natives, though. "Prospectors, maybe? Or supplies for one of the mining camps?"
"Right. Probably nothing." But Bryce frowned and Cameron saw his own unease reflected in his friend's face.
They rode on, the silence now tense, until they crested the top of a hill. Off to their left was what was what the locals called the "Long Valley" since it was an unusually wide and lengthy dip in the landscape, unbroken by any major rises for several miles. It was surrounded to the west by the foothills of the Rockies and to the east by the ridge of hills that lay between them and Atlantis. They were skirting the northern-most edge of the valley before going down the path towards Denver.
Bryce put a hand on his arm and Cameron's blood ran cold. Well to the south, away from them, the valley was swarming with men and horses. Even at this distance, they could see all of them were armed to the teeth. They appeared to be filing up out of the valley in two lines, one heading northeast and one heading southeast.
Wraith. An army of Wraith.
And they were headed towards Atlantis.
Cameron reached for his gun immediately, but Bryce's fingers tightened on his arm. They had to try and get away unseen.
"We could head for the fort," Cameron said quietly as they watched. There was an army encampment along the South Platte river. "Try to get reinforcements."
"I don't think we'd make it. We need to warn Atlantis."
Cameron nodded. His first instinct was to go back anyway. Carefully he twitched the reins, guiding the horses to turn around and take them back home.
They were nearly back on their way when a shot rang out distantly. Both of them swore and Cameron slapped the horses hard, urging them to a desperate run. Behind them, a large group of men had started to charge down the valley.
*~*~*~*
Elizabeth climbed the steps into the mercantile carefully, carrying two mugs of tea, one for herself and one for Laura. The younger woman took the cup gratefully. She looked tired, and though she said she felt all right, it was clear her stomach was still bothering her. Elizabeth was beginning to worry. It had been over a week that Laura had been unwell and selfishly Elizabeth knew she couldn't handle the store on her own.
There was currently a lull in the customers, though, probably due to the mid-afternoon hour. The street outside was quiet. The older children in town were needed to work at home just now, so the school was closed for a few weeks. Daniel Jackson, the schoolteacher, had taken advantage of this to go to St. Louis to visit friends. The saloon wouldn't open for another hour yet, and even the café had been nearly deserted.
Savoring the peace, Elizabeth retreated to her office. Though she intended to go over some invoices, she found herself staring absently at the tea and trying not to yawn.
She'd been awake far into the night, arguing with herself over what to do about John. She tried to convince herself that his departure for the ranch was indicative of him not truly being ready to settle down, but in her heart she knew that wasn't true. He'd left in order to give her room to think, not because he didn't want to stay.
All night she'd been uncomfortably conscious of the emptiness of the spare room at the end of the hall. It was strange how quickly she'd gotten used to John being there all the time. She pursed her lips at the irony. All those years waiting for John to come back after his extended trips, and within a few short weeks she couldn't bear to be apart from him for a night.
By three in the morning she had been pacing back and forth, getting angrier by the minute. Why couldn't she say yes? What was wrong with her? Was she fundamentally incapable of accepting happiness? She'd had good reason to be hesitant when John proposed to her weeks ago, even if she knew John always kept his promises, no matter what. But he'd been injured and weak when he proposed. It had been prudent for her to wait and give him time to consider whether he had made a mistake.
Weeks had gone by. Without her saying a single word, John had begun to look for work, to make plans to stay in Atlantis, completely on his own. She could not have asked for a more blatant sign that he was certain about settling down and making a home here.
So why wasn't she happy? Was she that fickle to only want a man when she couldn't have him? That when he was standing before her, offering her everything she'd said she wanted, she lost interest? The thought had tortured her until she fell into bed at dawn for a couple hours of restless sleep.
Elizabeth ran a finger around the edge of the mug in her hand. John wasn't going to leave. She knew that, just as surely as she knew that she loved him.
