Two days had passed. Exhaustion crushed Nathaniel like an anchor. Sitting beside Hope in the stifling hut, he dabbed her burning face and neck with a wet cloth, easing the moist strands of hair from her forehead so that her golden curls formed a halo in the lantern light around her head. Like an angel. Night had fallen as black as ebony outside the hut. Although he and Abigail took turns attending Hope, continuing to douse her with cool water, her fever remained high. Now, with her breathing shallow and labored, he feared the end was near.
Dark lashes fluttered over her inflamed cheeks as she moaned and writhed on the leafy bed. Oh, how he longed to see those clear sapphire eyes staring back at him again—even when they shot sparks of biting sarcasm his way—instead of the dull hazy blue that had fixated on him of late.
He bowed his head. “O Lord, don’t take her. Please let her live.”
For the life of him, he could not understand the dread that consumed him at the thought of losing her. He’d seen many people die—friends, shipmates, even his mother. But as grievous as their passings had been, he could not shake the feeling that if Hope died, he would lose a part of himself forever.
Rubbing his eyes, he wondered at his sanity. The woman had brought him nothing but trouble. Yet she had been his obsession since the first time he’d laid eyes on her in Charles Towne. A burning rose in his side, and he rubbed his old wound and released a sigh of frustration. He could only attribute this pernicious enchantment to a flaw in his character—something passed down from his mother and perhaps from her parents before her.
Which was precisely why he must continue to resist it—later after Hope had recovered, of course.
Hope gasped and tossed her head back and forth. Sweat beaded on her neck and chest and streamed down onto the bed of leaves. Her petticoat clung to her moist body, and he eased the sailcloth a bit higher, forbidding his gaze to wander into danger.
Drawing his knees to his chest, he dropped his head onto his arms and allowed his tired eyes to close, if only for a moment.
“Nathaniel?”
He pried his heavy lids open and stared at the fronds by his bare feet. How long had he been asleep?
“Nathaniel?” The voice sounded weak and muffled.
Rubbing his eyes, he lifted his head and smiled when he saw Hope staring up at him. She reached a trembling hand toward him, and he took it in his own. Searing heat scorched his skin and radiated up his arm, but he did not allow the stab of fear to weaken his smile. “You spoke my Christian name.”
“Surely,” her faint voice cracked, “formalities can be tossed out the window when one is dying.”
“Dying … You’re not dying.”
A smile. “You’re too honorable a man to be a good liar. You forget I’ve had much experience with liars.”
Nathaniel swallowed. “The tea Miss Sheldon has been giving you may yet perform its magic.”
“I fear I shall need more than simple magic.” She struggled for a breath and glanced around the hut, then out the door. “What of Mrs. Hendrick and Elise? Did you take them food?”
Nathaniel flinched. “You concern yourself with them when you are … in such a state?” By the board, this lady constantly surprised him. Her gaze remained locked upon him, and one determined brow arched, awaiting an answer.
“Yes, never fear, I took them enough food to last several days.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand, the minuscule effort visible in the lines on her face.
“Nathaniel.” She coughed and gazed up at him, her blue eyes dull and cloudy. “I must tell you something.”
“You need your rest.” Nathaniel patted her face with the cool cloth.
The normal pearly glow of her skin had faded to a gray sheen, broken by red blotches where the fever consumed her. Dark half circles hung beneath her once luminous eyes. His heart ached.
Hope’s chest heaved. “Nay. I must. I know I’ve told you this before, but it weighs heavy on my heart.” She swallowed. “I am so sorry about your ship.”
“Fire and thunder.” He dropped the cloth into the bucket with a splash and raked a hand through his hair. “You think that matters to me now?”
“Now? Why wouldn’t it?” Her forehead wrinkled. “Nothing has changed for you, save you have been struck with a multitude of disasters.” She gasped. “As you have said, I brought you bad fortune.”
