Marry Me (41 page)

Rhyne was intrigued but not optimistic. “I reckon there are a lot of folks that honored Mr. Franklin that way. Backward and forward.”

“I couldn’t say. I’d be pleased to make inquiries if you’d like.”

“I don’t recall my brothers ever mentioning such a person.”

“Perhaps they didn’t know.”

“Do you think there might be other kin?”

“Anything is possible.”

Rhyne appreciated his guarded response. “I think I’d like it just fine if you made those inquiries,” she said presently. “As long as none of them are directed at Judah.”

“That never crossed my mind.”

She believed him. “Is it true my mother was employed by a family as a maid?”

“That’s what she told me. A maid to the young lady of the house is how she described it.”

“Perhaps her brother did similar work.”

“That’s one direction the inquiry will take.”

“I could write to my brothers, at least to Randy because he’s as close as Leadville. He might remember something that could be helpful, and he won’t tell Judah.”

“An excellent idea. I’ll consider how I might proceed this ev–” The judge turned in his chair as Rhyne’s attention was suddenly focused in the doorway behind him. No special cognitive powers were needed to see that Cole Monroe was concerned and that whatever he had to say was for his wife’s ears alone. Elijah Wentworth stood, and this time no one stopped him.

“I’ll see myself out,” he said, nodding to both of them. “Don’t trouble yourselves. Please give my regards to Miss Monroe and thank her for a most intriguing debate. I hope she is well soon.” He briefly rested his hand on Cole’s shoulder before he quietly took his leave.

Rhyne was on her feet as soon as she heard the front door close. “Say it quickly.”

“Her temperature is one hundred two degrees and indications are that it will rise. She was sick again upstairs although there was only the water you gave her left in her stomach. I gave her some bicarbonate. It remains to be seen if she’ll hold it down.”

“Indications,” Rhyne said, not liking the ominous sound of that word. “What does that mean?”

“She’s begun to cough and is complaining of a headache. The latter could have any number of causes, certainly the fever alone can explain it, but the cough is more troubling.”

“She was coughing earlier today, but when I asked her about it, she said she’d breathed in too many of the seasonings we were using. She didn’t cough at all during dinner.”

“Too excited, I suspect. I attributed her flush to that as well.”

“What does it mean? What’s wrong with her?”

Cole knew what Rhyne wanted to know, but he wasn’t prepared to share his diagnostic impression just yet, not when certainty eluded him. He took Rhyne’s hands in his. “She would benefit from an alcohol bath. I wonder if you–”

“Of course I will,” she said. “Whitley doesn’t want you doing that sort of thing for her.”

His chuckle was slightly forced. “So she said before she asked for you.”

Rhyne was suddenly and uncomfortably aware that Cole was studying her. His regard was not that of a husband for his wife but of a doctor for his patient. She removed her hands from his. “I know what you’re doing. You might have just asked me how I’m feeling.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m well,” she said, mildly exasperated. “You?” “The same.”

“Do you expect that’s going to change for either of us as suddenly as it did for Whitley?”

“It could,” said Cole, and hoped to God that he was wrong.

“Then there’s nothing to be done about it now. Let me go to Whitley.
You
can wash dishes.”

Cole was scrubbing the roaster, all but lost in thought, when he heard his name being called. He let the roaster go and turned away from the sink, shaking out his hands. His first thought was that it must have been Rhyne, but when he looked down the hallway, he saw Wyatt Cooper standing in the entry. He waved the sheriff forward and went to meet him halfway.

Without preamble, Wyatt said, “It’s Will Beatty. I managed to get him home, but you need to come right away.”

Cole called up to alert Rhyne that he was leaving and where he was going. She reminded him that he’d left one of his medical bags in Whitley’s room. Cole quickly took the stairs, and Rhyne met him at the top with it. “Whitley?” he asked quietly.

“Sleeping. I’m going to stay with her.” Rhyne handed him the bag. “Go on. We’ll be fine.”

He nodded, thanked her, and kissed her on the cheek she proffered. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Wyatt had the front door open. “Wait,” said Cole, reaching for his coat. “You haven’t told me anything. I might need more than what’s in this bag.”

