by Jenny Lykins
Damn, what a fool she’d been. A dreamy, fairytale-weaving fool. She’d even toyed with ideas about how she could have the best of both worlds. If the ring came off and she returned to her time, if she took the ring with her, then why couldn’t she put it back on and return to Alec? She could see her parents, explain what had happened. Maybe even go back a couple of times a year to visit. She’d only managed to see them once or twice a year anyway, with her scheduling and all her traveling. Of course, there wouldn’t be the weekly Saturday morning phone calls, but they’d have peace of mind. And she’d have Alec.
One lone tear cut a path from the corner of her eye to trickle over her temple and into her hair. No need to plan her trips to her parents now. Soon she would either be back in 1999, or homeless, fending for herself in a time she might be stuck in when the ring was cut from her finger.
Alec would surely be there when the jeweler removed the ring. Would he finally believe her if he witnessed her body fading into nothingness, back to its own century?
But by then it would be too late.
She closed her eyes, willing away tears. She was too stubborn to cry. How long did it take to travel from South Carolina in 1830? How long did she have left before the jeweler showed up on the doorstep?
A quiet knock sounded at her door. She ignored it until the footsteps faded down the hall. No doubt it was Molly again. The girl had already become a dear friend, but right now Shaelyn couldn’t deal with talking to anyone or answering any more questions.
Hours later she still lay in the bed, staring up at the pitch black ceiling. The quiet sounds of Alec preparing for bed drifted through the double pocket doors adjoining their rooms. The pain twisted like a knife in her heart as she imagined the masculine ritual, as she ached to share it with him.
Unable to bear the sounds a moment longer, she flung the covers from the bed and yanked on the first gown she came to. She couldn’t lie there and listen to Alec prepare for bed. She’d wallowed in enough self-pity. She had to get out of the house, breathe the brisk, sea air to clear her mind, walk off her frustrations and disappointments. She had to go where she always went for peace. She had to go to the beach.
*******
“You big bully! What have you done to her?” Molly stormed into the library, a female William Hawthorne if ever there was one. “And don’t you dare bother to deny it, you great dumb lummox.”
Her voice echoed off the walls and banged around in Alec’s already throbbing head. He cringed and rubbed his aching temples, regretting again the bottle of whiskey he’d polished off in the hours after midnight when sleep had eluded him for a second night.
“And don’t try to fob me off,” she yelled, “by telling me it’s none of my business or that I wouldn’t understand, you…you…you man!”
She’d obviously struggled for the worst possible slur she could fling at him and decided that “man” was the height of all insults. He wasn’t sure he would argue with her at that moment.
“Would you mind slandering me in a tone somewhat softer than a bellow?”
“I am not bellowing!” she bellowed. “What did you do to Shaelyn, Alec Christopher, that would make her leave?”
He jerked his head up to stare at his sister while a sick knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He ignored the hammers banging in his temples.
“What do you mean ‘leave’?”
Molly glared. “Leave! As in go away! To depart! I just left her room. Her dinner tray was untouched. Her breakfast tray is still outside her door. Her room is empty. She’s gone, Alec, and it’s all your fault!”
The hammering increased as the knot in his stomach turned to a chunk of heavy, jagged ice.
He knocked the chair against the wall when he stood, then he marched from the room and up the stairs. He had to force himself not to run.
The door banged against the wall when he strode into her bedchamber. The bed linens looked as if a fight had taken place amid them, but the dinner tray from the night before was truly untouched. The silverware still lay in place beside the china, the napkin still lay in intricate folds, a red ring of evaporation stained the top of the wine glass, and the beef and vegetables had a dry, crusty look about them.
The sight of that untouched food shamed him more than a slap in the face. More than Molly’s bellowing.
A great bubble of emptiness welled in his chest. He fought it off and opened the doors to the armoire. The new dresses he’d ordered her, along with some of Phillipa’s, lined the interior. He would never know if any were missing.