A chill etched down Nathaniel’s back, followed by the eerie sense something was in the hut with them. Running a sleeve over his sweaty forehead, he scanned the palm fronds that formed the walls and roof. The dark shadows cast by the lantern light hovered like beasts about to pounce.
“See. You do not deny it.” Hope choked out a laugh.
Shaking the prick of unease from his shoulders, he dropped his attention back to her. “I will not deny misfortune has followed me lately, but as to the cause, I cannot say.”
“Cannot, or will not?” She brushed her fingers over his hand in a familiar way that shocked and delighted him. “You are too kind, Nathaniel, but then, that is your nature, is it not?” She flung a trembling hand to her head.
Releasing her other hand, Nathaniel wrung out the cloth and brushed it over her cheeks and forehead.
Hope blinked and drew a deep breath. “Please tell my sisters how sorry I am to worry them so. I’ve not been a good sister.” A smile faltered on her lips. “And tell my father he owes you a ship.”
“Shhh now. You can tell him yourself.”
“Nay.” She chuckled, then broke into a cough. “He won’t listen to me. He has never had much use for me, I’m afraid.”
Sorrow constricted Nathaniel’s throat. He’d always assumed Hope had grown up in a good home, sharing her life with an adoring father and loving sisters.
“Surely your father loves you.”
“He’s oft gone, and when he’s home, he does not hide his disappointment in me.”
“I don’t see how he could be disappointed.” Though shocked by the bold admiration in his words, Nathaniel realized he meant every one of them. Before him lay a sweet, humble, repentant girl, not at all like the libertine woman her prior actions had revealed.
“Now I know I’m dying.” Her lips curved in a sly grin. “You’re being far too kind.”
Nathaniel eased a finger over her cheek. She closed her eyes. He’d not seen such bravery in the face of death, even from hardened sailors.
He would not relinquish her to the grave. He could not. Lord?
“Death need not be the end, Hope. God has offered a way to eternal life.” Nathaniel detested the fear muffling his voice. He hated talking about death. Just saying the word gave the consuming entity more power. But he had to ensure Hope’s eternal destiny—just in case.
She groaned. “For some, I suppose. For people like you. But not for me.”
He dropped the cloth and took both her hands in his. “For all. You have only to accept His gift.”
“Nay. Don’t waste your efforts on the likes of me. I fear in my case, your God has withdrawn His offer.”
Nathaniel opened his mouth to respond, but she squeezed his hands and shook her head. He let out a ragged sigh.
The stench of decay and hopelessness crept around him, and his skin prickled despite the heat. Crickets harped their shrill cries into the night, vying with the thunderous crash of the surf. The wind fluttered the leaves of the hut as if trying to gain entrance.
“Please don’t laugh when I tell you this,” Hope whispered, her eyes closing again. “I always dreamed I would open an orphanage—take in every unwanted child I could find and raise them with more love than they would ever need.”
Nathaniel stared at her agape. Children? Hope? Somehow he’d always pictured her marrying a wealthy landowner, surrounding herself with opulence, and being waited on by a bevy of servants. Yet he could not deny the ease with which she had befriended Miss Elise and the way the child adored her.
But children? Nathaniel had abandoned his desire to sire offspring long ago, for he did not trust himself to raise children. No doubt he’d corrupt them with whatever depravity slithered through his veins. No. He could not take the risk nor even entertain the thought.
Hope moaned and began wheezing. Thrusting his arm behind her shoulders, he lifted her and grabbed the shell beside the bucket. Fiery heat radiated from her frail body. He dipped the shell into the water and raised it to her mouth, water sloshing. “Drink.” Although she parted her lips and took in a few sips of the fluid, she folded into his arms with a wretched sigh and faded again into unconsciousness.
Nathaniel laid her down, forcing back the sobs clambering to escape his lips.
“How is she?” Abigail’s soft voice jarred him from sinking deeper into grief.
