Seconds lapsed before he finally took up the slack. "Word has it the reverend was lost in some cave?"
"Not lost just-hidin' out there is what I hear-until the storm passed. But then lightning-"
He flicked an inpatient wrist at her. "Yes, yes, I've heard the story at least a dozen tines and probably in as many versions. A fallen tree blocked his passage, leaving him at death's door." He looped a thumb through a buttonhole in his pricey, double-breasted jacket and sniffed the air. "Wouldn't have been a problem at all if he'd just ridden that storm out. Course, that's just my opinion."
"Anyone with an ounce of brain matter knows you don't fool with a lightning storm." An odd need to protect Jon Atkins' character, if not his person, came rushing to the surface.
As if he sensed it, he gave her arm a brief, gentle squeeze. "Now, now, Emma, I meant no offense, but, my clear, think about it." He leaned in to her, the dab of custard still sitting on his chin like a big pimple. "If he'd continued to the next house, the-hni, the Jarvis hone, I believe, which, incidentally, was only one mile up the road, he could have stayed with them and come home the next clay, thereby avoiding all this unnecessary hoopla. Instead, he stops to rest in a cave?" He shook his head to indicate his own disbelief. "Why, look at all the hours of pay the generous men of Little Hickman have sacrificed on his behalf, not to mention the worry it's caused all the women and children."
"The town loves Jonathan Atkins, and they weren't about to sit around on their backsides and concoct some notion that he'd brought this on himself. Have you forgotten the severity of that storm?"
"Don't get in a huff now. I was merely thinking aloud." He straightened, took a step back, and surveyed her face. "My, my! One would think you love him most of all. Is that the case, Miss Emilia?"
So unprepared was she for his words that she stumbled. He reached out a steadying hand. Instantly, she withdrew and did the only thing she could think of to retrieve her composure; she lashed out at him. "I think what's really bothering you, Mr. Wonder, is that all this-hoopla-as you put it, has set your business back a bit. Folks aren't much interested in buying up your medicinal potion or watching your trickery when one of their dear citizens conies up missing."
Now, he was the one caught off guard. Good. In the future, perhaps you'd be better off doing your thinking aloud in your wagon, not on Main Street."
His chuckle was dry and cynical sounding. "Well, I'll be, you are in love with him."
A bitter taste welled up in her throat so that she had the uncanny urge to spit-and make her target that yellow custard pimple on his chin. Instead, she threw back her shoulders and forced a smile. "Good day." She turned and started walking.
"Am I still invited for supper?" he had the gall to ask.
She paused. "Of course. But may I remind you the meals are a dollar a day, and I have yet to receive one dime from you. I'll expect payment by the end of the week."
"You'll have it, my dear Emma." His undiluted laughter mingled with the click of her heels as she made her way back to the boardinghouse.
In love with the preacher? The very idea!
"Easy does it," Rocky said, helping Jon out of his prison. "He's burnin' up, all right. Dehydration does this?"
"Fever's just a sign that somethin's not right in the body. Could be coming from any number of things. More'n likely, lie's caught a germ-or infection's set in front that head wound," Doc Randolph said, doing a quick perusal of Jon's vitals, sticking a stethoscope to his chest, pulling up his eyelids, feeling his forehead, and examining the wound, which made Jon flinch. Didn't lie know the blasted thing still hurt?
"If you'll just get nie back-to my own bed. Need a couple of days and-I'll be fine."
The men gathering around him, of which there looked to be a couple of dozen or more, chuckled under their breaths, and Jon could swear some were shaking their heads at him as if lie were missing a few screws.
"You'll need more than a couple of days, son," said Doc, hunkered down next to him. "You've been through an ordeal."
Jon tried to focus on all the faces, but the only ones he could make out for sure were those of Doc, Rocky, and Ben. The others were a blur. He couldn't even muster up the strength to argue.
"W-w-we sure are glad we f-found you."
Okay, so he'd run out of steam for talking, but the familiar voice of Luke Newman did put a smile on his face.
