A Convenient Wife

by Carolyn Davidson

  He nodded. “It’s past the point of formation a long time ago. Now, he’s just growing, sapping Ellie’s strength with his demands on her system. Babies are selfish little creatures, Ethel. They don’t care about anything but the nourishment they require to live and grow. We need to control the fever if we can. That’s our worry now, so that the baby won’t be harmed.”

  “You need to eat, Doc. I’ve made some good soup, killed one of my laying hens this morning.”

  “I appreciate that,” Win told her, tearing his gaze from Ellie to focus on his neighbor. “I never did ask you about Mary Beth’s baby.”

  Ethel laughed softly. “She’s fine. That little girl just squirted right out into my hands, like she’d been waiting for me to walk in the room. Mary Beth laughed at the look on my face. I had her all cleaned up in no time, and when I left she was nursing real good. I looked over the afterbirth, and it was all there.”

  Win nodded. “I appreciate your help. I figured it would be an easy birth. And from what I’ve heard, you’re pretty good at it.”

  “So long as it all goes according to plan, I do just fine,” Ethel said. She bent her gaze on Ellie again. “I’m anxious for this one to come to term. I’d like to be here to help you, Doc. She’s a fine girl.” Her eyes met his and her smile trembled. “You think she’s gonna be all right?”

  He nodded wearily. “I have to believe that, Ethel. It’s all I’ve got to lean on right now.”

  “The folks over at the church have got a prayer vigil going on for Ellie. They’ve been taking turns at the altar since yesterday afternoon when you rode in with her. There’s a couple of the ladies who had something to say when you married Ellie, and they’re right there with the rest of them, taking a shift, even during the night hours.”

  “I’ll never be able to thank folks enough,” Win whispered. “Now, if their prayers are answered, I’ll be forever grateful.”

  “I’m prayin’, too,” Ethel said gruffly. “Even when I was stirrin’ the soup. I figure when she wakes up enough, we’ll need to have something ready for her to eat. She’s lookin’ scrawny already, like she’s been doin’ without food.”

  “I don’t think she’s eaten since she was taken from here. Maybe something that night at her father’s place, but then she was hauled out to a line shack for a day and a half before she got away. I suppose there was food of sorts there, but she’s looking peaked, all right.”

  His hand measured her cheek, and he felt and saw new hollows where there had never been any sign of laxness in her flesh before. Her hands were fragile seeming, her nails holding a bluish tinge. “She’s had a hard time breathing today,” Win said. “I’ve propped her up to help a little, and I was thinking to set up a pan of water, so the steam would ease her lungs.”

  Ethel stood quickly. “I can do that, Doc. I’ll bring a wide basin in and add boiling water every so often to keep the steam rising. We’ll just empty it when it fills up and start over.” As if she were pleased to have a task assigned, she hurried from the room and Win bent his head, his hands holding one of Ellie’s in his clasp.

  Her fingers twitched, then stilled, and he opened his eyes, shaking his head. He’d dozed off for a moment, and yet… Her fingers twitched again and he inhaled sharply. “Ellie? Are you awake?”

  Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned, a soft sound of distress that tore at his heart. “Win? Where are you?” Her eyes opened, the soft brown gaze meeting his, and he felt tears spring to blur his vision.

  “I’m here, honey. I’m right here.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss upon the hot skin. “Are you in pain?”

  She looked puzzled and then shook her head. “No. Just so hot, Win. My mouth is dry.”

  He lifted her and offered water from a glass he’d had ready. She sipped, swallowed and gasped. “Hurts to swallow,” she whimpered, but opened her mouth for more of the cool water.

  “Drink as much as you can,” he told her. “The fever has dehydrated you, Ellie. You need all the fluid we can get into you.”

  She nodded, wincing as the water slid down her throat. “Baby?” She murmured the single word, but it spoke volumes to his ears.

  “The baby’s fine,” he assured her. “The heartbeat is strong, and he’s been moving a lot.”

  “She.” It was a soft whisper, but his lips curved in a smile at its message.

  “You think you’re going to have a girl?” he asked, his words teasing.