“He’s burning up. We’ve been riding most of the day. Did a little target shooting. He never said a word about how bad he was feeling, but I could tell something wasn’t right. He started coughing, for one thing, and he didn’t begin the morning like that. Seemed like he might have had a sore throat, too. We had to stop a couple of–”

Cole held up his hand. He’d heard enough. He pushed his bag at Wyatt while he shrugged into his coat and got his hat. “Everything’s there,” he said, indicating that Wyatt could head out the door. “But I have to tell you, I was hoping to hear that no-account Beatty boy got himself shot.”

Rose was laying a damp cloth over her husband’s forehead when she heard Cole and Wyatt enter the house. She called to them to come up to the bedroom. After Wyatt had helped her get Will out of his sweat-drenched clothes, she’d sent him after Cole. Except to clean out the basin after Will vomited in it, she hadn’t left his side.

Now she stepped away to let Cole have her place by the bed.

“Hey, Doc,” Will said weakly. “Told Rose to leave you be. I don’t–” A paroxysm of hard coughing cut him off.

“It seems your wife knows better than you do,” said Cole.

“No surprise there,” Wyatt said dryly. He found Rose’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Cole shook out his thermometer while he rolled back the blankets covering Will’s right shoulder. He slipped the thermometer in Will’s armpit and addressed Rose. “Wyatt told me Will vomited a couple of times on the trail. Has he done it since he’s been here?”

“Once. Hard enough to make me think he’d pass his stomach through his mouth, but it was mostly water.”

“Mostly?”

“A little on the pinkish side, I thought.”

Cole nodded. He’d already set his features to give nothing away. He turned back to Will. “Did you wake up feeling poorly? Don’t talk. Just nod or shake your head.”

What Will did was shrug.

“All right,” said Cole. “I take that to mean you didn’t feel well but not so bad that you thought you should stay home. Is that about right.” This time Will nodded. “You started coughing on the trail?” When Will nodded, Cole went on. “Before noon?” Again, a nod. “Loose bowels?” Will grimaced and his already flushed face took on an even ruddier hue.

“For goodness sake, Will Beatty,” said Rose. “Tell the doctor what he wants to know.”

Cole turned his head to look at Rose. “Maybe if you stepped out a moment.” He thought she might object. She certainly drew in a deep enough breath to suggest she meant tell him what she thought of his suggestion, but then she exhaled slowly and nodded. Indicating that she was going to put on a kettle for tea, she left the room.

“Loose bowels?” asked Cole as soon as she was gone.

Will nodded and held up two fingers.

“Twice,” Cole interpreted. “All right. Let me see how high your fever is.” He removed the thermometer, read it, and then shook it out. “One hundred two point five.” He soaked a small cotton pad in alcohol and wiped the instrument clean before returning it to his bag. “I need to look you over,” he told Will. “Did Rose strip you down to your drawers?”

“She took it all.” He turned on his side, drawing up his knees as another fit of coughing strained his lean and wiry frame. He was slightly out of breath when he finished, but that didn’t stop him from adding, “My wife likes me naked.”

At the foot of the bed, Wyatt rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite keep from grinning. “I’m going downstairs to sit with Rose. Holler if you need me.”

Cole nodded. He sat on the edge of the bed and gestured to Will to turn on his back. When Will was settled, Cole drew down the blankets and sheet as far as his waist. Will’s abdomen was blotched by a light rash that appeared to be climbing toward his chest. “Did Rose remark on this?”

Will raised his head a fraction to look down at himself. The effort strained his features but his surprise was still visible. Dropping back, he shook his head.

Cole understood that meant the rash was a very recent symptom, appearing perhaps within the last hour. He got out his stethoscope and listened to Will’s heart, and then helped him onto his side just long enough to take measure of his lungs.

Cole let the stethoscope dangle from his neck. He tapped Will’s chest with his fingertips and then pressed more firmly against his abdomen. Liver. Stomach. Small and large intestines.

“Jesus, Doc!” Will groaned and tried to knock away Cole’s hand as firm pressure was applied to his bowels. He managed to ask if Cole was trying to kill him before another bout of painful coughing stole his breath.

There was an empty glass on the bedside table. Cole picked it up and waited for the coughing to subside. “Don’t swallow,” he said quickly as Will quieted. He slid a hand under Will’s head to help him raise it and put the glass to his lips. “Spit.”

Will did. His saliva was tinged pink.