He woke up sometime later, the quiet patter of footsteps in the other room persuading him to open his eyes and examine his surroundings. It was a small space they'd put him in, just big enough to accommodate the hard cot he was on, a small chest of drawers, and a wooden rocker with a colorful quilt thrown over it. Shoot, it wasn't much bigger than that miserable cave. On the wall to his left hung a framed painting, a print of a scenic countryside with a river running through it. It took him a moment to catch his bearings, but when he did, he recognized the room as the one just off the boardinghouse parlor. Why had they put him here? He preferred his own room with all his books, his desk and swivel chair. How was he supposed to prepare for Sunday's sermon if he couldn't get at his books? And his Bible. He needed his Bible. Disgruntled, he recalled having left it in his saddlebags. Had anyone thought to check them when they'd brought Jupiter back to the livery? It took a bit of effort, but he tossed off the cotton blanket and pushed himself up, fully intending to mount the stairs to his room, but quickly surmising he barely had the strength to sit, let alone stand. Instead, he sat there gathering his wits.
On the tiny table beside the bed was a tall glass of water, half of it gone. The vague remembrance that someone had been pouring water down his throat swam to the surface. And someone had bathed him, too, he recalled, glancing at the basin of soapy water on the floor. Doc and-Emma? Gingerly, lie touched the bump on his head, noting the diminished size. Still, lie felt weaker than a kitten.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Emma stood in the doorway, all business, hands propped on her narrow hips, a blond eyebrow quirked in question.
His skin felt dry and parched. "Going to my own room, the one I pay rent on," he answered, sorry for his curtness. Being a burden did not set well with him, and maybe Enima's shoulders having to take the brunt of it was what irked him the most.
"Not today you're not," she replied in just as curt a manner, stepping inside the room. Her hair, pulled back at the sides with two combs, hung down her back like a cascading fountain, and her yellow cotton dress, cinched at the waist, showed her curves in a pleasing way. He might be sick, but he sure wasn't blind.
"Doc says you're in no shape for climbing stairs. You got a high fever, brought on by a germ or infection from that bump you took on the head. Either way, Doc says what you need now is plenty of fluids and rest. Matter o' fact, he told me when you wake up you're to take some more water along with another dose of medicine."
He studied her face, wondering if she hid a smile behind that full mouth, but he was more likely to find gold in Little Hickman Creek than that.
She stepped up to him and pressed a cool hand to his forehead. "Fever's hangin' on," she announced.
Without forethought, he reached up and snagged hold of her wrist. She gave a quick intake of breath and paled. It was anybody's guess why he'd done it. He couldn't have her, not as long as she didn't profess to know the Lord. Yet having her near him brought a sense of comfort. He rested his gaze on her moist lips and wondered what it might be like to kiss them.
Lord, forgive me, but even in my sorry state, this woman tempts me.
Wait on the Loin: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.
He'd run across the passage from Psalms a hundred tines before, but this time it seemed to hit him square between the eyes. Did God have something up His sleeve, something to which he wasn't yet privy?
He relaxed his hold on her wrist and took up massaging the underside of it with the pad of his thumb, noting how she didn't pull away. Instead, she stood stiff as a starched
pair of pants and started staring at something over the top of his head.
Seconds passed before he broke the silence between them. "If Doc's assigned you to be my nurse, I should warn you it might take me awhile to recover."
Suddenly, she pulled her hand from his grasp and blinked at him. Turning toward the little bedside stand, she picked up the glass of water and stuck it under his chin, her mouth pursed in a straight line. "Drink," she ordered. "Your medicine's in the kitchen. I best go get it."
He grinned and wrapped two shaky hands around the glass. "Hurry back."
Later, he woke to the sound of knocking at the front door. Still groggy from another bout of fitful sleep, he rolled himself over and watched Emma tiptoe past on her way to the door. The old grandfather clock's constant ticktock seemed to parrot her footsteps. The rest of the house remained quiet. Had she shooed the bunch out or warned them against making too much noise? He hated the notion that he'd caused an inconvenience. He might be dog tired and feverish, but he wasn't an invalid and didn't need special treatment. He looked at the clock on the chest of drawers, straining his eyes before it came into focus. Near as he could tell it was 8:10, and by the dusky shadows outside the window, he figured it to be p.m.
He heard the screen door open and a gruff voice ask, "That preacher kid okay?"
"He's resting," came the terse reply.
