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Daniel’s thoughts were an echo of his sister’s. He’d been wakened before sunrise by the whimpering sounds his wife made in her sleep. He could see the erratic pulsing of the vein in her temple. He slipped from the bed, went out to light the brazier, and before she opened her eyes, he was ready with her medicine and a hot cloth for her head.
“Da...el.” Her first word was little more than a moan. Her eyes were half-open, the pupils like black points in the sea.
“Yes, aroon, I’m right here.”
“...hurts...”
“I know, sweetheart.” He lifted her head off the pillow. “Drink this now. It’ll make you feel better.”
She drank it slowly, her hands shaking as she helped him to hold the cup. “Oh, it’s horrible,” she whispered and forced a smile.
“I know.” He brushed the hair from her face, knowing she was trying to mitigate his worry. “Here...” He draped the cloth over her eyes. “This should help, too.”
“Mmmm.” She brought one hand up to press it close over her right eye and temple. Her other hand reached for him. “Don’t go.”
“I’m right here.”
“Daniel.” The medicine made her voice weak. “Tell Norah I’m sorry.”
“I will, sweetheart. Don’t worry about anything. Norah will understand. You just go back to sleep now. I’ll be right here.”
“Dan...iel.”
“Shhh. Go to sleep, aroon. Sleep now and don’t worry.”
She surrendered at last to the pull of the laudanum. He sat there with her until he was sure she was deeply asleep, then heated the cloth again. She whimpered once more as it touched her face, and curled over on her side. She’d sleep now for four hours or more and maybe when she woke, it wouldn’t be as bad. If I had one wish in all the world, he thought with a sigh. Gran always said if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. He thought of the old lady and whispered, “Help her, Gran. Help her. Let it not hurt so much.”
Jake came a little later, for his father was concerned: Daniel had been joining them every day to help with the work in the canyon. Lowell came shortly after and to each he gave the same answer,
“She’s all right. She’s in a lot of pain, but it’s not serious. She’ll be all right.”
He was sitting at her side late in the afternoon when she opened her eyes again. Her breathing hadn’t been regular for several minutes—telling him the pain wasn’t completely gone. But her hands were stronger as she reached for him and her smile wasn’t forced. He held her close and kissed the top of her head.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded against his shoulder but said nothing. She wouldn’t use her voice, as it would waver and break for some time after she woke, a side-effect of the medicine. She snuggled closer and he stretched out on the bed and cradled her head against his chest.
He felt the little catches in her breath, the momentary spasms that told him the pain was still there. He waited for a while as it sometimes faded after she woke up. When he knew it hadn’t diminished, he poured about one-third of an envelope of laudanum in a glass of water and offered it to her.
“But it’s better,” she protested.
“Liar,” he said with a laugh in his voice. Though the drug induced a sense of being out of control, of drifting, she’d told him she minded it less when he was with her than she ever had before. Again she made a face at the bitter taste. “Wonder if it’d taste any better if I put some honey in it? I’ll have to ask Doc if that’s okay.”
“We’re supposed to go honey-hunting,” she said, her voice trailing off weakly.
“End of the month. We’ll have to find a big hive, too. Mother said she’s out of mead. Maybe we’ll have to find two.” He stroked her hair, watched as her eyes closed again. She’d sleep for an hour or so and he’d have a light supper ready when she woke again, in case she wanted to eat. And tomorrow, he felt sure, she’d be better.
She was hungry when she woke—a good sign. She wanted to get up and sit at the table but he made her a tray instead. She ate the soup, the bread, and asked for more. Then, as he cleaned up the kitchen, she sat and watched, smiling every time he looked over at her.
Just after sunset, he came back to her. He’d hung his clothes on the pegs in the corner and she smiled again at his neatness. At his strong, solid body. She slipped over toward the wall as he got into bed, then moved in close to him and brushed her fingers against his chest. He pressed his hand over hers, stilling the motion, and he gazed down into her eyes. “Aroon, you need your rest.”
