The Marriage Cure (4 page)

Elza snorted
.
“I know a few words, no more, not enough to help you much
.
You won't need any much longer; he looks nigh death.”

Sabetha rejected his words
.
“He'll not die, Elza
.
He will not.”

He shrugged his shoulders
.
“He might not but he looks awful bad
.
If you don't get your corn in, you'll starve come winter
.
Reckon you can trail him back to the Nations
,
but that Fort Gibson is a bad place, I hear, full of sickness and death.
”

“He has a brother there,
” Sabetha said.

Elza sighed
.
“I was at Horseshoe Bend with Jackson and that changed my mind about Indians
.
Hated ‘em before
,
but I felt right sorry for them after that
.
I reckon this boy here has been through hell and back to get here
.
Is he your man now?”

He was not but he could be, if he lived and if he were willing
.
Sabetha shook her head.

“He's not; he was sick when he came.”

Elza
spoke aloud,
.
“But he might be, if he lives
.
Girl, I'll stay a day or two and plant your corn for you
.
Then you can tend to him better.”

Her eyes welled up with tears at the unexpected gesture
.
“Thank
ye
, Elza.”

“Aw, you're welcome
.
I just hope your Indian lives.”

True to his word, old Elza stayed and planted for her, working for two days
.
Each night he slept out beneath the stars
,
but he took meals with her
,
and she killed one of her prized hens to make a pot of chicken with dumplings
.
He ate her food, offered his advice
about both the corn and Johnny
and left
on the third day
,
waving farewell,
his dog Boots trailing at his
heels
.

With the corn planted, her immediate focus was Johnny
.
He took some of the rich chicken broth but he still burned with fever, still suffered bouts of delirium and the subsequent stupor
.
Neither her cold rags nor any of her herbal remedies seemed to help because he did not improve
.
She gave him water, the teas, and sometimes milk, spoonful by careful spoonful
.
Day by day, she watched as he wasted away, the bones of his face grew more prominent as his flesh melted, devoured by his body to survive
.
He was skinny when he came but now he looked emaciated and she could see the outline of each rib bone too well
.
Those dark eyes sunk into his skull and his complexion, darker than hers when he arrived, faded to a pallor that was worm white
.
His strength diminished, little by little, and she slept in snatches, too worried to leave his side for long
.
That terrible rash that covered his body must itch and now seeped blood
.
Sabetha turned him in different positions, from his back to his left side then his right to keep down the irritation and finally, in desperation, began rubbing wool wax into the rough, inflamed skin
.
That seemed to soothe it a bit
.
When his whiskers grew, just enough to be annoying and he pawed at his face; she took down Henry's razor and shaved him, leaving his face smooth.

Every day, each night, she still talked to him and often sang
.
Elza, before he departed, had remarked that it seemed to him that the sick that folks interacted with lived more often than those left in silence
.
Whether or not it reached him, whether or not he heard any of it, she did not know but she made the effort
.
As he sank lower, grew weaker, her will that he must live strengthened until she believed nothing but her will kept him alive.

On the twelfth morning after he came into her valley, she sensed the crisis nearing
.
Johnny grew restless, more than he had before, twitching and tossing
.
Now he moaned aloud and his breathing slowed, shallow and light
.
When she put her hand on his chest, she felt his heart racing and the fever heat, long intense, burned higher and hotter
.
When he calmed, the fever remained but his stupor deepened and he did not respond, not to her voice nor would he sip liquid from her spoon.

Terrified, she sang to him throughout the long day, sang until her voice cracked and grew hoarse
.
She sang old lullabies, ballads, and she prayed aloud, reciting the prayers that her parents, Catholic to the bone, taught her
.
The Latin felt strange upon her lips but she repeated the words she learned
.
If she had known any Cherokee charms, she would have chanted them as well.

By the time that dark fell, she despaired that he would not see morning
.
A rising wind groaned around the corners of the cabin and distant thunder growled
.
Soon, rain pattered on the roof and buffeted the walls as she waited and kept watch in hopes to keep death away, afraid that she could not.

Sabetha Mahoney Trahern

In the long spaces, she listened to the rain and strained to hear his breath
.
Sometimes she could not hear it and had to lay her head upon his chest to listen for his heart to know if he lived
.
His heartbeats were slow, faint, and erratic and Sabetha's fear expanded
.
If she could rouse him, she believed he would live but if not, she feared the worst.

She sang to him, the old milk songs of her childhood, the rousing ballads her father loved best when he was deep in drink, and every song she could recall until her voice cracked and her mouth got dry
.
Before
, he responded to the songs but
now
he did not
and lay
still as a stone
.
His eyelids failed to flutter and so she gave up music and talked to him, instead.

