Simon's Brides (28 page)

She sent Caro to the kitchen for a kettle. Edith said fever often followed a gun shot or a stabbing; the fever helped the body to heal.

When Caro returned, Amy added the wine and some of her willow bark and set the mixture near the fire. According to Edith, she needed to get his fever down. The tea would help.

She fixed a cup and coaxed several spoonfuls into his mouth. Night descended and Amy watched as fever made her husband restless and agitated. She ordered a bucket of cold water so that she could sponge him with the cool liquid.

She lowered the sheet.

Ben had undressed him while she’d gone for needle and thread. Now she gazed at his body, his naked body. She stared at him. She had only seen him once without clothing. He was beautiful.

Suddenly, the room seemed much warmer than it had previously. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that Simon needed her now. She couldn’t afford to linger over the perfection of the man she had married.

Grabbing the sponge, she stroked his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. She wet the sponge again and stood poised above the lower part of his body. Shuddering, she gazed at his legs, at his thighs. She stared at his manhood nestled in a nest of dark hair. Somehow, it looked different. Smaller than she remembered and now it lay placid against his body.

Suddenly, she felt hot, uncomfortable, yet the thought of running her hands over his warm skin did something to her stomach. She wanted to touch him.

She forced herself to remember what she was about and re-wet the sponge. Slowly, she touched the wetness to a leg and sponged his leg, his thigh. She held her breath as she caressed the inside of his thigh. The dry heat of his skin increased her own temperature.

He groaned and Amy jerked away from him. Dear heavens. What was she doing? She scolded herself, shook her head and dipped the sponge back into the water. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to apply the coolness to Simon’s hot flesh trying hard not to dwell on that section of his body cradled between his thighs.

Still his fever did not break.

Again, she added wine to the kettle and set it near the fire. When it was hot, she moved the kettle aside and waited until the liquid had cooled a bit, then, added an infusion of raspberry leaves and willow bark. She poured a cup and with an invalid spoon, she fed him the tea.

She crawled up on the bed and soothed his hair from his face. He murmured her name, or what she thought was her name. She inhaled sharply. Her eyes teared and she gazed at him.

“Please, don’t die,” she whispered. “I--I love you. I need you. You can’t die.”

She slid from the bed to her knees. “Dear Lord, please don’t take him from me. Since I won’t be able to sleep with him, if you will help him heal, save him from death, then I’ll give him up. I’ll insist he annul the marriage so that he can marry another. If he wants the estate, I’ll give it to him, but let him recover.”

She closed her eyes, dropped her head to the mattress and prayed, “Please, Lord, please.”

Again, she ordered more cool water and sponged him off as his temperature again soared. She made more tea and spooned it over his dry, cracking lips.

He tossed and turned.

“Cold, so cold,” he mumbled.

She piled a number of blankets on him and when he still complained about being chilled, she climbed into bed and held him in her arms. Then, he pushed her away and threw off the blankets.

“Hot. Douse that fire. Water. Water...”

He tried to sit up. Amy held him down. She grabbed the sponge from the bucket of cool water and began to apply it to his body. He sighed in contentment and slipped off into a restless sleep.

Amy blew out an exhausted breath.

“Please, Lord,” she murmured as she began to prepare more tea.

Toward morning, Amy dozed off. Simon’s mutterings awakened her and she lifted her head from his mattress.

“Don’t shout at each other like that. Don’t,” he murmured. Amy wondered who was shouting.

“Angel, looks like an angel.”

Those words brought on a surge of jealousy. Amy wondered who the angel was and what she’d meant to him. A few minutes later, “Can’t be gone. Didn’t get to say goodbye.”

More, “Don’t want the task. Can’t tell him no.”

Amy grabbed the kettle, poured tea into a cup and eased the liquid into his mouth.

“He has to get better. He has to,” she whispered as she worked. “Simon, don’t do this to me. You have to get well. You have to.”

“Cold.”

She wrapped him in blankets.

Minutes later he threw them off.

“So damned hot. Bloody hell. Douse that fire,” he shouted trying again to leave his bed. She pressed her chest to his. She lay with her body covering his until he calmed down a bit.

Opening his glazed eyes, he smiled up at her. “Turned out to be beautiful. All of ‘em, turned out to be beautiful.” He lifted his hand, but it appeared the effort was too much and he dropped it to the bed.

She slipped away, grabbed the sponge and began wiping him down again, her tears mixing with the cool water she applied to his skin. He settled down once more, but his fever was raging.

By mid-afternoon Amy was beside herself. Simon’s fever had risen steadily, but nothing she did seemed to help. She feared if he kept tossing and turning, he would rip open the stitches in his side. That would compound the situation.

She remembered Patience and how nothing had helped her stepmother. Swallowing her pride, Amy called Ellie.

“Ask Ben to send for Edith. Simon isn’t getting any better.”

