“It’s Mama. She’s very sick, and Yancy is, too.” She bit her lip and added, “And three of the slaves. I’m afraid it’s the fever. Is Jeff coming?”
“No, I’m sorry, he’s not. He had to go see some patients over at Metairie. He said he wouldn’t be back for two days. There’s quite an epidemic there.”
Damita seemed to shrink. “Is Dr. Debakky here?”
“No, he’s working overtime at the hospital.”
Damita whispered, “I’m so afraid.”
“The doctors are all so hard-pressed with this thing,” Charissa said quietly. “He’ll come when he returns.” She saw that Damita was pale and her hands were trembling. “If you’d like, I’ll come and see what I can do. We’ll leave word for Jefferson.”
Damita stared at her, her eyes wide. “After what I did to you? Why would you do that?”
Charissa disliked Damita but knew that this was something she must fight. “It’s what God’s called me to do, to help the sick.”
“You must hate me, Charissa!”
“I did once, but God is taking that away, a little at a time. Let me get my things together, and we’ll go at once.”
Chapter twenty-three
As soon as Jeff stepped inside the door, Rose greeted him anxiously. “Dr. Whitman, Miss Madariaga was here.”
Jeff had taken off his hat and was about to hang it up. He stopped and turned. “When was this?”
“It was the day before yesterday. There wasn’t any way to get word to you.”
“What’s wrong, Rose?”
“It’s the yellow fever. Her mother and the gentleman who manages the plantation are down with it. And several of the slaves, I think.”
“I wish I’d known that. Will you tell Miss Charissa that I’ve left for the Madariaga plantation?”
“Oh, she’s already gone, Dr. Whitman.”
“Gone where?”
“She went back with Miss Madariaga to help with the nursing.”
Jeff put his hat on and said, “I’ll have to go right now.”
“Doctor, take something to eat.”
“I’ll get something there. Thank you, Rose. If anyone asks, you tell them where I am.”
Rose followed him outside and watched him call out to the groom, “Hold it, Jimmy! Don’t unhitch those horses.”
Damita had been dozing slightly in a rocking chair, but a sudden noise awoke her. She straightened up and leaned forward to look at the figure on the bed. Yancy Devereaux’s face was a waxen, yellowish color, and perspiration flowed from him. She laid her hand on his forehead. Fever’s up again.
She dipped a cloth in the basin on the table and began to bathe his face. She thought about calling Charissa, but there was really nothing that a nurse could do. Nothing a doctor can do either, she thought grimly. A single sheet covered the powerful body. He had lost weight, she knew. She thought of how, at times, the chills shook him so violently that she was afraid, and she wanted to hold him on the bed to keep him from falling.
As she bathed his face, she heard him whispering. Pausing, she leaned down and put her ear close to his lips, but she could not make out the words.
Though Yancy remained seriously ill, Elena had made progress; she had not improved, but she had not worsened either. Damita had helped Charissa take care of the slaves as well as she could, and now, as she continued to bathe Yancy’s face, she thought how strange it was that Charissa had come. She felt a strong sense of shame as she realized how unselfish her former servant had been. She had said to Charissa once, “It must be terrible for you, being in this city where you were a slave.” Charissa had simply smiled and said, “I don’t let memories tell me how to feel. If you do that, you’re at the mercy of the past.”
Her words had remained with Damita, and she recognized that she was guilty of such things. Looking down, she thought of how often she had remembered the shipwreck and how she had almost given herself to Yancy Devereaux.
Just then Yancy began to toss and turn, trying to throw off the cover. His eyes fluttered, and he spoke, but he was in a delirium.
Without warning a terrible fear came to Damita. She was not a young woman given to fears, but as she looked at the drawn face of Yancy and thought of her mother, the thought seemed to explode somewhere inside her: They could both die—mother and Yancy!