With a sudden jolt of instinct, he dashed to his room and dug into a drawer at the bottom of a chest. The odd blue trousers, white shirt, and boots were still there. He didn’t know why that comforted him, but it did. He picked up the shirt and breathed in the scent that was forever branded in his mind. Oh, yes. These were hers. He had no doubt these were hers.
A rustle of skirts in the door brought his head around, but it was only Molly, shooting accusatory daggers at him.
“What did you say to her, Alec, to make her spend two days in this room and then run away?”
How could he tell her the ridiculous story? His little sister thought Shaelyn hung the moon. He didn’t want to dash her illusions.
“You cannot be certain she ran away, Moll. She may have simply gone for a walk.”
“It is barely past dawn, Alec. I came in to check on her before daylight, worried that more than a headache drove her to bed. I doubt she makes it a habit of walking in the middle of the night.”
Alec lifted a brow. “As a matter of fact - ”
“Alec!” Shaelyn’s cry for help came from the gardens. He and Molly dashed to the window. “Alec, help us,” Shaelyn yelled up at them. She walked, supporting a man with his arm around her shoulder, another man supporting his other side.
Molly followed Alec at a run as he thundered down the stairs toward the back of the house. His heart soared at the knowledge that Shaelyn had not left. He burst through the back door and immediately took her place beneath the man’s arm.
“What is it, Shaelyn? What happened?”
“Sir, Cap’n Finley sent this man ashore. He came aboard as a passenger after we dropped off the…our cargo in Canada. Said it was just a nasty bout of the ague, but the Cap’n thinks it’s pneumonia.”
Alec recognized Jake Welford, Captain Finley’s first mate.
“Where was the ship’s doctor? Couldn’t he help him?”
“Doc Payne got drunk and got himself hitched at the last port. Cap’n planned to pick up another doc in Boston. But Mr. Smythe here is too sick for a ship’s sawbones. He’s out of his head with fever now.”
Alec could feel the heat of the fever through the man’s clothing. He was barely conscious enough to move one foot in front of the other. Alec doubted the man could stand on his own if they were to release him.
“I was out walking,” Shaelyn offered, “and I saw the ship drop anchor and the rowboat lowered. I hung around to see if…” she glanced at the sick man dangling between Alec and Jake, “if anyone needed help. Jake said Captain Finley feared for Mr. Smythe’s life and the quickest way he knew to get him help was to bring him to you. He was afraid he wouldn’t make it to Cape Helm.”
The man erupted in a series of deep, hacking coughs that left him gasping for breath and moaning in pain. What little weight he bore earlier now weighed on Alec and Jake’s shoulders.
“Let’s get him into a bed. Martin!” Alec called just as the butler rushed onto the back terrace. “Send Ned to fetch the doctor, then come help us get…what is his name again, Jake?”
“Smythe, sir. Samuel Smythe.”
“Help us get Mr. Smythe settled.”
Martin disappeared as Jake and Alec all but dragged the nearly unconscious man into the house. Shaelyn sped up the stairs, followed by Molly. The two of them turned back the bed covers in the center guest room. Molly rang for fresh water while Shaelyn guided the men’s efforts to get the patient into bed. She pul
led off expensive, handmade boots that probably could have fed a family for a year. Without hesitation she peeled off his socks, then tugged to remove his coat of navy superfine.
Jake hitched his trousers at the waist and cleared his throat. “The ship’s waiting for me, sir. If you have no further need…”
“No, no.” Alec waved him off. “You have done all that you can. Tell Finley that he did the right thing.”
“Aye, sir.” With a touch to his cap, the first mate disappeared.
Shaelyn had pulled off Smythe’s perfectly tailored coat, removed his silk tie, unbuttoned the pearl buttons of his fine lawn shirt, but when her fingers moved to the trim waistband of his trousers, Alec grabbed her hands.
“I will do it.”
She looked up at him in shock.
“I am a married woman, Alec,” she said with a completely unreadable expression.