Marriage was about more than love, of course. Compatibility, respect and trust were vitally important. Elizabeth remembered talking to her mother when Simon had first been courting her about how generous and respectful he had been. John, of course, wasn't quite the gentleman Simon had been, but if his words weren't always dignified and his actions always proper, she knew he always respected her. And she trusted John, of course.
Something nagged at her. She did trust him. She trusted John with her life. Shouldn't that mean she could trust him with her body, her heart?
Elizabeth couldn't quite pin down why the question bothered her so, but before she could pursue the thought, Laura called for her in the front of the store. Elizabeth set down her cooling tea and went back to work.
*~*~*~*
It was late afternoon when Ronon placed the last shovel of dirt over the second grave.
Janet stood mute and still alongside the three or four women who'd come to witness the burial. There were black circles under her eyes and Ronon suspected it was only sheer force of will keeping her from keeling over.
Carlotta and her unborn child had died during the night. He didn't want to think too much about what Janet had been forced to try and do to save them. In the morning, the other baby had been delivered safely, but Janet's relief was short-lived. The little boy had been pale and blue and had grown weaker with each hour. A couple of hours ago, he found Janet holding the still bundle of blankets in her arms.
The camp had no official grave digger. Ronon had taken a shovel and done the task himself, knowing that Janet wouldn't leave even a dead whore and a dead whore's child to be tossed into whatever shallow grave the saloon owner bothered to scratch out.
He stepped aside, and the other women began to place rocks over the mounds of earth, to keep animals from digging into the spot.
There were still blood stains on Janet's skirt. When she had emerged from the tent this afternoon, she had been a complete mess, blood smeared on her apron, her shirt and her arms. One of the women had brought her water to wash and Ronon had silently handed her his extra shirt to change into. She had thrown her ruined shirt and apron into the fire viciously. Now at least she was a little cleaner. The look in her eyes haunted him, though.
Ronon put a hand on her shoulder gently. "Let's go."
It was stupid, really, to leave the protection of the camp. They wouldn't make it more than halfway back to Atlantis before they ran out of daylight and the clouds building across the sky threatened rain. But she looked so hollowed out and tired, he couldn't stand the thought of making her stay in this place any longer.
She only nodded in assent. He packed their things and saddled the horses. By the time he returned to the small campfire, Janet was asleep sitting upright on the bench. Ronon hesitated for a moment before lifting her up in his arms. He managed to get her to climb up onto his horse without her waking fully. He swung himself up, wrapping an arm around her and holding the reins with his other hand. With Janet's horse tethered to his own, and Janet asleep in front of him, he guided the horse down the trail and away from the camp.
*~*~*~*
Cameron rode as if the devil were after him. Which had been the case until a short while ago.
He bent low over the horse's neck, blocking out the pain from the bullets lodged in his arm and his side. Even though the Wraith army he and Bryce had run into had stopped pursuing him, he couldn't rest yet.
Cameron doubted that he would ever forget Bryce Ferguson's face, gray with pain and fatigue, grabbing the reins to the wagon and halting the horses as they fled. When Cameron stared in confusion, Bryce shook his head towards the horizon, towards and Atlantis and said one word, "Go."
He had wanted to argue. He had wanted to deny that any of it was happening. But it was already too late.
He had left one of his guns and his extra ammunition with Bryce, who crawled into the back of the wagon, staying low, armed with a rifle and two smaller guns. Cameron slashed the reins, freeing the horses before he climbed up on the back of the nearest one. Then he'd paused to look into the wagon one last time.
"The ranch is yours. The will's on file with the lawyers," Bryce had said.
"Bryce-" He hadn't known what else to say.
"Get out of here, Mitchell. I'll kill as many of the bastards as I can, but you need to get back and warn them."
Cameron was pretty sure the Wraith had torched the wagon. He prayed his old friend had died before that happened.
Bryce Ferguson's last act in this world had been to sacrifice himself so Cameron could warn Atlantis. Cameron had no intention of letting that act go to waste.
*~*~*~*
Part 3