The Marriage Cure (2 page)

“Ye're wet through,” s
he said
.
“Let me get these dirty clothes off from you and give ye a bit of a wash
.
Ye've traveled long and far, haven't
ye
?”

Her hands felt capable as they stripped first his leggings and then his sodden, grimed shirt, done before he could gather his wits to reply.

“I have.”

Although it was far from cold in the cabin, he began to shiver again without his buckskins but she washed him like a child, a warm cloth scrubbing away the long weeks of the trail
.
The pungent stink of strong lye soap flared his nostrils and he coughed with the same harsh coughs that racked him after he swam the river
.
The woman
,
what was her name, he couldn't quite remember worked with quick motions and before he could think, she pulled a worn linen shirt over his head, leaving the neck open and the buttons on the cuffs undone
.
After wearing nothing but buckskins for too long, the shirt felt soft against his skin, reaching down to his thighs
.
He sighed at the decadence.

“That fits ye well enough,” s
he said, surveying him
.
“Ye were full of ticks but I've got them all, I think, and ye've no lice, which is a blessing
.
Let me comb out your hair; ‘tis tangled.”

He had had lice, many of them, when he left Fort Gibson but he had covered his hair in bear grease, left it for the first few days he traveled, and then combed it out as best he could
.
By then, the bugs had smothered to death. Washing his hair in the river with a bit of soap root removed most of the grease but left it tangled
.
She moved a big wooden comb through his hair with slow, certain motions and he relaxed, savoring the feel of her hands
.
They were gentle as she combed his hair, and then tied it back from his face with a rawhide strip.

Johnny felt no better, though, but worse
.
Although her kindness and care eased his spirit, his ills increased
.
He thought he probably would die of the fever but it was a mercy that he would not die alone
.

Sabetha put her hand across his forehead then cupped her hands to his cheeks.

“Yer fever ‘tis high, Johnny
.
Tell me where ye're hurting.”

He tried but such lethargy seized him that he could not seem to form words or force them out without difficulty
.
She placed one hand upon his belly and he managed to shake his head no, then she moved on, her touch light, to other body parts
.
When she finished she asked,

“So ye've pains in your head, back, legs, and arms, then?”

“Aye
.
Ta tinneas cinn orm. Ta tart orm
.”

He spoke his father's tongue, confused and weary and he did not expect her to understand but she did because she held a cup of water to his lips and helped him drink
.
He savored it, the coolness sliding down his dry throat and easing it a little.

“I have willow bark te
a steeping for ye to drink, too,” s
he said as she took the cup back
.
“The willow bark will ease yer head and I've put both coneflower and sage in it for the fever
,
as well
.
‘Twill be ready soon,
mo chroi.
”

This time, he spoke
Tsa-La-Gi
but he hoped she understood
.
“
Wado
.”

He could not think for the pain in his head, beating like a living thing and his mind drifted without focus
.
By the time she brought the hot tea, he had trouble rousing enough to drink it but she held it to his lips, urging him to sip the brew with a soft voice
.
He could taste the honey she stirred into the tea to ease the bitter taste of the willow bark and with her urging, he finished the cup
.
It seemed important that he should remember her name
,
and he found it again, whispering it so he would not forget.

“Sabetha
.
Sabetha.”

“I'm here, Johnny,” s
he said
.
“Let me walk ye to the bed so ye can rest
.
Ye'll feel a bit better, then, I'm thinking.”

Through his
mental fog, her hands touched him, lifted him, and he tried to move with her, struggled to move his feet the short distance to the bed and somehow he made it
.
Beneath him, he felt the soft shuck mattress and when he moved, he could hear the faint rustle of the dry corn shucks that filled it
.
When she pulled a woolen blanket over him, he reached for it and grasped it hard, fingers clutching the blanket to him.

Something soft and cool touched his forehead and he realized that she must have put a wet rag there to ease the fever
.
She spoke to him
,
but it was hard to make out the words
.
He didn't
know the sense of them
.
He tried
to understand,
however, because she was so kind.

“Have ye family, Johnny?
Is there someone I can send for to come, someone who will worry?”

He had family, once
.
However, they were gone; all but one brother if Fort Gibson's many plagues had not killed him too.

“
A dhearthair,
”
Johnny told her,
“
Degenali
.
My brother, Davey Devaney.”

He spoke the word in three different languages
.
He hoped she understood at least one.

“Where is yer brother, then?”

“Fort
Gibson,” h
e muttered. “In the Nations
.
If I die, tell him so.”

He could say no more, too weak and much too sick to focus on words
.
As he shifted in bed, the corn shucks rustled again and he moaned because moving hurt.

“Shhh,
” Sabetha said, bending over him, bathing his face with a cool rag
.
“Ye'll not die, Johnny, not if I can help it
.
Rest, man.”

