Chapter 8 #2
“I didn’t hang them. I handed them to Mama so she could hang them. She got a funny look on her face every time she bent over.”
Amanda squirmed in her chair, but it didn’t look to be from pain. “Finish your supper,” she said to Noah. “It’ll be dark soon.”
Anger flared in Jackson’s chest with the force of a powder blast. Amanda was hiding illness from him.
Noah’s observations confirmed it. His hands fisted in his lap, and it was all he could do not to yell chastisements at her.
But she didn’t deserve wrath—especially when it was nothing but a mask for his fear.
Jackson’s ire burned away, turning his sense of control to helpless ashes at the mercy of the breeze as a cannon ball of dread lodged in his gut. “Leave the dishes for me,” he said as he stood, his voice sounding as drained as he felt. “Noah, come help me bring the laundry in.”
“I can carry the basket,” he said brightly, trailing Jackson’s heels.
Jackson removed the clothes from the line and did his best to fold them neatly, while Noah held the cloth bag open to collect the pins.
“Why are you taking in the laundry, Papa? This is Mama’s job.”
“She’s tired today. I’m letting her rest.”
“Yeah...” Noah replied in a subdued voice. “She said she was all right, but I don’t think she was telling the truth.”
Amanda sat on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, one hand pressed against her stomach, and the other gripping a wad of quilt. Her pain had worsened throughout the day, and now the conversation she knew was coming had magnified it further.
Jackson had told her to wait for him in their room as soon as he’d put the children in their beds. Then he’d gone back down to finish the evening chores—both his and hers. He’d spoken softly, but it was the type of calm a person displays when they’re restraining powerful emotions.
By the time his masculine steps creaked back up the stairs, the fire he’d lit in the hearth had died down to a low glow, flickering orange across the floorboards. And dread had made her absolutely bilious.
He closed the door softly behind him and came to stand before her. “I understand why you put on a brave face for the children, but now it’s time to stop pretending. How badly are you hurting?”
“Not too much.”
“Amanda...”
“The cramping in my belly has gotten sharper.”
“Are you able to keep food down?”
“Yes. I just don’t have much of an appetite.”
Jackson knelt beside a trunk near the washstand, rummaging.
Glass clinked softly, then he rose with a small brown bottle in hand, one of the patent medicines the owner of the general store had talked him into.
Jackson squinted and held it up to the lamp, checking the label.
“This is good for a host of things, including digestive troubles and pain.”
“I don’t want it,” Amanda said, eyeing it like it might sprout worms.
Jackson pressed his lips together and looked on her with longsuffering. “You’ve avoided bending over all day, and you’ve been holding your side for the better part of the evening.”
“It’s just a bad case of dyspepsia. It’ll pass.”
He uncorked the bottle with a twist and poured some of the thick brown liquid into a spoon.
Amanda wrinkled her nose. “That smells foul.”
“It beats a night of pacing the floor while you grit your teeth and pretend it doesn’t hurt. Just take the tonic.”
Amanda clamped her mouth shut and gave him a flat look, the kind that usually ended the discussion.
Jackson didn’t move, just held the spoon out, steady.
“There could be poison in there, for all you know.”
“I’ve taken this enough times that it would’ve killed me by now if it was going to.”
She stared at the spoon, jaw working. Then she opened her mouth and let him feed it to her. “Gah. That’s awful!”
Jackson corked the bottle and set it down on the washstand. “Stand up,” he directed, offering a hand to help her rise. Once she was on her feet, he turned back the covers and tucked her into bed as if she were a child.
The sharp taste of the tonic lingered on her tongue. “Are you happy?” she groused.
“Moderately.”
Amanda turned onto her side and pulled the quilt up around her shoulder. “If that foul concoction makes me sicker, I’m blaming you.”
“Fair. But if it helps, I get to say I told you so.” He grabbed the fire iron and poked at the embers before tossing on another log. “Would you like a hot brick for your belly?”
“No.”
He looked back over his shoulder and raised a brow.
“Oh, all right.”
Jackson wrapped a piping brick in a thick towel and handed it to her to tuck under the covers. “Mercy, Mandy. You’re as testy as a badger when you’re ill.”
“I don’t like being fussed over.”
“I’m not fussing. I’m making sure you don’t spend the next eight hours doubled over in agony, all the while pretending you’re fine.”
Jakson stripped to his drawers and gave himself a quick bath at the washstand.
“How are the hogs faring?” Amanda asked in an effort to restore harmony.
“Fattening up nicely. They’ll be ready for slaughter soon.”
“That’s good.”
Jackson planted a kiss on her forehead then went around the bed and climbed in behind her. “Are you cold?”
Amanda nodded.
He scooted closer until his chest met her back.