Chilled to the bone by the thought, Damita struggled to push the fear away, but it became stronger. I’d have no one, not anybody! I’d be all alone! She had never contemplated such a fate, for she’d always had her parents for support, but the very thought of being alone in the world was unbearable, and she clenched her hands together and closed her eyes. Please, God—don’t let them die!
The prayer rose to her lips, but even as she tried to pray, she suddenly became aware that the fear of losing her mother and Yancy was not her only danger. I might die, too—I nearly died when the ship went down, and if I had, I would have been lost forever!
Damita groped her way to the chair and sat down, collapsed actually. She was suddenly weak. She had always taken religion more or less for granted, had trusted in the fact that she had been sprinkled as a child, had been fairly faithful to observe the habits taught by her church—but as she sat in the semidarkness of the room, she knew that all this was nothing!
How long Damita sat in the chair and struggled with her fears, she could never remember. Gradually, she thought of people she had known who had spoken of Jesus as a friend. She had never understood this, had doubted if it could be.
Now she suddenly knew that the form of religion was not good enough. A longing was born in her, and as it grew, she knew that she had to have God in her life. She had only a faint concept of how to find God, but she knew that somehow Jesus was the key.
God, I don’t know how to pray—I’m afraid, and I’ve led a selfish life. But I want to change! How I want you, God!
She began to sob and said, “Jesus, help me! You’re the one who died for sins—forgive me.”
The struggle went on for what seemed like a long time—but it came to an end. Damita ceased to sob, and a sense of rest came to her. She never knew how to describe that feeling, but it was there.
Finally, she looked up and whispered, “Lord, I don’t know how to serve You, but I’m going to try with all my heart to love You—and to love others!”
Damita was exhausted, but as she stood over Yancy, she saw his eyes seem to clear, and she whispered, “Yancy, can you hear me?”
A long silence, then “Yes. What are you doing here?” His lips seemed to be almost paralyzed. She instantly rose, filled a glass with water, and held his head up while he drank. “You must drink all of this you can.”
Yancy gulped the water, some of it running out of the corners of his mouth and down onto the pillow. When he turned aside, she put the glass down and saw that he was looking at her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.
“How do you feel?”
“Get away from here, Damita, before you get this thing.”
“I can’t go.”
Yancy’s eyes were again cloudy with the fever, but he understood her well enough. He licked his lips and moved restlessly. “How are the others?”
“Holding their own. Mother’s still sick, but the slaves are coming out of it.”
“I don’t think I’ll make it.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Damita said. She put her hand on his forehead, pushing his hair back. “You’re going to be fine. There are no new cases on the plantation.”
He lay looking up at her, and she could not tell what he was thinking. She began to speak then of Charissa. “That woman shames me. I didn’t know how selfish I was until she left her home to help us.”
“Good woman.”
“I’m going to try to get your fever down, Yancy. I’ll be right back.”
Damita had found that laying cold cloths over his body reduced the fever. She went out to the springhouse and brought in a bucket of water that she kept there.
It was the coolest water to be had, but she wished for some ice. In Yancy’s sickroom, she put the bucket down, dipped a large, thick towel in it, then pulled the sheet back and laid it over his chest. “That feels good,” he whispered. “I hope I don’t have any more of those chills.”
Damita continued to replace the towel, which quickly grew hot from Yancy’s fever. She heard a door open and close and turned to see Whitman enter the room. “Jeff,” she said, “I’m so glad you came.”
“Hello, Damita.” He walked over and picked up Yancy’s wrist and felt his pulse. “How are you feeling?”
“Rotten.”
“You’re able to complain. That’s a good sign.” He gave Yancy a quick examination and said, “What is this, the fourth day of it?”
“That’s right,” Damita said quickly.
“That’s a favorable sign.”
“Is it really, Jeff?”
“Of course.” He looked at her and said, “You look exhausted, Damita.”
“Make her go to bed, Doc,” Yancy said hoarsely. “She’s worn herself out, taking care of me.”
