by Danni Roan
“She’s something else,” he chuckled, making the others smile.
“Dessert?” Sara asked, rising and going to fetch her cake.
Rebecca followed, retrieving the coffee pot and filling cups.
It was a pleasant night, companionable and fun and everyone was reluctant to end it.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to get off to work,” Bruno finally said as full darkness fell, draping the night in a banner of stars.
“We’ll have to do this again soon,” Sara suggested as together they headed for the door.
“And don’t you forget to come cook with us this week,” Rebecca offered, smiling at Janine, who impulsively reached out and squeezed her hand.
“I will, I promise.”
“We’d better get home, Mrs. Sparak,” Bruno smiled, walking her to the buggy that stood at the rail. “Thanks for a nice evening and a lovely meal.” He waved as they drove away.
“I’m afraid I’ve got to get back to those papers,” Grady said. “That was a lovely meal, though.” He smiled at Sara, but his eyes lingered on Rebecca a moment longer.
“Is it spelling again?” Rebecca asked. “If it’s something I can help with I will, just let me wash up the dishes first.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Grady spoke as he turned toward the door.
“I don’t mind a bit.”
A little later Sara looked behind her where she stood on the porch, Rafe’s arm wrapped around her as they gazed at the night. The air was cool but sweet and she snuggled closer to his warmth.
“Do you think we can do that when we have our own place?” she asked. “I mean have friends over.”
“I’m sure we can,” Rafe said, tipping his head and laying his cheek on her head where it rested on his shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”
“Is it terrible for me to say that I never thought I could like Janine?” Sara’s voice was a tiny whisper.
“I don’t reckon many people thought they’d ever be able to get along with Janine,” Rafe said. “Ms. Polly used to say she didn’t have the sense God gave a goose, but look at her now.”
“Bruno’s good for her,” Sara smiled.
“And she’s good for Bruno,” Rafe agreed.
“Sometimes love does strange things,” Sara said, squeezing him close.
Rafe leaned down, kissing her on the forehead. “That it does. Who would have ever thought you and me’d end up together, especially with the hardships between our folks.”
Turning into his arms, Sara leaned in to kiss him, not caring if anyone saw. “I’m sure glad you decided you loved me that day I fell out of that tree,” she giggled.
“I’m sure glad you fell out of that tree.” Rafe kissed her back and sighed when she pulled away.
“I’d better help Rebecca with the dishes,” Sara said, taking his hand and heading into the house.
Chapter 7
Rebecca could feel the ache as soon as her eyes fluttered open the next morning, and she threw back the heavy quilt to let the cool air caress her overly warm skin.
She knew she had pushed herself a little too hard yesterday. Along with the nervous excitement of getting to know Bruno and Janine, the ruckus at the schoolhouse and the cooking, she'd stayed up late helping Grady with the simplest of marking: spelling tests for the little ones, and less advanced math.
Pushing herself from her soft bed, she reached for the little brown bottle on her table and measured the white powder into the glass of water she kept through the night. Surely, she would feel better once she was up and moving.
Dressed, she headed downstairs in the pre-dawn gloom, gathered up the kindling and struck a match, coaxing the brightly polished stove into life.
The warmth and crackle of the small bundle of sticks trickled up her fingers and she added more wood, hovering over the stove to draw warmth into limbs that now felt chilled and clammy.
"Morning," Grady offered, padding into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair was still tasseled from sleep and she knew he must be tired.
"Were you up very late?" she asked as she lingered, soaking up some of the warmth from the stove.
"A bit, but sometimes you have to be as a teacher or you'd never have any life at all." He grinned lazily, his eyes brightening.
Rebecca reached for the heavy kettle, the cold cast iron bale biting her fingers and making her winch.
"Are you alright?" Grady was at her side in an instance, his warm hand brushing hers as he took the kettle, lifting it to the pump.
"I'm a little tired as well," she replied, flushing with embarrassment at her own weakness.