He shook his head as she plopped to the ground on the other side of Hope. Sighing, she rubbed her arms as if chilled. Hadn’t he felt a cold draft only moments ago?
“Sounds like a storm is coming.” He took Hope’s hand in his again. Though hot, the life flowing through it brought him comfort.
“Yes. The wind has picked up, but I—”
Nathaniel looked up. Abigail’s wide hazel eyes shifted across the shadows, then locked it upon his. Terror and urgency flashed across her face.
“What is it?”
She nodded toward Hope. “How fares her soul?”
Guilt churned in Nathaniel’s gut. “If you mean, did I speak to her of her eternal destination, I tried, but her heart remains locked.”
Abigail’s face paled. She took Hope’s other hand. “Something dark pulls her. I feel it.”
Nathaniel studied Abigail, remembering their time in the hold of the merchantman with the dying sailor. “You have a sense of these things, a spiritual sense.”
Truth be told, he believed he did as well. How many times had he sensed the same malevolent force in his mother’s chamber when he was a boy?
“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “My parents told me I saw things as a child that were not there. Beautiful beings.” She huffed. “But as I’ve grown, the things I perceive are not so beautiful.” She took the cloth and wiped Hope’s neck. Then she stiffened. “Perhaps this is no sickness at all. Perhaps this is a battle.”
“A battle?” But Nathaniel knew what she meant. The enemy wanted Hope, wanted to kill her and drag her down to hell. What did Paul say in Ephesians? “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
Righteous anger welled up inside him. “What can we do?”
“We must pray.”
“I have been.” He shot to his feet and fisted his hands.
“Pray like they did in the Bible.” Abigail rose and gripped his arm. “James, the brother of our Lord, said that if anyone was sick among us, we should have the elders pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord.”
The wind began to howl outside, flapping the loose leaves of the hut.
“I have no oil, and I am no elder.”
“You have water, which I’m sure God would bless, and I’m not so convinced about the other.” Abigail released him and brushed the hair from her forehead.
Nathaniel snorted.
“What harm could it do?” Her voice held a challenge.
Nathaniel glanced at Hope. Her lips had turned a bluish gray, her chest pitched as she struggled for each breath. Sweat glistened on her skin. His palms grew sweaty, and a metallic taste spilled into his mouth. He was afraid. Afraid to pray for the healing of another woman. Afraid he would fail again.
A burning sensation ignited in his hand. A warm tingling. He shook it, trying to stir his blood, but it grew in intensity.
His throat went dry.
Abigail stared at him expectantly.
Nathaniel closed his eyes. Lord, is this Your will?
No answer, save a soft whisper floating on the breeze. “Believe.”
Dropping to his knees, Nathaniel dipped his finger into the bucket and traced a cross on Hope’s forehead. “In the name of Jesus, I command you, Sickness, to leave this woman!”
His shout echoed against the green walls, pounding through the moist air like the sound of a judge’s gavel.
Hope didn’t move. The wind ceased howling outside, and silence descended over the hut like a shroud. The lantern flickered. The crickets silenced, and Nathaniel gaped at Abigail. Instantly, the heavy presence fled the hut. The bristling over his skin eased. His muscles relaxed, and the stink of death dissipated, leaving the smell of moist earth and leaves in its wake. The insects resumed their chorus outside as the wind danced once again through the leaves covering the hut.
Wide-eyed, Abigail scanned the enclosure, then smiled. “Thank God!” She clapped her hands.
Nathaniel laid the back of his hand on Hope’s forehead. Searing hot. He nudged her, but she did not awaken. “She’s still sick.”
“Did you not sense it? Something powerful happened here.” Abigail’s voice rang with excitement.
Truth be told, Nathaniel had felt something, not in the physical sense, but somewhere deep inside of him. Perhaps it had just been wishful thinking.
“Call me If she wakes up.” He rose, pushed the flap aside, and stormed from the hut.
His prayers had failed once again. And once again, a woman he cared for would die.