  She nodded. “All right?”

  Did he mind? “As long as you’re healthy, I don’t care what it is, Ellie,” he told her firmly. He held the glass up to her mouth again and she obligingly swallowed, then turned away.

  “Enough.” She relaxed against his forearm and he bent over her, his embrace loose. The need to hold her went far beyond the urges of his body. She was precious to him, this slender waif he’d married. His very being yearned to come to her aid, to give her his own strength, to spread arms of comfort around her and infuse her with healing.

  “I love you, Ellie.” He’d waited too long to speak the words, but they begged utterance, and he repeated them again. “I love you, sweetheart. Can you hear me?”

  Her lids fluttered open again, and a wistful smile curved her lips. “Really, Win? Do you really?” As though speaking those few words took every ounce of strength she possessed, her eyes closed again, and she was limp against him.

  “Oh, God, Ellie. I’ve said every prayer I know, and made every promise in the book, if only you’ll get better. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sweetheart.”

  She sighed, nestling closer, and he lifted her, quilt and all, to hold her in his arms. His head bent and he placed his face against hers, then stilled as he became aware of dampness against his skin. Perspiration beaded her brow, and Win picked up the towel to wipe it from her flesh.

  “Win?” A masculine voice caught his attention and he laid the towel aside.

  “I think her fever just broke,” he said, looking toward the doorway as James cleared his throat. “Now, we have to watch for chills.”

  “How’s she doing? Kate sent me over.”

  “This is the first she’s been awake,” Win said. “And she’s lucid. But there’s a lot of congestion. I’m going to have Ethel make up a mustard plaster to put on her chest.”

  “Let me pass, Sheriff.” Ethel was behind James, and he stepped inside the room as she entered, a large pan of steaming water in her hands. It was heavy, and she carried it with care, depositing it on the floor on the far side of the bed. “I’ll make a tent with sheets,” she offered. “Thought I’d bring in a couple of chairs and sort of aim the steam in Ellie’s direction.”

  “I’ll help,” Win said. “She needs to be closer to the steam anyway.” He bent to place her in the middle of the bed, covering her with the sheet and light quilt. She opened her eyes again and smiled, then inhaled, coughing harshly. “I want you to lay on your side, facing the steam, Ellie,” Win told her. He propped a pillow behind her back and she did as he asked, breathing heavily.

  Within minutes, they’d formed the makeshift tent, and Win settled down to watch. “I’ll bring some soup in a while,” Ethel told him, and he nodded. Footsteps alerted him as James came closer, but his gaze was unmoving, and only the pressure of the sheriff’s hand on his shoulder told him of the man’s presence.

  And then he was alone with Ellie, his breathing matching hers, his mind racing as he sorted mentally through his medicine, deciding on the best course to take.

  The steam helped to ease her breathing. Ethel sliced onions thinly, and brought in a dish filled with the pungent vegetable, then dumped them in the water. “That’ll make her breathing even better,” she told Win. For hours she carried one panful after another of steaming water to keep the moisture rising.

  Win coaxed Ellie to drink, offering the water he knew would be soaked up by her dehydrated body, water the child she carried would use with no care for the woman whose blood held the nutrients needed t
o sustain life.

  At dark, Win lifted Ellie again in his arms and coaxed her to sip small amounts of broth from a spoon. Ethel had cut up the noodles, making it easier for Ellie to swallow them. It was an effort, but as though she recognized Win’s concern, she accepted the spoon he offered and swallowed the warm broth, persisting until her eyes closed and she could no longer stay awake.

  She slept then, and Win edged her over, lying on top of the quilt behind her. It was late in the night when she woke him, her body shivering, her teeth chattering and he rose quickly. Stripping from his outer clothing, he slid between the sheets and gathered her close, warming her with his own body’s heat. The quilt was warm, and Ethel had built up the fire in the kitchen, allowing the heat to pour through the rest of the house.

  Yet, Ellie trembled with the dreadful chills that would not release her body from their frigid tentacles. The sun was rising as she shivered for the final time, and settled in his embrace, relaxing against his warmth. He rose to pull on his trousers, wanting to be prepared should he need to call Ethel for help.

