I hate to say it, Rosalind, but you were right.” Ewan sat heavily on a log placed by the fire for that purpose. “You’re not quite perfect, after all.” He shook his head.
“I know,” she responded, looking puzzled. “But what, in particular, has made you change your mind so very quickly?”
“How can you like this better than the corn husking?” He winked. “I happen to have some very fond memories of that day.” His roundabout mention of their first kiss made her blush that delightful pink shade he’d come to be so fond of.
“ ’Tis harder work than the corn husking,” she admitted, not taking the bait. “And ’tis far colder, too, but my favorite part of the day is coming up now. You’ll change your mind back soon.”
“I look forward to it.” He gave a mighty stretch.
“You’ll need this.” She handed him a small wooden spoon with a rather long handle. “And you’ll want to follow me.” He watched as she took the last pot left on the fire—the smaller one that’s sap had boiled down to a sludge-like syrup—and walked around the shanty and out of sight.
He hurried to his feet and followed, finding everyone eagerly crowding around Rosalind and her still-hot pot—each of them brandishing one of the curious wooden spoons like his. He watched as she set the pot on a sturdy old tree stump and backed away until she stood beside him.
Together, they watched as first Luke, then everyone else, dipped a spoonful of the thick syrup and hurried away, dropping the contents on a patch of hard snow a little ways off. Luke picked up his newly hardened piece almost right away and bit into it, his eyes closed with obvious enjoyment as he swallowed.
“This is the sugaring-off.” Rosalind nudged him forward. “Go ahead—they’ll all keep coming back for more until there’s none left at all. Believe me, you’ll want to try some for yourself.”
Shrugging, Ewan stepped forward, waited for Luke to scurry away with his third helping, and loaded his own spoon with the hot, gloppy brown mixture. He went back to where Rosalind waited with her own portion and mimicked her as she flipped the syrup onto the hard-packed snow.
Almost immediately, the syrup froze into a hardened disk. Ewan picked it up and bit into the crunchy sweet that’s cold flavor melted on his tongue. He started walking back to the pot before he finished the last bite of his first taste of the treat. He ignored Rosalind’s laughter as he returned to her side with a heaping spoonful of the goop and eagerly flipped it onto the snow. He couldn’t ignore her when she snatched his sweet from right under his nose.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” She bit into it with relish. “So thoughtful of you to fetch more for me. Very gentlemanly!” she called as he tromped off once again to scrape the last spoonful from the very bottom of the pot as everyone watched.
Everyone but Arthur and his wife. Ewan noticed that Arthur began coughing as the day wore on and kept putting his hand to his head, as though in pain. He’d seen Mrs. MacLean rubbing her husband’s temples to comfort him, but he grew pale.
“Mam and Da are going home.” Rosalind pinched the folds of her skirts. “Da has a headache he says is worsening. I heard him coughing…. I hope he isn’t taking ill. Perhaps some extra rest will do the trick, and that’s why Mam is taking him home for now. I’ll need to keep a close eye on Luke. The days are warmer, but the nights bring a harsh chill as the sun sets.”
“You’re good to care so.” He led her toward the fire. “And we’re finishing up the boiling. ’Twill be done soon.”
After the work ended, they all gathered around the fire in the waning light to share stories and laughter. Rosalind prevailed upon Ewan to tell more of his railroad legends, and he had to search his memory to find one worthy of the occasion.
“Ah. I’ll tell about Mr. Villard’s special train.”
“Mr. Villard? The railroad owner who ran the Last Spike ceremony?” Jakob Albright frowned.
“The same one. And funny enough, this story—which has been sworn to me as true—takes place on the ride up to Independence Creek for that very ceremony.” Ewan paused for effect, watching to see that he had everyone’s attention before he began.
“Well, Mr. Villard brought his wife, their babe, and the babe’s nurse along to be a part of his triumph. After a stop in St. Paul, Mrs. Villard made the appalling discovery that all the babe’s linens were soiled—there were none clean in the hamper. Obviously, this just would not do. She notified her husband of the problem.”
“Seems to me,” Marlene’s father, Dustin, commented, “that they should have packed enough of the linens to begin with.”
“Or been responsible enough to do a wash,” harrumphed Delana Freimont. “You’d think between the mother and the nurse, one of the two would have taken care of the matter long before.”
“Aye,” Ewan agreed. “But the fact of the matter was that they were stopped in St. Paul wi’ naught but a hamper full o’ soiled linen. Mr. Villard ordered the hamper be rushed to the Pullman laundry service, where it would be washed and returned before the train even pulled out of St. Paul.”
“ ’Tis good to own a railroad, I see,” Gilda cackled. “To have your high and mighty wife send her laundry to the workers!”
“Now, I never met Mrs. Villard personally, mind,” Ewan continued, “so I can’t speak as to how hoity-toity a miss she may or may not hae been. But whichever the case, as the train made its way toward Helena, the distraught nurse came before her mistress and whispered that the hamper was nowhere on board. The whole thing had been left behind in St. Paul after all.”
Ewan noted that Luke slipped away from the fire, and, after a short while, Rosalind followed after him. Unwilling to draw attention to their absence, he finished the railroad legend.
“So Mr. Villard ordered that an engine and car should be found immediately and made to follow their train at all speed to bring his wife the hamper of linens. And so the special train, not weighted by a heavy load, sped o’er the tracks and managed to overtake the Villard family before they reached Helena.
“Flushed wi’ the triumph of his idea, Villard watched the gleeful nurse open the hamper…and find naught but the same soiled linens.”
