by Deeanne Gist
She sunk back into the sweet oblivion of sleep.
Fists clenched, Drew towered over his grandmother. “Why did you not send for me?”
She handed him a cup of stew. “Raise not your voice to me, young man. She was only awake for a moment.”
“She asked for me?”
“She asked for Sally.”
He glanced across the room. Mayhap she’d wake again.
“Fetch more blankets, Grandma,” he snapped. “The shivering’s getting worse.”
Grandma went to do his bidding while he sat on the bed, tucking the covers tightly around her body. It was nearing noon.
“So ccccccold.” Her eyes never even opened.
He jumped to his feet. “I know, love. I know. I’ve more blankets coming.” He swiveled around. “Make haste! She’s cold!” Grandma handed him a pile of blankets and he layered them atop Constance. “Is that better? Constance? Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
“The fire,” he said over his shoulder. “Stoke the fire! She’s cold!”
Grandma didn’t move.
“Make haste! Do you not ken she’s cold?”
Grandma’s lined face softened. “Her fever’s coming back, Drew. In a moment she’ll be burning up again. The blankets we can peel off. The fire is not so easy. We’ll leave it as it is.”
“A fie upon you, Grandma! She’s going to shake right out of this bed! Now stoke the blasted fire!”
“When did you fall in love with her?”
He stopped, the last blanket hanging from his hands, then returned to his task. “Will you please stoke the fire?”
“No.”
He placed the blanket over Constance with meticulous care then sank onto the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands. “I thought you came to help me tend to her. Why are you not helping?”
Grandma gathered his unbound hair and smoothed it behind his shoulders. “I didn’t come to help. I came to tend to her. I assumed you would be out working on the new house with your men. I never dreamed you’d leave that project for them to do unsupervised, yet you’ve ventured out only a handful of times and didn’t stay gone for long at that. Why did you even bother sending for me?”
He turned his face, resting it on his fists while looking at Constance. “The shivering’s stopped.”
Grandma sat down beside him, rubbing her gnarled hand back and forth across his back. They stayed as such for several long moments.
Drew sighed. “I beg your pardon for cursing and raising my voice. I..I have no excuse to offer.”
“The woman you love is seasoning. No need to ask my pardon.”
“Will she die, do you think?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Moving her hand to his waist, she gave him a brief squeeze. “It’s too early to tell. Until these spikes of fever start to decline, we won’t know.”
“But there was next to no fever yesterday. And she’s awakened several times. Long enough to drink a bit of broth, anyway.”
“You know how the ague and fever are. One day good. One day bad. The bad days getting worse and worse until either the fevers peak and begin to decline or the fevers peak and...”
He lowered his forehead into his hands. “She wasn’t to go in after Sally. When I heard that splash, I know not which I felt more strongly-anger or terror. But I didn’t have time to reel her back in, plus go after Sally.” He took a deep breath. “Then they both went under. By my life, it reminded me of...of Margaret. Of a sudden, I was seven again staring at that burning cottage, knowing Margaret was in there, knowing it should have been me instead.”
Grandma stroked his hair. “Margaret’s death wasn’t your fault.”
“She was under my care.”
“You were a child.”
“It makes no matter.”
She paused. “I was there too.”
He looked sharply at her. “What mean you?”
“I came upon the savages directly after they’d set the torch to the roof,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I thought all three of you were in there. Instead of confronting them, I ran for your father.” She shook her head. “No, I should have been the one to save Margaret.”
“They’d have killed you.”
She nodded. “As they would have you.”
He wrapped his arm about her. “Father never would have expected a woman to stand up to them.”
“Constance would have.” She swiped her cheeks.
“Constance has no power within her brain.”
Grandma leaned back to look at him. “Constance is smarter than most men I know.”
He allowed his arm to slide from Grandma’s shoulder. Resting his elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands together. “Why say you I love her?”
“Because of your actions.”
He stood and strode to the fire. Propping his hand against its frame, he gazed into its leaping flames. It was true and he knew it. Not only because he’d like to have her between the sheets, though heaven knew he certainly craved that, but because of her very being. Her spunk. Her determination. Her devotion to her uncle. Her devotion to Sally. Her devotion to her Lord.
But, God help him, he didn’t want to succumb to those feelings. For he knew only too well the pain it would lead to. Why, even now her life hung in a fragile balance.
“I’ve tried to keep her at a distance,” he said. “I have.”
“Ah, Drew. Have you not figured it out yet?”
He said nothing.
Grandma rocked a bit. Back and forth. Back and forth. “I know not why you thought to distance yourself from her. You’ve never even been able to distance yourself from the little ones. You were drawn to your baby brothers and sisters from the moment you laid eyes on them. So was Nellie. You should see her with that baby of hers. Why, you’d think that child was the king’s heir.
“Yet Nellie’s husband has given their little one no more than a second glance. Not even has he held that sweet boy. If, God forbid, they do lose the baby to this unsympathetic land, who do you suppose is the richer? Nellie, for having shared what precious moments God granted her with the babe, or Gerald, who would have lost the opportunity to know, hold, and love his firstborn?”
