Embers of Love (23 page)

Putting another kettle of water to boil, Lizzie checked the clock again. G. W. should be home within the half hour. She hurried to pour a cooled pan of water into a pitcher for use. Deborah had insisted that they boil all water and milk – apparently it helped to kill any typhoid bacteria. It seemed a lot of fuss since none of them were showing signs of the illness, but Lizzie knew Deborah was far more learned about such things and complied without complaining. If it kept them well, it would be worth the extra work. She would be devastated if G. W. took ill.

It amazed her that she’d grown to love this man so dearly. He was nothing like the man she’d imagined herself marrying, yet he understood her as no one had before – not even Deborah. He admired her artistic abilities but also encouraged her to learn new skills. He also offered her laughter and joy, things that had been sorely missing in her life until now.

“Have the men returned?” Deborah asked as she strode into the kitchen.

“I don’t think so. Since the train isn’t running, I can’t always hear them when they get in. I suppose they should be back soon, however.” Lizzie turned her attention to the oven and pulled out a large pan of creamed ham and potatoes. “Supper’s ready.”

“It smells wonderful,” Deborah said, going to the back door. She looked outside for a moment, then turned back to her friend. “I wish I knew how things were going in town.”

“I know. I do, too. I was just wondering if Mother or Stuart had taken sick.”

Deborah nodded. “I know. I thought of them, too. Hopefully, Dr. Clayton will have warned everyone to boil their water and wash thoroughly.”

“Is there nothing else that can be done?”

“Not that I’m aware.” Deborah took down plates from the cupboard. “Even amongst scientists, there are arguments and debates on how best to manage sickness. I suppose Mother is right in saying that it’s all in God’s hands. We can only watch and wait.”

The unmistakable sound of the men drifted through the windows. They were bringing the mules in, and it would only be a short time before they’d come to the house, expecting their supper.

“I guess we’d best get a move on,” Lizzie said. “Gracious, just listen to me. I’m sounding more and more like a Texan.”

Deborah laughed and headed to the dining room while Lizzie began cutting the corn bread. She found a great sense of satisfaction in her routine here, and hopefully tonight she would find herself sitting beside G. W. on the porch after supper. She shivered slightly at the thought. She hoped he would ask her to marry him soon. They both knew it was an implied desire, but the question had never been posed.

She frowned as a thought came to mind. Perhaps G. W. wouldn’t ask for her hand until the annulment was secured. She supposed that was only right. He was a gentleman, and a good Christian man. He wouldn’t want to besmirch her reputation.

Putting such matters aside, Lizzie squared her shoulders and stacked the corn bread on a plate. No matter what happened, things were better here than they’d ever been in Philadelphia. God would see her through. She had to trust that He had made a way through for all of them.

–––––––

G. W. finished washing his face and hands. He took the towel and dried off, then drew a comb from his pocket and smoothed back his damp hair.

“You sure are gone over Miss Lizzie,” Rob teased him. “I ain’t never known you to worry overmuch about your looks.”

“No one could ever fuss as much as you do,” his brother countered.

Rob shrugged. “I have my reputation to uphold, don’t ya know. The ladies expect me to look my best.”

G. W. laughed and put the comb back in his pocket. “You’re gonna have to pick just one of ’em and settle down soon. Ain’t good for a man to be alone – God himself said as much.”

“I’m hardly alone, big brother. ’Cept for now, maybe. What with the quarantine, I can hardly head to town for my usual sparkin’.” He frowned. “Sure hope things are going good for folks.”

“I do, too,” G. W. replied, heading to the house. “But right now, I’m hopin’ even more that supper’s hot and waitin’ on the table.”

He bounded up the steps and into the house. The pleasant aroma of coffee and ham filled the air. Much to his satisfaction, he found Lizzie watching him from the corner of the kitchen.

“You look like the cat that stole the cream,” she teased.

G. W. shrugged. “I feel more like the cat whose stomach is so empty it’s pressin’ against his backbone.”

“Mercy, that can’t be good. We’ll have to see to that. Can’t be having you suffer such misery.”

