Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (42 page)

“I
will, certainly.”

 “And
you must stay out of any taverns along the way. If anything were to happen,
I’ll hold you responsible.”

“I
resent your insinuation that I am ignorant of the dangers of travel. The
children will be safe with me, and the coachmen go armed, sir.”

“I
hope so. As much as I’d like to change things, I cannot.” 

Patterson
climbed inside and shut the coach door. “I’m only obeying orders.”

“Perhaps
I should ride with you as far as the Monocacy.”

“There’s
no need.” 

The
driver shook the reins and the horses moved forward, turning the coach out onto
the road. Nash put his arms around Rebecah. With her face wet with tears, she
raised her hand to say farewell. For as long as she lived, she would never
forget that day, a day not unlike the time her uncle sent her cousin Hugh away.
It would never happen to any of her children.

The coach rumbled down
the lane and disappeared from view. But not before a tiny hand waved out the
window and a slave in a faded calico dress stepped off the roadside to let it
pass.

Rebecah
finished the last few stitches in the shirt she was making her husband. She heard
a horse neigh, and going to the window, she looked out to see a rider hand down
a message to Maddie, turn his mount and ride off.

“The
man said it were urgent, Miss Rebecah,” Maddie said as she hurried into the
sitting room.

“It’s
from Mr. Boyd.” Rebecah tore the letter open. “Fever has stricken several
families. The Cottonwoods are down with it. The three youngest have come
through and are living in the servant’s quarters. The Smiths, the Carnes,
several of the Johnson slaves, and a few refugees are afflicted. Now his
daughter is ill and he is distracted with worry.”

Maddie
clicked her tongue. “Poor Miss Theresa. I wonder what the doctor is doing to
help.”

“Mr.
Boyd says the doctor has given up hope of saving her.”

Rebecah
felt panicked. This could not happen to one so young, one in love with life—her
friend.

“I
must go to them.”

“Snow
is coming.”

“I
have no fear of snow,” Rebecah said.

Maddie
took a step forward. “I’m coming with you. I’m a good nurse and you’ll need my help.”

“You’re
sure?”

“I’ve
nursed plenty of sick folk in my time. I know what to do—know more than most
doctors ‘bout fevers and childbearing.”

 “I
would be grateful if you came with me. Fetch your cloak. Joab can saddle my
horse. But we will have to ride together.”

“Not
to worry. My old bones can take it.” And off Maddie went, calling for Joab as
she passed out into the hallway.

Joab
came through the doorway with a load of firewood in his arms. “What’s Maddie squawking
about?”

“Maddie
and I are going into town to inquire after Miss Theresa. We may be there quite
a while. I know the cold aches your joints. But would you go out and saddle my
mare?”

“You
don’t need me to come with you?” He set the firewood down.

“Not
this time.”

* * *

Granite
clouds swept over the horizon. The wind blew against Rebecah’s face, blowing
back the hood of her gray cloak. She edged the mare to the post outside the
Boyd’s house. A black sheet hung over the door to warn visitors that sickness
lay within.

Ice
sickles hung from the porch. A dusting of snow on the roof stirred with the
wind and fell like powder. Maddie alighted from the horse first, and then
Rebecah. After she knocked several times, the door opened enough for Hilda to
peer out.

“We’re
here to see Miss Theresa, Hilda.”

Hilda
put her hand up and shook her head. “I know ya came a long way, Mrs. Nash, but
she’s too sick for me to let you in da house.”

Nonetheless,
Rebecah ignored her and stepped inside. Maddie followed. Mr. Boyd came out of
his study and met her. He looked as though he had not slept in days.

Rebecah
drew off her cloak. “Maddie and I are here to help. Surely you would not send
us back out into the cold.”

He
stared at her a moment, his face drawn and haggard.  “No, Mrs. Nash, I wouldn’t.
How kind of you and Maddie to come. I fear for my child. She is near death’s
door.”

“We
will change that.” She pulled off her gloves and put them on a chair. “We will
go up now, Mr. Boyd.”

Inside
Theresa’s room, red coals seethed and a gentle fire burned in the fireplace.
Every breath was a struggle, hoarse, raw, and painful. Memories of Endfield
Manor came back to Rebecah—the struggle to save Lady Kathryn and Lavinia, how
she and March nursed them both, one dying, the other left to live to grieve the
loss of a mother. This fever, however, was of a different plague, and Rebecah
was requisite to rely on her intuition and Maddie’s experience.