“I need you.”
He hesitated. Never had she denied him, and he didn’t want to hurt her by refusing her now. But he was afraid her strength wasn’t as great as she thought it might be. He lifted her fingers to his lips, then placed his hand against her heart to feel the beating. It was strong and regular. His hand then rested against her temple, felt that the fluttering in the vein had stopped, the erratic pulsing was calm.
“Annie,” he whispered against her ear. “I...”
Arrah, are you afraid?
Yes, aroon. Of hurting you. Of harming you.
Do you love me?
More than life.
Do you need me?
Yes, aroon. More than I need the sun.
Do you want me?
Oh, my love, more than anything in this world.
You are so good.
She turned her cheek against his shoulder and nestled in against him. He’ll protect me. I must trust him, trust in him and I will be safe. She heard the long breath he let out, then closed her eyes and let him hold her until she slept again.
***
IT WAS LATE THE NEXT morning when she woke. She got up carefully, knowing she might be dizzy and weak. She washed her face, put on a dress and brushed her hair. Then, barefoot, she stepped out into the sunshine and found her husband sitting on the edge of the porch.
He held a hand up to her. She took it and descended the few steps, came to sit between his knees. He put his pipe down and began to braid her hair.
“Mawnin’,” he drawled when he’d finished. She turned her face up for his kiss. “Feeling better today?”
“Much better.” With a touch of shyness, she added, “Thank you.”
“Aroon,” he chastised, and quoted one of Katie’s bits of wisdom, “‘I want not thanks nor money, but your love.’”
She made a happy sound, leaned back in his arms. “You know you have that.”
“I know. And I wouldn’t give it up for all the thanks or money in the world.”
“Daniel?” The few minutes’ silence was broken by her question.
“Mmmm?”
“I’ve been thinking about the money your father gave us. It seems a shame for it to just be laying there in the bank, not doing any good.”
“But I can’t seem to convince him we don’t need it.” A bit of frustration leaked into Daniel’s words.
“Why don’t we do something with it, then? If he says it’s ours, we could do what we wanted, couldn’t we?”
“We don’t need it, aroon.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean no one does.”
“Oh? What do you have in mind?”
“I thought we could tell Mr. Thatcher to let Doc Barber draw on it. For when he needs medicine someone can’t pay for. Like Mrs. Callendar’s little ones or the Navajo up in the hills. There’s really a lot of folks around who don’t have extra money—why shouldn’t they have the medicine they need? Or why should the doctor always have to pay for it himself?”
“Aroon, you are the most thoughtful girl in the world. It’s a great idea. It’ll help out the people who need help the most. Do you want to go tell Dad?”
“After lunch,” she replied. He laughed—she’d had nothing to eat since the day before, and only one meal then.
“I love you.” He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He shook his head and laughed again. “Let’s get you fed! I can’t wait to see Dad’s face when he hears this!”
After they presented her idea to John Patrick, Daniel left them talking together and joined his mother in the kitchen. Over a cup of tea, he told her everything he’d learned about Annie’s condition and asked for her help.
“You and Gran gave Jesse so many things to help her when she was sick. Is there anything you can do for Annie? Even if you could make her a little stronger, it would mean so much to her. I know you can’t cure it—but can’t we make her life easier?”
And a little longer. Molly heard the unspoken plea and considered her reply carefully. “There are many things in your grandmother’s books that will help with all kinds of illnesses. But, my son, I am not sure we know exactly what Annie’s illness is. Let me first talk to the doctor and see what he can tell us. Then I will consult the books to see what may help.
“I make no promise, my lad, but I will do everything I can. For her, and for you.”
“Thank you, Mother. I’m sure you’ll find something.”
“Aye, we should. If only to lessen the pain.”
“If you could do that...” He’d give her the world, the stars, the moon.
“If I can do that, ’twill be thanks enough in itself.”