Blackstone's Bride (33 page)

Jarrod turned and ran into the house. In the kitchen, he found Abby with her head in Lily’s lap as Katie stroked her hand. Both girls were crying.

“Help her, Uncle Jarrod,” Lily demanded, her voice trembling.

Fear tightened in his gut. Abby wasn’t a swooning kind of woman. Jarrod went down on one knee beside her. He touched a hand to her forehead and felt the heat. Her face was flushed and her eyes closed. “I need water.”

“I’ll get it,” Tom said.

Jarrod scooped Abby into his arms. “Bring it up to my room. And cloths,” he ordered, staring at the girls.

“Yes, sir,” they answered.

“What’s wrong with her?” Katie asked.

At the doorway he stopped, gathering Abby more tightly to his chest.

“My guess is Abby never had chicken pox.”

For three days Jarrod stayed by Abby’s bedside. When the spots came out, they covered her from head to toe. Dusty had brought the doc from town, for all the good the old sawbones had done. He’d said fever was the most dangerous part of the disease. If they could get that to break, she’d be nothing more than uncomfortable from the itching.

Beside him, Abby moaned. He’d covered her in cool, damp sheets. Oliver had rested easier after they’d done that for him. But Abby was so much worse than the boy had been.

Worry gnawed at Jarrod as he remembered the doc saying adult cases of chicken pox were almost always worse than children’s. He hadn’t said Abby could die, but Jarrod had seen that possibility in his eyes.

“Fight, Abby,” he said, sponging off her face with cool water. Her cheekbones were prominent because of the flesh she’d lost. He had struggled to get water into her. Food was impossible. “Dammit, you fight this. I won’t lose you.”

There was a knock at the door, then it opened. “I brung ya more water, Uncle Jarrod,” Tom said.

“Put it there on the nightstand,” Jarrod ordered, not taking his gaze from the delicate woman in the bed. It tore at him to see his vibrant Abby—Firecracker—so deathly ill.

“Yes, sir.”

Something in the boy’s tone caught at Jarrod. He looked at Tom staring at Abby, and saw his fear.

Jarrod dropped the cloth into the basin and said, “Come here, son.” He opened his arms.

Like a shot, Tom was in Jarrod’s embrace and buried his face in Jarrod’s neck. His whole body shook.

“You’re worried about Abby, aren’t you, Tom?” he asked gently. He felt the boy nod. “You care about her a lot more than you let on.”

Tom lifted his tear-streaked face. “I do care. I like her a lot, right from the start I did. But I was afraid—” He rubbed a knuckle beneath his runny nose. Then his gray eyes took on a haunted, frightened look. “Is she gonna die? Mama got sick and the doc couldn’t help her. She died. Is Abby gonna die like Mama?”

Oh, Lord. What could he tell this poor boy to take away his agony? Abby would know what to say. She always did. But Abby was too sick right now, and he didn’t know if she would get well.

Jarrod swallowed hard. “I don’t know, Tom.”

The boy didn’t meet his eyes. “I never cried for Mama, not even once. I never did ’Cuz then it would be real. Do you think Mama was mad that I didn’t cry for her?”

“No. Your mother understood. She wouldn’t want you to be sad. She’d want you to grow into a good, kind man.”

He hung his head. “Haven’t been very good to Abby. What if I never get to say I’m sorry? I am, Uncle Jarrod. Real sorry for all the mean things I said to her.”

“You’ll get a chance,” Jarrod said, with more certainty than he felt.

“You think so?” Tom said hopefully.

Jarrod searched for words to help Tom, no matter what the Lord had in mind for Abby. “Son, I’m doing my best to keep her with us. But if it doesn’t work out that way, we have to be thankful that we had her for the time we did.”

“She was always nice to me. Even when I wasn’t so—”

Jarrod squeezed his shoulder. “She knows you’ve been through a lot with your ma.”

Tom brushed his tears away. “Oliver got better.”

“Yup. No reason Abby can’t too.” Jarrod drew in a deep breath, steadying his voice. “But it wouldn’t hurt if you did a little praying.”