“Not in the Biblical sense,” he reminded her quietly, then realized he’d only assumed she had no experience with men. Could she have…? Unreasonable jealousy raked at him with jagged claws.
She tried to move his hands away and continue her progress, but Alec grasped her upper arms and set her away from the man.
“Leave the room, Shaelyn. I will tend to him until the doctor arrives.” He glanced up at Molly, who stood wide-eyed, taking in their exchange and the undressing of a stranger. “What are you doing in here, Molly? You’ve no business here. Go wait for the doctor.”
Amazingly, Molly scurried from the room, but Shaelyn stood, her arms crossed, defiance in her very stance.
“Do I have to remove you forcibly?” he queried calmly.
“Just try, and you’ll be nursing your crotch again.” She stepped away from him. “I may be able to help this man more than your archaic doctor.”
He glared at her. She glared back. The same hurt look from two days before flickered in her eyes for just an instant. It proved to be his undoing.
“Fine,” he barked. “Do as you please. Go or stay. But I will finish undressing him.” He turned back to Smythe.
Shaelyn sat stiff as a poker on a chair by the door while Alec used his body to shield her from seeing more of this man than she should. Removing trousers damp with sweat and salt water from an unconscious body took more effort than he would have imagined.
Margaret arrived with a bowl and pitcher of steaming water. Shaelyn sent her back for cool water and several cloths. By the time she returned, Alec had wrestled the trousers from Smythe’s body and finally had him decently covered, all the way to his chin.
Shaelyn poured cool water into the bowl, then carried it to the bedside. She threw both windows open before settling herself by the bed, dipping a cloth into the water, then wringing it out. With a worried look carving twin creases between her brows, she tossed the sheet to Smythe’s waist and began bathing his face and shoulders with the damp cloth. She glanced up at Alec.
“I’ll do his head and arms, you do his chest and legs. We need to get his fever down.”
“Will cold water not aggravate his illness and make him sicker?” Alec argued.
She stopped long enough to lock her gaze with his.
“I know what I’m doing.”
She went back to bathing Smythe’s fevered skin.
After several seconds of debate, Alec picked up a cloth and plunged it into the pitcher.
They worked together in silence for three quarters of an hour, Alec making sure the sheet never crept too low or too high on the man’s abdomen. After what seemed an eternity, Martin ushered Doctor Maxwell into the room and Alec and Shaelyn handed the care of the patient over to the doctor.
Shaelyn hovered at the foot of the bed while Alec roamed around the room. Maxwell grunted to himself with each procedure of the examination, thumping and listening, poking and prodding. Smythe was either unconscious or too weak to protest. Several minutes passed before the doctor straightened and tugged on his waistcoat.
“Bad case of pneumonia, Alec. Bad. Be surprised if the man survives. Any relatives around?”
Alec shook his head. “I don’t even remember his first name.”
“Samuel,” Shaelyn supplied quietly. “They said his name is Samuel.”
Alec turned to her, saw her staring at the man in bed, then turned back to the doctor.
“Nor do I know where he’s from.” He expected Shaelyn to supply that information as well, but she remained silent. “Is there nothing you can do for him?”
The doctor hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat and bowed his head.
“I don’t like to do it. Don’t think it helps that much, if at all, but I could try leaching him.”
“No way!” Shaelyn nearly yelled before the words had died in Maxwell’s throat. “That’s the worst thing you could do! I know what to do for him.”
“Shaelyn, now is not the time to spin your - ”
“Our neighbor had a child with cystic fibrosis. I used to help her - ”
“What the devil is a cystic fibrosis?” Alec could barely disguise his frustration.
Shaelyn sent him a withering glare. “It’s a genetic disorder that causes the lungs to fill up with - ”
“I shudder to ask, but what is a genetic disorder?” he asked through clenched teeth, then wished he hadn’t called notice to her comment. All she needed was to start babbling her strange story for Dr. Maxwell to examine her as well as Smythe.
“I can’t explain it.” She threw up her hands. “There’s an extra chromosome in the genes that make up the DNA, or something like that. It doesn’t matter what causes it. What matters is that I can probably help this man.”
