Out of the Ashes

by Tracie Peterson

“Keep fluids going into her. At least every thirty minutes try to get her to sip a little cool water. Keep her in clean, dry linens as much as you can. And keep yourself clean. Wash your hands with strong soap. You’ve already been exposed, but you lessen your chances of developing the sickness if you maintain sanitary conditions.”

  “I’m not worried about myself, doctor. I will do everything I can for Cassidy and her baby.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be back.”

  A door closed.

  Influenza? People died of influenza. Cassidy felt her heart race. “Please, please, my baby.”

  Katherine’s hand was on her forehead in an instant and smoothed her hair back. “It’s all right. God is going to help me take care of you. I won’t leave you.”

  “Where’s Allan?”

  “He’s out on a trip, remember? He’ll be back soon.”

  “Soon . . .” She didn’t want anyone else getting sick because of her. She wanted her baby to be healthy and strong. She wanted Allan at her side, but then he might fall ill as well. Oh, God, please help.

  Wiping her brow with the cool cloth, Katherine hummed and then began to sing softly. “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong, they are weak but He is strong.

  “Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me, the Bible tells me so.”

  Katherine’s voice was soft and soothing like a lullaby. Cassidy began to relax. Yes, Jesus loved her. He loved her and her baby.

  “What’s all the racket?” Margaret marched into the kitchen. She had kitchen staff who’d fallen ill, and the last thing she needed was problems from her assistant.

  Mr. Ferguson looked at her from where he stood by the stove. Soup was splattered everywhere—a broken jar lay at his feet.

  “What are you doing just standing there?” Margaret crossed the room and quickly began to pick up the glass. Thankfully the jar had broken in three large pieces. There were a few shards, but the bulk of the glass was in her hands. She threw the pieces in the trash can and turned back to see that the man hadn’t moved.

  “Ferguson, what are you waiting for? Clean up that mess.”

  To her surprise, he began sinking to the floor. He shook his head, then plummeted like a rock.

  The man was sick.

  She tried to steady her breathing. The influenza was here. Could she do this all over again? She hurried to his side. Using all her strength, she pulled him back up. His skin was hot—feverish. She wasn’t going to be able to keep him on his feet if he lost consciousness, but hopefully she could get him to a chair.

  “Come on, you big oaf. Help me out here. Argue with me. Anything. Tell me that my kitchen needs rearranging . . . again. Just walk to the dining room with me.”

  He mumbled something inaudible, but put one foot in front of the other. By the time they made it to the first table outside the door, she was sweating from exertion.

  Easing him into a chair, she patted his shoulder. “I’m going to get some help. You just lay your head down on the table in case you start to faint.”

  He didn’t argue with her, which only proved to Margaret how sick he was. In a flash of memory she saw her husband instead of the Scot. She bit her lip. Not again. She wasn’t strong enough.

  She hurried and called to the first person she saw—Mr. Bradley. He stood at the front desk, speaking to Dr. Reilly and a couple of the hotel maids. “I need help. Daniel is sick. He nearly collapsed, but I managed to get him to a chair. I don’t think he can make it up the stairs.”

  Mr. Bradley shook his head. “God help us. Not another.” He looked at her with a pained expression.

  “I’ll go see to the man.” Dr. Reilly sighed. “Can you send a couple of strong men to help carry him to his room?”

  Mr. Bradley turned to one of the girls. “Run down to the roundhouse and get help. Mr. Ferguson is a big man and we’ll need some strong arms.” The girl nodded and raced from the room.

  Margaret turned to go, but Mr. Bradley called her back. She shook her head. “What is it? I need to get back to the kitchen and clean up the mess Ferguson made.”

  He seemed at a loss for words. “I’m afraid it’s bad. There are over a dozen people sick—it’s . . . influenza.”

  “I know.” She hoped to never hear that word again. But she knew. Sadly, all too well. How could they ever endure another epidemic? “I’ll go see what I can do to help the doctor, then I need to clean the kitchen.”

