Betsy!”
She wearily petted Marie’s sweat-dampened hair and raised her voice so she’d be heard over the peculiar coughs that filled their home. “Don’t come in here!”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.” The door swung open. “I came as soon as I saw the scarf—who’s sick?”
“Will and Marie. I suspect Greta is, too. She’s not herself.” Betsy looked up at him and warned, “If you’ve not had whooping cough, you’d best back straight out the door.”
To her relief, he came on in and firmly shut it behind himself. “I’m safe. What about you and Karl?”
“We had it while my stepmama was carrying Will.”
Marie started to go into another paroxysm of coughs, so Betsy pulled her upright. The loud, whooping bark had gotten worse since sunrise.
“I’ve given them pine tar and elderberry cough syrup. It’s not helping.”
“How much wild cherry bark do you have?”
“Nowhere near enough for this,” she confessed.
Ty paced over to Will’s bed, gently lifted the boy and cradled him to his chest and shoulder as if he were nothing more than a wee babe. “How much have you gotten them to drink?”
“I made broth. They don’t keep it down very well.”
“I don’t suspect they will.” He sat next to her and calmly ironed his big, capable hand up and down Will’s shuddering spine as the little boy coughed. He waited until the brace of whoops was over, then said very matter-of-factly, “We’ll just have to be diligent to keep them drinking. What say we give them both some apple cider, maybe make a poultice, then I’ll go get some more cherry bark. We’ll need it. What else do we need?”
She strained to think. “Honey. It’ll be impossible to get a lemon. I’m trying to remember what else is good for coughs. Linden, and anise, and—oh!” Frustration had her nearly in tears. “I don’t remember!”
“It’s going to be all right,” he soothed. “After we get the kids settled, I’ll go ask Doc what he recommends.”
“Doc Gardner’s ailing from his rheumatism. He’s not been to church for nigh unto a month now. Samantha’s father said the cold troubles Doc so badly, he can’t go out on calls. I don’t think he’ll come help.”
“I’ll get his advice. We can make it through, Betsy. We need to send word to your pa, though.”
Her arms tightened around Marie. “You don’t think—”
“No, of course not,” he cut in quickly. “Everyone’s going to get well, but no one’s going to get much done or chalk up any sleep around here for almost a month. It’ll be good to have his help.” He petted Will’s head and murmured, “I need you to drink for me, little man. Sips. Loads and loads of sips. No runnin’ around. I want you actin’ lazy as a ’possum until your cough’s all gone.”
“Yes, Misser Ty.” Even those three words sent Will into spasms of coughs again.
Ty was heartbreakingly gentle with her brother, and that meant the world to her. Betsy wanted to wrap her arms around the two of them.
Ty brushed a subtle kiss on her temple and murmured, “It’s going to be fine.” Betsy blinked at him in surprise, but he acted as if he’d done nothing out of the ordinary. He calmly reached for Marie and settled her on his other knee. “Come here, Smidgen. Your sis is getting you some cider. It’ll make your throat feel better.”
A little more than an hour later, Marie and Will stayed side by side in Pa’s bed. Karl piled pillows and a rolled quilt up behind them to prop up their shoulders and heads to make them breathe better. Betsy started making cherry bark tea, and Ty brought in firewood and three big buckets of snow to melt on the hearth for water.
“I’ll go into town and talk to Doc Gardner.” He came close and gently pushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Do you need anything from the mercantile?”
“I have plenty of willow bark to bring down their fever. Karl can give you the egg basket. If you trade the eggs for some cherry bark, I’d appreciate it.”
He nodded. “Karl, you’re going to have to fill in and shoulder a man’s place here,” Ty said. “You be mindful to slop the hog, milk the cow, and do your stable chores. I want you to fix up the spare stalls in the stable. I’ll be bringing over my horses.”
“Why?” Karl asked.
Ty cupped Betsy’s jaw and tenderly arced his rough thumb across her cheek. “I’m going to stay here until your pa gets home. We’re going to see this through together.”
Betsy leaned into his gentle caress. Ever since Frieda had died, she’d carried on pretty much alone. For the first time, she couldn’t handle matters; but Ty was here, and together, they could manage. This man was a gift from God, and she needed him—not just for the kids, but for herself.