He turned his gaze to Maxwell, who listened with eyebrows drawn into one straight line across his brow.
“She fancies herself a writer of sorts,” Alec offered, trying to keep her out of an asylum. He speared her with a silencing look. “One must have quite an imagination to write such fiction.”
She stared at Alec, then turned her attention to the doctor.
“Fiction or not, I did have a neighbor with a child whose lungs filled with fluid. Surely you’ve come across that condition in your practice. The treatment we used on Allison should help Mr. Smythe, as well.”
Alec stifled a sigh of relief when Maxwell cocked his head in interest.
“I have come across that particular illness. What method of care did you administer, Miss…” He glanced at Alec.
“Shaelyn,” Alec offered, not sure which last name to give. “Shaelyn Sumner Ha - ”
“Yes. Shaelyn Sumner, doctor. An old friend of the family. Nice to meet you.” She marched forward, took the doctor’s hand, and shook it. “The first thing we have to do is loosen the mucous in his lungs so that he can cough it up.”
“And how do we go about that?” Maxwell remained interested, but a hint of doubt entered his voice.
“It’s easier to show you than to tell you.” Shaelyn shoved up her sleeves, tossed her hair behind her shoulder, then moved to the edge of Smythe’s bed. She grabbed his right shoulder and rolled him onto his left side. After tucking pillows around him to balance him, she looked back at the men.
“Now hold your hands like this.” She held up slightly cupped hands, her fingers straight and her thumbs tight against the knuckle of her forefinger. The doctor raised his hands in imitation. Chase’s fingers automatically cupped at his side, but he didn’t bother to show them.
“Okay, now you just sort of firmly pop him all along here. It doesn’t hurt,” she added when the doctor opened his mouth to speak. “Try it against your leg. You don’t beat him, you pop him with a cushion of air cupped in your hand.”
Maxwell tested the method against his upraised thigh, following Shaelyn’s example as she worked with confidence along the sick man’s back. Alec and Maxwell watched for several minutes, then Shaelyn straightened and moved to the other side of the bed.
Without the slightest hesitation or sign of embarrassment, she hitched her skirt to her knees and crawled to t
he center of the mattress.
“Shaelyn,” Alec warned in his best no-nonsense voice.
She glanced up at him with total unconcern before setting back to work.
“Don’t be a prude, Alec,” she mumbled distractedly while she removed the pillows, rolled Smythe onto his other side, then began the slapping process all over again.
“I don’t remember all the details about this kind of therapy, but the popping helps to jar the mucous loose. We roll him back and forth, jarring it loose, and he’ll cough it up. We also need to get lots of water in him, and steam in the room would help, too.”
She continued to work while Maxwell and Alec watched. When she finished that side, she went back to the other and started over again.
“Doctor Maxwell, I apologize for this,” Alec murmured under his breath, certain Shaelyn couldn’t hear above the popping of flesh against flesh. “She’s odd. Extremely odd,” he added, more to himself.
“No, no.” Maxwell shook his head, still watching Shaelyn. “Her theory has some credence.” He watched a few more seconds with interest, then turned his attention back to Alec. “As I said, I can do nothing more for him but leaching. Let her try this for a while. And, as she said, it causes no pain. If he shows no improvement, then I will do what I can.”
He collected his bag and moved to Shaelyn’s side.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Sumner. I will stop by tomorrow to check on his progress.”
Shaelyn raised her head as if she’d forgotten the men’s presence. She tossed a straggling strand of curly auburn silk back over her shoulder and smiled at the doctor as she continued to work.
“The pleasure is mine, doctor. I look forward to seeing you again.”
Alec walked Dr. Maxwell to the door, then climbed the stairs back to the guest room.
He stood in the doorway and watched. The morning sun poured through the windows and exploded off her hair in sparkles of red and brown and gold. She didn’t seem to notice him as she finished that side, rounded the bed, then crawled across the mattress again to roll him over.
