Wystan (5 page)

Chapter Six

Rhia held Beryl's cold hand between hers. Fever flushed her gaunt cheeks and she shivered under three blankets.

“I wish I could see the schoolhouse. I feel useless lying here.”

“You're not useless. One morning you'll wake up feeling brand new and we won't be able to keep you sitting down for all the things you'll want to do.” Rhia smiled and squeezed her hand.

Beryl hadn't said much about her past, so Rhia had no idea what she'd done before they met. A round of coughing shook her friend's frame. She drew the topmost quilt over Beryl's shoulders and stepped back.

“Rest. Sylvie and I will stay tonight to make sure you're all right.”

She hoped the treatment Eban had prescribed would help Beryl's illness. Almost as though she'd summoned him with her thoughts, he appeared, holding a steaming kettle of water.

His dark hair fell over his forehead and he looked flushed. “I heard her coughing down the hall. The steam will loosen the mucus.”

“Good. Is Sylvie still reading in the study?” Rhia moved away from the bed so he could settle the container on a stool close to Beryl.

“I think so. She's engrossed in a book about Lewis and Clark.” Eban looked up and smiled. “Thomas Jefferson is used to being the smartest kid in town. He won't know what to think about Sylvie.”

Glad her sister was occupied, Rhia drew in a breath. “Is everything all right between you and Wystan? He seemed awfully angry when he left.”

Eban avoided her gaze. “Can you sit up a little, Miss Brookshier? We'll rearrange some pillows.” He glanced at Rhia. “It wasn't about you this time. I said something I shouldn't have. It's nothing to worry about.”

It hadn't seemed like nothing, but she didn't want to argue.

He straightened and met her gaze. “I need to discuss something with you that doesn't have to do with the school.”

Dread knotted in her chest. He wanted money, or Beryl wasn't going to get better. Rhia's heart pounded inside her chest. “What is it?”

He fluffed a trio of pillows and helped Beryl recline against them. “There's been an outbreak reported. I need to check you and Sylvie for symptoms.”

“Of what?”

He seemed nervous, picking at his cuticles on one hand. “It causes little nodules behind the ears, a sore throat, and sometimes strange behavior.”

Rhia lifted her hand to her throat. It felt normal—if a little dry inside—and she was tired, but didn't feel ill. Another sickness to worry about, although Sylvie hadn't complained of feeling poorly either. “I'm sure if it was just brought to your attention, we haven't been exposed.”

It seemed strange that there were no other patients in his clinic, but she didn't mention it.

“Nevertheless, prevention is my focus. We don't need everyone in town getting sick.” He pushed the stool closer to Beryl's bed. “Breathe as deep as you can, let the steam clear your lungs out. If we can draw the fluid up, you'll start feeling better.”

Beryl nodded, but looked uncomfortable. “It's appalling manners for a lady to spit.”

Eban laughed. He pressed his hand to her forehead. “I think we can disregard that rule for now. I won't tell. The important thing is to keep fluid out of your lungs to prevent pneumonia.”

Rhia didn't miss the look of adoration on Beryl's face. It was remarkably similar to the one Sylvie wore when she talked about Eban. He turned to her again.

“I suppose you can check, if you think it's best,” Rhia agreed.

“I do.”

He looked solemn. She much preferred his smile to the faint hint of worry in the lines around his mouth.

“I'll call for Sylvie in a moment. Do whatever you have to.”

He approached and put his hands under her chin, tilting it up slightly. Rhia's eyelids fluttered and she curled her hands into her skirt pockets. A tremor rolled down her spine and Eban frowned.

“Are my hands cold?” he asked.

“No. Don't mind me.” She swallowed and closed her eyes, imagining the rippling field of grass she thought of at night before she went to sleep. Eban's fingers pressed under her jaw and behind her ears. His gentle touch shouldn't have alarmed her. He hadn't given her any reason not to trust him. The position was oddly intimate and despite his good looks, it was strange to have a man touch her throat.

“What are you doing?”

Sylvie's shriek made Rhia's eyes spring open.