Although Sabetha had talked long hours to Johnny before, now she poured out her heart to him, her thoughts and her hopes
.
She had nothing more to give; her herbal medicines had not cured him, her cold compresses did not lower his fever, and so she sat, rocking in the chair at his bedside, talking and praying aloud.

“I've done all I can for ye,” s
he said, her voice weary
.
“I've nursed ye and tended ye for near two weeks but ye have to fight, Johnny
dhu
.
Ye must try
.
I don't want to give ye to the ground, to see ye buried
.
Ye've had a hard life, I know, but ‘twill be better
.
Ye're young, man, and ye can be strong again
.
Yer brother might come to find ye or ye can go to find him
.
Ye need not be alone is this life
.
Oh,
mo chroi
, won't ye open yer eyes and look at me?”

On and on, she spoke, drawing upon her own pain, her own losses to draw a link to his
.
Sabetha could not count the hours that she talked beside his bed but near the middle of the night, she realized that the rain beat with greater force upon the roof and that the wind howled fierce
.
Through the chinks in the cabin walls, she saw lightning and heard the mighty voice of the thunder echo from the hills
.
The cabin shook with the force of the thunder and she heard the sharp crack, smelled the pungent ozone as lighting struck a tree not far away.

She fell silent, listening, and felt a hand touch her shoulder in a gesture she remembered very well.

“Ye're not alone,
inin
,
” Padraig Mahoney said, his voice as firm and strong as when he lived
.

“Da,
” Sabetha said
.
It was not the first time she had sensed her father's presence or heard his voice but he brought immeasurable comfort to her.

“
Slán agus beannacht leat
.
” With that benediction, he was gone.

Although Johnny seemed no better, the visit encouraged her
.
Sabetha settled back at Johnny's side, singing once more, softer songs now, quiet lullabies
.
As she sang, the air in the room thickened and she felt the fine hairs on the nape of her neck prickle
.
She was not alone but this was not her father, dead before she left Kentucky.

Sabetha raised her head and saw them, two women at the foot of the bed
.
One was a very old woman, gray hair in two tandem braids with vibrant eyes and the other, a generation younger but not young, stood tall and smiled
.
They were Cherokee, she realized, and
knew,
without knowing why or
how,
that this must be Johnny's grandmother and mother.

“If ye've come for Joh
nny, ye'll go away empty handed,
” Sabetha said to them
.
She was not afraid but she took his hand in hers and possessed it
.
“He lives and he will live
.
Ye can't have him.”

The women nodded, the older saying something she could not understand in her native tongue
.
Then, Johnny's mother spoke,

“We come to help, not to take him to the
Night Land
.”
Her voice was soft but clear
.
“We come to sing away the Raven Mockers for we love him too.”

Then she joined her mother in song, a rhythmic chant that sounded powerful to Sabetha
.
The spiritual visitation did not seem odd to her, with her Gaelic blood, she knew such things were true and even as a young child, her own mother called her youngest daughter fey
.
Their appearance wasn't disturbing but the last words, “we love him too” silenced her
.
Sabetha knew she felt something strong for this young man but until now, hearing the word in his mother's spirit voice, she had not dared to name it
.
Could she, she wondered, love a man she scarcely knew and the answer came from deep within that she could and did.

They remained
with her
, the two women, until almost dawn
.
Worn and exhausted, Sabetha slept a bit in the chair, relieved by their presence
.
When they faded away, she did not feel as alone and with renewed hope, she touched his face but it still burned with fever
.
Something had shifted, though, she was certain and so she waited, silent now.

Just after the first light of dawn began to turn the darkness of the cabin into a gray half-light, Johnny gasped aloud and shuddered
.
He exhaled with force and she rose, standing over him, heart rising to choke her throat
.
It was either the end or a new beginning but until she put her hand against his forehead, she was not sure which
.
However, his skin felt cool beneath her touch and when she checked, running her fingers beneath his shirt, she found him sweaty
.
His fever had broken and as she touched him, his cheeks, his hands, his body to be sure of it, his breathing evened and grew stronger
.
As she wiped away his perspiration, he moaned a little and moved but he did not wake
.
She straightened the covers, tucked them about him, and then wept, face in her hands sobbing aloud with relief and release
.

Johnny Devaney would live and she loved him
.
Nothing else mattered for the moment, nothing but helping him grow well and strong
.
For the first time since he came and fell ill, Sabetha let herself relax into a deep and dreamless sleep.