All thoughts of her father and the way Henry had responded to him vanished. Rebekah’s mind was filled now with only one person—little Kathleen. Reaching the nursery, she confirmed Sadie’s description of fever.
“I’ll have James fetch Dr. Stanton,” Henry said.
Rebekah saw the fear in his eyes, felt the same emotion in her own heart. The poor child was lying on the bed, pale except for her flushed cheeks. Her skin blazed like fire.
“I thought she was a little warm when I put her down to rest,” Sadie explained, “but then so was the room. That’s why I opened the window. I didn’t think she had fever. I’m so sorry...”
“It’s not your fault, Sadie,” Rebekah insisted. It’s mine. I should have known... I should have seen it... I’m supposed to be the one caring for her.
Rebekah reached for the nearby water pitcher. The liquid was only tepid at best, but she soaked a cloth in it, then laid it to the child’s forehead. I never should have taken her yesterday to the public gardens. She must have come in contact with the fever there.
“You did well to call us when you did,” Henry said to Sadie. “But if you would, take Grace down to your mother.”
Rebekah watched the maid claim the baby from the cradle. Her guilt grew, as did her fear. I am such a fool. I should have removed Grace immediately. Are not most fevers spread by inhalation? The baby is in danger now, as well.
Sadie immediately took the child from the room. When they had gone, Henry stuck his finger in the water pitcher. “This will do no good,” he said. “I’ll fetch cooler water, and I’ll see if Hannah has any ice.”
“Ice. Yes. Thank you.” I should have thought of that, as well...
Kathleen was whimpering, tugging at her sheets, but it was no nightmare plaguing her now. Rebekah’s heart ached for her. “It’s all right, love. I’m here. I’m here...” She continued to blot her forehead. How many times did I do this at the hospital? And how many times did those soldiers—? She shoved the thought aside.
Henry returned with the pitcher of water. He’d secured a large amount of ice from Hannah. The water was so cold, Rebekah could barely touch it.
He sensed her hesitancy. “It’s what she needs,” he insisted.
Without word, Rebekah plunged the cloth into the swirling water. In this matter she trusted his judgment far more than she trusted her own.
Dr. Stanton arrived, and Rebekah relinquished her place beside Kathleen. From one end of the room, she watched him examine the child. Henry watched from the other. When their eyes met, Rebekah felt as though every thought of hers, every action and every failure lay bare before him. Unable to stand such scrutiny, she looked back to Dr. Stanton. He had finished his task, and was now covering Kathleen with her bedding.
“You were wise to remove the baby,” he said to Rebekah, as if she had been the one to think of it.
“Do you know what it is?” Henry asked.
“I can’t be certain as of yet, but my best guess at this point would be scarlet fever.”
Scarlet fever! The breath lurched in Rebekah’s lungs. As children, she and her brothers had been spared this particular killer. The house next door, however, had not. Six siblings had once resided in that home. Now there were only two.
A horror unlike anything she had ever experienced before gripped her. For a moment, she thought her knees would buckle. No! she told herself. Now is not the time for weakness. Now is the time for action!
“Keep her head cool and her body warm,” Dr. Stanton said to her. “We’ll know for certain in a few hours. The rash follows the onset of the fever.”
Rebekah nodded firmly.
The gray-headed physician then looked to her husband. All this time, Henry had been standing against the wall, a grave expression on his face. “I’ll return to look in on her first thing in the morning,” Dr. Stanton said. “But send for me straightaway should the situation worsen, or should the baby—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but Rebekah had no trouble finishing it in her head, or recognizing its gravity. Should the baby contract the fever... She shuddered at the thought. Grace was too little to survive such an illness. Rebekah could not bear the idea of something happening to her. What would it do to Henry? What would it do to her?
As Henry escorted Dr. Stanton out, Rebekah returned her attention to Kathleen. She sponged. She prayed. Please, God...please, have mercy on them. Don’t punish Kathleen or Grace because of my sinfulness. Please... I’ll do anything you ask. Anything...
