Chapter 8
Levi woke in the gray predawn to the sound of soft footsteps in the hallway and the thin, high cry of a sick child. He was out of bed in an instant, pulling on his shirt as he moved. Nora’s wail was not her usual sharp protest but a weak, breathless cry that sent fear slicing through him.
He found Eleanor in the kitchen, the lamp turned up high.
Nora lay limp and flushed in her arms, her small chest rising and falling too quickly.
Her mother’s notebook lay open on the table beside a basin of water.
Her dark braid hung over one shoulder, and her gray eyes were clear and focused.
He hadn’t even heard her take Nora out of her crib.
Had he slept through her earlier cries? Guilt wrapped around his throat and tightened like a noose so that he could only lick his lips, not a single word escaping his mouth.
“The fever came on in the last hour,” she said, her voice calm and direct. “Her chest is tight. Boil more water and bring me clean clothes from the cupboard.” There was no hesitation in her tone, no request for permission.
Trusting her, Levi moved without question, feeding wood into the stove and setting the kettle on. So many questions sat on the tip of his tongue. So many worries fought for attention in his mind. But still, he could not speak. He choked on the words before he could utter his first syllable.
While the water heated, Louisa soaked a cloth in cool water from the pump and gently pressed it to Nora’s chest and neck. She shifted the child upright against her shoulder, one hand supporting the child’s head with practiced care.
Levi watched her as she checked the heat of Nora’s skin at the neck, the wrist, and behind the ear, her lips pressed into a thin line. The lamplight caught the faint sheen of sweat on Eleanor’s brow and the worry she was trying to keep from her face.
“The fever is high,” she said quietly, “but not yet dangerous. From what I can tell, it has not risen in the past hour. However, if it does not break by morning, we should call for Hector.”
Levi stood close, the heat from the stove, now overstuffed with wood, warming his side to the point of discomfort, but he did not move. “How do you know the difference?”
Eleanor looked at him over Nora’s head, her expression raw for a moment.
“My mother lost two infants to fever during her thirty years as a midwife. She taught me exactly what the signs looked like so I would never miss them. The shallow breathing. The way the heat gathers behind the ears. The difference between a fever that can be fought and one that overwhelms.” It was the most she had ever told him about her past, aside from their conversation with the Callaways.
Alone, she never told him anything. Levi nodded slowly, pulled out a chair across from her, and did not leave his daughter’s side.
The hours blurred together. Grace arrived mid-afternoon with broth and fresh bread, staying to spell Eleanor for short stretches and offering quiet prayers.
Hector came at dusk, his medical bag in hand.
He examined Nora carefully, listening to her chest and feeling her forehead.
“The fever needs to run its course,” he said with a frown.
“Unfortunately for Nora, this means suffering through the discomfort that will come with it. Luckily for her, Eleanor is already doing everything that should be done in this situation. Keep her upright, cool her skin, and watch her breathing. Call for me again if anything worsens, but I believe your daughter is in good hands, Mr. Callaway.”
After the doctor left, silence settled over the home.
The day blurred. Soon it was past midnight, and Levi and Eleanor sat together in the kitchen.
Nora slept fitfully against Eleanor’s chest, her breathing easier now, though the fever still burned.
Gently, Nora ran her hand in circles across the middle of Nora’s back, rocking the child slightly to try to keep her asleep.
The lamp between them had been turned low, casting long shadows across the table and Eleanor’s open notebook.
Levi noticed Eleanor’s eyes growing heavy and her shoulders drooping with exhaustion. “Let me take her,” he said gently.
She shook her head, tightening her hold. “I’ve only just gotten her settled.”
Levi rose and pulled his chair around the table until he sat beside his wife.
Their shoulders nearly touched. For a moment, all he could feel were sparks that burrowed under his skin and found a home in his heart, making it beat twice as fast. He wondered if Eleanor could feel the same sensation or if their proximity did nothing to affect her.
Too nervous to look at Eleanor, Levi instead stared at his daughter’s flushed cheek, pressed against Eleanor’s nightgown.
“Eighteen months ago,” he said, his voice low and stripped bare, “I sat in this kitchen, holding Nora just as you hold her now, while Ruth was dying in the next room. I could do nothing but pray and watch. And since then, I have not truly felt at home in this kitchen – in this house. I keep seeing her ghost and confronting my guilt at every turn. I thought I always would. But tonight, I think those fetters are finally broken because watching you hold my daughter tonight… it is the first time I have not felt alone.”
Eleanor turned her head to look at him. The lamplight softened the lines of fatigue on her face and highlighted the kindness in her gray eyes.
But there was more there, too. It was not something Levi wanted to label, for fear he might be wrong, but it was enough to warm his insides and drive away the chill that had claimed his soul ever since Nora’s fever began. “You are not alone, Levi.”
The simple words sank deep inside him, tethering to the walls of his heart and taking root.
He reached across the small space between them and brushed a loose strand of dark hair from her face.
It was the first time he had touched her with purpose.
His fingers lingered at her temple, tracing the warm curve of her cheekbone for the space of a heartbeat.
Her skin was soft beneath his calloused fingertips.
She closed her eyes, leaning ever so slightly into the touch as if she craved it just as much as he did.
But then he pulled his hand back, remembering himself.
The moment felt too tender, too dangerous in the quiet night.
He clenched his jaw and forced himself to take a breath, clearing his mind of the countless thoughts urging him to do more.
He thought about closing the space that separated them and sealing it with a kiss.
He thought about how sweet she would be and how much he would savor her taste.
But he did not let these thoughts flourish.
He yanked them out of his mind like weeds before opening his eyes again.
Nora shifted against Eleanor’s chest and whimpered softly.
The delicate connection forming between them folded back, leaving room for the immediate work of caring for the sick child.
Eleanor adjusted her hold, murmuring soothing words as Levi dampened another cloth and dabbed it against Nora’s brow.
With their shared objective, they sat side by side through the rest of the night.
The stove ticked as it cooled. Outside, the wind moved through the ridge pines.
Levi remained close enough that his arm would occasionally brush against his wife as they tended to Nora together.
Every time, those same sparks would fly, impossible to ignore despite the pastor’s best efforts.
It was within that shared vigil that something deep and careful truly began to take root between them, shifting their relationship from one of convenience to something more – something neither of them was willing to admit, despite staring it in the face.
Giving it a name would make it real, and they were not ready to open that chapter.
Not yet.