“Gerald.”
Grandma hooted. “Oh, Drew, you’re missing the point on purpose.” Slowly, she sobered. “But make no mistake. You’ve a wife here that you love, whether you like it or not. You might lose her and you might not. If you don’t, I suggest you spend what additional time you have with her sharing that love to its fullest. Otherwise, you will die a very lonely man.”
“Lonely men don’t get hurt.”
“Lonely men are the most bitter creatures of all.” She rose and pulled a blanket off Constance, refolding it.
“What are you doing?”
“Her fever’s back.”
Drew reached for the bucket. “I’ll fetch more water.”
“You’re sure you won’t stay?”
Grandma shook her head. “There’s no purpose. You’ve Mary here to cook for the men and for you. You have the men to labor on the big house. And since you refuse to leave Constance’s side, there is really nothing for me to do. Besides, I miss my great-grandson.”
“But what of Sally? You’re sure she’s fit for travel?”
“Travel!” Grandma snorted. “I’d hardly call a trek to Nellie’s travel.”
“Still, only a week has passed since her ordeal.”
Grandma glanced down at Sally, her little face shining beneath the layers of clothing wrapped around her head and body. “She’s fine, Drew.”
“I see Nellie!”
Drew sighed. “Very well. Isaac will escort you.” He gave Grandma a hug. “Is there nothing special I should do for Constance?”
Grandma patted his cheek. “Pray. 'For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.’”
He nodded and lifted Sally into his arms. “You tell Nelli
e that if she doesn’t give that nephew of ours a name, we’ll be calling him...oh, what say you? Jael?”
Sally crinkled her nose. “I never heard that name.”
Drew smiled. “It means 'mountain goat.’”
She barely suppressed a groan. Her head hurt. Her stomach hurt. Her whole blessed body hurt. Opening her eyes, she oriented herself, noting she lay in Drew’s bed and he slumbered in that chair of his.
His hair was unbound, his face unshaved, his clothes wrinkled. He looked almost as bad as she felt. She turned her head a bit. Mary bustled around the fire as usual, but nowhere was Sally. Looking back at Drew, she discovered his gaze fastened upon her. She tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.
“How do you feel?”
“Thirsty.”
He rose then returned with some broth. She tried to lift her head, but he slipped his hand beneath her in assistance. The broth flowed down her throat but didn’t set well within her stomach. “No more.”
Setting the broth aside, he perched on the bed. “Are you cold? hot?”
She gave a slight shake of her head. Fine, she mouthed.
He touched her forehead. “No fever right now. It was bad yesterday, though.”
“How many days?” she whispered.
“About eight. You should start getting better, though. I’m thinking the worst is over.”
“Sally?”
“She’s fine. Gone with Grandma to visit Nellie and the new baby.”
“Grandma. I thought I’d dreamed it.”
He brushed her hair back from her face. “Is there anything you want? Anything I can get you?”
“It hurts.”
He rubbed her arms. “What hurts?”
“Everything.”
He leaned down and placed a light kiss on her head. “I’m sorry.”
She smiled slightly, then closed her eyes. It was too much effort to keep them open.
The fever didn’t drop as it usually did in the evening. Instead it continued to climb higher and higher. He bathed her with cool cloths when she burned. Wiped her with dry ones when she sweat. Still, it did not cease.
Her limbs swelled and her pallor dimmed, causing even her freckles to lose their luster. She tossed her head, she moaned, she looked near death. It would happen tonight. She’d either survive or she wouldn’t.
He’d never prayed so hard in his life. He barely noticed Mary refilling the bucket, replenishing the rags, subduing the fire.
If you let her survive, he told God, I’ll allow her to educate Sally.
Her fever continued to rise. He threw the covers from the bed, bathing her arms and legs as well as her face and neck. Moments later, her nightdress and the bedding were saturated with her sweat.
He stripped her nightdress from her, frantic to mop the perspiration from her body. Mary moved to his side with fresh linens. He lifted Constance into his arms, hugging her to him while Mary tightened the bed ropes and changed the linens.
If you let her survive, I’ll never have another lustful thought about her.
He and Mary slipped a dry nightdress onto her. She was ablaze again, her skin now a deep red. He quickly laid her down and set to swabbing her with cool water.
Please. Please. Don’t let her die.
The water all but sizzled against her skin. Her temperature couldn’t go any higher. It couldn’t. Yet it did. He slipped his hand into hers. She squeezed it in response.
Yes, Constance. I’m here. I’m here. And then he realized. She wasn’t responding to him. Her whole body was tightening up. She was going into a convulsion.
Oh, God! Oh, God!
Her face tensed. Her body became rigid. He wrenched his hand from hers, quickly turning her head to the side.
Breathe, Constance! Breathe! Her body remained rigid, her chest still. He prayed and prayed and prayed.