The shock at hearing Ezra Browning's voice lent his body instant fortitude. "Who's there?" he asked, as if he didn't know, raising himself up on his elbows.
Emma appeared in the doorway. "My father's askin' about you.
He couldn't help the grin. "You don't say. Well, does lie want to pay the preacher a visit?"
An inkling of a smile showed up at the corners of her mouth. Her azure eyes twinkled, then just as quickly turned steely. "You're not much up for visitors."
"How do you know? I haven't had any yet."
"That's 'cause you've slept through every one of them," she replied. "People been stoppin' in all day long."
He leaned back a smidgeon and grinned. "Well, I'll be. Why didn't you wake nie?"
"I did. And you been friendly as can be-for a span of about three seconds per visit, long enough to drink a swig of water and smile a greetin'. Then, just like that, you're out," she said with a snap of her fingers.
"No kidding. How conic I don't remember?"
She shrugged. "Doc did say that medicine lie's givin' you night make you a trifle dopey, but you're meant to rest."
It made him wonder what exactly Doc was administering. He dropped back to his pillow, exhausted. "Well, that's a comfort. Send your pa in, will you? I'm feelin' like I night like a chat."
"A chat? With Ezra Browning?" she mumbled under her breath.
He squirmed on the bed. "A chat and maybe a little assistance."
A dazed look swept over her as she crossed her arms. "Assistance with what?"
He lifted one eyebrow a fraction. "You know all that water you been forcing down my throat? Well, it's created a need in me.
Her mouth formed a circle as instant understanding dawned. "Oh. Well, there's a-a-under the-I'll show you." She stepped inside and quickly hunkered next to his bed, pulling out a white bucket with a lid on it. "This."
Had he had the strength, he might have laughed, but as it was, lie could barely offer up a pathetic smile. "How about you send Ezra in here?"
"I'm afraid he's not in the best shape for helping you. Surprisingly, he's not drunk, but he don't look good, either," she whispered. "I could go get Mr. Newman. He and Luke retired early, but I'm sure they're awake. Wes is ailin' tonight, so he went to bed already. The rest are out and about."
"I'll manage on my own then. I-"
"Hey, preacher kid."
Emma was right. Ezra looked spent, his face the color of gray paste. Suddenly he recalled the urgent message he'd received in the cave-be Jesus to Ezra-and his promise to do all he could if he came out of there alive.
"Hey, yourself. Come on in here. In fact, I need you for a leaning post."
"Huh?" The man took a shaky step forward. Emma's face went red as she turned on her heel and bolted out of the room.
A few minutes later, sweating bullets, Jon dropped back down on the hard mattress while Ezra plunked the lid on the white contraption and pushed it over to the door. "Eninia, ya wanna empty this?" he called through the house.
To say Jon felt mortified was much too mild aword. He rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling, wishing he could vanish.
"Ya liked to knock me over," Ezra said, falling into the rocker in the corner. "Ya feel better now?"
Taking a second to think about it, he replied, "I'll grant you one part of me does, but my head, that's another story. Sort of feels like it's been trampled by an elephant."
Low and behold, Ezra cracked a smile, even let out a low, raspy chuckle. "Well now, that sounds familiar. I had nie a few splittin' headaches in my day, all my own Join', o' course."
Jon allowed his head a minute to stop spinning. When it did, Emma showed up in the doorway, picked up the pot without a word, and disappeared again, her face still flushed, her purposeful footsteps taking her to the back of the house and out the door. He heard the screen bounce shut with a clunk and thwack, and figured she was heading for the little outhouse at the back of the property. It humiliated him to think of her performing this menial chore for him. And if it rattled him, what must it do to her? Or was she used to this sort of thing, having lived under the same roof with a houseful of untamed brutes for the better share of ten years?
Trying to put the matter out of his mind, he focused on Ezra again, who'd taken to rocking lightly, his head propped on the back of the rocker, arms folded across his wheezing chest. It struck him then how pleased he was to see the fellow. "Thanks for coming, Ezra. I'm glad to see you."
"Pfff. Don't go gettin' no big head about it now," he growled. "I was in town anyways."
Jon swallowed. "You're not working tonight, are you? Seems to me with that cough and all...." The poor man hardly looked able to leave his house, let alone work at that no-good saloon.