He fixed her with a wicked grin. “Feedin’ me won’t put me out of my misery, but I don’t guess it will hurt me, neither.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. “Hopefully, we can ease your suffering in every way – one of these days. Soon.”

“That’s what I’m a-countin’ on,” he replied. “And what I’m prayin’ on.”

Sooner or later, he was going to make this woman his wife. He’d wait for as long as it took.

C
HAPTER
20

Christopher looked down at the ailing Mrs. Foster. He put a hand to her head and could feel that the fever had not yet abated. She was still desperately ill, and worse yet, she knew it. That was the trouble of having knowledge of sickness and disease. Mrs. Foster knew the seriousness of her ailments, and by the looks of it, she was not only in misery and pain but also gravely afraid.

He listened for a moment to her heartbeat. The woman opened her eyes and focused her dazed expression on him. “I’m dyin’, ain’t I?”

“Nonsense. You just rest, Mrs. Foster. You’re doing a bit better, but this is going to have to run its course. Can you take some water?”

She gave a weak nod. He lifted her shoulders and brought a glass to her parched lips. “Not too much at a time. Just sip it.”

To his surprise, she did exactly as he told her. “I figure God is punishin’ me for my pride,” she said as he placed her back on the pillow.

“How is that, Mrs. Foster?”

She put a hand to her stomach and moaned softly.“ My pride,” she finally continued, “ain’t no excuse for how I acted toward you.”

He smiled. The third week of the disease was often marked by delirium – perhaps her confession was nothing more than that. “You just need to rest. Soon you’ll be back on your feet.”

Christopher realized with great relief that he held this woman no malice. For all her ill treatment toward him, she was a suffering soul who needed his help. Whether her change in attitude was due to the illness or a contrite heart, Christopher wanted only to see her recover.

“Is the whole town sick with the typhoid?”

“Quite a few of them are. Some seem to have escaped the worst of it.” He blotted her forehead with a damp cloth, then straightened. “I need to go see to the rest of your family, but I’ll be back to check on you tonight.”

She nodded weakly. Christopher gathered his medical bag and went into the next room to check on Sadie and Matthew. Both were quite ill and into their second week of the sickness. Marked by a rosy rash on their abdomens and bearing high fevers, neither was able to get up from bed without help. Two girls, no more than twelve or thirteen, had been called upon to assist with chamber pots and give water and medicine. Children seemed to have easier cases of the disease or often escaped it altogether. No one knew why. Still more confusing was why some took the disease and died, while others bore the misery and recovered with few complications.

But mysteries such as this had drawn Christopher to medicine in the first place. Treating symptoms and searching for new remedies were always a challenge. But losing lives was a price Christopher refused to pay.

He finished tending the Fosters and moved on to the next family. One by one, Christopher made the rounds to all of the cabins, finishing just after two in the afternoon. He had been forced to expand the quarantine area to include the black town across the railroad tracks. Thankfully, the train was still running, although it couldn’t stop in the restricted area. Supplies were brought in on the train and set beside the tracks, just outside of town. Once this was done, the train had to move on before Dr. Clayton could send men to retrieve the goods. At least this way, they continued receiving medical supplies and food.

Walking toward the depot, Christopher suppressed a yawn. His muscles ached and he longed for a good night’s sleep. The epidemic was far from over, however, and rest would have to wait.

“Dr. Clayton!”

He looked up and focused his bleary gaze toward the sound. Deborah Vandermark stood just beyond the makeshift quarantine fence. He gave a wave and smiled. He was greatly relieved to see that she’d not succumbed to the disease. He ambled toward the roped boundary, stopping about fifteen feet from the line.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Not as bad as I could be. There are still some folks who haven’t come down sick.”

Deborah frowned. “I wish I could come and help you. You look awful.”

He chuckled. “Well, thanks for the compliment.”

“You know I meant no insult. It’s just that you need help, and no one is qualified to give it.”

“The risk is too big. Besides, God is seeing me through.”

Deborah glanced toward the boardinghouse. “Have you seen Mrs. Decker and Mr. Albright? Are they sick?”

“They seem fine. Folks at the boardinghouse haven’t come down ill. They’re nearly a quarantine unto themselves.”