* * *
Henry returned to the room to find Rebekah had donned a pinner apron and a pair of white oversleeves, looking every bit the army nurse as she hovered over Kathleen. Soaking the cloth in the ice water, she laid it to the child’s forehead, then repeated the procedure.
He came alongside her, touched Kathleen’s head. She was so hot and yet she shivered. How was that possible? It was as though a war was waging inside her little body. He looked then at Rebekah. There was a war going on inside her, as well. He could see the tears in her eyes, yet her jaw was set with fierce determination. Henry had no doubt she would spend every ounce of energy she possessed, offer every prayer she had, to bring about his niece’s recovery. He’d do whatever it took, as well.
“Dr. Stanton suggested we send Grace away,” he said.
“Away?” Rebekah’s blue eyes were wide with alarm. “Too whom? For how long?”
“For as long as necessary. He suggested we send her to his daughter, Julia. Her child has already had the fever. So if Grace—”
He couldn’t bring himself to finish the rest of the sentence. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if a baby not yet four months old contracted scarlet fever. He had buried his mother. His sister and his brother-in-law were in their graves, as well. God, not a child...please...not Grace or Kathleen. “I told Dr. Stanton to take her. Hannah and Sadie are gathering up the bottles and diapers now.”
The tears in his wife’s eyes spilled over. Henry instinctively reached for her. Her reaction was the same as it had been downstairs when he had tried to comfort her. Her spine stiffened. She immediately pulled away.
Why did she insist on keeping her distance from him? What am I doing wrong?
Henry realized he probably hadn’t handled her father’s visit in the way he should have. When the arrogant man had stepped out of the parlor, announcing that he had business to discuss, Henry had thought his blood would boil. It wasn’t the demand for an audience that caused his reaction. It was the look in Rebekah’s eyes. She had been obviously frightened.
No doubt her father had burst through the door and taken it upon himself to clear the parlor of Rebekah’s friends. They had been embarrassed and in a hurry to leave even though Henry had encouraged them to stay.
Did I come across as too forceful? Possessive? He’d wanted to show acceptance, of his wife and of her friends. He’d wanted Rebekah to feel valued, protected. She had come to him for help, or so it had seemed at the time. And instead of easing her mind, I frightened her. She fears her father, and she still distrusts me.
Rebekah once more laid the cloth to Kathleen’s forehead.
Lord, help me. I want to understand. I want her to feel secure...
“I think we need more ice,” she said.
“I’ll fetch it.”
Going downstairs, he thought more of the emotions she had displayed before coming to him today in the foyer. He remembered a similar expression the night he had first raised his voice to her. She looked as though she thought I was going to strike her. He recalled what she’d said when she’d learned why he had married her.
“You are just like my father!”
Henry suddenly realized just what those words meant. The man in charge of her protecting her, the man who was supposed to love her, had done just the opposite. Henry literally felt sick to his stomach, sickened by what had happened to her, sickened further that he had unknowingly perpetuated her fear.
Oh God, forgive me... I should have realized... I should have put the pieces together long before this. She fears me because of him. And every time I’ve acted in a way that resembles her father, in stance, in word or in deed, I have reinforced that fear.
Returning to the nursery, he set the water pitcher on the table, then took up post in the chair opposite Kathleen’s bed. Rebekah’s face was flushed, her jaw still tight with emotion.
Oh God, help me... What do I say? What do I do? He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to take his wife in his arms, promise her no one would ever hurt her again. But my rush to action caused much damage before.
He’d never known being a husband, a father, would be so hard. It was a maddening feeling, seeing someone you loved so ill, and another so hurt, knowing no matter how much you wanted to, you could not heal either one of them.
Kathleen was growing worse. Now she was thrashing about, calling for Marianne and John.
“Mama! Papa! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”
Her cries tore at his heart. Henry watched Rebekah cradle the girl in her arms, much as she had the night before. He reclaimed the space beside his wife, gently laid his hand upon her shoulder. She flinched, but he held his place. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s going to be all right.” How he prayed his words would prove true, for all of them.
