14. Chapter 14
Dawn broke over Helena as Michael and Claudine arrived at the Henderson residence, their night journey leaving them exhausted but alert with worry. The modest two-story home stood quiet on a tree-lined street, only a lamp burning in a downstairs window indicating life within.
Mrs. Henderson answered their knock immediately, her face etched with concern and relief at their arrival. "Thank God you've come," she greeted them, ushering them inside. "The doctor left an hour ago. Said he'd return this afternoon."
"How is she?" Michael asked, his voice rough with fear barely contained.
"The fever spiked during the night." Mrs. Henderson led them upstairs. "She's been asking for you both."
Claudine gripped her medical bag tighter, mentally preparing for what awaited them. The bedroom door stood ajar, revealing Mr. Henderson sitting beside a small bed where Lucy lay, her golden curls spread across the pillow, face flushed with fever.
"Papa?" The weak voice barely carried across the room, but Michael heard it instantly, moving to his daughter's side with three long strides.
"I'm here, little one." He knelt beside the bed, taking Lucy's small hand in his. "Mama Claudine's here too."
Lucy's eyes, bright with fever, found Claudine. "You'll make me better?"
"That's exactly why I've come," Claudine replied, setting her bag on the bedside table and removing her coat. "Mr. Henderson, could you tell me what treatments the doctor has prescribed?"
While the man explained the local physician's instructions, Claudine examined Lucy carefully. The child burned with fever, her pulse rapid and breathing labored. Signs of the same illness that had swept through Pine Creek were unmistakable.
"How long has she been ill?" Claudine asked, preparing her stethoscope.
"The fever began yesterday morning," Mrs. Henderson replied. "By afternoon she was coughing. We called the doctor immediately."
Claudine listened to Lucy's lungs, her expression composed despite her concern at the congestion she detected. "Has she been given willow bark tea for the fever?"
"Yes, the doctor left some. And a mustard plaster for her chest." Mrs. Henderson wrung her hands anxiously. "We've followed his instructions precisely."
"You've done everything right," Claudine assured her. "I'd like to implement an additional treatment that's proven effective in Pine Creek. Could you bring me a pot of boiling water, some pine oil if you have it, and clean sheets?"
While Mrs. Henderson hurried to fulfill these requests, Claudine prepared medications from her bag. Michael remained at Lucy's side, speaking softly to the child, his large hand still holding her tiny one. His face revealed the terror he struggled to hide from his daughter.
"We'll create a steam tent," Claudine explained when Mrs. Henderson returned with the requested items. "The medicated steam helps clear the lungs and ease breathing."
Working swiftly, Claudine arranged sheets to create a canopy over Lucy's bed, positioning the steaming pot beneath it. The familiar scent of pine oil filled the enclosed space as she added several drops to the water.
"This will feel warm and damp," she explained to Lucy. "Like sitting in the bathhouse when Papa boils water for your bath. The steam will help you breathe easier."
Lucy nodded weakly, trusting Claudine implicitly. Her small face appeared even paler against the white sheets, with two bright spots of color high on her cheeks betraying the intensity of her fever.
"Will it hurt?" she whispered.
"Not at all," Claudine promised. "It might make you cough a bit more, but that's good—it helps clear your lungs."
Michael remained close, his face a study in restrained panic as Claudine worked. When the steam tent was established, Claudine prepared willow bark tea strengthened with herbs from her own supply.
"Sit behind her," she instructed Michael. "Support her so she can drink more easily."
He complied immediately, positioning himself on the bed with Lucy cradled against his chest. Claudine held the cup to the child's lips, encouraging her to take small sips.
"That's it," she praised. "Just a little more now."
Lucy managed half the cup before exhaustion overtook her. She rested back against Michael's chest, her breathing slightly easier but still labored. Claudine adjusted the steam tent, ensuring the medicated vapor circulated effectively.
"You should rest too," Claudine told Michael. "You've been driving all night."
He shook his head firmly. "I'll stay with her."
"At least let me bring you coffee," Mrs. Henderson offered. "And something to eat. You'll need your strength."
While their hostess bustled downstairs, Claudine continued monitoring Lucy, taking her pulse and checking her temperature regularly. The child drifted between sleep and wakefulness, occasionally murmuring unintelligibly or calling for water.