“Mrs. O’Neal is a very capable housekeeper. I’m sure she’s heeded all the warnings and suggestions you’ve offered.”

“So far, it would appear that way. The few residents who are there seem healthy,” Christopher replied. “Although none are too happy about having to be imprisoned.”

“They’d like it a whole lot less if they came down sick.”

“That’s true enough. So how’s your family?”

“We’re all fine. I’ve been boiling the water and milk and making everyone wash until their fingers are pruned.” She smiled. “I’ve never seen the boys with such clean hands.”

He could well imagine Deborah standing over her brothers with a threatening glare. “And your mother is fine?”

“Yes, she’s always been the healthiest of us all.” Deborah looked past him to the town. “We heard there were a couple of deaths.”

Christopher nodded. “Sadly enough, we lost Mr. Downs and one of the Foster cousins. Amelia.”

“Do you think there will be additional deaths?”

He shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Some folks are recovering. Mrs. Foster has been terribly ill, but I believe she’s turned the corner. I think another day or two will show her greatly improved.”

“Perhaps this will take some of the bitterness from her.”

“She did tell me this morning that she thought this was punishment for her pride,” Christopher replied. “I suppose only time will tell as to whether she changes her ways. Her son Matthew and his wife are very sick. I worry that Sadie might not make it.”

Deborah looked as though she wanted to say something more, but she remained silent. He knew she was frustrated she couldn’t assist him, and he would have loved to have had her help. But he was simply unwilling to risk exposing her to this dreadful disease.

“Well, I need to get on over to the depot, Miss Vandermark. They’ve brought in a new shipment of supplies.”

“Do you have everything you need? Is there anything we can make for you?”

He considered the matter for a moment. “No, I think at this point I have all I need. Mrs. Perkins sends over food for me to eat – when I get a chance.”

“You must take care of yourself, Dr. Clayton. We’d be in a dire situation without your healing care.”

He smiled. “A few weeks back, I couldn’t beg patients to come see me.”

“Mother said it often takes a situation like this to change the hearts and minds of a community. It’s sad, but maybe now folks can see how important a doctor is to this town.”

“Yes, perhaps you’re right . . . but then I must hold myself partially responsible for this epidemic.”

She frowned and shook her head. “How can that be?”

“I prayed for God to cause the people to put aside their fears and prejudices and allow me to help them. I suppose I should have been more careful with my request, as I didn’t stipulate how I would like to see that change accomplished.”

Deborah shrugged. “God’s ways are often a mystery. You need to trust that He has heard your prayers and answered them by His design – not so much with typhoid, but with your ability to be the one who can help these folks.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Christopher took out his pocket watch and noted the time. “I need to go. Please give my regards to your family and send word if anyone falls ill.”

“I will. And Dr. Clayton, I will be praying for you – for your safety in the midst of this work.”

She sounded so concerned that he couldn’t help but smile. “Never fear, I will wash my hands and wipe down everything . . . twice.”

–––––––

Deborah returned home, feeling only marginally better. She was relieved to finally see Dr. Clayton, but it did little to allay her fears. He looked terribly tired. How long could he go on like this?

“Oh, Lord,” she prayed as she sat down to attend the logging books, “please send someone to help him with this sickness. Don’t leave him to face this on his own. There are so many to care for.” She considered the possibility of sneaking back to town. Perhaps if she crossed the quarantine line by coming through the back side of town through the woods, Dr. Clayton would have no choice but to accept her help. “Once I’m in there, he can hardly send me away. Oh, show me what to do, Lord.”

“Deborah? Did you say something?” Her mother came to the office door. “I thought I heard you call.”

“I was just praying. I saw Dr. Clayton in town. He looks exhausted, and I was asking God to send someone to help. The doctor won’t allow me to assist him, for fear I’d take ill.”

“I’m glad for that.” Her mother looked at her sternly. “There’s nothing to be gained by even one more person getting sick.”

“But I know about the precautions. The things I’ve read and heard about avoiding typhoid are quite simple: Bacteria are spread because of a lack of cleanliness. I would pay attention to such things whether here or in town.”