All right! All right! If you let her survive, I’ll honor my marriage vows and keep her to wife for the rest of my entire wretched life. Just let her live! I love her, Lord! I love her!
Her chest caught. Her body slowly relaxed. She began to breathe again. Jerking a cloth from the bucket, he proceeded to bathe her, prepared to continue doing so for as long as it took. He never noticed the tears coursing down his face.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I lied, Lord. About the lustful thoughts part.
He scanned her covered sleeping form. She was resting peacefully, the fever, for now, subdued. It had come and gone in spikes for the last several days, each spike lower than the last. In another couple of days, it should leave her completely.
Then what? How, in all that was holy, would he tell her he wanted her for wife after giving her such a blistering rejection when she’d first offered to stay?
He sighed. He’d not had much time to think about his promises to God. Heretofore, he’d continued to care for her during her feverish bouts, trying to catch a bit of sleep in between.
He was wide-awake now, though, and thinking of all he’d said and done. That’s when the lustful thoughts began. So worried had he been before, he’d barely even been cognizant of her as a...well, as a woman. But his subconscious had evidently been paying very strict attention. And now that the danger was over, it was reminding him with remarkable accuracy and frequency of her slim graceful arms. Her dainty curved feet. Her long willowy legs. Among other things.
He closed his eyes, trying to slow his errant thoughts. Instead, he recalled the moments he’d held her while Mary had changed the bedding. Her skin had been creamy and smooth, burning not only where he’d touched, but burning his very soul.
He took a deep breath. Yes, he’d definitely been lying about the lustful thoughts part. Still, she was his wife and now that he intended to make an honest go of it, surely it was permissible to have such thoughts about one’s own mate. He frowned. He couldn’t seem to call up one Scripture that said as such. Surely it said that somewhere. He grabbed his Bible and lowered himself into his chair.
“So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it.”
Well, he certainly loved her body, but no matter how he manipulated the passage, he knew it had nothing to do with that. He continued to flip through the pages.
“Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands.”
An excellent verse, but not what he was looking for at the moment. He turned back toward the front.
Aha! “Rejoice with the wife of thy youth. Let her be as the loving hind and pleasant roe; let her breasts satisfy thee at all times; and be thou ravished always with her love.”
He slammed the Good Book closed. God would not hold him to the lustful thoughts part of his promise. As for the rest, he intended to keep to the letter his pledge.
He cringed at the thought of educating Sally, but perhaps that would work to his advantage. Constance would be very pleased at the prospect of tutoring her again.
After storing his Bible beneath his chair, he looked toward the bed. She was staring at him. Feeling color flood his face, he shifted in his chair.
“God ye good den.”
He nodded. “Good afternoon.”
She lay still for a few more moments. “I’m hungry.”
He lifted the corners of his mouth a fraction. “That’s wonderful.”
“Might I have something to eat?”
“Certainly.” He stayed where he was.
She frowned slightly. “Drew? Is everything all right?”
He cleared his throat. “Fine, fine. Everything’s fine.” He turned his head slightly but kept his eyes on Constance. “Mary? Might you bring Constance a bit of broth?”
Constance’s gaze wandered to the fire and then touched on different spots in the cottage. “Mary isn’t in here.”
He twisted around. “Oh. So she isn’t. Well, I’ll get you something in a moment or two.”
She moistened her lips.
His breath caught
. “Or three.”
Touching her hand to her forehead, she frowned again. “I also need to, well, your pardon, but I need to make use of the chamber pot. Um, now.”
He shot to his feet and made his way hastily to the door. “I’ll find Mary.”
“Drew! Your coat!”
But he was already out the door.
Constance drank in the sight of his ruddy cheeks and nose, along with his wind-tossed hair. Peeling off his jacket, he shook the snowflakes from its folds and hooked it on a peg. “You look wonderful,” he said, easing into a smile.
He was dressed for winter. He’d attached the sleeves to his leather jerkin with cording and donned thick woolen breeches. Stockings and shoes had been exchanged for boots. “Compared to what?” she asked.
He moved to the foot of the bed. “Compared to this morning, compared to yesterday, compared to last week, I don’t know. You simply look wonderful.”
It was a bald-faced lie, but she wouldn’t argue with him. “Were you at the big house?”
He nodded.
“Did it suffer any from the storm?”
“What storm?”
She hesitated. “The rainstorm, Drew. You remember the one? I believe Sally got lost in it?”
He raised a brow. “The house is fine.”
She smoothed the coverlet’s wrinkles. “Is the roof on yet?”
“Hardly. We only started on the chimney this morn.”
Frowning, she looked up. “I thought you said I’d been ill for almost three weeks.”
“You have.”
“Then what in the world have you been doing?”
He stiffened. “The siding is on. The windows and doors are in. And the cornice boards have been completed. Is that all right with you?”
“I was simply worried about the snow. What with no roof, won’t the snow cause problems?”
“No.” He strode to the fire, rubbing his hands together in its warmth.
She sighed. “When will Sally be home?”
“I’ll bring her home after the Christmas service.”