He nodded. “Abby taught us one. Well, she learned everyone else, but I was bein’ a knothead. I listened, though. When she wasn’t lookin’. I learned the prayer.”

“That’s fine, Tom.” Jarrod was so tired his whole body hurt, right down to the roots of his hair. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Would you stay here with Abby?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jarrod stood up. “I won’t be long. If anything happens, anything at all, you hightail it straight to me. You understand?”

Tom nodded.

In the doorway, Jarrod glanced back. Tom was on his knees beside the bed, hands clasped, head bowed. “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep….”

Must have been lack of sleep, Jarrod decided, that caused everything to waver in front of his eyes.

Jarrod lifted his head from his arms and looked around groggily, wondering where he was. In front of him was a mug of coffee, cold now. It took a few seconds, but finally his head cleared and he remembered. He had put his head down on the kitchen table, just for a few minutes, while Tom stayed with Abby.

He stood up so quickly the chair toppled backward. He ran upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time, stopping outside the bedroom door to catch his breath. He heard someone talking.

“You look fine, Abby.” That was Tom.

For a second he’d thought he had heard Abby’s clear voice, but was afraid to believe it. For three days, she hadn’t done more than mutter incoherently. Jarrod slipped into the room and saw the boy sitting on the bed talking to her.

“Ya gotta get better soon, Abby. We got lots to tell you. Joe Schafer took your job at Hollister Freight. You should see Lily lookin’ through all them catalogs to order stuff so’s he’ll deliver it. Katie’s wakin’ up at night again. Lily and me take turns ’Cuz Uncle Jarrod’s takin’ care of you. Oliver’s
not havin’ accidents no more, but he’s taken to stickin’ that thumb in his mouth again.” Tom plucked at the sheet as he stopped for breath. “So you see, Abby, ya gotta get better. Even if ya decided to go to find your pa, maybe you’ll decide to come back. We love you, Abby.”

Jarrod moved into the room and Tom looked up at him. “Was it all right I told her that?”

“Yup. Just fine.”

“Jarrod?” The voice was hoarse, but it was Abby’s.

His gaze shot to her face. Her eyes were open. “Abby?”

“What happened to me?”

This was the first time she had looked at him lucidly. He felt her forehead. It was blessedly cool. “You have chicken pox. The doc said you—”

“The doctor was here?” she asked. Her voice was weak, but Jarrod heard the astonishment.

She was going to be all right. Leaning back as he stared heavenward, Jarrod took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you, Lord. I owe you.”

Jarrod stood beside Tom. “How do you feel, Abby?” the boy asked.

“Like I’ve been run over by a wagon,” she said, rubbing her forehead.

Jarrod looked at Tom. “Why don’t you find your brother and sisters and tell them the good news?”

He glanced at Abby, reluctant to leave her.

“Your uncle’s right, Tom. The others will want to know I’m feeling better.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Take care of her, Uncle Jarrod.”

“Count on it.”

Then the boy was gone.

Abby struggled to sit up. Jarrod moved to help her, and the sheet fell away, exposing her nakedness. She quickly covered herself.

“I had to,” Jarrod said. “It was the only way I knew to keep the fever down.” He pulled her cotton nightgown from the dresser and handed it to her. Then he turned away as she slipped it over her head.

“How long was I sick?”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Not much. You can turn around now,” she said, leaning back against the pillows. “The last thing I recall was making breakfast. Rafe Donovan left that morning. My head hurt and I was so cold my teeth chattered.”

“You didn’t know the children were in and out?” She shook her head. He pointed to a vase of wilting wildflowers that Katie had brought. Pencil drawings that she recognized as Oliver’s were tacked up on the wall opposite the bed. A big sign beneath it in Lily’s handwriting said,
Get well, Abby
.

“The next thing I remember was hearing Tom’s voice. He said, ‘We love you.’” That puzzled her.

“Tom carried water up and down the stairs for three days.” He smiled at her shocked expression. “Yes, Tom. When he met you, he had just lost his mother and never grieved for her, he finally admitted. He was afraid to care about anyone because it hurt too much when they were gone. He’s always liked you, Abby.”