Rebekah rocked Kathleen, hummed a soft tune. The music and the ice water did little to help. The fever continued to rage. Sadie came to report that she and James had delivered the necessary items for Grace to Julia Ward. Hannah brought fresh cloths and food, but neither he nor his wife could eat a bite. Rebekah kept her vigil. He silently kept his.
By nightfall, what they had fearfully suspected was confirmed. The area around little Kathleen’s mouth was as pale as cream, but her cheeks blazed red as if she’d been burned by the sun. Her back and her chest bore the telltale rash, as well.
“Dr. Stanton was right,” Henry said. “My sister looked just like that when she had scarlet fever.”
“D-did the fever weaken her heart?” Rebekah asked in a thready voice. “I-is that why she d-died?”
“Don’t,” Henry immediately said. “Don’t think that way. Kathleen is not Marianne. She’ll come through this.”
Rising, Rebekah quickly walked to the opposite side of the room, but not before Henry saw the conflict on her face, saw the fear, the pain, the longing. His heart ached for her.
“I don’t know what to do for her,” she said.
“Yes, you do. You are doing it. You have treated fevers before. You are an accomplished nurse.”
“No, I’m not!” Tears sprang from her eyes, ran down her cheeks. Her words tumbled out like a confession. “My commendations at the hospital were for following orders, Henry, for keeping the ward tidy! My soldiers died.”
He approached her slowly. “Wounded men often die, Rebekah. It’s a sad fact of war. You can’t change it.”
“My father thought I should be able to.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said if I were a more successful nurse, I’d be transferred to a ward with US officers rather than rebel prisoners...that I’d be assigned to more respectable men.”
How could Van der Geld say such things? How could he place such unspeakable blame on his own daughter? Henry forced himself to swallow back his disgust. He could not allow what he felt toward her father to invade this moment with her.
“The army kept you where you were needed,” he said, “among the prisoners of war. They outnumbered wounded US officers greatly.” He paused, taking her hands in his. They were so delicate, so warm, and again, they were trembling. “Is that why your father made you give up nursing?”
Rebekah drew in a ragged breath. She had never looked more vulnerable. “He said I was becoming too attached. He said he wouldn’t abide tears for traitors. He never stood for tears...” She pulled her hands from his, quickly wiping her eyes, as if he were the one who couldn’t abide her crying. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“You needn’t be.”
He slid his hands up her arms. Her cotton dress was soft to the touch, but the limbs beneath were taut with fright. “Rebekah,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I will not hurt you.”
She stared at the floor. “But this is all my fault.”
Henry gently lifted her chin, looked into her eyes. They were vacant and glassy. “What is your fault?” he asked.
“Kathleen...”
“Kathleen? You think you are responsible for her illness?”
She nodded, sucked in a breath. She was trembling all over now. “I should have realized. I should have known last night something was wrong. And now if Grace—”
She started to pull away. He refused to let her go. “Rebekah, I was here, as well. I didn’t know anything was wrong, either.”
“But today...if I had not been busy with the sewing circle... I was the one that invited them this time. If I had only—” She hung her head. “Surely God is punishing me.”
She had never really spoken to him about her faith, and to Henry’s shame, he had never asked. He’d seen her reading the Scriptures, overheard her more than once speak of God’s role as creator and sustainer of the universe to Kathleen in the garden. She bowed her head at mealtime and when putting his nieces to bed. But for all of that, her faith is apparently more out of fear and duty than joy. His heart squeezed.
“Rebekah, please look at me...”
She slowly raised her eyes. They were full of shame.
“Why do you think God is punishing you?”
“I-I am n-not as I should be.”
“Neither am I. You are fully aware of my sins.”
“But... I am your wife. I am to please you. I am to obey, not challenge your authority, nor flinch when you touch me.”