"The fever's still high," Claudine reported quietly to Michael. "But the steam is helping her breathing. I can hear less congestion already."
"Will she recover?" The question held all his fear, all his love for the child they both cherished.
Claudine met his gaze directly. "I believe so. She's young and strong, and we've caught it relatively early. The next twelve hours will tell us more."
Throughout the morning, Claudine maintained the steam treatment, refreshing the hot water and pine oil every hour. By noon, Lucy's breathing had improved noticeably, though her fever remained dangerously high.
The local doctor arrived in early afternoon, a dignified man in his fifties named Dr. Harrison. He listened with interest as Claudine explained the treatments she'd implemented.
"You've worked with Doc Miller during the Pine Creek outbreak?" he asked, examining Lucy thoroughly.
"Yes. We've had considerable success with the steam treatment, especially for respiratory symptoms." Claudine explained the methodology in medical terms, establishing her knowledge and experience.
Dr. Harrison nodded approvingly. "Innovative approach. I'd like to implement it with my other fever patients if you're willing to demonstrate the technique."
"Of course," Claudine agreed readily. "Though I hesitate to leave Lucy for long."
"Perhaps tomorrow, if her condition stabilizes," the doctor suggested. "For now, continue as you have been. I see improvement already."
After Dr. Harrison departed, promising to return in the evening, Claudine prepared fresh willow bark tea for Lucy. The child seemed slightly more alert, managing to drink most of the cup without assistance.
"That's my brave girl," Michael praised, his relief at these small improvements evident in his voice.
By late afternoon, however, Lucy's fever spiked dangerously. She thrashed against the bedding, crying out for her "first mama" in heartbreaking confusion. Michael's face went ashen at these delirious calls, his composure finally cracking.
"Sarah," he whispered, gripping Lucy's hand desperately. "Don't take her too."
Claudine moved swiftly, applying cold compresses to Lucy's forehead, neck, and wrists. "Talk to her, Michael," she instructed. "Let her hear your voice. It will help anchor her."
He swallowed hard, visibly gathering his strength. "Lucy, sweetheart, Papa's here," he said, his voice steadying with effort. "Mama Claudine's taking good care of you. You're going to get better soon."
Through the long afternoon, they worked together to combat Lucy's fever.
Claudine applied every technique learned during her nursing career while Michael provided constant reassurance and comfort to their child.
The seriousness of the situation hung heavily between them, unspoken but acknowledged in shared glances and coordinated efforts.
When evening arrived, Lucy's fever finally began to recede. Her breathing eased further, and she fell into more natural sleep rather than feverish unconsciousness. Claudine sagged with relief, accepting the cup of tea Mrs. Henderson pressed into her hands.
"You should rest," she told Michael. "I'll watch her for a while."
He shook his head stubbornly. "I can't leave her."
"Then at least sit in the chair," Claudine insisted. "You've been in the same position for hours."
Michael reluctantly moved from the bed to the armchair beside it, his gaze never leaving Lucy's face. Claudine checked the child's pulse and temperature once more, satisfied with the improvement in both.
"The worst may have passed," she said quietly.
"Thank God," Michael whispered. "And thank you, Claudine. Without your knowledge..."
"She's strong," Claudine reminded him. "Like her father."
Dr. Harrison returned as promised, examining Lucy with careful thoroughness. "Remarkable improvement," he pronounced. "Whatever you're doing, Mrs. Crawford, it's working admirably."
"Will she recover fully?" Michael asked, the question that had haunted him since receiving the telegram.
"I believe so," the doctor replied. "Though she'll need time to regain her strength. Fever takes a toll, especially on one so young."
After the doctor left, Mrs. Henderson insisted on preparing a room where Michael and Claudine could rest. "You've been up for nearly two days straight," she pointed out reasonably. "Lucy needs you strong and clear-headed."
"I'll stay with her for now," Mrs. Henderson promised. "And call you immediately if anything changes."
Claudine placed her hand on Michael's arm. "Just for an hour," she suggested gently. "We can take turns."
He nodded finally, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. "One hour. Then I'll return while you rest."
The guest room contained a large bed and simple furnishings. Claudine removed her shoes but nothing else, too concerned about Lucy to undress properly. Michael did the same, stretching out on the bed beside her with a deep sigh of physical relief.
"I thought I might lose her," he said into the quiet room, his voice barely audible. "Just like Sarah."