He wasn’t at all surprised later that day when he returned to their little house behind the Temperance Hotel and found her lying on the kitchen bed. He had expected it, for this was usual when the ague took her. She would huddle under a quilt, shaking with cold or drenched with fever until the stormy weather had passed and her limbs had stopped aching. After that an hour or two of deep sleep would restore a semblance of health, and she would soon be up again, not exactly bustling, but certainly able to brew her own tea and keep Sophie company in the hotel kitchen.
But as Thaddeus drew closer to the bed, he realized that this time something was different. She had not pulled the quilt up around her ears, nor were her eyes closed against the light. Her mouth drooped at one corner and her right eye was half-closed. Her left eye fluttered when she saw Thaddeus and her mouth moved as she tried to speak, but she could muster no words for him.
He ran back to the hotel and asked Francis to fetch the doctor.
It was the second apoplectic fit they had been warned to expect. The first had pulled Thaddeus off his ministerial circuits once and for all and sent them scurrying to family in Wellington, where a more settled life had given he and Betsy three reasonably good years. But all the time, the shadow of another sudden stroke had loomed over them.
Dr. Keough, when he arrived, could only shake his head at Thaddeus and tell him to prepare for worse to come. “She might recover somewhat, like she did before,” he said, “although it’s unlikely that she’ll ever be as well again.” He pursed his lips in worry. “I have to tell you, though, that I don’t like what I’m seeing. Her pulse is irregular, and she’s having trouble swallowing. We may be seeing an event that is still in progress, and I’m afraid that the prognosis is not good.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“Just keep her as comfortable as possible,” Dr. Keough said. “The only other thing you can do is pray.”
He would pray as he had never prayed before, Thaddeus thought, but not before he did the one thing that he knew might bring Betsy great comfort. As soon as Sophie had bustled in with extra pillows and Francis had arrived with a bowl of tepid water to sponge away the drool that collected at the corner of Betsy’s mouth, Thaddeus found a sheet of paper and some ink and sat at the kitchen table to write a letter.