“That’s good advice, Damita. I’ll be here now. You go rest.”
Suddenly, weariness fell upon Damita almost like a blow. “All right,” she said. She stood up and smiled weakly. “I’m glad you’re here, Jeff,” she said, then turned and left the room.
The doctor said to Yancy, “I know you feel pretty bad, but I think you’re going to make it. I’ll do the best I can.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d save my life. I saved yours once.”
Jeff stared at him. “What do you mean, you saved my life?”
Yancy smiled a thin smile. As bad as he felt, he had a spark of humor in his eyes. “You remember that duel you had with Depard?”
“Of course.”
“You weren’t in any danger. I changed the musket balls for pieces of toast.”
“What are you talking about?” Jeff demanded, thinking this was a hallucination. He listened as Yancy told him about forming the balls and painting them.
“Don’t ever tell Depard. He’d want to do it all again.”
Jeff laughed. “I was a fool then, a bigger fool than I am now, I guess. I’ve learned a few things.” He looked down at Yancy and said, “I’ll be here. Try to sleep.”
“All right, Doc. You’re the boss.”
The time passed slowly for Damita. Jeff stayed for two days, then had to go back to the city, promising to return. The routine continued unbroken, and Damita was pleased to find that she was strong enough to handle each day as it came. She knew that Charissa was surprised, too, and once the two were taking a late supper when Charissa said, “You’re tougher than I thought.”
“I’m tougher than I thought,” Damita said, pleased at the compliment. She looked Charissa in the eye and said, “I still can’t get over how you left everything to come help us.”
“It’s my job, Damita.”
Damita studied Charissa, marveling that even though she was exhausted, she still had an exotic beauty. Her thoughts turned to Jeff Whitman, and without meaning to, she said, “I’ve thought so much about you and Jeff.”
Charissa stared at her. “What about us?” she said cautiously.
“It’s very obvious that you care for him. Of course, he doesn’t know that, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s in love with you.”
“No, he’s not.”
Charissa started. “What do you mean by that?”
“He’s infatuated. I’ve seen enough of it to know. I told him months ago that we’d never marry. I thought of him, for a time, only selfishly. I was afraid for the future. I was afraid I’d be poor. I couldn’t imagine what would happen to our family.” She looked up, and misery was in her eyes. “How you must have hated me for that. Nothing but a fortune seeker!”
Charissa said quietly, “It didn’t endear you to me, Damita.”
“Well, no more of that.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference, at least as far as I’m concerned.”
“What do you mean?”
“He never thinks of me as a man thinks of a woman he might love. I’m always his sister. How tired I get of his saying that. He thinks it pleases me. He’s not very sensitive, is he?”
“He’s dumb as a post about women,” Damita said bluntly. “But you’d be good for him. You’re everything he needs in a wife. I’ll tell him that.”
“No, don’t, please.”
“I guess I couldn’t. But I see a goodness in you, and I hope he does, too, one day.”
Yancy woke with a start. He felt strange. He lay flat on his back, wondering what this sensation was. It finally came to him. “I feel good,” he said aloud. He threw the cover back and sat up. He saw that the sheets were dry—he had slept all night without breaking into a sweat. My heaven, I feel good! He stood up, swayed, and then sat back down so abruptly he nearly fell over backward. Whoa, he thought. I’m not all that strong. But I’m getting out of this bed.
Carefully, he stood again and took small, cautious steps to where his clothes were folded across a chair. He dressed, sitting down, and when he had pulled his boots on, he stood and went over to the window. It was a beautiful day. Just feels good to be alive. Thanksgiving rose in him, and he found himself saying, “Lord, I’m not much for praying, but I want to thank You for pulling me through this.”
He smiled to himself. Maybe I’m getting religion in a big way, he thought. But then he added, “Do the best You can for me, Lord. I’ll not forget this.” He slowly left the bedroom and walked downstairs, holding on to the banister. When he turned into the kitchen, he saw Charissa standing at the window, looking out. She turned, and her eyes widened when she saw him.