Ezra nodded.
"Why don't you quit that rotten job?"
His face crumpled. "Been thinkin' on it, but I need the money fer gettin' by."
"You mean for supporting your habit?"
"Naw, I been cuttin' back. Doc says I ain't Join' myself no favors if I don't."
That bit of enlightenment had Jon slowly propping himself up on his elbows. Well, hallelujah! "You talked to Doc, did you? What'd he say about that nasty cough?"
Ezra shrugged and turned his head toward the door. Was lie looking for Emma? His mouth twisted downward, murky eyes stared into space. "I ain't wantin' that girl o' mine to know nothing 'bout it," lie muttered.
"Know nothing about what?" Jon pressed.
Seconds turned into a minute, during which Ezra closed his eyes. Using all the strength he could muster, despite his ringing ears and raging fever, Jon propped himself higher. "Ezra?"
Finally, the old nian opened his cloudy gray eyes and focused on Jon. "Doc says I ain't long ter this world."
Exhausted, Jon dropped his head to the pillow and devoured a deep breath of air, thankful for the cool breeze wafting through the open window near his head.
"I got a bad thing goin' on in my lungs and liver," Ezra grumbled. "Doc says it's worse than bad, says my hard life done it to me." Again, he looked at the door. He waved his thumb in the direction that Emma had gone and shook his head. "I know she hates rne, and I don't blame 'er none the way I treated 'er. She was good most tines, she truly was. If I pa'n't been so blasted hammered my whole life I might o' been able to raise her proper."
Ezra rocked forward in the chair. "She's a good girl."
A spot in Jon's chest clogged with emotion. "She is that."
Jon prayed while Ezra slowly rocked. He longed for the strength to rise up and go to him, wrap his arms around his frail shoulders. Instead, he lay in about as bad a shape as Ezra him
self. "God can help you, Ezra," he managed. "You may not believe it, but even at this stage in your life, He wants nothing more than for you to surrender your heart to Him. He'll give you the strength and courage you need to fight this battle. It's no good trying to fight it on your own. Might be you'll even have time to settle things with Eninia."
Having never resolved matters with his own father before he died still put an ache in Jon's heart. Exactly a year and a half after his mother's death, his father had drowned while fishing off a steep embankment. Hal Owen had found him in the river facedown, fishing line still tangled around his body, empty whiskey bottles at the river's edge. If it hadn't been for Reverend Miller's loving wisdom and the Callahans' remarkable, unconditional love in taking him into their household afterward, he may well have followed his father's destructive path. Instead, he'd learned about the love of his heavenly Father, and out of a great need for truth and meaning in life, had given his heart to Him at the age of sixteen-and-a-half years.
Ezra pushed himself up from the chair, the effort creating shortness of breath.
"Where're you going?" Jon asked.
"Back to work. Jus' stopped by for a second." Every breath carried a wheeze. "You don't go tellin' Emma 'bout my condition, you hear?"
"She deserves to know, Ezra."
"Maybe. But I don't want her feelin' beholden. It ain't right." He made a half-turn then stopped, not quite letting his eyes meet Jon's. "Sorry you got stuck in that cave," he mumbled.
"Thanks. When I get my strength back, I'll ride out to see you. Shouldn't be more than a few days. In the meantime, you take care of yourself."
"Yeah, yeah," Ezra said, waving off the comment with a flick of his wrist then sauntering out the door without so much as a fare-thee-well.
As soon as the front door opened and shut, he heard Emma enter through the back.
-6~ M_;i~een
ninia glanced at the wall calendar. She'd just flipped the page to September. How was it possible? In a matter of weeks, the leaves would begin their transformation from green to orange, yellow, and red before turning a rusty brown and dropping to the cold earth. The air, once hot and steamy, would take on a shivery nip, calling for extra layers of clothing before venturing out. Families of squirrels and chipmunks would start the business of collecting foodnot so different from the humans who had already started laying up Janis, jellies, and sauces for the winter months. She'd been doing the same, filling up shelves in the cellar under the kitchen with canned peaches, pears, tomatoes, and applesauce, along with a large assortment of vegetables.
Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) Page 18