“I’m glad.”

Jarrod sat on the bed beside her. His muscled thigh brushed hers and a spark of awareness charged through her. “How do you feel?”

She thought for a minute. “Much better. I’m hungry.”

He laughed. He threw his head back and kept laughing until he had to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Are you all right, Jarrod?” What she’d said wasn’t that funny.

“It’s just so good to see you”—he stopped as if searching for the right word—”normal.”

She gingerly touched her cheeks and felt the bumps and scabs. She recalled the redness and scabs Oliver had suffered when he was recovering. It was dreadful. “You call this normal? I must look a sight.” She started to hide her face in her hands.

Jarrod took them in his own. “You’re beautiful, Abby.”

Three days later Abby felt so much better, she dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. Jarrod had already fed the children. They were cleaning up when she walked into the room.

Oliver’s face brightened when he saw her. “Hi, Abby!”

He ran over and hugged her around the legs.

Katie ran to her, but there was a serious expression on her face as she looked up. “Are you all right enough to get out of bed? You were awful sick and Uncle Jarrod said it would take time for you to feel better and we musn’t disturb you. So are you better enough that we can disturb you now?”

Abby smiled and tucked a blond curl behind Katie’s ear. “I’m almost back to normal, and you never disturb me.”

The little girl jumped up and down. “I knew it! She’s all better, Uncle Jarrod.”

Jarrod stood at the washbasin, his long sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong, tanned forearms. He grinned at her. “That’s a relief. It would be easier to hold back an overflowing river than the likes of this group.” Wiping his hands, he said, “Have a seat and I’ll rustle up some flapjacks for you.”

“They’re real good,” Katie said.

“Uncle Jarrod’s a good cook,” Oliver added.

“Your uncle is a man of many talents,” Abby said. Then her gaze locked with Jarrod’s and she knew he was thinking about abilities other than cooking. Heat warmed her neck and cheeks.

Quickly, Abby took the chair at the table beside Tom. He smiled at her shyly.

“So, how’s your horse?” she asked, making conversation to cover the awkwardness.

“She’s fine,” the boy answered.

“Have you found a name for her yet?”

“No’m.”

The back door burst open and Lily raced inside, hair
windblown from running, eyes sparkling. “Joe’s here, Uncle Jarrod. He brought that saddle you ordered for Tom.”

“Tell Gib,” he said. “He’ll know what to do with it.” The girl nodded, then stopped at the door. “Mornin’, Abby. Glad to see you up.”

Before Abby could answer, Lily was gone.

“Funny,” Tom said. “We were just talking about my horse. Can I go see the saddle, Uncle Jarrod?”

“Me too!” Katie and Oliver said together.

“Sure, you go on.” Just before Tom closed the door, Jarrod called out, “Tell Joe to see me before he leaves so I can pay him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, Joe took my old job,” Abby said. “I vaguely remember Tom telling me that.”

“Yup, Gib told me he was here a couple weeks ago with—”

Jarrod looked at her for a long moment, his expression sad.

“What is it, Jarrod? You look funny, like you lost your best friend.”

“Just before you got sick, Gib told me there was a letter for you.”

“From my father?” she asked. Excitement chased away her irritation that he’d forgotten about it. She so loved hearing from her father.

“Before I give it to you,” Jarrod said, his voice sounding strange, “there’s something I need to explain.” He drew in a deep breath as he crossed the room and set the hand towel on the back of a chair. “When we were in town on the Fourth of July, I sent a wire to Luke Brody, a friend of mine in San Francisco. I asked him to see what he could find out about your father.”

“The letter’s from him?”

Jarrod nodded. “It’s from your father, and Luke sent it along. I’ll get it.”

Anticipation bubbled inside Abby. Maybe her dream was just about to come true. Jarrod returned with the letter and handed it to her.

With trembling hands, she tore it open and read.

The information stunned her, and she had to read it three times before the words made sense.

“What’s wrong, Abby? You’re white as a sheet. Are you sick again?”

She handed him the letter. “My father doesn’t want me to see him, let alone live with him.”

Jarrod scanned the page. “He has a family.”