  “No. Wait.” He reached out and took hold of her arm. “There’s something else.”

  Margaret searched his face. The man looked like he might break into tears. “What is it?”

  “Cassidy . . . she . . .”

  Margaret felt the blood drain from her face. “No. No, please tell me that poor child hasn’t come down with . . . with . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to speak the word.

  “I’m sorry. The doctor just told me. Mrs. Demarchis is with her—she’s offered to take care of her.”

  Margaret wanted to scream, but the sound stuck in her throat. Where was Cassidy’s loving God now?

  27

  AUGUST 22

  Easing herself up from her awkward position in the chair, Katherine stretched her neck. This was the third day since Cassidy had become ill, and the doctor had just quarantined the whole of Curry. Over twenty-five people were down with the sickness, and he said they had to protect the railroad workers and other visitors.

  It made sense to her, but it also worried her. If they were quarantined, how would the group off on the camping trip be able to make it back? They didn’t have enough provisions to stay out in the wilderness long-term.

  Her heart longed for Jean-Michel. The old saying “absence makes the heart grow fonder” was certainly true.

  The good doctor had instructed her to stay with Cassidy and not go anywhere else. Since they were unsure how the disease was spreading, he wanted to try to keep the people he knew had been exposed as far away as possible from the ones who hadn’t.

  Grandmother was one of those who hadn’t been exposed, and for that Katherine continued to thank God. Her grandmother was aging, and this trip had already taken a toll on her.

  She glanced at Cassidy. The poor woman had writhed in her sleep on and off for days. Sometimes, it took every ounce of strength Katherine had just to get water down the sick woman’s throat.

  She knows God.

  At least that offered some comfort. Katherine tried not to worry about the expectant mother, but it was hard not to think her situation more critical than that of the others. Cassidy carried a life inside her. A life totally dependent upon her staying alive. How could Katherine ever explain to Allan or Cassidy’s father . . . if she died?

  She reached forward and felt Cassidy’s forehead. Her friend was still quite warm, but it seemed—well, she hoped—that the fever was cooling just a bit.

  A slight knock sounded at the door.

  Katherine opened it to a red-eyed Mrs. Johnson.

  “How is she today?” The cook bustled in with a tray of broth, sandwiches, and some cold milk.

  “I’m hoping a little better. At least it seems that way to me.”

  Mrs. Johnson leaned over Cassidy and kissed the younger woman’s forehead. “Oh, my dear, you must stay with us. Keep fighting.”

  Cassidy’s mouth moved as if she were trying to speak, but nothing came out. It only served to make Mrs. Johnson’s eyes fill with tears.

  Katherine had never seen anything but the no-nonsense side of the hotel’s head chef until she came to visit Cassidy. “Would you like to sit down for a few minutes, Mrs. Johnson? Get off your feet for a bit and share with me all the news from downstairs?”

  The teary lady nodded. “There’s not much to tell. No one is allowed to eat in the dining room. No guests are allowed to leave their rooms except to use the restrooms. The train isn’t stopping in Curry, which makes it very difficult, since this is the halfway stopping point and we also do all the laundry f
or Pullman and the hospitals. The doctor has been quite staunch on all his rules, since it has spread so quickly.”

  She used her fingers to brush Cassidy’s dark locks off her forehead. “Mr. Bradley is beside himself and paces the foyer all day. Many of the guests who aren’t sick are beginning to question the reasoning of the quarantine and don’t understand why they can’t leave. It’s all quite a mess down there.” She sucked in a little sob and grabbed Cassidy’s hand. “Do you really think she’s doing better?”

  Katherine put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I do. She hasn’t been as uncomfortable the past few hours, and I’m convinced she feels cooler than she did before.”

  “I can’t lose her.”

  “Mrs. Johnson, I don’t think you’ll lose your assistant. She’s young.”

  “Don’t you see?” Big fat tears rolled down the woman’s round cheeks. “She’s not just my assistant. I love this girl as if she were my own. Everyone around here knows that I’m hard and rough around the edges—but Cassidy here, she saw what no one else could see.”