Hilda
wrung her hands and stood at the foot of the bed. “She shakes all over with da
chill.”

Maddie
pushed up her sleeves, dipped a cloth into the bowl of water beside the bed,
and threw back the covers. She dapped Theresa’s face, ran the cloth along her
arms and legs.

Rebecah
stared at Theresa. It worried her how deep the flush on her cheeks was, how
heavy the beads of perspiration on her face, her chemise soaked through. “Mr.
Boyd has reason to worry, Maddie. She is seriously ill, isn’t she?”

Maddie
shook her head.  “This is a strong fever. But don’t fear. I know what to do.” 

From
the pocket of her apron, Maddie removed a packet and handed it to Hilda. “Make
tea out of this for Miss Theresa.”

“What
is it?” Rebecah asked.

“Willow
bark. I seen it cool a fever many times.”

Maddie
drew from her apron a jar of ointment and opened the lid. “This is scented with
mint, eucalyptus oil, and camphor. It’ll break up the congestion.”

She
turned Theresa over and rubbed the ointment deep into Theresa’s back and then
her chest. Her strong hands anointed Theresa in long, tender strokes as she
hummed a hymn. 

With
this done, Maddie and Rebecah dressed Theresa in a clean nightshift, and pulled
the quilt over the girl. Hilda returned with the tea in a large ceramic mug and
handed it to Rebecah. Rebecah spooned a little into Theresa’s mouth.

Mr.
Boyd stood by watching, his brow of furrow of worry. “I could not stay away.
How is she?”

Rebecah
looked over at the anxious father. “Her fever has not yet broken. When was Dr.
Cole here?” 

“Last
night.” Boyd’s eyes never left his daughter’s face.

“What
did he say?”

“That
it is the same condition the other folks have. I’ve been up all night at her bedside
fearing I would lose her. I’ve been in such despair.” 

His
voice broke off and he started to tremble. Rebecah looked at his tired face, at
the uncombed hair, and his gray eyes marked with dark circles. She stood and
went to him.

“Mr.
Boyd, you’re in need of rest.”

“How
can I, ma’am, when she is my only child?”

“You
will do her no good if you fall ill yourself. I promise we will take good care
of her while you sleep, and will wake you at the first sign of change.”

“It
is good of you,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Hilda,”
Rebecah waved her over. “Please help Mr. Boyd to bed.” 

Hilda
gently led Mr. Boyd from the room. All night Rebecah and Maddie sat at Theresa’s
bedside. At dawn her fever broke. An hour later, the church bells began tolling.

“Do
you hear the bells, Maddie?”

“It
ain’t Sunday.”

“No.
They ring because the town has made it through.” Smiling she turned and
embraced the old woman. “All is well now.”

* * *

Nash
rode Meteor down a trail leading to the acres belonging to Laurel Hill. His
fields stood barren and windswept. The biting cold caused his leg to ache. He
could not help but think of the warrior who had let loose that arrow upon him.
Still, he refused to curse him, and instead accepted his lot.

I
hope Maddie has more of that liniment of hers
. He rubbed his thigh with the
palm of his hand.

When
he brought Meteor across a serpentine brook, deer sprung across the field. Juncos
perched in the branches of the evergreens and tore pine seeds from the cones.

He
considered himself fortunate to have not seen a warrior out on patrol this time
out. Settlers he and his men met along the way had not seen an Indian in a
month, or any of Dunmore’s men, who could be as ruthless, and yet there hung a
tenseness of danger in the air.

His
heart swelled to see the windows of his house shine in the sunlight. He sent
out a whistle, the one she knew. He waited. Rebecah did not run out to greet
him.

Instead,
Joab hurried as fast as his old legs could carry him from the barn. Hatless, he
raised his hand and smiled.

“Good
to have you home, Mr. John. I’ve got a pot of stew shimmering.”

“Sounds
good, my friend.  You’ve been well?” 

“I’m
fit as a fiddle,” said Joab.

Nash
dismounted.

Joab
ran his hand over Meteor’s coat. “My, he needs a brushing down. His coat is
thick with muck.”

