HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado (31 page)

Samuel drifted off to sleep and Odessa shifted in her seat. Her shoulder ached from sitting too long in one position.

“I can hold the baby,” Robert offered. “Why don’t you try and rest a little?”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said. “I want to stay with him.” It was sweet of the man to offer, but she couldn’t. The only one she’d leave the child with at such a frightening hour would be Bryce.
Oh, Bryce, why’d you have to leave?
She knew she was being selfish, that he was out searching, hoping to find a way, a future for them all, but she couldn’t help but feel sorry for herself, for Samuel. They needed him here. Now.

She ran her hand over the baby’s head. Was it her imagination or did the child feel not quite as hot now? Robert saw the hope in her eyes and ran a hand over the baby’s head too. “Ah yes. The raisin tea always seems to help.”

“Should we give him more tea?”

“No. Let’s wait for the doctor. The tea always helps ease the fever, but it never takes it away completely. At least the little guy can get some rest.”

“I’m grateful for even a temporary reprieve. Where did your mother learn to make it?”

He shrugged. “I suppose from her mother or grandmother. I often return to her remedies for such things. That’s why I had the lime peel with me.” He studied her. “Here, you take the rocker again, at least. Your arms are obviously aching.”

She tried to smile at him through her worry after switching chairs, but then she closed her eyes and rested as she rocked the baby, attempting to settle again, to sleep. With luck, Holt would be back soon with the doctor. It reassured her that he would be here, as Samuel began to whimper again. She wouldn’t rest until a physician came to examine Samuel and pronounced him out of danger. It was just too close to what she had experienced with her little brothers … watching them struggle against the fevers of consumption, each finally succumbing.

Robert stretched out on a long settee on the far wall, intent on waiting it out with her. “He’ll be all right, Dess,” he said.

For the hundredth time that night, Odessa was thankful that her brother-in-law was with her, if Bryce could not be. But staring down at her baby, listless, still burning with fever, she wished she could believe him.

Holt and the doctor finally arrived sometime after midnight, just as Samuel’s fever was spiking. Doc Murphy immediately took the baby from her arms and laid him on blankets on the kitchen table to examine him. “Sorry it took so long, ma’am,” Holt whispered. “I had to wait for the doc to get back from another visit.”

“No, no,” she said, giving him a grateful smile. “I’m glad you’re back at all. I worried you wouldn’t get back until sunup.”

“Is Bryce back?” he asked.

She shook her head, paying attention to the doctor’s movements and expression now. Holt quietly slipped out the back door. Samuel started to wail as the doctor unswaddled him and took off his gown, pressing on his belly, first one side, then the other. He looked her way. “How long has he had the fever, Mrs. McAllan?”

She stepped forward. “I noticed he was fussy all afternoon. But it was evening before the fever came on.”

“This as hot as he’s gotten?”

“No, he was much hotter. Robert gave him some raisin tea that seemed to ease it.” She slipped down the bench on the far side, so she could stroke the child, trying to calm him as the doctor continued his exam. He turned Samuel on his side toward the lantern to look down into his throat.

“Know anyone else who’s been ill?” he asked.

“No one on the ranch,” she said, shaking her head. “But Mrs. Teller stopped by a couple of days ago and said her son had been sick.”

He nodded and then sighed. “She should’ve known better. Probably held the baby, right?”

“Right,” Odessa said ruefully.

“There’s a fearsome case of the influenza that’s been going around the valley,” Dr. Murphy said. “Haven’t seen it in one this young—that’s what concerns me.”

Odessa’s eyes narrowed, and she looked again to her baby. “What can we do for him?”

“We wait it out. Get as many fluids as we can down him. Is he nursing?”

“Fitfully.”

“Wetting his nappies?”

“Not for the last couple of hours.”

“Hmm,” he said, wrapping the baby up again and handing him to her. “We need to get anything we can down him, to give him what he needs to burn off this fever.”

“He seems to like Robert’s raisin tea,” she said, moving to the cup and cheesecloth. “It brought down his fever for a time.”

“Anything in it but raisins?” Dr. Murphy said, eyeing the cup and then her brother-in-law.

“A little cardamom and sugar, and some lime peel.”

“Sounds fine to me.” He packed his things back in his bag. “Try and get some rest. I’ll come back by tomorrow afternoon to check on the baby.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Robert said, reaching out to shake his hand. He showed him to the door and then returned to Odessa’s side. He stroked Samuel’s head as the baby squinched up his face in a weak wail again. He put his other hand on the small of Odessa’s back, as if comforting her. “You look like you’re about to faint, Dess. Can I take him for a while? You can go and rest upstairs, or here, on the settee, if you prefer.”

