Chapter 21
Clara’s forehead burned like Kate was holding her hand to a cookstove.
Kate’s middle clenched tighter as she dipped the cloth back into the basin of cool water on the bedside table, wrung some of the liquid out, then laid it back over Clara’s brow.
Her sister stirred but didn’t wake—hadn’t truly woken in the last couple hours. Not since the fever spiked.
Kate had been dozing beside her in the bed, but a moan from Clara made her jerk awake. Her sister’s skin had been hot enough to make her gasp.
And then she’d seen the rash.
Red splotches scattered across Clara’s chest and arms like angry fingerprints. Now they’d spread up her neck. Probably other places Kate hadn’t checked yet too.
The bedroom door opened, and Bea slipped inside. One hand carried a water pitcher, and the other a cloth tied in a bundle.
Her dark eyes moved immediately to Clara, then to Kate. “Any change?”
Kate shook her head. “The rash is spreading. And she’s hotter than before.” She didn’t even try to keep the worry from her voice. Bea would see through whatever she managed.
The older woman set down her supplies and moved to the bedside. Her wrinkled hand pressed against Clara’s forehead, then her cheek, then the side of her neck where the pulse beat too fast beneath such pale skin.
“Is not good.” Bea’s tone carried no false comfort. “I have seen this before. In England, and here too. It is either measles or scarlet fever.”
No.
Both could kill—she knew that much. Had heard the stories of entire families wiped out by such illnesses, children buried in small graves while their parents wept.
“Which one?” She forced the question past the tightness in her throat. “Which do you think?”
“Cannot know for certain.” Bea straightened and turned back to the cloth bundle. “Enoch will come soon with doctor. For now, ice to make her cool.”
She pulled back the fabric to reveal packed snow—clean white crystals that must have been gathered from a drift near the house. Steam rose where the cold met the room’s warmth.
Bea divided the snow into smaller portions and wrapped each in strips of cloth. “Under her arms. Behind her neck. Along her sides.” She demonstrated with the first bundle, tucking it against Clara’s reddened neck. “The cold will draw out some of the heat.”
Kate took one of the wrapped bundles and positioned it on the other side of Clara’s neck. The contrast between the ice and her sister’s burning skin made her stomach turn. How could a body generate this much heat and still work as it should?
Clara whimpered at the cold, turning her head on the pillow, but didn’t wake.
“Good.” Bea lifted the quilts and placed another bundle under Clara’s arm. “We change them when they melt. Keep her cool until doctor comes.”
Kate arranged the remaining bundles along Clara’s sides. Measles or scarlet fever. Either one could be deadly. Either one could—
She wouldn’t let herself finish that thought.
Bea stood and moved to the door. “We must be careful now. Very careful.”
Kate jerked her head up to catch Bea’s expression. “What do you mean?”
The older woman turned back. “If this is scarlet fever—or even measles—it spreads easy. Like fire through dry grass.” She motioned toward the hallway beyond. “We keep everyone away from this room. Only you and me with Clara. No one else come in.”
Her insides churned anew. She couldn’t risk Bea with this sickness either. Not more than she’d already been exposed.
She swallowed to clear the lump from her throat. “You’d better stay out too. Just leave what we’ll need at the door. I’ll take care of it.”
Bea’s expression softened with something like approval. “You are wise.” She gave a single firm nod. “I will bring more snow. You call if you need anything.”
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut with a finality that made the room feel smaller.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, then reached for Clara’s hand where it lay limp against the quilts. The palm was hot, but the fingertips icy.
“You’re going to be fine.” Her whisper cracked, but she didn’t stop. Like saying this aloud could make it true. “The doctor will come and tell us what to do, and you’ll be fine.”
Clara’s breathing came shallow and quick, each exhale carrying a faint rasp that hadn’t been there before.
Kate’s vision blurred, but she blinked hard against the moisture. Crying wouldn’t help. Wouldn’t bring the doctor faster or cool Clara’s fever or make the rash disappear.