Jackson laid his head on the pillow and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Promise me one thing,” he said in a voice that had turned boyish and vulnerable. “If you don’t feel better by tomorrow, you’ll let me take you to the doctor.”
“All right. I promise.”
Amanda rose the following morning, claiming she was much improved, but Jackson was reluctant to believe it. After a long morning filled with worry and work, he crept onto the porch at lunchtime and paused outside to peek in the window.
She walked with brisk steps to the oven, bent over, and hefted the iron skillet onto the cooktop, as if it weighed no more than a ragbag. Then she stood and went about her chores with her usual ease and grace.
Jackson’s chest deflated with a long, relieved breath.
The sweet aroma of fresh cornbread met him when he came inside and hung his hat on a peg. “Something smells mighty fine in here.”
Amanda blotted perspiration from her smiling face with the tail of her apron. “You always turn up at mealtime, like a bad penny.”
“Would you rather I not?” he teased.
“Are you certain you want me to answer that?” she shot back.
Jackson crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You seem better,” he said, studying her face. “How do you feel?”
“Right as rain.” She was looking him square in the eye without an ounce of deception. “I told you it was just a passing case of dyspepsia.”
“Thank the Lord,” he said as the last of the tension left his shoulders. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Only beginning?” she countered with raised brows.
Jackson shrugged in concession. He’d barely slept, his imagination chasing grim scenarios into the wee hours.
Amanda patted his chest and curved her lips into an impish smile. “After dosing me with that vile potion, I expected you to trip over your feet in the rush to say I told you so.”
“Nah. I’m just glad you’re better.”
He glanced around. “Where are the children?”
“Sitting on the back steps.”
“Whatever for?”
“Playing with kittens. One of the barn cats had a litter.”
“Wonderful,” Jackson groused as he headed for the back door. “Next thing you know, we’ll be finding stowaway cats in their beds.”
“Not Noah’s. He wants a dog.”
Once Noah and Jewel were tucked safely in their beds, absent any felines, Jackson draped Amanda’s shawl around her shoulders and led her out to the porch.
He sat with her on the swing, savoring the chilled night air, lulled by the distant howl of a prairie wolf.
“Life doesn’t get much better than this,” he mused.
“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed in the gentle, sweet voice he’d grown to adore. “I've been thinking,” she went on, clutching her shawl tighter and resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe we could add on to the house come spring.”
Jackson looked down and narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you telling me we have another baby on the way?”
“No. Not that I’m aware,” she replied, holding his gaze with earnest eyes. “But we probably will, eventually.”
He nudged the swing into motion, his fingers absently tracing patterns on her arm. “Adding another room is a good idea. I think we could manage it.”
She shivered a little and burrowed closer.
A comfortable silence fell between them as the swing gently creaked.
“Jackson?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for everything. For being the man you are.”
He turned to her, his chest filled with tenderness and something deeper. “There's no need to thank me. You’ve endured a life not of your choosing, yet you’ve done so cheerfully and blessed me more than I deserve. I’m happy, Amanda, and I love you.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “I truly love you.”
As he gazed at her moonlit face, Jackson’s heart swelled with such intense affection it nearly stole his breath. It was tinged by a memory of Caroline, but he forgave himself for the millionth time and let it go. He’d chosen the sister fate had allowed and committed himself to her for life.
Amanda yawned. “We should turn in soon.”
“We should,” he agreed, hoping she’d sit with him a little longer, and hoping he’d finally made peace with the past.
Jackson awoke to a crowing rooster and a quivering bed. “Amanda, are you crying?” She could be moody at times, but she hadn’t had a bout of sobs intense enough to shake the bed since Jewel was a tiny babe.
“A b-bird got in,” she muttered.
“What?” Jackson sat up, lit the lamp, and glanced around. “Where?”
“In the s-soup.”
Jackson picked up the lamp and shined it on his wife.
Amanda wasn’t crying. She was shivering, her body wracked with wave after wave of violent shudders. Her eyes were glazed, and her complexion pale—every inch of exposed skin speckled with perspiration.
He placed his hand on her forehead. It was hot—much too hot.
“Amanda,” he said, patting her cheek, “look at me.”
Her eyes moved in his direction but didn’t focus.
He patted her cheek again, keeping his expression neutral despite the rising fear inside. “Are you hurting? Is it your stomach? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“My stomach…” She looked past him, at the ceiling. “Catch the bird.”
There was no bird. Amanda was delirious.
He threw back the quilt and began yanking on his clothes. “I’m going to fetch the doctor. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“The children…”
“They’ll be all right. They’ll sleep for another hour, at least.” He leaned down close and locked gazes with her. “You hold on—do you hear me? Hold on until I get back.”