Cole put the glass aside and eased Will’s head back on the pillow. He watched the deputy’s eyes stray uneasily toward the glass. “Are you more comfortable on your side?” he asked. When Will indicated that he was, Cole assisted him getting into that position and rearranged the covers. He put the stethoscope away. “I’m going to mix some bicarbonate for you. That will ease your stomach distress. I’ll speak to Rose about what she can do.”

Will was still looking at the glass. “Is it consumption?” His gaze suddenly locked on Cole. “You can tell me, Doc. I want to know.”

“It’s not consumption, Will. I promise.”

Only partially reassured, Will asked, “Then what is it?”

Cole picked up the glass as he got to his feet. He set it carefully in his bag so that it wouldn’t tip. “I’ll know in the morning. Rest for now. That’s my best advice.” He closed his satchel but remained a while longer at Will’s side, waiting for some sign that the deputy meant to sleep. When Will shut his eyes, he left.

Wyatt and Rose simultaneously looked up from their tea when Cole entered the kitchen. Rose stood to get a cup for Cole, but he waved her back and set his bag on the table.

“Do you have bicarbonate?” he asked. “I have some if you don’t.”

“I have it here,” she said.

“Good. Put a teaspoonful in a glass of water and get Will to drink it down. I’m going to stop at Caldwell’s and ask Chet to make an infusion of peppermint, caraway, and fennel. That should help with the dyspepsia.”

Rose was immediately hopeful. “That’s all it is? Indigestion?”

“That’s a symptom of what it is.” Cole’s glance strayed to Wyatt. “How are you feeling?”

He took a moment to do an inventory. “Fine, I guess.”

“Good. The same question to you, Rose.”

She paused just as Wyatt had. “I’m good.”

Cole’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. He asked Wyatt, “Did Rachel have any complaints this morning?”

“No.” He frowned. “Why would she?”

Cole stood behind a vacant chair and braced his arms on the back rail. His nostrils flared slightly as he drew in a breath. “Whitley’s ill,” he said. “It seemed to come on suddenly, although she might have been hiding her distress because she wanted to entertain the judge this evening. Her symptoms are almost identical to Will’s. She doesn’t have the rash yet, but I suspect that will come.”

Wyatt understood then. “Will and your sister are just the first.”

“That we know of,” said Cole. “I’m afraid so.”

Rose’s fingers tightened on her teacup. She wished it was a whiskey bottle and thought she probably wasn’t alone in wanting to make it so. “What can I do for Will?”

“Don’t let him get dehydrated. I don’t think the water’s the problem, but boil it for now. Give him tea. Chamomile. Peppermint. Both are fine. I don’t know if you’ll get sick, Rose. If you’re fine now, maybe you won’t. It’s hard to say, but you have to do things so that caring for Will doesn’t make you sick. Don’t share a glass. Don’t use the same plate or utensils. When you change his linens, especially if he soils himself, separate that bedding from everything else. I beg you not to send it out to Maggie Porter for laundering. Wash it here in boiling water.”

Cole made certain he had her full attention. “And wash your hands, Rose. Wash them before you cook, before you eat, and always,
always
after you care for Will. Do you understand?”

Wide-eyed, she nodded slowly.

“Good. It’s because I lost that fight to Dr. Erwin at St. John of God that I’m here at all. I have just enough of my father in me to make losing again unacceptable.” He picked up his bag. “You coming, Wyatt?”

The sheriff’s chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back. “I’ll check on you later, Rose.”

“No. You go home. Be with Rachel.” Her smile was a trifle uneven. “Whatever’s coming our way already proved it has no respect for the law.” She didn’t get up to escort the men out. When the front door closed, she pushed her cup aside, folded her hands and began to pray.

Outside, Wyatt stopped Cole before they reached the street. “Is it typhus?”

“Not typhus. Typhoid fever. It’s an important distinction.” Cole started walking again.

Wyatt caught up and fell in step beside him, matching his long stride. “Why didn’t you tell Rose?”

“I haven’t even told Rhyne. It’s still suspicion not fact. I have some of Will’s spit in a glass in my bag. I’m going to examine it under the microscope as soon as I get home. A stool sample would have been better.” He didn’t think he needed to explain that Whitley would provide one with marginally less outrage than that no-account Beatty boy. “I don’t want to start a panic, Wyatt. There are always people that get sick because they expect to get sick. The fewer of them, the better. If I’m correct, and it
is
enteric fever, then the best hope for all of us is that I can identify the source.”