Gasps and laughter sounded around the fire as everyone speculated on who Mr. Villard blamed for the entire affair and what they ever did about the baby. Who could imagine a special train sent to fetch a baby’s laundry—and that laundry not done?
Ewan, for his part, searched the darkness beyond the perimeter of the fire, trying to find Rosalind and Luke. As they still did not appear, a frisson of tension shot down his spine. After such a fine day, surely nothing is wrong?
Something was very wrong. Rosalind could feel the unease as a palpable thing while she searched for her younger brother.
“Luke!” She whispered, at first, loathe to make a scene and embarrass him. Holding her lantern aloft to better see her way, she kept on. Darkness pressed in around the modest light, throwing shadows wherever she turned. “Luke!” she called more loudly after he still had not answered.
He knew better than to wander off into the woods alone—especially in the dark. He could fall or find himself in a much worse predicament. After a harsh winter, predators would be more aggressive. Luke should still be within earshot, but Rosalind heard no answering call to soothe her frayed nerves.
Lord, there are dangers out in the wild, but Luke faces even more. ’Tis growing colder by the moment. I’ve not checked in on him since before the sugaring-off. Please, do not let him be in trouble. For the first time in my memory, Luke’s made it through the winter wi’out a severe illness. Now that spring is upon us, ’twould be cruel for his weakness to sicken him. Guide my footsteps and help me find my brother. Let him be safe.
“Luke!” Praying fervently between calls, she stopped and listened. There it was—the shallow rasp of Luke’s breathing. She turned toward the sound, her lantern’s light showing her brother sitting on the cold ground, his back against a tree.
“Rose.” He gave a game smile. “I’m all right.” But the words came out hard and fast—forced.
“No, you’re not.” She knelt beside him and threw her cloak around them both. I’ve heard him speak like this afore—when he’s holding his breath, trying to push back the coughing. “Don’t fight it, Luke. ’Twill go easier if you don’t try to hold it back.” She stood, pulling him to his feet.
Guided by the lantern light, she kept a slow pace, careful not to overexert him. He coughed and rasped and coughed in spite of her best efforts. Luke needed to be where the air was warm and where she could get a hot drink down him to ease his throat and breathing.
“When did the tightness begin?” She kept her voice steady, not accusing or angry or frightened. “How long?”
“The sugaring-off.” His words ended in a horrible hacking that shook his entire frame.
Of course. Breathing in the cold air, then hurrying to eat frozen sweets would bring this on. And I was too wrapped up in Ewan to think of it. I didn’t watch Luke as closely as I should.
“Why did you not say so?” Rosalind couldn’t bite back the question. Did it seem I would not care if he needed my help?
“I didn’t—” Coughs interrupted his answer, and they stopped mere yards away from the boiling fire. Finally, they subsided. “I didn’t want to miss any of the fun. And”—he glanced sideways at her—“I didn’t want you to miss any of it either.”
“There will always be opportunities for fun!” She hugged him tight around the shoulders as they kept walking. “Don’t you know that you’re more important than any combination of sweets and stories? You’re my brother and you always come first.”
“Sorry.” The piteous mumble wrung her heartstrings as they stepped into the flickering light of the big fire.
“Rosalind! Luke!” Ewan hurried over to greet them. “We were beginning to worry about you.” He hunkered down to peer at Luke. One look obviously told him her brother wasn’t well, because he scooped the boy into his arms before addressing everyone.
“ ’Tis been a long day, and I’m as tuckered as Luke, here.” He spoke loudly enough to hide the sound of the boy’s ragged breathing. “So I’ll be taking Rosalind home, now. We wish you all a pleasant night. I hope t’ see you again soon.”
With Rosalind’s nod, he started out. She carried the lantern; he carried the more precious cargo. Even nestled against Ewan’s warmth, Luke’s coughing grew steadily worse before they reached the house.
“Mam!” Rosalind pushed open the door and rushed inside, dragging a chair as close to the roaring hearth fire as she dared. She hurried to put on a kettle of water while Ewan deposited Luke in the chair.
Mam took one look at her son’s pale face, heard the labored breathing, and pulled out a warm quilt to wrap around him. She pulled off his gloves, chafing his hands as she knelt at his side. “How long has he been this way?” Her question sent another pang of guilt through Rosalind as she brewed the tea.
“He says his chest started feeling tight after the sugaring-off.” Rosalind spoke for Luke, as he fought for breath. She scooped out some of the eucalyptus leaves and peppermint that had always helped to ease his coughing before and prayerfully would again.
“Why didn’t he come wi’ us when his da felt poorly?” Mam’s face fell. “I should hae checked on him afore I took your father off.” She smoothed back Luke’s hair. “I’m sorry, son.”
“No.” Rosalind choked on the words as she finally handed over a mug of steaming tea. “ ’Tis my fault. You left him in my care, but I didn’t realize aught was amiss until he left the fire and did not immediately return to join us.” She bowed her head. “I went after him and found him trying to stop the coughing.”
“You weren’t holding it in, were you?” Mam turned a harsh gaze on Luke as he breathed in the warm steam from his mug. At his sheepish nod, she sighed. “That always makes it worse.”
“Aye.” Rosalind sat wearily on the settle, beside Ewan. “As I brought him back to the fire, and then on to home, he worsened.”
“ ’Tis true.” Ewan frowned. “I carried the lad and could feel it as he found it harder and harder to draw breath.”
“You did what you could.” Mam sat back on her heels. “Thank you, Ewan, for helping Rose bring him home. Now we keep him warm and propped up, and hope that ’twill pass quickly.”
Please, Father, Rosalind prayed as Ewan took his leave. Please let this be a short episode. Do not let him worsen but instead feel better. Let Luke be well again come morning. Amen.