13. Chapter 13
Mid-August brought heavy rain to Montana Territory, turning dirt roads to mud and creek beds to rushing torrents.
Claudine divided her time between the town infirmary and Crawford Ranch, where Charlie's fever had stabilized but not yet broken.
Ten days into the epidemic, the tally stood at twenty-seven cases in Pine Creek and surrounding ranches, with five deaths—all elderly or previously weakened patients.
Claudine woke before dawn in the main house, having snatched a few hours of sleep after tending Charlie until midnight. Michael's side of the bed lay empty—he'd risen earlier to check on the young ranch hand and ensure morning chores continued despite their reduced workforce.
She dressed quickly and made her way to the isolation cabin through drizzling rain. Inside, she found Michael placing a cool cloth on Charlie's forehead while speaking to him in low, encouraging tones.
"Good morning," she greeted them, setting her medical bag on the small table.
"His fever's lower," Michael reported, stepping back so Claudine could examine the patient. "Breathing seems easier too."
Claudine checked Charlie's pulse and listened to his lungs with her stethoscope. "The congestion is definitely improving," she confirmed. "How do you feel today, Charlie?"
"Better, ma'am," the young man replied weakly. "Not so hot anymore."
"Excellent progress." Claudine prepared a cup of willow bark tea. "Another day of rest, and we can consider you on the mend."
Relief crossed Michael's face. Charlie had been with Crawford Ranch since he was sixteen, practically family to the small, tight-knit group. Losing him would have struck a personal blow beyond the tragedy of any death.
"Tom's heading to town for supplies," Michael said as they left Charlie resting more comfortably. "Will you go with him to check on your patients there?"
Claudine nodded. "Doc Miller's latest note mentioned the Peterson children are recovering well, but Mr. Spencer has developed secondary pneumonia."
"I'll drive you," Michael decided. "Tom can manage things here for a few hours."
The journey to Pine Creek revealed the epidemic's impact on the wider community.
Fields stood unharvested where farmers had fallen ill, and the usually busy road remained nearly empty of traffic.
When they reached town, Claudine noted closed businesses and quiet streets that normally would bustle with activity.
"It's hit hard," Michael observed grimly as he helped Claudine from the wagon outside the infirmary.
"But we're seeing more recoveries now," she reminded him. "The new treatments are making a difference."
Inside the converted Wilkins house, Claudine found Doc Miller checking on Mrs. Winters, the elderly woman who had been among the first cases and now showed promising signs of recovery.
"Mrs. Crawford," the doctor greeted her with evident relief. "Just in time. We have three new cases from the logging camp north of town."
Claudine quickly assessed the situation, moving from patient to patient with brisk hands.
The Peterson children were indeed recovering well, while Mr. Spencer required more intensive care for his pneumonia.
The loggers occupied beds in what had once been the Wilkins dining room, their rugged frames looking incongruous against the floral wallpaper.
"Your steam treatment with pine oil has proven remarkably effective," Doc Miller told her as they prepared medications. "I've implemented it for all respiratory cases with excellent results."
"I'm glad it's helping," Claudine replied, pleased by his collegial tone. During the past week, their relationship had evolved from polite professional distance to true collaboration.
"Have you considered my offer?" the elderly physician asked, lowering his voice to prevent patients from overhearing. "To join my practice officially?"
Claudine measured out willow bark before responding. "I've given it some thought, but haven't reached a decision."
"Take your time," Doc Miller assured her. "But know the offer stands. This community needs your skills, Mrs. Crawford."
The respect in Doc Miller's voice matched what Claudine now saw throughout Pine Creek. Families who had once viewed her with skepticism asked for her by name.
By midday, Claudine had treated all the patients and organized supplies for the coming days. Michael returned from errands around town with news that troubled them both.
"Reverend Walsh has fallen ill," he reported as they ate a simple lunch on the infirmary porch. "His wife too. They're isolated at the parsonage, refusing to come to the infirmary for fear of taking beds needed by others."
"That's admirable but foolish," Claudine replied, immediately packing supplies. "I should visit them this afternoon."
Michael nodded. "I thought you'd say that. I'll take you there before we head back to the ranch."
