CHAPTER 13
Working Through the Crisis
Goldpine
The following two weeks brought Caleb and Ruth into a working partnership of considerable intensity, the two of them moving between the district's various afflicted households with a coordinated efficiency that drew admiring comment from the whole watching community, even as the outbreak's mounting toll kept both of them working hours that left little room for anything beyond the crisis's immediate, exhausting demands.
Nettie Thorne, now nine years old and considerably more articulate than her earlier appearances in this narrative might suggest, fell ill during the outbreak's second week, sending Amelia and Jed into the particular controlled panic of parents whose child has fallen victim to a serious illness their own limited medical knowledge cannot properly address.
“She'll be fine,” Caleb assured them, completing his examination with the careful thoroughness he brought to every case, though he noted, with private concern he did not voice aloud, that Nettie's fever ran rather higher than most of the outbreak's previous cases.
“The fever wants careful monitoring, and I'd recommend cool compresses to help manage it, but her throat shows no sign of the more severe complications we've seen in a few other cases.
I'll call again this evening to confirm her progress.”
Amelia, watching him work with the same steady competence Ruth had come to value so thoroughly, found herself offering her own quiet observation once Caleb had stepped briefly from the room to consult with Ruth regarding the fever's proper management.
“He's a fine physician,” she told Ruth, catching her arm gently.
“I can see why you've grown so fond of him, watching him work.”
“I'm not certain what you mean, Amelia.”
“Oh, I think you understand precisely what I mean, dear.
I've watched you two work together these past weeks with rather more than merely professional coordination.
There's a warmth between you that reminds me considerably of my own early days with Jed, before either of us had properly acknowledged what was actually growing between us.”
Ruth found herself without any ready denial for this observation, understanding, with some private discomfort, that Amelia's assessment carried rather more truth than she had yet permitted herself to fully examine.
“Whatever's growing between us, Amelia, Caleb remains considerably guarded regarding any romantic possibility, still carrying, I think, rather more grief for his late fiancée than he's properly worked through.”
“Grief has a way of eventually yielding to genuine, patient love, dear, same as I watched happen with Jed's own considerable grief for Sarah. I'd not counsel giving up on him simply because his guard remains presently raised. Some of the finest matches take the longest, most careful building.”
This counsel, offered with the particular authority of a woman who had herself navigated precisely this variety of careful courtship with a grieving man, settled into Ruth's ongoing consideration of her own uncertain feelings, and she found herself, returning to Caleb's side to continue Nettie's treatment, watching him with renewed attention to whatever small signs might indicate his own guarded heart's gradual thawing.
The crisis reached its most frightening point some days later, when little Grace Petty, Mrs. Petty's youngest granddaughter, developed the concerning cardiac complications Caleb had feared throughout the outbreak's duration, her fever spiking dangerously and her breathing growing labored in a manner that sent Caleb's own carefully maintained composure into visible, genuine alarm.
“We need to reduce this fever immediately,” he said, his voice carrying an urgency Ruth had not yet heard from him, his hands, she noticed with some concern, trembling slightly as he worked. “Fetch more cool water, and the willow bark preparation from my bag, quickly.”
Ruth moved to comply immediately, though she noted, watching him work over the following tense hour, that his usual steady competence had given way to something considerably more frantic, his movements carrying an edge of desperate urgency that reminded her, though she could not have properly known the specific comparison, of exactly the kind of helpless panic he had once felt at Eleanor's bedside, watching his medical training prove insufficient against a disease's terrible progression.
“Caleb.” Ruth's voice, steady and firm despite her own considerable fear for the child, cut through his mounting panic with deliberate calm.
“Look at me. You know precisely what this situation requires.
Breathe, and work through the proper steps, same as you've done successfully with every other complicated case these past months.”
Something in her steady insistence seemed to properly anchor him, and Caleb found his own composure gradually reasserting itself over the following minutes, his hands steadying as he worked through the careful, methodical treatment his considerable training had taught him, applying cool compresses and monitoring Grace's vital signs with a returning confidence that owed considerable debt, he would later privately acknowledge, to Ruth's calm, unwavering presence throughout the whole terrifying ordeal.
Mrs. Petty hovered nearby throughout this crisis, her own considerable fear for her granddaughter barely contained beneath a determined composure that mirrored, in its way, the same discipline Ruth was presently modeling for Caleb's benefit.
“You'll save her,” she said, not quite a question, watching Caleb work with an intensity that suggested she was willing her own confidence into existence through sheer determined repetition. “I trust you'll save her, Doctor.”