  Katherine didn’t know what to do, so she just kept patting the woman’s shoulder. “I know she’s very fond of you too. She’s spoken of you a great deal.”

  “I lost my whole family to the Influenza Epidemic of 1918. I can’t lose Cassidy and the baby. We’re so excited about the baby.” The tough woman broke into sobs.

  Katherine reached out and hugged the chef. “We must have faith. Cassidy would want us to put our trust in God for her recovery.”

  Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “I don’t know how to trust Him when He would allow something like this. I fear Him.”

  “I know it’s hard. Cassidy told me that often in life we endure great trials, not because we’ve done anything wrong, but simply because we live in a sin-filled world.”

  “But if God won’t protect a trusting child like Cassidy—answer her prayers—then how in the world can I think for one minute He’ll listen to me?”

  Katherine shook her head. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s about God choosing one over the other. I know He loves Cassidy. I finally know He loves me, and I feel confident He loves you too, Mrs. Johnson. Maybe you need to just let Him know how frightened you are—how hard it is to trust. I feel certain He will help you.”

  Another knock at the door was a welcome respite for Katherine. She had no idea how to soothe a woman who had endured the kind of loss Mrs. Johnson had, and she felt inadequate to share the Bible as Cassidy had done for her.

  Before she could get up, the door opened and Dr. Reilly stepped in. The doctor’s face was grim as he made his way to the bed. “How is she?”

  “She’s taking fluids as you directed, and I’m wiping her down constantly. I think, in fact, her fever has lessened.”

  He nodded and took out his stethoscope. He put the instrument to her chest and listened for a moment. “Her lungs sound clear and her heartbeat is strong.”

  Straightening up, the doctor put the stethoscope in his black bag and pulled out a strange-looking black instrument—something like a funnel. On one end it flared out almost like the bottom of a bell, while the other end had a small circular piece with a hole in the center.

  “What is that?” Katherine moved closer.

  “It’s called a Pinard horn. When I learned Mrs. Brennan was going to have a baby, I sent for one. It arrived on the last train before quarantine. I didn’t even realize it, however, until this morning. I opened the box to find it with some other medical supplies.”

  “How does it work?” Mrs. Johnson moved closer too.

  “I should be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat. I can time the beats and should be able to tell if the baby is in distress.”

  Both women nodded and waited as he pulled back the covers and pressed the horn to Cassidy’s lower abdomen. Then he leaned his ear down to the opposite end of the piece and listened.

  Katherine and Mrs. Johnson inched and leaned their way in until they all hovered over Cassidy’s round stomach.

  Katherine found herself holding her breath. The doctor maneuvered the piece several times, positioning it in different locations on Cassidy’s belly. It seemed to take forever, but finally he straightened and nodded. “The beats are good—strong.”

  “Thank God!” Katherine’s breath and words spilled out together.

  Mrs. Johnson cried into her handkerchief.

  “Yes, I’m encouraged. Just keep doing what you’re doing. I must keep making my rounds.”

  “Dr. Reilly, how are the others?” Katherine walked with him to the door.

  His blue eyes darkened. “We lost the Griffith girl, and I fear at least two others will pass before the night comes.”

  Snowshoes were a wonderful invention. Jean-Michel had never seen anything quite like it, and being able to traverse on top of a glacier with them was a spectacular thing.

  The sparkling white carpet that covered the icy blue layers beneath was a sight to behold. He wished he could share it with Katherine.

  So far, the trip had been wonderful . . . and terrible.

  Wonderful in the scenery and the companionship with Allan and John and young Thomas.

  Terrible in that he missed Katherine . . . and then there were the mishaps with Collette.