Betsy knew she probably ought to object; it wasn’t proper for an unmarried man and woman to stay beneath the same roof. Doubtlessly, Olivia Crabtree would stir up a whole scandal over the arrangement. Then again, with four children as chaperones and three of them sick as could be, necessity seemed more important than propriety. God’s mercy counted more than Mrs. Crabtree’s pettiness. She covered his hand with hers. “I’m thankful, Ty. Truly, I am.”
He could hear the terrible racket fifty yards from the cabin—loud, barking coughs in long, ugly strings. Ty winced. He’d had whooping cough and still remembered how sore the coughing made him and how sick he’d been. Greta seemed far too small to suffer such a malady, and talkative Marie had been alarmingly silent this morning. Normally a wiggle worm, Will’s listlessness seemed all that much more alarming. Ty resolved to make them comfortable … and to make sure Betsy didn’t wear herself to a frazzle.
“I’ll take your horses to the stable, Sir,” Karl said somberly as soon as Ty nudged his horse toward the porch.
Ty dipped his head once in approval. “Son, I’m not sure just who is more proud of you ’bout now: me, Betsy, or Almighty God.”
Karl beamed as he took the reins and led the horses off. “I’ll take good care of them.”
Ty hefted the sacks with essentials he’d brought and went on into the cabin. The place smelled sour. Betsy was holding Greta’s head, and the little girl was coughing so hard, she’d ended up emptying her stomach. At night, they’d have to shut the door for warmth, but if he could leave the door open for snatches of time in the day, it’d be wise. Ty used one sack as a doorstop.
“What did Doc say?” she asked without even looking over at him.
“He gave me two recipes for cough syrup. Said to keep their feet and chests warm and their faces cold. Make ’em drink as much as we can. I brought back a dozen of the eggs too, Betsy. Doc said the kids’ll do well if you feed them scrambled eggs and custard.”
“Oh, but what about getting more cherry bark?”
“Samantha’s father has plenty in the mercantile. Mrs. Stahl was there, too. She’s already made a cough elixir from cider vinegar and a bunch of other stuff she rattled off that escapes me at the moment. She promised to bring over a pint of it.”
“Thank you, Ty. You’ll never know how much I appreciate your help.” Betsy wiped Greta’s mouth, settled her back onto the pillows, and carried the slop jar toward the door.
Ty reached over and took the foul-smelling thing. “I’ll get that.”
Over the next two days, he and Betsy worked side by side to tend to her little siblings. By the third day, Marie’s and Will’s fevers broke. Greta’s stayed high, though.
“I brought honey,” Samantha said from the doorstep. “It’ll help soothe their cough. Elsa sent over some bread so you wouldn’t have to bake. Is there anything you need?”
Betsy sat on the bench and wearily rested her back against the edge of the table. Greta cuddled close, and her tiny body started to jar with a wracking brace of coughs. Betsy waited until they were over, then said, “Karl gathered the eggs. Can you take them back to the store?”
“Sure.” Samantha came on in, calmly straightened up a bit, and started a stew over the fire. “Mary Abner has the cough, too. Her mama is making pancake poultices, of all things. She makes a pancake, puts it on Mary’s chest ’til it goes cold, then has her eat it!”
A weary smile tugged at Betsy’s lips. “That’s better than what Zeb Bunk swears by. He came by with three big, black, ugly beetles and said if I wrap them in a cloth and have the children wear them against their chests, soon as the beetles die, the cough will be gone. Horace came with him. He said the part about the beetle dying was true, but it worked better if I’d keep them in tiny boxes, so he’d carved—”
Samantha went into gales of laughter. “Beetles in boxes! Oh, Betsy! What did you do?”
“Tyson took care of it. He thanked them. You would have thought those beetles were diamonds and pearls to hear him talk. When he took them in his hand, I nearly swooned. Zeb and Horace left, and Ty sat out on the porch like he didn’t have a care in the world until they were out of sight—then he hightailed out to the field and got rid of them!”
“Ty’s been a godsend, Betsy.” Samantha coaxed Marie to have a sip of water. “I think the two of you—”
“Could you please dip this cloth?” Betsy interrupted as she thrust out a soggy rag. It hurt too much to have Samantha play matchmaker. No matter how much she cared for Ty, she couldn’t abandon her siblings. “Greta’s so hot, Mantha. Her fever still hasn’t broken.”
Heavy footsteps on the porch warned Ty was back. He’d gone out to see to the animals. Now he filled the doorway and held her big washtub.
