Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ELIJAH
Ihad thought I’d known fear when Patrick burned with fever. But watching Brigit fall ill—after she’d spent herself for everyone else—landed equally heavy.
My mind replayed the moment over and over. One minute she was standing, smiling with relief, the next, her eyes rolled to the top of her head and she collapsed.
I caught her before she hit the floor, her skin hot, her breath ragged, and laid her on our bed, my chest hollow as an empty drum.
For two days, the fever clung to her. Martha and Ruthie came and went, bringing clean cloths and water. No one questioned what was needed. They had learned well.
I did everything I saw her do for others: I kept the cloths cool, held the cup to her lips when she stirred enough to swallow. Yet she didn’t respond as they had.
As I wrung out another cloth, I found myself speaking to her, as if she might hear me even now.
“I see why you did it,” I murmured, brushing the damp hair back from her face. “You were keeping him safe. Keeping all of us safe. You took the weight yourself so no one else would have to carry it.”
My hand tightened around hers. “You broke your word to a man who would have harmed you and Patrick. And then you kept the truth from me, not for yourself, but so I wouldn’t be made to choose what was right.”
I drew a quiet breath. “It should never have been a question. I vow to you now, I will always choose you. We’re a family now. You, me, and Patrick.
Night fell. The fire burned low. I wrung cloth after cloth until my hands were raw, whispering prayers.
“Hold on, Brigit,” I murmured, brushing damp hair from her face. “Come back to me.”
Her lips parted, a faint sound escaping—my name, or maybe only breath. I held her hand tighter.
By dawn, the fever eased. Her skin lay damp but cool beneath my palm. Relief struck so sharply, it stole my breath.
When her eyes opened at last, hazy but clear enough to find mine, she whispered, “I thought…you’d be glad to be rid of me.”
The words cut deep.
“Never,” I said, rough with all I’d nearly lost. “I thought I’d lost you. It nearly tore me in two.”
She didn’t answer, only tightened her hand in mine before sleep claimed her again.
Morning light crept through the shutters when she stirred next. This time her gaze was clearer.
“You stayed,” she said.
“Aye.” I didn’t look away. “I’ll not leave you. Not now. Not ever.”
Brigit studied me. “I’m afraid to hope what you mean, Eli.”
“Then let me be plain.” I brushed the hair from her brow. “Whatever you think stands between us—truth, pride, past—it’s not greater than what I felt when I thought you were gone. You matter more, Brigit. More than all of it.”
Her breath caught, no words following. I stayed where I was, thumb warm at her temple, marveling that life still pulsed beneath my hand.
For the first time since this journey began, hope took root in me—not for the land, or the mill, but for her. For us.