She needed to keep busy.
She adjusted the ice packs around Clara until they melted to only damp fabric. Mrs. Wang brought another bundle of snow and a cup of tea for Kate that she couldn’t bring herself to drink.
At some point, someone—Rose, maybe, or Mandie—tapped on the door and asked if there was anything they could do. She’d been able to think of nothing, and they said everyone was praying below.
Praying. Kate had been doing little else, though she wasn’t sure God was listening. The words felt hollow in her mind, desperate pleas that seemed to dissolve before they could reach heaven.
Please. Not Clara. Take me, not her.
The rash had spread farther—down Clara’s arms now, angry red patches that seemed to pulse with the fever burning beneath her skin. Her breathing had grown more labored too, each inhale a visible effort that made Kate’s own chest burn.
A sound drifted from outside. Hoofbeats, approaching fast.
Hope surged through her so quickly it almost hurt. She crossed to the window, pushing aside the curtain to peer down at the yard below.
A single rider emerged from the tree line. Kate’s heart leaped—
But no. She knew the set of the shoulders, the dark hair beneath the hat.
Robert. Not the doctor.
He dismounted and handed his reins to someone—James, probably, emerging from the barn. They exchanged words she couldn’t hear, and Robert’s posture went rigid. Even from this distance, she could see the alarm that crossed his features.
A moment later, he strode to the house with a kind of urgent purpose. Had James told him about Clara?
Kate turned back to the bed, to her sister’s flushed face and rasping breaths. Robert’s arrival meant nothing had changed.
They were still waiting. Still hoping.
Still watching Clara slip further away with each passing hour.
The doctor arrived perhaps ten minutes after Robert. Voices sounded downstairs, then boot thuds coming upward. Then Mrs. Wang tapped on the door of Clara’s chamber and opened it.
Dr. Morrison had the weathered look of someone who’d spent decades practicing medicine on the frontier—deep lines carved around his eyes and mouth and a serious focus as he approached the bed.
Thomas stood in the hallway behind him, and she caught his gaze. That look. The support he was trying to offer her…
But he could do nothing. Nothing that would make a difference to Clara’s condition. If there was, she would have already done it.
Bea stepped inside and pulled the door closed, and Kate forced herself to turn and focus on the doctor.
“How long has she had the fever?” Dr. Morrison’s voice was brisk as he set down his black bag and bent over Clara.
“It started yesterday morning.” Kate moved closer, toward Clara’s feet, where she could see but be out of the way. “Just a slight warmth at first. But it spiked this afternoon.”
“And the rash? When did it come?” The doctor’s hands moved over Clara’s neck, pressing as they traveled.
“A few hours ago. It started on her chest but has spread.” She gripped her hands together. “What is it? What’s wrong with her?”
Dr. Morrison didn’t answer immediately. He pulled back the quilts and adjusted Clara’s nightdress to examine the red marks that now covered most of her upper body.
His jaw tightened as he worked—pressing here, listening there with a long cylinder he’d pulled from his bag. His expression remained blank as he examined the splotches, but something in the set of his jaw made her middle twist even tighter.
Finally, he straightened. “It looks like scarlet fever.”
No. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she forced herself to stay upright. “What…what do we do?”
“Keep her cool. The ice packs are good—continue those. Garlic poultices. I’ll leave medicine.” He straightened and turned to Kate, then glanced over at Bea, who still stood at the door. His expression had gone grave. “Have either of you had scarlet fever? Or any of the family?”
Kate’s throat tightened. “I haven’t.”
Bea spoke from behind them. “Only Robert, when he was a boy. I remember the rash—we almost lose him.”
Dr. Morrison nodded. “Then Robert is the only one who should enter this room. Anyone who hasn’t had scarlet fever risks infection.”
“No.” The word burst out before she could stop it. “I’m staying with her.”
“Mrs. Balfour.” The doctor’s expression softened a tiny bit. “Scarlet fever is extremely contagious. If you stay in this room, you will almost certainly contract it yourself.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should care.” His tone sharpened. “If it spreads beyond this room, the entire household could fall ill. Your husband. His brothers. The women. The baby.” He paused, letting the weight of those words settle.