Now that he’d said it, it was all she could feel, the sheer weight of exhaustion. “Maybe … maybe just a short rest over there. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

He reached for the baby and said, “Not at all. You go. He seems bent on crying no matter who’s holding him.” She nodded and moved toward the settee, intending to sit a while, catch her breath. Maybe close her eyes for a moment. Blinking heavily, she watched as Robert walked the baby, patting him, murmuring to him in low, calming tones. She wished Bryce were here.
Bryce, come home … I don’t care about the treasure. Come home. Lord, bring him home to us.

And yet just before her eyes closed, she watched Robert’s hand, patting the baby, reassuring him, and thought about how that was the same hand that had rested on her lower back. Holt came in then, to fetch a glass of water. She leaned to her side, caring not for the impropriety of falling asleep in the company of men who were not her husband. She was too weary to care.

Thank You, Lord, for Robert. For bringing him here to us. For the help he is to all of us.

11 May 1887

Doctor reassured me that as long as Samuel continues to improve day by day and will nurse a little so he doesn’t become dehydrated, he should fully recover. I will keep this entry short, since I yearn to be with him, even as he naps. I—

“Watching him every moment won’t hasten his recovery,” Robert teased her quietly, arms crossed, watching from the doorway.

Odessa started and then smiled. “I simply feel better, being near him,” she whispered.

Robert moved as if to go, then paused, apparently searching for the right words. “Bryce said you lost some little brothers to the consumption.”

“Four of them. Those were horrible, horrific days.”

“I can only imagine.”

“It meant a lot to me, Robert. That you waited it out with me. Thank you.”

“Please,” he said, holding up his hands. “Anytime, Odessa.”

“Still,” she insisted. “Thank you.”

He gave her a tender smile. “I’ll get a start on supper for the men.”

“Oh! Supper! I hadn’t a thought.”

“Don’t,” he said with a smile. “Owen and I have a plan. We’ll feed the men down in the bunkhouse, so the house can stay nice and quiet.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Thank you.” As he turned to go, Odessa hesitated a moment, still wanting to say more, and then frowning, she turned away. What was this desire within her? The desire to keep him around. Not to talk. Just to be present. She sat back down in Samuel’s nursery and rocked, harder and harder. She was a mass of emotions—relief, angst, frustration, fear, bravery. What was the matter with her anyway? Perhaps she was just weary.

She glanced down at her sleeping son. By God’s grace, both Samuel and she could get a good night’s sleep.

Chapter 18

Daniel paced back and forth, using a cloth to polish a glass that had long been dry. He glanced upstairs, wondering about what he had signed on to do for Gavin, for Moira. And yet deep down, he knew he would’ve done it anyway. There was something about Moira that pulled at him, something that made him want to protect her, heal her, try to fill the bottomless need for approval he sensed in her. She appeared shallow, absorbed in the surface of life, but once in a while, in those deep green eyes of hers, he glimpsed depths, like the pools in a slow moving river. When she allowed him to see into those pools, he knew she was more than she appeared.

He was alternately intrigued and aggravated by her, just as he had been on the ship.

Daniel set down the glass and took to straightening the rows of glasses on the bar shelf. Even if one took Moira St. Clair on a surface level, any red-blooded man could to see that she was everything a man could want. Curvaceous yet slim, blonde curls, long neck, rosebud lips. He was thankful that Gavin had been on board the ship, that he had gone after Moira in such an overt way, because something had been building quietly between Daniel and her—something Daniel wasn’t ready for. Daniel had stepped aside, knowing Gavin was more her type anyway …

But he had been wrong about Gavin.

Daniel glanced up the stairs, feeling a pang of guilt. Knapp had used Moira and tossed her aside like a common whore. Set her up to earn him money and eased his way into her bed. Their “marriage” had been a sham, simply a cover to allow the rake complete access to her.

Daniel set down the mug, hard, on the bar and leaned against it, head down. His heart raced. Had he known they were not truly married, had he understood it right away, he would’ve punched Gavin Knapp so hard he would’ve flown across the room.

But he hadn’t. And it wasn’t his place. Moira had not asked anything of him, yet. It had been Gavin, who had come downstairs, bag in hand, and convinced him to watch over Moira “while he saw to business.” Daniel had been too slow to figure out what he was really saying, that it was over, that he was leaving her forever. He still couldn’t believe it, really. Even if he only saw her as a mistress, why would he leave her? Had she pressed him, pressed for a real marriage?

It hadn’t been scruples that had driven Gavin Knapp away; Daniel was sure of that. They’d never know, really, what drove the man. But Daniel knew that he had been wrong, wrong to not step between them aboard ship, wrong to not stop him the day he left, wrong to accept the duty of Moira’s care. Who was he to take on such a task? What woman would want him around? Not after she found out who he really was, what he had done …

No, as soon as Moira St. Clair knew who Daniel really was, she’d toss him aside as easily as Gavin had tossed her.