"Then let me help this morning." He smiled, lighting his whole face.
"But you're a guest," Rebecca protested.
"I don't think of myself as a guest," Grady grumbled, working the pump and spilling water into the kettle before placing it on the stove. "It's cheaper for the town to keep me here at the boarding house than it is to give me my own place, so I figure I'm at home."
Rebecca tried to smile through the pain behind her eyes as sweat began to bead on her brow.
"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Grady's voice was a soothing rumble in her ear as he gazed at her, his dark eyes full of concern.
"I'll be fine," she assured him, pulling down the egg basket and heading for the door.
Grady Gatlin stared at the door that had just closed behind the young housekeeper. Something was wrong whether she wanted to admit it or not, and a cold dread crept up his spine.
He had enjoyed getting to know Rebecca Carol. She was bright, helpful, and pretty to boot. He looked forward to their morning conversations, and if truth were told, he rose earlier than he needed to just to have a few minutes with her each day.
Moving toward the window at the back of the house, he gazed into the pale light of morning, waiting to see Rebecca exit the chicken coop, but as the minutes ticked slowly by, he became more and more concerned and slipped through the door into the cool dampness of a new day.
"Rebecca?" Grady called as he made his way toward the enclosure.
"I'm here, Grady," she called back, her voice shaky.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" Grady's heart pounded in his ears as he turned the corner and saw her sitting on an old bale of hay.
"No, I just needed to sit a minute." She dropped her eyes in shame. If only she had faith, she was sure that she would be strong again.
Grady wrapped his arm around Rebecca's slim shoulders and lifted her to her feet. She was shivering now and her eyes were glassy. "You aren't' well," he stated dumbly, starting her toward the house.
Rebecca leaned into the solid bulk of the teacher, his warmth radiating over her and easing the ache where his body touched hers. It had been a long time since she'd had a bad spell like this. Surely it would pass quickly.
"You have malaria, don't you?" Grady's voice was soft as he opened the door and guided her to a chair.
"Yes." She sniffed.
Lifting a warm-looking blue coat from a peg, he wrapped it around her shoulders and knelt before her, pulling it tight around her waist.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Grady spoke, his kind eyes piercing her heart. "People get malaria living in places like Panama." He smiled slightly, brushing her damp hair from her eyes.
"I thought I'd be alright," she moaned, feeling like one of his pupils seeking solace after a bad grade.
"You will be," he assured her. "You need to ride it out is all. Do you have the quinine?"
Rebecca nodded as the tears she was holding back choked off any words.
"Do you want me to fetch it?"
She shook her head; she'd taken the dose earlier and hoped it would soon help ease the symptoms.
"You take it regularly, don't you?"
"Yes," she squeaked, managing to hold back the flood.
"Well you just sit there for a minute and I'll make us a nice cup of tea, then we'll worry about breakfast."
"What about breakfast?" Sara sa
id, entering the kitchen and looking at the two, her brows furrowing as she took in the scene.
Grady stood, smiling at her innocently.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, looking at the teacher and then back to Rebecca draped in Polly's old, blue coat.
"I'm afraid I kept our diligent caregiver up a bit late," he said with a smile. "I felt so bad about it I've insisted on making the tea." His voice was smooth.
Rebecca's heart skipped in her chest gratefully, for his kindness in covering her weakness.
"That sounds lovely." Sara smiled, but her eyes were still wary. "You make tea and I'll fetch the eggs and make breakfast."
"Thank you," Rebecca spoke as Sara left the house. "It was kind of you to give me time to explain."
"Well I do think I kept you up rather late last night." The big man smiled, pouring hot water in to the teapot. "It isn't often I have help with the paperwork," he added, placing a cup of tea before her.
The warm brew trickling down her throat was soothing, but Rebecca could still feel the chill deep in her bones. Perhaps her mother had been right; perhaps she should never have left home.