“I thought maybe our little Greta would like to cool down in her very own bath,” he rumbled gently. He crossed the floor and set the washtub down by the hearth. Betsy couldn’t imagine how he’d carried it so easily—it was half full of water! Unaware of her astonishment, he dunked several cloths into the fresh water, wrung them out, then handed two to Samantha. As she tended Marie and Will, Ty came toward Betsy. “Here, Betsy.”
Betsy gratefully accepted the cloth, but before she could start to gently wipe Greta, Ty sat down and pulled the toddler into his own lap. He bowed his head and tenderly kissed her sweat-dampened curls. “God bless you, Dumplin’.”
Betsy folded the wet rag around her hand and started to cool Greta’s sizzling brow. To Betsy’s astonishment, Ty lifted his hand and gently ran the last moist cloth over her cheek! She gave him a startled look.
“It’s all right,” he soothed. “I’ll sit with her awhile until the water warms up. Why don’t you go nap a bit?”
Betsy moistened her lips. “No, I’m fine.” She fought the urge to lean against him. The way he trailed the cloth over her cheeks and forehead felt heavenly. Her eyes fluttered shut with bliss, then flew open as Greta began to cough again. Over on the bed, Marie started hacking, too.
Betsy automatically started to rise, but Samantha called over, “I have her.” Indeed, she did, so Betsy slumped back down.
Ty slipped his arm around her and tucked her close to his side. She sagged against his strength and rested her cheek on his suspender. Greta stopped coughing and didn’t even have enough strength to lift her thumb to her mouth. That fact nearly tore Betsy’s heart in two.
“O worship the King,” Ty started to sing softly.
Betsy barely managed to keep her composure until he hit the last verse. “Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail …” Tears ran down her face and wet his shirt. He still cradled Greta to himself, but his other hand cupped Betsy’s head and slowly stroked through her mussed hair.
“Here. I’ll take her.”
Samantha’s quiet bidding let Ty know he’d lost track of time while praying over Greta and trying to comfort Betsy. Was it sheer exhaustion that finally dragged Betsy to sleep, or had she found some comfort in his arms? He loosened his hold, and Samantha claimed the limp toddler.
“The water’s tepid. I’ll bathe her—it’ll cool down her fever. I folded back the covers on Betsy’s bed.”
Ty nodded and turned his attention toward Betsy again. In all his years, he’d never once seen a woman this bone weary. She nestled into his side as if that was where she belonged, and her words echoed in his mind. I always figured a man’s strength was a gift God gave him so he could provide for his wife and protect her. Ty would gladly have her as his wife, provide for and protect her—but regardless of their wishes, only God ruled over life and death, and Ty felt every bit as helpless as Betsy did in the face of the children’s illness.
Silently, he found the strings to her apron and untied them. As he eased the apron straps over her head, a loose hairpin caught and halted the progress. Soon, he had half a dozen hairpins in his hands, and Betsy’s breathtakingly soft plaits tumbled down. He’d known her hair to be long—but the sight of her thick, golden plaits reaching her waist made him wish he could see it hanging loose and free. Even with the kids as sick as they were, she’d been careful to slip behind the blanket partition to tend her hair each day.
The soft plop of water and Samantha’s sweet singsong reassured him Greta was in good hands. Ty carefully scooped his arm beneath Betsy’s knees and twisted so his other arm cradled her shoulders. As he stood, she slipped neatly into his possession. Her head lolled over his heart as he carried her to the bed Samantha had prepared. Ty stood at the bedside, whispered a prayer as he snuggled Betsy close, then brushed a kiss on her brow.
Once he slipped her onto the thick feather bed, he winced at the high neck on her dress. Certain she’d never sleep well with it constricting her throat, he carefully slipped the uppermost button free, then trailed his fingers down her soft, sweet cheek. She might be a slightly built woman, but her backbone was forged steel, and her soul was pure gold. “Betsy Larkin,” he whispered, “you’re worth waiting for. I reckon if that fellow in the Bible waited for fourteen years for Rachel, I can be patient for you.”
Ty quietly unlaced her boots and took them off. He loathed them. Pretty little Betsy wearing dreadful, heavy, men’s boots—it was a shame. He’d given serious consideration to getting her dainty kid boots for Christmas, but decided not to because he feared he’d embarrass her by doing so. Her feelings were far more important than her looks. Satisfied she looked comfortable, Ty drew up the beautiful quilts he knew she’d made and left her to slumber.