Chasing the Sunset
Page 11
Maggie felt energized by her decision, and she jumped from the bed and rushed down the stairs barefoot, hair flying everywhere. She knew Nick was in the library, and she flung open the door. Nick looked up in surprise from his book, a lock of his dark hair falling over his forehead, and smiled absently at her.
“Hello,” he said. “Come to get a book to read? I just got some new ones in this morning from my cousins in Boston, and I am going through them now. Care to look at one?”
“No,” Maggie said breathlessly. “I want to talk to you.” She took a deep breath and blurted it out. “I heard some ... ladies talking in town while we were in the store. They said that you killed your wife by throwing her down the stairs.”
Nick stared at her a moment, then shut the book he was holding. “So that is what has been bothering you. You have been . . . different ever since we took the trip to Geddes. So you heard someone in the store said something . . . not Mrs. Jenkins, was it? I did not think she believed all that. She has never acted as if she did.”
“No, it was not. I overheard two women talking.”
Nick stood up, and Maggie curbed a desire to back up a step. That was an old behavior, and she had vowed to leave that old life with its limiting fears behind. His dark eyes were fastened on her face, and he took a step closer, and closer still. Maggie started to tremble, and she
shivered when he stopped right before her and raised a hand to tuck a long wisp of hair behind her ear.
“What do you think, sweet Maggie?” he murmured. “Do you think I pushed her down, or was it an accident?” His lean brown hand caressed her face, and Maggie knew it was not fear that made her breath come so rapidly, made her heart thrum and vibrate. Nick’s hand slipped to her slim white throat, closed gently around her neck. She could feel his breath on her face; he stood so close that she had to tilt her head back to see his face. His thighs touched hers, and Maggie ached suddenly at the contact. She felt liquid at the core of her; the heat from his body was melting her.
“Well?” he whispered. “What is the verdict, Maggie? Did I do it? Did I snap her neck and throw her down those stairs, or did she fall?” He pulled her closer with a hand on the small of her back and she went willingly, her body melting and contouring itself to his. He smiled devilishly and Maggie felt a need to put a finger in the deep dimple in his cheek, and so she did. He was hot to the touch, the skin underneath her fingers burning, and she let them trail away from his face, slowly.
“I do not think you could do something like that,” she breathed throatily, tilting her head back farther in anticipation of his kiss. She arched her back to bring her aching breasts to his attention, and he obliged her by cupping one rounded globe in his hand and gently squeezing the nipple between forefinger and thumb.
Maggie moaned, and the sound seemed to snap his control. He crashed his mouth down on hers, and Maggie opened immediately to him, their tongues dueling in a dark battle for
dominance. They drank from each other, Maggie’s arms going up around his neck, his locked tightly around her back. They could not get close enough. Nick ripped his mouth from hers to lave a trail of hot kisses down the sensitive skin of her neck. Maggie’s breath came in short, sharp pants now. She could feel his erection against her, and she squirmed and raised herself onto tiptoe to bring him into better contact. She groaned when his hands went to her buttocks and pulled her into place.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Nick . . . “
He nuzzled her nightrail aside until the creamy flesh of her breast was available to his mouth, then took a nipple in to suck avidly. Maggie nearly screamed her pleasure, and Nick carried her to the nearest table, sweeping books out of his way with one violent motion. He lowered himself onto her, and Maggie wrapped her legs around him while he rocked against her, her nightrail riding up nearly to her waist. Nick’s hands found her naked flesh, and the friction of his trousers against the core of her had her crying out wildly.
“Maggie,” he breathed. “Maggie . . . “
Suddenly he lifted his head, then swiftly pulled her from the table. It took Maggie a moment to understand what had happened. She stared at him, still in a haze of desire.
“What . . . “
”Shh.” Nick put one finger to his lips, and Maggie could hear it now. There were footsteps in the hall, coming closer.
“Mr. Nick?” The tremulous tones belonged to Tommy. “I heard loud noises. Is everything okay?”