A single tear trickled down Rebecca's face and Grady desperately wanted to wipe it away. He could not understand why she was so hard on herself, why she could not understand that illness was a natural part of life.
"Lots of people live normal, productive lives with malaria." Grady pulled the plates down from the top shelf and placed them on the table. "You just need to take care of yourself," he smiled.
The back door creaked open and Sara sashayed in. "The chickens seem to have out done themselves today," she grinned. "I think I'm in the mood for poached eggs. How does that sound?"
"I'll have four," Grady grinned, winking at Rebecca, who finally smiled.
"Rebecca, why don't you go lie down for a while?" Sara offered after breakfast was finished. "We all have sick days you know, and deserve a rest."
The men had both left for work as soon as they had wolfed down their meal and a quietness settled over the house.
"I'm terribly sorry about this," Rebecca said. She had reached the point of being too warm and had hung Polly's coat back on its peg.
"Why? It isn't your fault." Sara looked shocked. "You go on now and sleep."
Rebecca moved toward the stairs, her head spinning slightly. She was glad she had managed to eat an egg and one small piece of toast, but she still felt weak, wrung out, and weary.
***
The chills and shivering lasted through the day and by lunchtime Rebecca's nightgown was soaked in sweat.
Sara brought her some lunch, just a bit of chicken soup, but she could barely get any down.
"Are you sure I can't fetch the doctor?" she asked, brushing the damp hair from her friend’s face.
"No," Rebecca whispered, reaching for the glass on her bedside table with shaking hands.
Sara reached it first and helped Rebecca drink the cool liquid. "I wish there was something more I could do for you," she said, placing the glass down with a soft clink.
"I'm so sorry," Rebecca said. "I'll rest and be fine."
"Grady, what are you doing here?" Sara asked, surprise making her voice high.
"I thought I'd come home at lunch and see how Rebecca was feeling," he answered, a rosy hue on his cheeks belaying his serious eyes.
"She's not at all well, Grady," Sara said, the smile at his concern washed away by her own worry. "I offered to fetch the doctor, but she said no."
"Could you make me a cup of coffee?" Grady asked, gesturing toward the kitchen. He did not want to discuss Rebecca standing in the hall.
Together they walked to the big, friendly room. Taking a chair, Grady stretched his long legs before him and began to speak as Sara busied herself with cups and the coffee pot.
"You remember that Ms. Rebecca told us she used to be a missionary in Panama?"
"Yes, she doesn't talk about it much, but it sounds like it was an amazing experience."
"In the deep south and the tropics, people often contract an illness called malaria. It's caused by a parasite that infects the blood." He picked up his cup and took a sip of the dark brew.
"But Rebecca's been back from Panama for two years."
"Yes, but it's common to relapse from the disease at times."
"That's terrible." Sara sat, leaning her elbows on the table. "Why didn't she tell us?"
Grady Gatlin ran his hand through his thick thatch of dark hair. "I don’t think I can answer that, but for now we need to keep her warm and see she has plenty to drink. I know she has her treatment for it, so unless she gets much worse we won't call the doc."
"You think she'll be alright?" Sara's green eyes were dark with concern.
"I think so, she made it through the initial illness, when many die, so I'm sure she'll come through this."
"Thanks for telling me, Grady," Sara said. "I was really starting to worry."
Pushing himself to his feet, the strapping teacher stretched. "I'm glad she has a friend like you to look after her." He smiled softly, turned to the door, and headed back to school.
A cool darkness had settled over the house when Rebecca finally woke. Her fever had broken, leaving her feeling weak but clear-headed. She remembered voices earlier, and Sara helping her drink the quinine and water.
She glanced at the now empty cup, its bottom encrusted with a pale haze of the white bitter powder.
Rising on shaky legs, she stripped out of her damp nightdress and into a fresh one. The soft, wispy linen prickled on her sensitive skin as she tossed her robe around her. She felt raw and ragged as she moved to the bathroom across the hall.
