Chapter 13 #4
“Keep giving her the tea every hour. A full cup of it each time,” the young man said as he gathered his things and started back out into the desert night.
“She’ll sweat it out. If it’s from the tick bite she’ll relapse.
Do all this again if she does. The rest is up to her.
Some people just aren’t built for this desert. ”
And finally I felt the knot in my chest relax. She’d pull through. Baby would be fine. I’d make sure of it.
“Stay awake for me now, Sorcha,” Ansel prompted, pressing, gentler this time, on her fingernail.
Her eyes fluttered open again and Ansel managed to get her to finish the tea.
She was still conscious, if only barely, as I tucked her into my arms and leaned back against my saddle.
Ansel handed me a blanket, and I realized, as the adrenaline wore thin, that we were both still dripping wet and I was both freezing cold and achingly fatigued.
“We’ll get you both a change of clothes later,” Ansel said, wiping his hands and grabbing the kettle. “I’m going to get more water. She’ll need the tea again soon.”
I nodded, not taking my eyes off Sorcha’s face. I cradled her close against my chest and bent to kiss her forehead. She was starting to sweat now, even if her skin was still far too hot.
“Oh my love,” I murmured as Ansel started back toward the river, “you had me worried.”
I cradled her and kissed her face, murmuring quiet reassurances and deeply regretting the weeks when I’d told myself I wasn’t supposed to feel like this, told myself that our relationship was a job, not a love affair.
I knew better. She wasn’t a responsibility.
She was my very lifeblood. Holding her in that river, feeling her life seem to drain with the water’s current, feeling our baby move in some kind of divine reassurance, I knew it wasn’t duty anymore. It wasn’t a job.
I hadn’t moved and was still holding Sorcha, rocking her gently, when Ansel got back from the water. I watched as his gaze lingered while doing his work around camp, too long to be simple coincidence, too long even to just be assessing Sorcha’s condition.
“You have something to say, Ansel?”
Ansel shrugged, tossed his bundle of kindling into the fire, and settled on a stump before replying.
“Didn’t expect you to hold her like that is all,” Ansel said. “Didn’t expect her to let you. Especially for so long. I mean, you slept together tonight but . . .”
I scowled, tucking the blanket tighter around Sorcha’s shoulders and hugging her in closer.
“She’s my wife.”
“Right.” Ansel leaned back and took a sip from his waterskin. “Don’t feel bad, boy. You’re looking at her like she’s spun gold. It’s good.”
Ansel chuckled and I felt myself relax just a bit.
“Now I’m sure you’re tired,” Ansel said. “I’ll get you when she needs more of the medicine. Get some rest. She’ll need you steady when she wakes up.”
The sun was just breaking over the horizon, dark clouds gathering in the sky above and casting dramatic purple shadows over the hills and the brush.
I had changed into clean clothes and, with Ansel’s help, gotten Sorcha out of her dripping, ruined shift.
I’d slept for a few hours, waking regularly to keep giving her the yarrow tea.
My mind was fogged with a mixture of relief and pure exhaustion.
She was easier to rouse each time, and Ansel hadn’t had to gouge his knuckles into her sternum again.
By five o’clock she’d responded to shaking and calling her name.
Now it was nearing six thirty. And as the first rays of golden sunlight melded with the warmth of our dying fire, Sorcha woke up, unprompted.
She stirred in my arms, clumsy fingers grasping onto the collar of my shirt as she nuzzled into my chest.
That was new. But not unwelcome. So I reciprocated, tucking her close, kissing her head.
“Maima?” Sorcha murmured, pressing her face harder into my chest. “Limu sahla?”
I’d never heard her speak Elvish except when reading aloud from texts and certainly never to me. Never in a context like this. I supposed it still wasn’t to me . . . that now, scared and in pain, she was seeking her family for comfort, not her husband. Guilt twisted in my gut.
“Mom?” Sorcha had pleaded. “Why do I feel sick?”
“It’s okay, love,” I murmured, sticking with Elvish, even though my own was broken at best. “I’m here. You’re okay, love.”
In spite of everything I’d done, she’d finally, finally forgiven me, and I had to try and live up to that reconciliation.
“Neal?” Sorcha woke fully then, eyes flying open as she tried to push me away.
“You’re okay,” I assured her, still in Elvish. “I’ve got you.”
“What happened?” Sorcha mumbled. “Why am I . . . all wet?”
“We were right about the tick,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“You have relapsing fever. It caught you in the middle of the night. I took you into the river to try to get the fever to break, but it just wouldn’t.
We got you nopales and yarrow, and you’re gonna be fine.
But I thought you were dying in my arms. And I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry, Sorcha. I promised I’d take care of you and . . .”
I trailed off. I wasn’t sure what else I was supposed to say. And, for once in her life, Sorcha just stared, dead silent.