“I’ve seen whole families wiped out by scarlet fever.
Every last one of them dead within a fortnight because they didn’t take proper precautions. ”
The image rose unbidden—Thomas lying fevered and rasping like Clara. Mandie’s tiny babe—that terrible red rash spreading across her skin.
All because she’d been selfish enough to stay with her sister.
Her fingernails bit into her palms. “But Clara needs me.”
“Clara needs someone who can care for her without risking the lives of everyone else in this house.” Dr. Morrison’s voice gentled slightly. “I understand your desire to stay. But you must think of the greater good here.”
“Robert can tend her.” Bea moved closer, her hand finding Kate’s shoulder. “He will do what is needed.”
Kate shook her head, even as her eyes burned. Robert was capable—she didn’t doubt that. But he was practically a stranger to Clara. And a man at that. How would he know exactly what to do when Clara was too miserable to voice her needs?
“Please.” Kate’s voice cracked. “She’s my sister. I’m all she has.”
The doctor’s gaze held hers. Uncompromising. “You’ll be no good to her if you fall ill yourself. In fact, you may already have been exposed. We need to quarantine you separately until we know whether you’ve contracted the disease.”
“Quarantine?” The word tasted bitter on her tongue. “You want to lock me away while Clara—”
“I want to keep you alive.” The doctor’s voice never wavered. “Both of you, if possible. But I cannot do that if you insist on remaining in this room.”
Kate looked at Clara—at her flushed face and labored breathing, at the rash spreading like wildfire across her skin. Her sister. The one person in this world she would do anything to protect.
And now they were telling her she had to walk away.
The doctor was already moving, gathering items from his bag and setting them on the small table beside the bed.
Glass bottles clinked together—medicines probably.
“I’ll show Robert what needs to be done.
The fever must be kept down. She’ll need fluids—broth if she can take it, water if not. The garlic poultices every few hours.”
Kate’s vision swam. This couldn’t be happening. She’d crossed an entire continent to keep Clara safe, and now—
A soft moan escaped Clara’s lips. Her head turned on the pillow.
Kate moved to her side, taking her burning hand. “I’m here, Clary. I’m right here.”
Clara’s eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. Her lips moved, forming words too quiet to hear.
“What is it?” Kate leaned closer. “What do you need?”
“Robert… Let him…” Her sister’s voice rasped, yet the words came clear enough.
Kate had to swallow back the tears. Everything in her screamed to stay here. Yet she had to stay alive to protect Clara.
She turned back to Bea. “He’ll let me know everything that’s happening? If she changes at all?”
Bea nodded, her dark eyes shimmering. “Every hour, one of us will come tell you. And if she wakes, if she asks for you, Robert will send for you right away.”
“I promise.” Robert’s voice came from the doorway.
There he stood, flanked by Thomas and others.
Robert—the quiet brother, the one who kept the ranch’s books and rarely spoke unless he had something important to say. His blue eyes met hers with a steadiness that reminded her of Enoch.
“I’ll take care of her, Kate.” He moved into the room with that same careful deliberation he brought to everything. “You have my word.”
Her throat closed around any response she might have given. She looked down at Clara one more time—at her too-pale face and the angry rash.
She forced herself to lean down, then pressed a kiss to her sister’s burning forehead. “I love you. Fight this. Please fight this.”
Clara’s only response was another shallow breath.
Dr. Morrison touched Kate’s elbow. “Come. We need to get you settled in another room. Away from everyone else until we know whether you’ve been infected.”
She let him guide her toward the door, though every step felt like tearing away a piece of herself. At the threshold, she turned back one last time.
Robert had already taken her place, standing at Clara’s bedside. His large hands were surprisingly gentle as he adjusted the ice pack at her neck. He looked up and met Kate’s gaze with a single, firm nod.
She turned away before the tears could fall.