  And then he slept, holding her, waking when she coughed, offering her water and keeping her covered lest the chills take her once more. He roused when Ethel came into the room to change the water in the steam bath, and assured her that she could leave and seek her own bed. And was not surprised when the woman shook her head in silent refusal, knowing Ethel possessed a bent to aiding those in need. Win slept soundly then.

  But by full daylight, Ellie’s temperature rose again.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Ruth Kincaid is here?” Win blinked, reaching for his spectacles, as if the close-vision strength of his lenses could somehow bring Ethel into focus. They only served to blur her pleasant features, and, feeling foolish, he placed them back on the table beside Ellie’s bed. He’d read medical books, one after another, until the print blurred before him, and then, when the rooster crowed from behind old lady Harroun’s boardinghouse, he’d placed his head on the pillow beside his wife, and closed his eyes.

  Now Ethel stood in the bedroom doorway, patiently waiting for him to gather his wits. “She’s come to take a look at Ellie, Doc,” Ethel said softly. Her gaze settled on Ellie’s face, pale once more after the battle against fever during the night hours. “She’s not lookin’ too good, Doc. I’d think you’d take any help offered.”

  “Yes.” Win staggered to his feet, the weariness of sleepless nights making him weave as he retrieved his spectacles once more, tucking them in his shirt pocket.

  “Shall I have her come in?” Ethel asked.

  Win looked back at his wife, discouragement running rampant as he thought of what her illness might do to the child she carried. Certainly, he would welcome help, in any form, he decided.

  “Send her in,” he said quietly, then turned to rinse his face in the basin of water he’d used to bathe Ellie with during the night hours. His hands held the towel over his eyes for a moment, rubbing gently against the closed lids, before he placed it beside the china bowl.

  Ruth Kincaid stood before him, her dark eyes fathomless as she watched him. A faint smile touched her lips, and she stepped closer, one slender hand reaching to touch his forearm beneath the rolled-up, wrinkled shirtsleeve. Her fingertips brushed lightly across his skin, barely disturbing the pattern of dark hair, yet he felt a warmth against his flesh that radiated from within the woman herself.

  Bowing his head, he spoke her name. “Ruth. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I know,” she answered, the soft syllables almost musical in their tone. “I came to help,” she said quietly. “Will you allow me?”

  Win felt ashamed of his hesitation of only moments past, nodding quickly, all too aware that Ruth’s presence must often have been brushed aside as of little value. And even more so the healing hands she offered. Too many folks on the frontier gave little credence to the Indian way of life, understanding even less the worth of herbs and mystical knowledge that was pervasive in lives of the Native Americans.

  Winston Gray was not one of them. He’d learned much in medical school. Even more in his short time in Whitehorn. The Cheyenne woman known as Ruth Kincaid was in fact the wife of Caleb, James’s cousin, and Win had heard her described as a healer. If that was true, if she could somehow lend her talents and gifts to heal Ellie, he would gladly step aside.

  Covering Ruth’s hand with his own, he led her to the bedside, and together they watched Ellie, silence stretching between them like a bond. Her fingers squeezed his, a gentle farewell to his touch, and she knelt beside Ellie, a graceful movement that offered Win a view of dark hair, woven with wildflowers into a braid. The scent was refreshing, bringing a trace of meadow into the sickroom, and he wondered at its significance.

  It mattered little, and he harnessed his roving thoughts, directing them to the examination Ruth began to conduct. Her hand picked up Ellie’s and she wove their fingers together, palms touching, bending her head to lay her cheek against Ellie’s breast. She was silent, barely causing a movement of the bedcovers as she listened to the heart tones.

  They were slow now, Win knew, for he’d placed his fingers on Ellie’s throat upon awakening. It was a welcome relief from the rapid pulse that had fluttered against his ear during the time of fever.

  “Eleanor?” Ruth’s whisper was sweet, melodic, and, as Win watched, Ellie’s eyelids fluttered in response to the calling of her Christian name. A name he’d never used.