Seventeen

Amy sat next to Simon, applying the cool, wet sponge to his burning flesh as she waited for Edith Williams. A frequent visitor at Kirkley Manor treating their childhood hurts, but also as the local midwife, Edith had delivered all of her sisters. In fact Edith had tended all the women in this house who’d died bearing children.

Amy often wondered how any of her sisters, or even she had been born, given the curse. If she gathered enough courage, she just might ask Edith. There had to be some kind of explanation.

Ellie came to the room, “How is he?”

“Hot,” Amy handed her the bucket of water. “Would you refill this?”

“Agatha said she’d spell you. You do need to sleep, you know. You won’t be any good to Simon if you get sick.” She took the bucket and started for the door.

Agatha arrived minutes later. “Let me sit with him for a time.”

“I’ll wait until our healer gets here,” Amy told her in a hushed voice.

“If you’re certain. I’ll be glad to relieve you. After all, if you don’t get some sleep you’ll sicken, and then you’ll be no good to Simon.”

Amy smiled, “Ellie said the same thing.”

Agatha patted Amy’s shoulder. “I mean it, my dear. We don’t intend for you to care for your husband all by yourself. I intend to do my part.”

Amy sighed. Agatha was well-meaning, but Amy didn’t think she could leave Simon. “I’ll nap here beside him.”

“Hurmph,” Agatha said and turned toward the door, “That’s not any kind of rest and you know it.”

“But, it will have to do for the present.”

Agatha turned around and glared at her. “Did anyone ever mention that you are a stubborn creature?”

“It was my father’s constant complaint.”

“I’ll return.” Agatha smoothed her hands down the ruffles of her skirt and left the room.

After Agatha had gone, Amy watched Simon’s bronze chest raise and fall rapidly. What had Edith said about a patient’s breathing? Nothing good, Amy decided.

Ellie arrived with the fresh bucket of water.

“Ben said to tell you Simon’s men took Harold to St. Mary’s. The authorities there weren’t keen on admitting Harold, so Simon needs to send a written message in the next day or two.”

“Did the men mention Simon was the magistrate for the area?” Amy dipped the sponge into the cold water.

“They must have, because St. Mary’s finally took him. Oh, and Dora is fine. Ben has men out looking for David and the other man who helped Harold. Not that they’ll find them. But, Ben said if Simon awoke, he’d want to know.” Ellie turned to leave. “Do you need anything else?”

Amy glanced at Simon then shook her head. She tried to keep the tension from her voice, “Just bring Edith here as soon as she arrives.”

Ellie nodded and was gone.

As the minutes crept by Amy noticed the afternoon shadows as they played against the walls of Simon’s room. She wrung her hands.
Where was Edith?

Amy returned to sponging Simon down. She lowered the linen she had tucked around his waist when Ellie came into the room. Now, she lowered the cloth and stared at his naked flesh. She ran the sponge over his chest, his ribs, his waist. Once more, she soaked a cloth in the cool water and with her heart in her throat, she bathed his stomach, his lower abdomen, staring at the black curls surrounding his manhood. She had done this many times over the day and night, but every time she ran the sponge over his body, her blood raced through her veins and she had to fight for a breath. This man held her heart and if he died...

She rested her hand on his chest. It hurt to touch him with his skin so dry and hot. His fever had increased since this morning.

No sooner did she cool him off, when he began to complain about being cold. He shivered and his teeth chattered as he gave in to his chills.

“Cold. So cold.”

Amy glanced at the door. She needed Edith. Simon was no better. In fact he was worse. Fear crawled through her. He couldn’t die; he must not.

Another hour passed. Desperate, Amy called for Caro.

She demanded, “Send someone again for Edith. She should have been here hours ago. I need her.” She tried to keep the panic from her voice, but from the look on Caro’s face, Amy knew she hadn’t succeeded.

As Caro left the room, Amy heard voices from below. She recognized Edith’s voice and she sighed with relief.

Edith Williams bustled into the room, “They said his Lordship got a bullet in his side.”

Amy nodded. “He’s so hot. And he’s getting hotter. His skin is so dry. I fixed the tea like you taught me, and I’ve been cooling him with water, but he isn’t getting any cooler. In fact, I’m sure his temperature has risen.”

Edith frowned and slipped her cloak from her shoulders, depositing it in the closest chair. Amy stepped away from her post at the bed, relinquishing the care of her patient to their healer.

“I’da been here hours ago, but Molly Pritcher took her time birthing her latest youngen.”

“Molly had a baby?”

“Aye, now let’s see what we have here. Umm. When did he take the bullet?”

“Yesterday about noon time.”

Edith shook her graying head and frowned. “Shoulda come out of it a bit by now, I’m thinkin’. Tell me how you cleaned out the wound.”

Amy described what she had done. Edith nodded as Amy detailed the care she had taken.

“Well,” Edith said, “Let’s take a look. Could be a bit of cloth is still in the wound. I’ll need yer best lamps.”

Amy gasped. “We’ll have to stitch him up again.”

“Better that than fer the wound to poison. Get to it, girl.”