“Rebekah, that is not a wife. That is a slave, and you know how I feel about slavery.” Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her close. Despite the circumstances, it felt so good to hold her. She was so fragile, so in need of protection. Henry vowed he’d spend the rest of his life proving she had nothing to fear from him.
“I know what your father did to you,” he whispered. “I know he struck you...repeatedly.”
“Only when I deserved it.”
At those words, Henry didn’t know what he felt more—anger toward his father in law, or pain for his wife. “My dear, you never deserved it. And it’s over now—you are safe here. You are safe with me. I will never let anyone hurt you again, and I will make it known to your father that he is never to step foot in this house again.”
He could feel the tension draining from her body. She sagged against him, overwhelmed by emotion and exhaustion. Henry tightened his arms about her. “And Kathleen’s illness is not your fault. God is not punishing you. He loves you. I—”
He stopped, realizing Rebekah’s stance had moved well past surrender to his embrace. She was limp in his arms. “Rebekah?”
Her eyes were closed, and the flush on her face was due to more than tears. She was hot with fever, as well.
Sweeping her into his arms, Henry raced for the hall. “Hannah! Hannah!”
The cook came running, meeting him at the door to Rebekah’s bedroom. A cry escaped her throat the moment she saw them, instantly recognizing what was wrong.
“Help me,” Henry pleaded.
He placed his wife upon the bed, then reached for the water pitcher. “I’ll fetch the ice.”
An apron, a dress and a collection of ladies’ underpinnings littered the floor by the time he returned to the room. Hannah had somehow managed to get Rebekah into a nightdress and pulled the pins from her hair. A long chocolate braid now tumbled down her shoulder. Embroidered pink roses encircled her neck.
Henry set the pitcher of water on the table beside the bed and helped Hannah cover her with blankets. Rebekah was now shivering uncontrollably, yet like Kathleen, she burned with fever.
“I’ll fetch you another blanket,” Hannah said. “Then I’ll look after Miss Kathleen. Sadie can mind the kitchen.”
“Thank you, Hannah.”
The woman hurried off. Henry laid the cold cloth upon Rebekah’s forehead. She opened her eyes. “Grace... Kathleen...”
“Grace is safe,” he told her, “and Hannah will see to Kathleen.”
She uttered something unintelligible, then suddenly twisted as if she were about to be violently ill. Henry immediately reached for the washbasin. He was just in time.
Rebekah collapsed back upon her pillows, eyes glazed and vacant. Evidently she was now oblivious to his presence.
“God...please...forgive me!”
Her cry broke his heart. Henry grasped her hand. “He does forgive you. Rest easy, my dear.”
“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...please...”
She gripped his hand tightly but drew the blankets close to her body with the other, as if she was trying to hide from someone. Her words soon revealed whom. “Father, please... I’m sorry. I’ll try harder...”
Once more Henry felt his emotions swirl. “Rebekah, you’re safe. I’m here. I will protect you. I will never let your father hurt you again.”
The hours wore on. She continued to toss and turn. The rash that marked Kathleen now covered Rebekah, as well. She was in full delirium, calling out, writhing in fright and pain. Down the hall, despite Hannah’s care, Henry could hear as Kathleen cried again and again for her mother.
His heart rent in two. Was he to lose them both? God please, please spare my family. My wife...my children...
As far as Henry was concerned, Grace and Kathleen were now his daughters. And as for Rebekah, he could no longer imagine his life without her, any more than he could live without his own breath.
Once he had pledged to her his fortune, his freedom and his life. Now he did so not out of a sense of obligation but because she was the woman he had come to love. Love...he was certain of it now. He loved her for the affection and care she bestowed upon Grace and Kathleen. He loved her for staying with him, despite his failures. He loved the strong spirit she tried so desperately to keep chained inside her delicate carriage. He loved the honest, sometimes overly frank, vivacious creature struggling so to find her place in this world.
Henry carefully drew her feverish body close to his. He didn’t know if she could hear him or not, but he prayed she could. “Rebekah, my dear, darling...please...do your best to get well. I love you.”