  “Eleanor? I want you to come back to me,” Ruth said quietly. “I’m going to give you some tea to drink and you must be awake to swallow it.”

  At the doorway, Ethel caught Win’s eye, her hands wrapped around a cup, steam rising from its contents. “It came to a boil, Mrs. Kincaid,” she said, a measure of respect obvious in her voice.

  “Good.” Ruth rose to take it from Ethel’s hands, and she placed it on the small table beside the bed. Then she turned to Win. “May I be alone with her?” Her eyes were placid, as if she would accept the denial of her request, should it be given. And, indeed, Win hesitated, unwilling to allow Ellie from his sight.

  “Doctor?”

  He nodded, turning to the doorway, and Ethel stood aside as he walked from the room.

  “Do you need me?” Ethel offered Ruth her assistance, and Win was not surprised to hear the negative reply she was given.

  That Ruth was a healer no longer seemed questionable, not even to his educated mind, which automatically rejected such a fanciful notion. That she insisted on being alone to perform her acts of healing, or magic, or whatever it was called, was not a surprise. The Cheyenne were a private people, proud and intelligent. He would take whatever Ruth was able to offer, and be thankful.

  The kitchen was filled with fragrance, coffee blending with bacon, corn bread and soup beans—a tempting aroma that brought his empty stomach to immediate attention. “I think I’d better eat something,” he told Ethel, who had followed him from the bedroom.

  She bustled from cupboard to stove, then to the table, bearing a bowl of beans and a plate of corn bread. Bacon edged the golden offering, and beside it she placed a full cup of coffee. Steam rose and Win inhaled its scent. “I didn’t know I was so hungry.” He smiled at Ethel as he picked up a fork she’d provided.

  “Stands to reason,” she said shortly. “You’ve been in there for a long time, Doc. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll fall sick, and then where will Ellie be? Not to mention the rest of the folks who depend on you.”

  “It’s only been since yesterday,” he said, inhaling the scent of coffee, eager for its effect on his body. He would be renewed by eating, refreshed by the coffee, able to stay awake for the rest of the day.

  From the doorway, Ruth spoke softly to Ethel. “Will you take this basin and empty it out?” she asked. “Then I’d like you to boil water on the stove and add the herbs I’ll give you. The steam from them will help.”

  Ethel moved quickly, eager to do as she was bidden. “It won’t take long,” she told
Ruth. “I’ve just built up the fire real good, and the teakettle is full already.” She lifted the heavy, iron container, hefting it to gauge its contents. “Won’t take long at all,” she assured Ruth again, placing the teakettle atop the hottest portion of the stove.

  Win glanced back at the doorway, unsurprised at Ruth’s absence. The woman walked on wind, he’d heard. What did surprise him was the warming of his heart with the knowledge of her presence in his home. Bending over his plate, he ate, even past the point of the assuagement of his hunger, knowing he would take little nourishment throughout the day.

  A knock at the back door drew his attention, and he pushed from the table. No doubt this was a call for his services, and he was torn by the conflict. Whether to leave Ellie and go to help some other patient, or refuse his helping touch to another in order to stay by her side. A rancher stood outside the screen door, hat in hand, an anxious look on his face.

  “Doc? My boy fell from the hayloft and it looks like his leg is broke.”

  Win shook his head. “I can’t leave my wife,” he said quietly, and though it pained him to issue the blunt refusal, he was adamant. “You’ll have to bring him here.”

  The rancher, Clive Madison, nodded briefly. “I heard she was pretty sick, Doc. So I brought my boy on the wagon. Will it be all right if I carry him inside?”

  Win nodded, stepping toward the hallway. “Come this way,” he said, holding the door open. “Bring the boy in the front way and I’ll see you in my office.” Clive walked past him, and on out the front door, leaving it open. The wind blew through, caught by the draft from the kitchen, and Win closed that door quickly, lest the heat disappear.

  He made a quick detour to his bedroom, where Ruth knelt beside the wide bed, and his glance within was brief. Sensing his presence, Ruth looked up, and her smile was serene. “I’ll be in my office with a patient,” he told her. “Clive Madison’s boy broke his leg.”