Leaning heavily on the wide wooden banister, Rebecca made her way silently down to the kitchen and lit a lamp with shaky hands. She was hungry, which she took to be a good sign and moved to the icebox hopefully.
A soft shuffle behind her made her look up as Grady walked in, his clothes rumpled and his eyes rimmed.
"Did I wake you?" Rebecca asked guiltily.
"Yes and no," Grady offered his voice husky and low. "I fell asleep marking writing papers." He smiled sleepily. "You're hungry."
"Yes," the young housekeeper replied, pulling her robe tight as she leaned against the icebox.
"Sit down." The teacher’s voice left no question; it was a command. "I'll fix you something."
"But..."
A dark brow raised and hard glint in his eyes made her stop, her sentence unfinished as she moved toward the table and plunked into a chair.
"I see why you became a teacher," she mumbled hoarsely. "Any student would recognize that look."
A deep chuckle rumbled from the depth of the thick, wooden box.
In a few moments Grady had cold beef, mustard, and cheese laid out on the table as he stoked the fire to life and started the kettle to boil.
"Drink this first," he said, placing a glass of cool water before her.
"Yes, teacher," she teased, but drank the glass gratefully.
"Has this happened before?" Grady asked gently, beginning to assemble sandwiches.
"About three months after I returned from treatment in New York. I knew it was possible but thought perhaps I wouldn't have a problem."
"It is a rather unpredictable disease. I'm sure you saw many health issues down south, though."
"Too many," Rebecca agreed, looking up as he handed her a thin sandwich. "Thank you." The plate rattled slightly as she set it on the table. "Many of the children were very ill when they arrived. I think I was as much nurse as I was guardian."
"How did you know what to do?"
"We had a nurse who also went. Our mission agency supported a children's home, a medical clinic, and a refuge for lost women."
"So you learned as you went along?"
"Yes, there was always so much to do and learn. Our nurse was a fascinating woman. Not only did she use the current medicines science has provided us with this century, but she also investigated and used traditional treatmen
ts from the area."
"Children are some of the most fragile and resilient beings in the world," Grady mused.
"Yes, if they can survive the early years. It's hard enough here at home, but in other places it's much worse."
The big kettle on the stove started puffing steam and Grady rose quietly, making the tea while she continued to speak.
"We faced all of the childhood illnesses we see here, but so much more as well. So many of them have no parents to look after them anymore. Men who have gone off to work on plantations or other projects are injured or die in accidents, leaving their children destitute."
"That happens here as well sometimes." Grady's voice was soft as he set the cups on the table. "I worked with a boy back home who had no one to care for him. He had his folks yet, but they were so deep in a bottle, most of the time he might as well have been on his own."
"That's terrible," Rebecca said, laying her hand along his arm.
"Teachers see kids all day long." He smiled, covering her hand with his warm one. "They're all different, but with a firm hand and understanding, you can actually help them figure out who they are and what they want to do." He smiled, a soft glint in his eye.
"You truly love teaching, don't you?"
"Yes, though I've had a day or two dealing with parents when I wanted to pack my bag and become a prospector." He chuckled. "Did you like being a missionary?"
For several seconds Rebecca blinked up at him. She had finished her sandwich somewhere along the way and was starting to feel drowsy, but the question shocked her.
"I, I don't think that's the point," she finally replied.
“Why not?” Grady scowled, puzzled.
“The purpose is to be useful, to work.”
“You don’t think folks should feel called to their work?” Grady leaned forward, studying her face.
"The Bible says to go, so I went." Her answer was childishly simple.
"It also says pick up your cross and follow me," Grady spoke quietly; "I reckon that means we're all meant to do something different." He leaned back in his chair, watching her as she mulled the idea over.
"A cross is a burden, Grady. It's meant to be borne."
"The Word also says His yoke is easy and his burden light," Grady countered.
