Chapter 4 #2
He nudged his elbow into hers. “I’m sorry you lost your parents, but Mrs. Stone seems truly fond of you.”
“As I am of her.” She leaned toward Mrs. Stone and touched her forehead. “She’s warm. I should sponge her, but rest is valuable, too.” Her shoulder brushed along his arm as she resumed sitting, tipping her head back to the log wall.
“You should get some rest, too.” She must be as tired as the rest of the travelers.
“As should you.”
But neither of them moved. A yawn opened his mouth wide. He might be a little tired, too. “I’ll sleep by Shorty’s cot in case he needs anything.” He waited for her to indicate her plans.
“I’ll lie beside Mother. That way, I’ll know if she—” A yawn cut her off.
Nash patted her arm. “Good night then.” He eased to his feet and tiptoed to where Shorty slept.
Nash had neither blanket nor pillow. In the past, as he rode his land, he’d slept on the ground without either, so this wasn’t new.
The boards creaked as he lowered himself to the floor, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes.
As was his habit, he prayed before he slept.
God in heaven, thank You for Your provision of shelter and warmth and for traveling companions to help pass the time. Help Addie sleep. Allow her mother to get better. Help Shorty’s leg heal. Be with Ma and keep her safe. Most of all, thank—
Sleep claimed him.
He woke to darkness and an ache in his shoulder. Where was he? To his right came a moan and, with it, remembrance. His shoulder protested as he sat up.
“Shorty?”
“My apologies for disturbing you, but I have a pain that will not go away.” Shorty thrashed about.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Nash made his way to the cupboard where he’d left the lamp and lit it again. Light touched the room.
Shorty struggled with the bedcovers.
“Hang on. You’re all tangled up.” Nash returned to the cot and eased the blanket from under the man.
“It pulled on my leg.” Shorty’s sigh carried a mild groan.
“Maybe I should have a look at it. It might be bleeding.”
“The pain is gone now. Let me sleep.” Shorty snugged the blanket to his chin and waved Nash away.
Mumbling came from the other direction, and Nash turned to the sound. It came from Mrs. Stone.
Addie sat up, yawning. She seemed to struggle to orientate herself. Then, alertness jerked through her. “Mother, you’re burning up.” She hurried to the cupboard to put more water in the basin, then returned to the fur bed to sponge the older woman.
Nash squatted at Addie’s side. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Pray.” Addie dipped the cloth into the water. “She’s so hot.”
Mrs. Stone mumbled. Nash made out one word—head.
He took it to mean she had a headache. In response to Addie’s request, he spoke, “Father in heaven, the Great Physician, please touch Mrs. Stone and cure her of whatever this is.”
“Amen.” Addie’s voice wobbled between hope and fear.
Lamplight cast a shadow across Mrs. Stone. Mr. Bertrand snored but didn’t wake up. Mr. Zacharius wheezed. Rain still fell on the roof.
Nash didn’t know what he could do, apart from praying and offering Addie encouragement.
“I don’t remember ever being sick as a child,” he murmured. “What I mean is I have little experience with illness.”
“I’ve helped my parents tend to those who are sick or injured.” She dampened the cloth again, left it on Mrs. Stone’s forehead, and leaned back beside him. “Often, there isn’t much a person can do besides offer comfort.”
“And pray,” he reminded her.
“Of course.” She wet the cloth again, then settled back. “I remember a time that we encountered a family where all six of them were sick. Burning up like Mother is.”
“What did you do?” Had the outcome been positive?
“Sponged them. Got them to drink water.”
“And?”
“Mother has a medicinal tea she got them to drink. Three days later, their fevers dropped. They were weak, but they all got better.” Strength girded her words. “So will Mother.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“Did I hear you talking to Shorty? How is he?”
“His blanket had grown tight across his leg and caused him pain. I untangled it. I wanted to check his leg, but he wouldn’t let me.”
“The worst thing would be for him to get an infection.” A shudder twitched across her shoulders.
“Maybe the whiskey will prevent that.”
“God willing.”
He didn’t respond. God didn’t always act the way one thought He should. “Bad things happen.”
“Indeed. But is it God’s will or man’s folly? Is it greed and cruelty that is to blame?”
“My ma taught me that I must not blame God when there is a consequence to man’s sin.” He’d struggled to accept the lesson. “There was a time I thought God should intervene in the things man’s evil brought.”
“Sometimes He does though,” She tended to Mrs. Stone before she finished her thought. “The Stones believe it is up to us to overcome evil with good. And leave no room for vengeance. ‘Vengeance is mine. I will repay,’ the Bible says.”
Her voice began gently and ended up on a harsh note.
He almost reached to touch her arm. “Would you prefer vengeance at your own hands?”
“Of course not. How would repaying evil with evil have a positive effect?”
Something rattled against the side of the house. “Just a branch blowing by,” he said.
“How old were you when you lost your father?” The lamplight made her features appear sharp. They weren’t. She had a kind face and a gentle smile.
He sought a way to answer her. He’d lost his father long before he and Ma had moved away from him when Nash was thirteen. A year later, his father was dead. That provided more information than she sought and certainly more than he intended she should hear. “I was fourteen.”
Her hand, cool from dipping into the water, touched his forearm. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to lose a parent.”
“Thanks. God led us to a new home. Ma found work with a kind rancher. She married him two years ago.” Ma had waited until Nash had established his own life before she remarried, explaining that she didn’t want him to ever feel she wasn’t available for him.
“How old were you when you lost your parents? And I’m very sorry for your loss. ”
“Thank you. I was eleven. Eight years ago. It’s a pain that will never go away, but God provided me a new home with the Stones.”
“It’s also eight years since my pa died.”
Her gaze found his. Her brown eyes were even darker in the low light.
She studied him hard, perhaps trying to read a special meaning into the fact that they’d both lost parents near the same time.
A smile caught at the corners of her mouth.
“My math is good enough to realize you are twenty-two. And already you have a ranch.”
“And horses. Don’t forget the horses.”
“On no. Of course not.”
They grinned at each other.
“My math is good enough to know you are nineteen. And—”
“An old maid.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I was about to say, ‘And busy doing good deeds.’”
“That sounds almost as dire as old maid. Or perhaps one goes with the other.”
A verse he’d heard recently sprang to mind. “Doesn’t the Bible say we shouldn’t let our good be evil spoken of?” Would she hear the gentle chiding in his voice?
She blinked. Opened her mouth and closed it. Drew in an audible breath before she spoke. “Thank you for that reminder.”
“You’re most welcome.” His grin widened. How pleasant to talk to this young woman. She intrigued him with her caring and kindness and quick humor.
Mrs. Stone sat up, throwing her arms into the air and mumbling unintelligible words.
Addie caught her by the shoulders. “Mother, everything is fine. Lie back and rest.” To Nash, she said, “She’s worse. I believe she’s delirious. I don’t know what to do.”