12. Chapter 12 #2
Claudine shook her head. "Doc Miller needs help with the Peterson children. Their relapse concerns me greatly."
The elderly physician looked up with relief when Claudine entered the small room where the sisters lay. Six-year-old Emma and four-year-old Sarah both burned with renewed fever, their small faces flushed and breathing labored.
"The younger one worries me most," Doc Miller confided. "She was improving yesterday, then suddenly worsened overnight."
Claudine examined Sarah Peterson carefully, noting the bluish tinge around her lips that signaled insufficient oxygen. "We need to reduce the inflammation in her airways," she decided. "The mustard plaster alone isn't sufficient."
"What do you suggest?" Doc Miller asked, deferring to her hospital experience.
"Steam inhalation with pine oil added. It helped similar cases at Mercy Hospital during the '73 outbreak."
Together they rigged a makeshift steam tent over Sarah's bed, positioning a pot of boiling water infused with pine oil beneath it. Claudine sat beside the child, monitoring her breathing as the medicated steam filled the enclosed space.
Minutes stretched into an hour as they waited for signs of improvement. Michael appeared periodically to check their progress, his presence a reassuring constant amid the uncertainty.
"Her color is improving," Claudine noted finally, relief flooding her voice. "See how the bluish tinge is fading?"
Doc Miller nodded, placing a gnarled hand on Claudine's shoulder. "Your innovation may have saved her life. We should implement this treatment for all severe cases."
By midday, both Peterson children showed marked improvement, as did Jeb and several other patients. The crisis wasn't over, but for the first time since the outbreak began, Claudine allowed herself to feel cautious optimism.
"You've turned the tide," Michael observed as they shared a brief meal on the infirmary porch. "Doc Miller says your treatments have made the difference."
"We've been fortunate," Claudine replied modestly. "The rain has helped contain the spread by keeping people home."
"It's more than fortune," Michael insisted. "Your knowledge and determination have spared many lives. Including Jeb's."
Claudine accepted his praise with quiet gratitude, too exhausted for false modesty. Her body ached from days of constant activity, her eyes burned from lost sleep, yet satisfaction in their progress outweighed physical discomfort.
"Any news from Tom?" she asked, changing the subject.
"The ranch remains clear of illness," Michael reported. "And Lucy sent another letter. She misses us terribly but remains safe with the Hendersons."
"Thank God for that." Claudine closed her eyes briefly, imagining Lucy's face. "Another week should tell us whether the outbreak is truly subsiding."
Michael nodded, his expression sobering. "Claudine, there's something we should discuss."
The seriousness in his tone alerted her. "What is it?"
"Doc Miller approached me this morning. He wants to take you on as his assistant permanently."
Claudine stared in surprise. "He said nothing to me."
"He wanted my thoughts first," Michael explained. "As your husband."
"And what did you tell him?" Claudine asked, uncertain how Michael viewed this unexpected development.
"That it was entirely your decision." Michael's eyes held hers steadily. "Your skills are too valuable to be confined to ranch borders. If you wish to work with Doc Miller, you have my complete support."
His support struck her with fresh force. Michael no longer valued her only for what she contributed to his household; he wanted her abilities to reach beyond it.
"I don't know what to say," she admitted. "I hadn't considered such a possibility."
"Consider it now," Michael suggested. "You've found your calling here, Claudine. Anyone watching you these past days would see that clearly."
Before she could respond, shouting erupted from inside the infirmary. They rushed in to find Mr. Spencer experiencing a seizure, his body arching against the bed as Doc Miller struggled to restrain him.
"Help me turn him!" the doctor called urgently.
The moment for personal discussion vanished as they worked to stabilize the banker. By the time they succeeded, three more patients required attention, and Claudine's brief respite ended.
That evening, Tom Harris arrived with alarming news. "Charlie's showing symptoms," he reported grimly. "Fever started this morning, coughing by afternoon."
Michael's expression tightened. "You've isolated him?"
"In the cabin, yes. But he's asking for Mrs. Crawford. Says he trusts her medicine more than anyone's."
Claudine exchanged a glance with Michael, unspoken communication passing between them. Young Charlie, barely twenty, had been the first patient to benefit from her medical knowledge when she set his broken arm months earlier.
"I should go," she said quietly. "Doc Miller can manage here now that most patients are stabilizing."
Michael nodded, though concern shadowed his eyes. "I'll take you home tonight."
The ride to Crawford Ranch passed in comfortable silence, both too weary for unnecessary conversation. Rain had transformed the landscape, turning dusty brown to vibrant green virtually overnight. Under different circumstances, Claudine might have appreciated the beauty of the refreshed prairie.
At the ranch, she went directly to the isolation cabin where Charlie lay shivering despite the warm August night. The young cowboy brightened visibly when she entered.
"Mrs. Crawford," he greeted weakly. "Knew you'd come."
"Of course I came," Claudine replied, immediately assessing his condition. "Now let's see about bringing that fever down."
For the next hour, she worked steadily, applying the treatments that had proven effective in town. Michael assisted silently, anticipating her needs without requiring instruction—a teamwork born of mutual respect and shared experience.
"He should rest more comfortably now," Claudine said finally, packing her medical bag. "The fever isn't as severe as Jeb's was, which is promising."
"You'll stay at the ranch tonight?" Michael asked as they walked back to the main house. "You need proper rest yourself."
Claudine nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by bone-deep weariness. "Just for tonight. I should return to town tomorrow to check on the patients there."
In their bedroom, familiar and comforting after days away, Claudine sank onto the edge of the bed. Michael knelt to remove her boots, a simple act of care that brought unexpected tears to her eyes.
"You've been extraordinary," he said quietly. "I've always known your strength, but these past days have revealed depths even I hadn't fully recognized."
"I've only done what needed doing," Claudine replied.
Michael shook his head. "You've done far more. You've saved lives, Claudine. Changed how this community sees you—sees women's capabilities. Doc Miller treats you as an equal now, not just a nurse with useful skills."
Claudine considered his words as exhaustion pulled at her consciousness. "I never thought my nursing experience would prove so vital here."
"Life often uses our past to prepare us for present challenges," Michael observed, helping her lie back against the pillows. "Even painful experiences."
"Like James's betrayal," Claudine murmured, understanding his meaning. "Without that, I would never have answered your advertisement."
"And I would never have found my second chance at happiness." Michael stretched out beside her, drawing her against his chest. "Rest now. Tomorrow will bring its own demands."
Claudine surrendered to sleep wrapped in Michael's arms, her last conscious thought a prayer of gratitude for the unexpected path that had led her to this place—to this man and the life they were building together.
The epidemic had brought suffering, yet also opportunity to use her deepest gifts in service to her new community.
She had arrived seeking security. Now she had work that mattered, a family she loved, and a husband who saw all of her.