“Sylv—”

Though Sylvie was a little small for her age, she flew at Eban with the force of an angry dog. Rhia stepped back as Sylvie hit him, her fists pummeling his back.

“Stop.” Rhia grabbed Sylvie by the shoulder and pulled her into an embrace. “Eban wasn't hurting me.”

Sylvie's breath came in gasps, her face blotchy red and glasses askew. “Don't touch my sister.”

Eban raised his hands in a gesture that surely meant he didn't intend harm. “Rhia?”

“Listen to me.” Rhia turned Sylvie to face her. “Eban said there's a disease going around. He was checking to see if my throat was swollen. Nothing else.”

Sylvie's light-brown eyes moved as she looked at Rhia. One of her small hands touched the spot Eban had touched. “Mr. Butter—”

Not that again.

“Eban,” Rhia interrupted, “is not that person. He wouldn't hurt us. Not the man with a smile you're so in love with.”

She didn't want to explain anything about their year in Nebraska. Didn't want Mr. Butterman to cross her mind again. It troubled her that Sylvie still thought about him.

Sylvie's face reddened again. “
Rhia
.”

Rhia lifted her gaze to Eban. He looked startled. She guessed he didn't hear women compliment him often. “Tell Eban you're sorry for hitting him.”

Sylvie looked miserable. “I'm sorry. I thought…I have to protect Rhia. The same way you said you watched after your little brother when you were children. I don't want anything to happen to her, because I'd be alone.”

He nodded. “I understand. Your sister is lucky to have you. You're forgiven.”

“Thank you,” Sylvie muttered. Her eyes widened. “Rhia isn't sick, is she?”

Eban cleared his throat. “I didn't have time to finish examining her. Maybe you can watch and make sure I'm doing it right.”

His voice was gentle and Rhia's heart melted when he smiled at her sister.

“I guess. He didn't hurt you, Rhia?” Sylvie frowned and hugged herself.

“I promise he didn't.” She smoothed Sylvie's curls away from her face. “Eban is our friend, remember?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl. He has to check you too, but I'll be right here. Eban?” Rhia tilted her head and managed to keep her eyes open. Sylvie slipped her hand into Rhia's when Eban started the examination again.

She forced herself to breathe and wiped one sweaty palm on her skirt. Sylvie hung on to her other hand as if her fingers were carved from granite.

Eban's brow furrowed when he felt behind her ears, but then he dropped his hands and backed up. “You appear to be fine.”

Rhia gave him a tense smile. “That's a relief. I'd hate to delay starting school.” She squeezed her sister's hand. “Your turn.”

Sylvie didn't flinch as Eban bent to her level. She removed her spectacles and handed them to Rhia. No one said a word when his fingers slipped behind her ears. He wore the same expression, full of concern and a hint of worry. Rhia waited, trying to calm the painful thump of her heart. They weren't ill. They hadn't come into much human contact in the last couple of weeks.

Eban drew in a sharp breath.

“What?” Rhia couldn't read his expression.

Sylvie looked up, eyes wide. Eban pushed golden-brown curls away from Sylvie's ears. A rough red mark as long as Rhia's thumb stood out against Sylvie's pale skin.

“Why didn't you tell me your spectacles were rubbing again?”

Sylvie shrugged.

Eban's shoulders relaxed. “I thought it might be something worse. We can put some salve on that. You should really let your sister know if the earpieces are rubbing. There's no need for them to hurt you.”

“I hate my spectacles. They're so ugly.” Sylvie's lower lip trembled. “The other kids called me Four Eyes at the school in Virginia. They said I was ugly and stupid.”

“That's not true. Eyeglasses help you see. There's nothing wrong with that. Don't listen to anyone who says otherwise.” Eban smiled, but something told Rhia he knew about being different. “I'm happy to pronounce both of you healthy.”

“We'll try to stay that way. You have your hands full with Beryl.” She smiled at her friend, who seemed to breathe a little easier with the steam treatment. She delicately bent the earpiece of Sylvie's glasses and passed them back. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Sylvie said, but she still looked unhappy.

“It's better than stumbling around and running into walls, don't you think?” Eban ruffled the top of Sylvie's head. “I'm going to get Beryl a cup of willow-bark tea. That should help bring her fever down. Would you like to help me, Rhia?”