“I am fine, Tommy,” Nick called. “I just dropped a box of books. I will walk you back to your room, wait right there.”
Nick turned to look at Maggie. She hurt in the pit of her stomach, desire clenching there still, clutching her insides like a fist.
“Go to bed,” he said softly. “Do not be here when I get back, Maggie. I did not kill my wife.”
“I know,” she whispered back. “Nick, I . . . “
He put a hand up to the side of his head, his eyes hard as granite.
“Please, Maggie. Please go back to your room.”
Shakily, she nodded her head, and Nick turned on his heel and left. She could hear him talking to Tommy on the way up the stairs, and when she peeked out, Nick’s arm was around Tommy’s too-thin shoulders, his dark head lowered close to Tommy’s blond one. He was listening intently to whatever Tommy was saying. She smiled to herself at the two of them, one so light and the other so dark, their very posture telling a story about the affection each held for the other. Nick was a good man. Even if his wife had given him reason, he would not have hurt her. Something inside of her had always known that. The murmur of their conversation got farther and farther away, and Maggie slipped up the stairs. There was one other thing she wished she had asked Nick, though. Maggie grinned broadly as she crawled into her bed.
What was it about the library that made him feel so amorous?
Kathleen held up the lavender dress and admired her work. She had just finished bordering the low, square neckline with dozens of purple lace rosettes, putting tiny stitches in the delicate lace with infinite patience. Maggie thought that they looked beautiful. She had picked a simple, austere pattern for her dresses; they were all plain and functional, falling straight from the bodice to the floor, their only concession to fashion a ruffle around the bottom, and Kathleen had kicked up a fuss when she saw what Maggie intended. She had brought a collection of lace and furbelows from home, and practically forced Maggie to add them to her new dresses. Maggie picked up the blue that reminded her of cornflowers and hugged it to her, scarcely able to believe that it was hers.
“This is going to be somewhat cooler than that horrible thing you are wearing right now,” Kathleen said matter-of-factly. “I would put it on if I were you. It is hot, and we are going to roast in the kitchen today.”
“Oh, I could not,” Maggie protested. “It is too pretty to wear for everyday.”
Kathleen looked at her in exasperation, and put her hands on ample hips. “Put it on, Maggie. What is the point of denying yourself? This one has short sleeves and a lowered neckline, and you know you are dying in this unseasonal heat. It is September, for heaven’s sake, it is supposed to be cooler now. I know that I am dying from the heat, and my dress is a lot cooler than yours.” She cast a disparaging glance at Maggie’s attire. “And a whole lot prettier, too.”
Maggie dimpled at her. “You make me sound silly, Kathleen, when you put it like that. I will wear it.”
She shucked her clothes easily, naturally in front of Kathleen and pulled the light purple dress over her head, doing up the buttons hurriedly. She tied the sash behind her as she stood in front of the ornate, full-length mirror Kathleen had moved into her room when they had begun their sewing.
The simple lines of the dress suited her, and the small touches Kathleen had added to each one, though just little things, made the dresses beautiful. Maggie could remember vividly the last time she’d had a new dress; it had been when her parents were still alive. The dress had been a beautiful brown velvet wit
h lace cuffs, and she had loved the way the velvet felt when she touched it, like the warm living pelt of some small animal.
Kathleen smiled at her from over her shoulder. Maggie felt a smile come bursting out from deep inside her.
“I look . . . pretty, do I not?”
Kathleen laughed, a deep, throaty, from-the-belly laugh that made Maggie’s smile stretch even broader.
“You look beautiful, Maggie. You have put on a little weight since you got here, you are not wearing some awful dark color that washes all the color from your skin, and you are happy. You are beautiful.” She shook Maggie by the shoulders for emphasis as she said the words.