She said he would not die and he wanted to believe that, to hold it and keep it as a beacon to light his way but he still thought he would
.
At Gibson, he watched too many die of this fever, writhing in pain and crying aloud with the suffering
.
He knew death stalked him, hunted him as he did the deer
,
and he had no doubt it would find him
.
The woman, Sabetha, meant well
,
but he doubted she could be strong enough to keep death away or to fight the intruder who made him so sick
.
He tried to tell her but the words jumbled and refused to make sense so she shushed him.

“Hush now,
Johnny dh
u,
” Sabetha said, her voice sweeter than the honey in the tea
.
“Ye must sleep
,
and I'll sing ye to sleep if ye'll lie still.”

He nodded as
the sickness
devoured
him at a fast pace, unable to do more than lie there, with a good bed beneath him and listen
.
When she began to sing, in a high, clear voice, grief clenched his heart like a tight fist and he almost wept
.
The words were familiar to him, an old song that his father sometimes sang to the children and so he slept, drifting away with the music, fever and all.

Sabetha Mahoney Trahern

Whoever he was, this Johnny Devaney, there was something about him that captured her attention and engaged her emotions
.
She, wary under almost every circumstance, and shy around strangers, felt drawn to him, found she tended him in his illness like kin
.
He was very ill and despite her brave words, she was not at all sure he would survive
.
Johnny's skin burned beneath her touch, hot and dry in a way that worried Sabetha
.
Such fevers, in her experience, sapped strength with rapid
force,
and road weary as well as sick, the stranger in her bed had little left to lose
.
When she pulled his worn moccasins from his feet, Sabetha eyed the toughened skin, the many old calluses with sympathy
.
He
'd
walked far to find her valley, hard miles judging by his appearance
.
He had few possessions besides the moccasins and buckskins; a knife with a handle carved from a deer antler, a possibles bag with a little salt, less sugar, a flint and steel, and a string of beads.

Between the beadwork and his black hair, his dark eyes made her think he might be Indian but if he was, he had mixed blood for he spoke Gaelic as well as she did
.
The other language that he used was not familiar
.

He stirred, restless beneath the bedclothes, tossing away the quilt as he thrashed
.
He mumbled something she could not understand and she took hold of his hot hand, stroked back a stray stand of hair from his face.

“Hush
, mo chroi
.
Sleep if ye can.”

Johnny roused at her voice, eyes open wide, looking from one side to another until he found her
.
His lips moved, then he spoke but his voice was low.

“T
a ocras orm
,” h
e said
.
“Wasn't there rabbit stew?”

There was but she wasn't sure he should have any
.
Everyone knew it was right to feed a cold and starve a fever but Johnny Devaney seemed too thin already
.
However, there
would be no point to nurse him
only to starve him to death
,
and he needed nourishment
.
Therefore, she nodded, decision
made,
and propped him against the few pillows
.

“I'll fetch ye some,
” Sabetha told him
.
“I'll spoon ye some of the broth if ye're willing.”

“I am.” His voice sounded faint as morning mist.

He took broth from the spoon she offered, almost a cup's worth before he shook his head
.

“Enough?”

“Aye.” The word was no more than a breath.

“
Conas ata tu
?”
He was no better, she knew, but she asked anyway.

“I've never been so bad,
” Johnny said, dredging up the words with effort
.
Then his eyes slipped shut and she settled him back prone, fretting as she did.

Once he slept, in fitful and uneasy slumber, she tidied the cabin, picking up his discarded buckskins and moccasins, brushing the dirt from them and folding them into a neat pile
.
Sabetha put his few possessions on the mantle shelf above the fire
.
Then she ate the rest of the stew, munching a piece of cornbread, washing it all down with the last of the fresh water
.
That necessitated a trip to the spring so she lifted up the bucket
and stepped outside.

Dusk heightened the shadows
,
and it would soon be dark
.
The early spring evening breeze made her shiver and wish she had snatched up her shawl
.
Sabetha hurried, filled the bucket, and returned to find him asleep.

She sat in her rocker before the fire and reflected on the day
.
On rising, she
had
expected nothing more than the usual routine, the chores, and the ever-present loneliness
.
Since Henry died the previous spring, she spent most of her time alone
.
Getting the cow out of the weeds had been her biggest challenge of the day but then the stranger
had
appeared, dealt with the situation like an experienced farmer, and then fell ill
.
Now she had a man in her bed and the task of nursing him at hand.

Maybe Johnny Devaney would be better come morning, she mused
.
Fevers were strange; they could be short-lived yet vicious or long lasting
.
Every instinct within told her that his illness would be a long siege but she hoped she was mistaken
.
Sabetha pulled the rocker over to the side of the bed where she would be near if he needed her
.
Before she slept, she bathed his face once more with cool water and coaxed a little more tea down his throat.