His tone suggested it wasn't a request. She followed him out of the room and closed the door.

“I'm sorry about Sylvie. We've had a rough time and your brother was right to remind me that accidents happen very easily. She isn't usually so aggressive. I don't know what she was thinking.” Rhia rubbed her forehead, wishing she could tell the truth instead of hiding behind the facade she'd created.

“I understand. It must be frightening to come to a new place. When I asked Sylvie yesterday about where you'd come from, all she would say was Nebraska. I have the feeling there's a bit more to the story.” Eban folded his arms over his chest.

“Not much,” she muttered, trying to avoid his eyes.

“Little girls don't often attack strangers for no reason.”

The smell of whiskey filled the hallway and Rhia turned. Wystan stood there, hip cocked, hand on the hilt of his knife, hat crooked and a savage gleam in his eye.

“Who attacked you?” he growled. His gaze was on Eban.

Eban sighed. “It was more of an outburst than an attack. You're drunk. Go back to the jail.”

They exchanged a look that sent a shiver through Rhia. Eban shook his head, a minute movement that she would have missed if she hadn't been watching carefully. She hoped Eban would be concerned enough about his brother that he might not question her further.

Wystan pinned Rhia with red-rimmed eyes. “Things have been strange since you showed up.”

“I have the feeling things were strange before I arrived.” She wasn't afraid of this towering giant, not even when he came in reeking of alcohol. He looked mean, but traveling with Sylvie for company and putting Nebraska behind them had left her feeling braver. “I'm still waiting for an explanation about what happened last night.”

Wystan looked at Eban, who shook his head in a definite
no
gesture. Wystan ignored him. “It's a creature called a barghest. A devil dog. You're lucky that's what it was because they're slower than changesteeds. One of those will lure you in with a familiar voice or a sound and you'll be dead before you know it. They're bigger and they shift forms. Might look like a horse, or deer, but they're not so innocent. Barghests don't think like that. Big claws, big teeth, and they always go for the throat.”

Rhia gaped. He
was
drunk, but she didn't think he was so inebriated that he'd believe in monsters. The thing he'd killed hadn't looked like a coyote, but surely it wasn't something from a nightmare.

“You think I'm lying. Tell her, Eban.”

Eban's gaze darted between them. “I'm not sure this is the time for discussing what's happening here.”

“What is happening here? Because I see two grown men who are acting odd.” There wasn't any way to avoid either of them without going back into Beryl's room and she didn't want Wystan bursting in after her.

Eban put his hand on Wystan's arm, only to be shrugged away. “You're the one so determined to hide everything, Wys, don't tell her right now. Maybe in the morning when you've had a chance to
think
.”

“Wouldn't the truth be simpler?” Rhia asked. She felt a burning need to know what secret they were hiding, even though her instincts warned her she might not like it. But wouldn't it be better to find out now rather than after she formed a life here? She thought she'd known all the details about Mr. Butterman, but he'd hidden secrets she never dreamed of and never wanted to experience again.

“You're going to scare her off, Wys.”

Wystan didn't take his eyes off her. “She needs to be afraid.”

“We agreed she should stay. Remember TJ? How we all want better things for the children?” Eban was pleading, but it was ineffective. “If you really feel like she needs to know, maybe I should tell her. Your version is…gruesome.”

“Mincing the details doesn't make it any less true.” Wystan removed the enormous knife from its sheath.

Rhia backed away, bumping the doorknob. “What are you doing with that?”

“This is called a bowie knife. Named for Colonel Jim Bowie. He was well known for his fighting skills.”

She couldn't imagine what a knife had to do with the town, but she nodded. “It's…impressive.”
In all the wrong ways.

“It's effective for killing barghests and changesteeds. Or any other kind of demon that comes from the Pit.” Wystan tucked it away again. “Same with Eban's saber and Tell's arrows.”

“Tell…arrows.” She blinked. Understanding the weapons they carried was as much work as imagining the beasts he spoke of. “Like William Tell?”

A half smile formed on Wystan's lips. “He's cocky with them.”