Amy bobbed her head. She had forgotten just how bossy Edith could be when she worked with something serious. Amy pushed the thoughts of restitching the wound to the back of her mind and hurried from the chamber to find the lamps Edith wanted.

She brought two of their best oil lamps to the sick room and stood at Edith’s side as she cut away Amy’s binding and the poultice.

“Oh-oh!” Edith exclaimed. “The whole area is red as fire. Don’t look good. Here, clean my scissors. Hold them in the flames. And, bring one of them lamps over here. That’s good. Put the one on the table, there at his head. You hold the other. And, don’t you go getting sick on me, you hear.”

Amy watched as Edith snipped at the stitches Amy had taken and eased the thread from Simon’s flesh. He stirred, groaned and tried to pull away from Edith.

“Calm him down, girl,” Edith ordered without raising her head. “You married him. Now, you settle him down.”

Amy rested her hand on his shoulder, “It’s all right. Edith and I will make it all right.”

“That’s right. Keep talkin’. I’m gonna have to probe.”

Amy winced. She could feel Simon’s pain.

“Amy,” Edith ordered when Simon started to twist and turn, “Yer gonna have to hold him down, keep him still. Get his aunt in here. She can hold that lamp.”

Amy went to the door and called for help. In seconds, Agatha was beside her.

“Aunt Agatha,” Amy hurried with introductions. “Edith needs your help while I hold Simon down.”

Agatha nodded and took the lamp from Amy. She glared at Edith, “You don’t use leeches, do you?”

Edith looked disgusted, “Don’t believe in ‘em. Drawing at the blood when a body’s already weak don’t make much sense to me. Well, ladies let’s get to it.”

Embarrassed with her task, Amy climbed onto the bed and lay next to Simon. Edith shook her head, “On him, girl. Hold his shoulders down. I don’t want him moving around. You’re not that little. I know you can hold him down for a minute or two.”

Amy nodded, swallowed her anxiety and lay across Simon, anchoring him to the bed. As Edith probed Simon groaned and attempted to twist away. Amy heard Edith grunt and then her satisfied sigh.

“Bit of cloth. That’s what’s caused all the trouble.” Edith laid her scissors aside and grabbed the stack of cloths Amy had arranged on the table.

“It’s bleeding good now. Time to stitch him up.”

She glanced at Amy. “When was the last time you slept, girl?”

“I--I don’t know.”

“I’ll need some brandy or whiskey for the needle and thread and you go get some rest. I’ll stay with your man. I’ll even stitch him up for you. Yer so tired you’d probably stitch him to the linens.” She chuckled at her joke.

Amy didn’t laugh. She had no intention of leaving Simon, despite what Edith said. She shook her head. “No, I’m staying here.”

“Take her with you,” Edith ordered, pointing to Agatha.

Amy shuddered. Agatha wasn’t one to take ordering about. But, Simon’s aunt surprised her.

“Come on, child.” She grabbed Amy’s arm. “Let’s get some food into you and then put you to bed. I’ll spell Edith in a bit. But, you are going to rest.”

Amy dragged her feet. “You’ll call me if there’s any change.”

“Of course,” Edith dipped the thread into the glass of brandy she’d prepared.

“No, I mean it. You must promise to wake me if there’s any change, good or--or bad.” Amy stood her ground.

“I tol’ you I would. Now get on with it. Yer dead on yer feet. If I need you, if there’s the slightest change, I’ll send someone fer you. Now, get!”

Amy took a hesitant step toward the door. Unless she wanted to do physical battle with the woman, Amy had to leave the room. She glanced back at the bed, but Edith was bent over, working on Simon and Amy couldn’t see a thing. She sighed and left him in the best care she knew.

Agatha led her through the connecting door into the mistress’s bedchamber. She hadn’t been in the room since Patience died, but she was too tired to think about any of that. Agatha sent for some milk toast and a cup of tea, and stayed with her until she ate the bread and drank half a cup of tea.

Amy hadn’t realized how tired she was until she sat on the bed. As soon as Agatha left, Amy pulled off her shoes and stretched out. She’d close her eyes for a few minutes, enough to satisfy the two women, and then she would go back to Simon.

She had no idea how long she slept. She knew she had closed her eyes and drifted off. But, only for a moment she thought. She jerked into an upright position and swung her feet to the floor. Darkness had fallen and she wondered how much time had passed. She slipped into her shoes and hurried through the connecting door.

Trying not to make a sound, she tiptoed into the master suite and gazed at the woman sitting in the chair next to Simon’s bed. She was nodding off to sleep just as Amy entered the chamber.

Amy crept to the bed and gazed at her husband. He still looked very flushed to her in the dim light. As she watched, he opened his eyes and stared at her. She read the confusion and pain in his glazed deep blue eyes. She smiled and he mumbled something about water.

Edith stirred as Amy reached for the glass on the table beside the bed.

“Ah, yer awake,” Edith stretched in her chair. “Come dawn, I’ll take my leave. He’s doing all right at the moment.”