“Yancy, what are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t stand that bed. I didn’t have any fever at all last night—but I’m weak as a kitten.”
“Here, sit down. What you need is some good food. How about something light? How does scrambled eggs and toast, and maybe some hot tea and milk, sound?”
“I could eat a bear, I think.”
“You can’t have bear.”
Charissa cooked a quick breakfast, then sat down and watched Yancy eat with gusto. She reached over once and held his wrist, testing his pulse. “Slow and steady,” she said with a smile.
“Where is Damita?”
“I don’t think she’s awake yet. She was up most of the night with her mother.”
“I can’t get over,” Yancy said thoughtfully, “how much she’s changed.”
“Yes, she has changed more than I would have dreamed possible. I believed she was selfish to the bone and would die that way, but she’s not now. You’ve done that for her, Yancy.”
“Me? I haven’t done anything.”
“I think you have. You saved her life this time, just as surely as you did when you pulled her out of that shipwreck.”
Yancy sipped his tea. “Don’t quite see that,” he said.
“Don’t you remember how afraid she was when her father died? She didn’t have anyone to cling to. Her mother’s helpless,” Charissa said, shrugging, “in business matters, at least. But then you came along and took over and gave her hope. I’ve seen it in her since when you came.”
Yancy changed the subject to the plantation’s upcoming crop, and the two chatted for a few minutes. Then Charissa smiled wearily and said, “I’m about worn out myself. I think I’ll go lie down.”
“You’ve both worked too hard,” Yancy said.
Charissa stood, turned, and suddenly began to sway.
“What’s wrong?” he asked with alarm.
Charissa turned around, and he saw that her lips were pressed tightly together. “Just a dizzy spell,” she whispered.
Yancy looked more closely at her. “You don’t look well.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right. I’m just tired. I’ll go lie down awhile.”
Yancy had walked slowly to the porch and sat down in a cane-bottom chair. It
was such a pleasure, simply to watch life from some vantage point other than a bed. He heard footsteps, and Damita stepped outside. She looked astonished.
“You shouldn’t be up, Yancy!”
“Yes, I should,” he answered, smiling. “I didn’t have any fever last night, and I feel great. Just weak yet.”
“I’m glad to hear it! Where’s Charissa?”
“She was worn out. She didn’t look too good to me. She went to lie down.”
Damita sat down beside him. “She’s worked herself almost sick.”
Yancy was silent for a time, then said, “Damita.” When she turned to face him, he said, “I guess this is when I tell you how grateful I am for all you’ve done for me.”
Damita flushed slightly. “Why, Yancy, that was nothing.”
“No, it wasn’t.” He laughed shortly. “When I got out of bed, you know what I did first? I began to thank the Lord for pulling me through.”
“Oh, I’ve done the same thing. Mama’s doing fine, too.”
He put his hand out, and when she put hers in it with a look of surprise, he squeezed it. “In any case, I owe you.”
“No, it was my turn.”
“What do you mean by that, Damita?”
“I mean it’s a little down payment for what you did in pulling me out of the wreck—and for saving our plantation.”
Yancy held her hand firmly. “So, we’re even now?”
Damita hand was relaxed in his grasp. He looked so good—his face was ruddy, his eyes were clear, the yellow tinge had gone. He had been so sick, and now she saw the returnings of strength. “I don’t think people ever even up for things like that.”
“I reckon you’re right, but when I was sick and you were always at my bedside, I remember thinking, even when I was too ill to speak, how glad I was you were there—that you hadn’t left me.”
“That’s what I felt when the ship went down. We were clinging to that board, and your arm was around me, and I was scared out of my wits. But you held me so tightly, and I knew you wouldn’t let me go.”
Yancy did not speak. Damita put her free hand over his. “Thank you, Yancy, for not letting go of me at that terrible time.”
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