At the parsonage, they found both Walshes confined to bed, their normally robust frames weakened by high fevers. Mrs. Walsh appeared worse, her breathing labored and skin alarmingly flushed.
"We didn't want to be a burden," Reverend Walsh explained weakly as Claudine examined his wife. "So many others need care."
"Your lives matter just as much as anyone else's," Claudine chided gently, preparing a mustard plaster for Mrs. Walsh's chest. "Michael, would you help me set up the steam treatment?"
Together they created the pine-oil inhalation system that had proven so effective with other patients. Michael followed Claudine's instructions precisely, his hands steady and movements efficient from practice during Charlie's treatment.
"You've become quite skilled at nursing," Claudine observed as they worked.
"I've had an excellent teacher," he replied with a brief smile that warmed his eyes.
Working beside Michael came easily now. In crisis, they anticipated each other's needs without discussion.
When they finished treating the Walshes, Claudine left detailed instructions and promised to return the following day. "Send word immediately if either worsens overnight," she instructed their neighbor who had agreed to check on them regularly.
The ride back to Crawford Ranch passed in thoughtful silence. Rain fell steadily, drumming on the wagon cover Michael had erected to keep Claudine dry. The weather matched the somber mood of the community, fighting invisible illness that struck without warning or pattern.
"Do you think it's subsiding?" Michael asked finally. "The epidemic?"
Claudine considered the question. "We're seeing more recoveries than new cases now. If that trend continues, yes, I believe the worst may have passed."
"And if we can bring Lucy home?"
The question revealed Michael's deepest concern. Though he never complained, Claudine knew he missed their daughter desperately, as did she.
"Another week without new cases would be prudent," she advised. "Children seem particularly vulnerable to this fever."
Michael accepted her judgment without argument. His trust in her medical knowledge was complete.
At the ranch, they found Tom waiting with news that lightened their spirits considerably.
"Charlie's fever broke completely," the foreman reported. "Boy's weak as a newborn calf, but clear-headed and hungry."
"Excellent news," Claudine replied, immediately heading to the isolation cabin to confirm the report.
She found Charlie sitting up in bed, pale but alert, attempting to eat broth provided by Jeb's wife who had been helping with cooking duties while Claudine worked in town.
"Mrs. Crawford," Charlie greeted her with a wan smile. "You saved my life."
"God did the saving," Claudine corrected modestly. "I merely assisted."
"Not how I see it," Charlie persisted. "Doc Miller says your steam treatment made all the difference. Wanted me to thank you proper when my head cleared."
Claudine examined him thoroughly, confirming the fever had indeed broken completely. "You'll need to rest for at least another week," she instructed. "Your body needs time to recover its strength."
"Yes, ma'am," Charlie agreed readily. "Don't fancy a relapse."
The improvement in Charlie's condition allowed Claudine to focus on helping Michael and Tom manage the ranch with their reduced workforce.
Though she continued daily visits to town, checking on patients and consulting with Doc Miller, her presence at Crawford Ranch provided stability during uncertain times.
Three days later, Claudine rode into Pine Creek alone, Michael having finally yielded to her insistence that she could manage the journey independently.
The town showed signs of returning to normalcy—the general store had reopened, and children whose families had escaped illness played in puddles left by the recent rains.
At the infirmary, Claudine found Doc Miller updating patient records. "Good news," he greeted her. "No new cases reported in two days."
"The Walshes?"
"Improving steadily. Mrs. Walsh's breathing is much better since you implemented the steam treatment."
Claudine moved through the ward, checking each patient personally.
The Peterson children had been discharged the previous day, while Mr. Spencer remained but showed steady improvement.
The loggers were well enough to complain about confinement, a sign Claudine had learned indicated recovery was well underway.
"I believe we've weathered the worst," Doc Miller concluded as they completed rounds. "Thanks in no small part to your contributions."
"It was a team effort," Claudine demurred.
"False modesty doesn't become you, Mrs. Crawford," the elderly physician chided. "Your hospital experience and innovative treatments saved numerous lives during this crisis."
Claudine accepted the praise with quiet gratitude, recognizing the professional respect it represented. "What happens now?" she asked. "With the infirmary, I mean."
"We'll maintain it until all current patients recover," Doc Miller replied. "Then the Wilkins house can return to being a home rather than a hospital."