“I am,” Maggie said wonderingly. “I am beautiful.” She twirled around suddenly, the material of her dress making a bell around her slender figure. She curtseyed, dropping her eyes demurely. “No, sir, I cannot dance with you. My dance card is full. Perhaps the next time you see me out. Pardon me? You are dying with love for me? Oh, well, in that case . . . “She dipped and twirled with her imaginary partner, Kathleen leaning against a dresser in paroxysms of laughter. “Da dadum, da deedum, dada . . . .”
“Let’s get lunch started before your lover takes you away,” Kathleen said, grinning. “I
do not want to have to feed all those hungry men alone.”
They started down the stairs, still laughing, arms hooked together. Nick watched from his study, eyes brooding. The breath seemed to stop in his chest when he saw Maggie in a full frontal view.
She was so beautiful, good Lord, she was beautiful. She made him ache. Lavender muslin hugged the curves of her lush figure, as he had longed to and couldn’t, and the pastel of her dress emphasized the shining brown of her hair. She had it twisted up in some kind of chignon, a complicated thing that he remembered seeing on some of the women in Geddes, but it had not looked as good on them. Her hair seemed to have a life of its own; tendrils had come undone and swirled around her face, little wispy strands that caressed the sweet curve of her cheek. Light shimmered on the silky strands and seemed to hang there, as if it could not bear to leave. She seemed to glow; the sunlight loved her and betrayed its devotion by lingering on her finely cut features. Her pert little nose and full sensuous lips drew his gaze, and he remembered how sweet it had been to drink from the beautiful curve of those lips. She looked feminine, and lovely, and soft, and he wanted to go to her and haul her against him right now; he wanted to drag her into the nearest room and love her the way the sunlight did. All over. He felt his stomach clench with the force of his desire.
Nick cursed himself silently, and escaped back into the study, taking care to shut the door noiselessly. She was like a fever in his blood. He took a deliberately slow, deep breath, trying to ignore the pounding of his pulse. He hated this wanting; hated this heat that struck him like a blow whenever he saw her. One glimpse of her, even sweaty and rumpled after working in the kitchen all morning, made him hard. He had seen her that way yesterday, and he’d had a sudden urge to lick the salty sweat from her whole body. He’d had visions of stripping the gown from
her body and laving every salty-sweet inch of her with his tongue. He’d had to leave the room when she smiled at him.
He raised a hand to his brow, and frowned at the heat he felt there. He felt dizzy all of sudden, and sat down in the heavy, carved chair behind his cluttered desk. Just what I need, he thought savagely. On top of it all, I am coming down with the ague. He frowned blackly. He did not feel that bad. He would just take it easy for the day, and he would feel better tomorrow.
He was not better the next day. He was worse, his stomach rolling and tossing all morning, as a matter of fact, and Kathleen and Maggie had taken one look at him as he sat down for lunch at the long table with the rest of the help, and ordered him to bed. He had protested, and they had shooed him up the stairs as if he were ten.
By that night, Tommy was complaining of a headache, and when Maggie put a hand to his forehead, the heat of him seemed to sear through her palm. In two hours, he was delirious, vomiting, and trying to get out of bed, and an hour later Nick was just as sick and just as delirious. She had Ned help her move another bed into Nick’s room, and moved Tommy in for convenience. She was wearing herself out running from room to room, and they were both sick with the same illness, anyway.
Maggie sent Ned for the doctor with white-hot fear burning a hole in her heart. Their fever was climbing despite the cool water she was bathing them with. She had thought for a while that she was going to have to tie Tommy into the bed, but she’d finally got him to stop trying to crawl out, and both her patients had dropped off to sleep. Both were fretful, tossing and turning, and Maggie did not know how long her respite was going to last.
Nick moaned softly, and Maggie was right there with her cool cloth.
“Ssshhh,” she murmured. “Go back to sleep.”
Nick felt her slender fingers stroking the hair back away from his forehead. Everything was hazy to him; it seemed as if her voice came from a long way away. His eyelashes fluttered, and her hands stroked down his chest and arms, lulling him with the cool and pleasing texture of the towel she had soaked in water. The fragrance of eucalyptus drifted up and tickled his nose.