“I'm doing everything within my power, Mrs. Petty, and Ruth's assistance considerably strengthens that power. We'll know more within the hour, but I want you to understand that we're doing everything medically possible for her.”
This honest acknowledgment, offering neither false reassurance nor unnecessary alarm, seemed to properly settle Mrs. Petty's own anxious vigil, and the small household settled into the particular tense, prayerful waiting that attends any genuine medical crisis, each minute stretching with unbearable slowness until Grace's fever finally, blessedly began its gradual retreat toward safety.
Josiah arrived partway through this tense vigil, having heard word of the crisis through the town's efficient grapevine, and offered his own quiet prayers alongside Mrs. Petty's anxious watching, his steady pastoral presence providing an additional measure of comfort to the household's considerable fear.
“The Lord's mercy has carried this town through harder trials than this one,” he said, settling beside Mrs. Petty with a quiet hand on her shoulder.
“I've faith He'll see young Grace through this particular crisis as well, especially with two such capable healers presently attending her.”
“I'd be grateful for whatever prayers you can offer, Reverend,” Mrs. Petty said, her voice carrying a tremor she could no longer entirely suppress.
“I've buried a husband and two grown children already in this hard territory.
I'll not easily bear burying a grandchild besides, however much I trust the doctor's evident skill.”
Josiah's prayers, offered quietly throughout the following tense hour, seemed to provide exactly the spiritual anchor the household required, and when Grace's fever finally began its blessed retreat sometime past midnight, the small gathered company offered their own collective, exhausted thanksgiving for a crisis survived through the combined efforts of careful medicine, steady nursing, and whatever grace had seen fit to answer their considerable prayers.
Josiah, watching Caleb's evident relief and lingering distress as the crisis finally resolved, found occasion to offer his own quiet counsel before departing the Petty household.
“You fought hard for that child tonight, Caleb, and the Lord saw fit to answer that fight with mercy.
I'd encourage you to properly receive that mercy, rather than dwelling only on the fear that preceded it.”
“I'll try, Josiah, though I confess the fear rather overwhelmed my composure at certain points tonight, in a manner I hadn't expected, given how far I believed I'd already progressed these past weeks.”
“Progress rarely proceeds in a straight line, particularly regarding grief as significant as your own. Tonight's fear doesn't undo your genuine progress, only reminds you that healing takes considerably longer than any of us would generally prefer.”
Josiah departed shortly after, leaving Caleb alone with his own considerable exhaustion and the lingering echoes of the night's terrible fear, and he found himself, sitting a while longer in the Pettys' quiet kitchen, grateful for his pastor's plain, honest wisdom, understanding that Josiah's counsel had, in its own quiet way, offered him permission to properly grieve his own fear without treating that fear as evidence of failed progress.
He found Ruth waiting for him on the porch when he finally emerged, having stayed behind to help Mrs. Petty settle the household back into some semblance of order following the night's considerable ordeal, and the two of them walked together in companionable silence through the pre-dawn stillness, both too exhausted for further conversation but each finding genuine comfort simply in the other's steady, undemanding presence.
The sun was properly rising by the time they reached the small fork in the road where their paths would ordinarily diverge, and Caleb found himself, watching the pale light spread across the valley, reluctant to simply part ways after everything the night had demanded of them both.
“I don't know how to properly thank you for tonight, Ruth.
I don't know that I could have managed it without your steady presence beside me.”
“You needn't thank me, Caleb. I'd not have wanted to be anywhere else, whatever the night demanded of either of us.”
This simple exchange, offered in the exhausted, unguarded honesty of a night's shared crisis, settled between them with a weight that neither properly examined in that tired moment, though both would recall it later as one of the small, significant steps that had gradually carried them toward whatever more considerable acknowledgment still awaited their partnership.
They parted finally at the fork, each turning toward their own considerable need for rest, and Ruth found herself, walking the remaining distance home in the fresh morning light, reflecting on how thoroughly her own understanding of genuine partnership had deepened through these past intense weeks of shared crisis, understanding that whatever remained unspoken between herself and Caleb was gradually, patiently building toward a foundation considerably sturdier than mere comfortable companionship alone could have ever managed to provide.
She slept soundly once she finally reached her own bed, the whole night's considerable exhaustion overtaking her almost the moment her head touched the pillow, and woke well past her ordinary hour to find Josiah had already attended to the morning's earliest ministry duties on her behalf, understanding correctly that his sister required whatever additional rest the demanding night had earned her.