“I’ll
groom him later. I’m tired.”

He
led Meteor to the barn and drew off the saddle. Joab filled a bucket with oats.

“Everything
alright here?” Nash asked.

Joab
patted his right ear. “Yes, I’ve been here all night, Mr. John.”

He
wished he could do something about Joab’s hearing, and felt sorry for the man.
He leaned a little closer. “No, Joab. Is everything alright at home?”

“Yes,
but it’s been boring without you around.”

Nash
wondered why. There was plenty of work to do.

After
settling Meteor, he went to the house. “Rebecah,” he called. He set his pistol
on the table and looked around. Her sewing basket sat beside her chair near the
fireplace. A quilt she had stitched lay over the back of their settee. Joab had
a fire going in the hearth and the room felt warm, but not warm enough without
her.

“Where’s
my wife?” he said turning to Joab.

Joab
looked over at Nash as he closed the door. “She went into town to see Miss
Boyd.”

“Did
she say for how long?”

“She
didn’t say when she’d be back.”

Nash
frowned. “I see. Well, ask Maddie to fix me a bowl of your stew…and some bread
if we have it. I’m starved.”

Joab
shook his head. “She ain’t here either. Miss Rebecah took Maddie with her.”

He was
not worried. He expected her to visit friends in town and take Maddie along as
a companion. She’d gone into town many times before. But disappointment filled
him that she had not been home to greet him. His arms longed to hold her, feel
her close against him, smell the lavender in her hair. He’d give her another few
days, and then ride over to the Boyds’ and get her.

“Are
you alright, Maddie? Am I moving my horse too fast?” Rebecah said over her shoulder.

“I’m
just fine, Miss Rebecah. I’ll be glad to get home though.”

“Me
too. It isn’t too far now.”

They
rode home under a thick gray sky. The wind grew stronger and constant, flushed
her face, and passed through her gloves and cloak.

“Miss
Rebecah, there’s a mighty storm coming,” Maddie held tighter. “Maybe we need to
turn back.”

The
temperature plunged as rapid as the wind blew, and the women shivered and
wished for home. “We are closer to Laurel Hill. Don’t worry. We’ll be alright.”

Snow
began to fall fast, the kind her beloved had warned her about, snow that drove
the cold to the marrow and brought a deceptive silence to the land. Spotting a
notched tree trunk, she drew up her mare. The initials LH etched into the bark
made her draw in a sigh of relief.

“See
those letters, Maddie?” She reached out and traced her fingers along them. “They
stand for Laurel Hill.”  Through the veil of snow, Rebecah looked toward a glowing
light in the distance. “Look—there’s home.”

Gray
mountain stone stood out against the snow. Smoke curled from the chimney.

Jack,
you must be home. Please be there.

Her
horse flicked its ears with a snort and stomped its hoofs. Shaking the reins,
Rebecah nudged her on. Drifting gray fog fell down the slopes and into the
valley, and along with it the howl of a wolf. Maddie moaned. “Lord, have mercy
on us. Wolves!”

Rebecah
looked up with a start. Starvation drove the wolves, and they barked and bayed.
She should have brought a pistol with her.

Fearing
them, Maddie pressed her face against Rebecah’s back. “Watch over us, Lord
Jesus,” Rebecah heard her whisper.  

The
mare trudged down the hill. A shadow bounded forward against the white curtain of
snow. The horse reared as a stag with great antlers bounded out of a thicket.
The mare twisted and turned. Maddie fell from the horse’s back.

“Maddie!”

Rebecah
tried to control the mare, but it reared and beat its hoofs. Her hands slipped
from the reins. She twisted to ease the fall. She tried to get up, tried to
reach, to brace herself. Then as she raised her head, she watched in horror as the
mare galloped off, the reins dragging through the snow, its blonde mane
whipping in the wind.

“No!
Come back!” she shouted. 

Maddie
got to her feet. “Oh, Miss Rebecah. You hurt bad?”

Rebecah
fell back. Her vision blurred. Shaking with cold, she put her hand up to her
head and found blood there. The wind blew hard and stung her face. From the
thicket, two wolves raced after the stag, leaped through the snow in a blur of
gray over the hilltop. But one turned back. Its eyes locked onto the women. It
crouched and snarled, stalked forward and growled.