“Just go back to sleep,” she whispered. “Just keep on sleeping . . . I found some herbs in the pantry and I made an infusion from them. They must have been your mother’s. I remember my mother using some of them. This one’s good for lung fever and it will make it easier for you to breathe. Just sleep now, go back to sleep and rest. You need to rest, Nick. It is very important.”
He struggled to open his eyes, then gave up the fight. He did not really want to wake up; he wanted those soothing strokes to keep on happening. The sensation of her hands on his skin and the smell of the herbs was the last thing he remembered before falling into a fretful sleep.
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The doctor frowned as he leaned close to Tommy’s chest and listened to him breathe. Maggie caught her breath when the small line appeared between his bushy, gray eyebrows. He pried Tommy’s eyelids up and made a small hmming noise as he stared at the boy’s red, bloodshot eyes. Tommy’s skin was flushed and he shivered occasionally despite the blankets that covered him. When the doctor finished with Tommy and propped Nick’s mouth open to look at his tongue, the small frown had become a large one, and Maggie’s heart thudded with terror as he watched the labored rise and fall of Nick’s chest.
The only sound in the room was the twin rasp of breath as both Tommy and Nick struggled to draw air into their lungs. Maggie was afraid to speak, afraid to ask questions, because she was afraid she did not want to hear the answer. When Doctor Fell closed his black bag with a definite snap, he looked at her gravely and she followed him into the hallway. As she walked behind him, she noticed how slowly he was moving, as if every step was a hardship, and she wondered how long he had gone without sleep. He was in his late sixties, at least, and he was too old to doctor this whole county alone. Maggie had heard, through Kathleen, that Doctor Fell had someone coming from back east to help him with his patients; she wished that whoever he was would get here now.
Maggie pulled the door shut behind her.
“Mrs. Reynolds, have you ever had yellow fever?” Doctor Fell asked bluntly, rubbing a calloused hand through his disordered, thinning hair. “Because I am very much afraid that is what they both have, and half of the county with them.”
Maggie swayed and put a hand on the wall to steady herself. The other hand crept to her throat in sudden, paralyzing fear.
Yellow jack!
People died with yellow jack, many, many people. She remembered her mother telling her how she herself had contracted it when she was only a toddler, and how they had been frantic with worry, thinking that she might die. But she had been blessed with a strong constitution, even as a young child and she had pulled through, though it had been a close thing.
“Yes, when I was a child,” she said very quietly.
“Yes,” Maggie said faintly. “Yes, I am fine. Tell me what to do.”
“They are both in the second stage of the disease. They are going to vomit up everything they take in, but you must keep forcing liquids down them. Diarrhea is inevitable, and they need the fluid, and every drop of water you get them to drink is helping to keep them from dehydrating. They are going to have, if they do not already, tremendous pain in their backs and their limbs, a headache, and a stomach ache.”
“Yes,” Maggie murmured. “Tommy said that he had a headache.”
“It is going to last for a day or two, then they will be a little better, except for maybe the vomiting. Their stomachs will be sensitive for quite a while."
He put his hand on her arm. “This part is very important, Mrs. Reynolds. You must keep them in bed at least two more days after the symptoms cease. If the symptoms return, the rapid breathing, the headaches, then you have to prepare yourself for their death. They will get the black vomit, their temperatures will go tremendously lower . . . and they will get weak. There is one blessing, if you can call it that. It will go quickly for them, then.”
Maggie nodded, her face white. “Do I need to give them anything? Can you leave me any medicines to help them?”
He handed her two small bottles. “Keep a small fire going in their room and a big pot of water boiling on it all times. The moisture from the boiling water will help them to breathe more easily. This is quinine, and this other is laudanum, for the pain. They can both be mixed into water. Do not mix them with too much, just a tablespoon or two, or you might not get all the medicine down them. Both are bitter, especially the quinine, and they might fight you, so have someone here to help you when you dispense it. It is very important that they take it all.” Maggie listened intently as he explained to her exactly how much of the medicines to administer and when.