  First the horrible bear incident about which the group was still gossiping. At least Collette had been properly scared and had been good afterward to obey the rules regarding the wildlife. But there were other things she did out of her lack of common sense. Just after they’d managed to get back on the trail after the bear encounter, Collette fell off her horse while trying to pick a salmonberry off a bush. Then yesterday, she’d gotten herself into a patch of pushki—cow parsnip—and had gotten the sap all over her arms. Of course the sun had been shining, which set off the chemical in the sap and burned her worse than any sunburn he’d ever seen. So now she was traveling with a thick white goo applied to her arms and everyone had to keep telling her, “Don’t scratch!” But she insisted the itch was worse than anything she’d ever endured and would everyone please give her a little sympathy.

  While the wonderful aspect of the trip was truly wonderful, the terrible part was exceedingly terrible. He felt at a complete loss. Was parenting always this difficult?

  After the pushki incident, Collette seemed more subdued. For which he would be eternally grateful. Just that morning John and Allan had stressed to her the dangers of climbing on glacial ice. She appeared to understand and be willing to follow the rules, but Jean-Michel feared she’d soon forget or be distracted.

  “It’s glorious, is it not?” Collette called back to him. Allan had sandwiched her between himself and Jean-Michel on the climb.

  “It is—quite incredible,” Jean-Michel replied.

  They reached a place where things leveled out slightly. John brought everyone to a halt. “We’ll rest here a bit and then start back down.”

  Jean-Michel took his place beside Collette. She shook her head. “You don’t have to worry, frère. I’m doing my best to obey all the rules.”

  Her words made him chuckle. “Merci.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I guess after saving little Davey, I felt needed—like I was doing good. Now I just feel . . . I don’t know. I see things changing and I suppose I’m trying to find my place.” She looked out across the beautiful vista. “I see the love you and Katherine share, and the love Cassidy and her husband share, and I can’t help wondering if I’ll ever know such love. After all, who on earth would want a selfish little French girl?”

  “Collette, you will find love one day.”

  She turned to face him. “But even you reminded me that men will want me for my money. What if no one ever loves me—just for me? What if I’m too selfish—too silly?”

  He wished he could wrap an arm around her shoulders, but the snowshoes made moving closer difficult.

  “I don’t know where I belong, Jean-Michel. I try to pray like Cassidy taught me. I try to read th
e Bible, but it’s hard to understand. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing—because nothing I do feels right.”

  Reaching across, Jean-Michel took hold of her hand. “We have all felt that way. I’ve struggled too. Sometimes answers take time. Keep praying and reading, but also seek wisdom from those who understand better than we do. I’m sure Cassidy and others would help you to understand the Scriptures. I will try to help too.”

  “But what if the answers aren’t what I want them to be?”

  Jean-Michel thought momentarily of Katherine and her concerns about a family. What if she couldn’t have children? He wanted a family—sons he could raise to be strong, competent men, and daughters he could dote on and raise to be considerate and wise.

  Collette was looking at him for his response, but Jean-Michel wasn’t at all sure what he should say. “Sometimes answers aren’t what we want them to be. But I suppose that is when we need to rely on God for direction—for understanding of how it all works out to be His plan for us. I don’t pretend to know all that, but I’m trying to learn. That’s all I want for you. Seek to understand by expanding your knowledge.”

  “But knowledge of what?”

  “I suppose since God is the one who holds the future and knows all things—then we should seek to understand Him and expand our knowledge of the Bible.”

  She nodded. “I suppose so. But why can’t it be easier?”

  Jean-Michel laughed. “I wish I knew.”

  28

  AUGUST 23

  Packing up the last of his gear, Jean-Michel was thankful they were on their way back to the Curry. The trip had been amazing. And for two whole days they’d been able to see Denali in his full glory. The mountain loomed in the distance today, his cape of clouds shrouding his top half, and yet, he was still enormous. The Alps were beautiful, but Jean-Michel decided he preferred this Alaska Range even more. Quiet, peaceful, surrounded by caribou and wild flowers bursting open as a carpet across the trail home. It had even come to him last night as he fell asleep—he never wanted to leave this place. He would like very much to remain in Alaska.