Aboard Providence

by Keely Brooke Keith

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t want men looking at me with pity.” He cleared his throat and raised himself to his feet, moving rigidly. “I’m feeling better now. I can see the roofs of the cabins ahead. I don’t want to stay here another minute. I can make it back to the settlement.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. It’s not much farther at all.”

  Jonah lifted Mr. Weathermon’s pack from the sand. “At least let me carry this for you.”

  “Suit yourself, my boy. Suit yourself.”

  Mr. Weathermon breathed audibly as he plodded along the path. Jonah stayed close to him, expecting him to fall over at any moment, but Mr. Weathermon trudged on as if proving his will was stronger than his body. Finally, they made it to the settlement.

  Two new cabins had emerged since he had been away. Knowing the elders had agreed the baby should be indoors before winter, Jonah assumed the completed cabin belonged to the Fosters. A line of clothes were hanging out to dry with Marian’s blue dress flapping in the breeze. Jonah almost stopped walking when he saw it, but several people were gathered at the doorway of his family’s cabin.

  Mr. Weathermon gave a short hum. “What’s going on in there?”

  Jonah worried for his father and picked up his pace, leaving Mr. Weathermon on the path. But as he neared the cabin, Cecelia Foster stepped out of the doorway, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “The baby,” Jonah said aloud as he ran to his family’s house.

  Wads of netting lay in the grass in front of the house. Jonah stepped over the strange mess and pushed through the gathering crowd. Once inside, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low light in the front room. He dropped Mr. Weathermon’s pack by the door.

  His mother was at the stove boiling water, and his father and Catherine were leaning over a cot in the corner. Jonah couldn’t see past them to tell who was lying on the cot. Benjamin stood near Mr. Owens. Cecelia came back inside, weeping.

  When Doctor Ashton turned and told everyone else to wait outside, his eyes met Jonah’s. “Son! Thank God you’re back!”

  “What’s happened?” Before his father could answer, Jonah saw it was Marian who was the patient. His stomach knotted. He dropped his satchel as he rushed to the cot. “Marian!”

  Catherine moved back for him, but only slightly. It was her daughter who lay barely conscious, lips pale, arms swollen twice their normal size.

  Catherine yelled over her shoulder at Benjamin, “Go get your father.”

  Jonah looked at Doctor Ashton. “What happened to her?”

  “Bees,” Catherine interjected on a sob.

  Doctor Ashton scraped a stinger from a florid mound on Marian’s hand. He lifted the stinger with tweezers and dropped it into a glass. “She’s having a severe reaction to the venom.”

  Jonah pushed up his cuffed sleeves. “What can I do?”

  “This is the last of the stingers in her arms. Catherine, check her legs again.” Doctor Ashton glanced at him as he reached for a bottle. “I’m treating the affected skin with vinegar and your mother is boiling water for steam. If Marian will breathe the steam, it might help open her airway.”

  “What did you give her for the pain?”

  “Nothing. She passed out quickly.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Only moments ago.”

  Jonah reached his fingertips to the side of her neck. Her pulse came in weak, intermittent beats. “We have to do more.”

  Marian opened her eyes a slit. “Jonah,” she whispered on a labored breath.

  He lowered himself to the edge of the cot and lightly brushed her hair off her face. “Are you in pain, my love?”

  “My love… I like that.” Her lashes fluttered as her eyes began to close. “Gray leaf tea—”

  “What tea?” Desperate to hear her speak, to keep her conscious, to get her to look at him, he raised his voice. “Marian? What gray leaf tea?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Marian?” He tried again.

  Catherine sniffled. “She made a tea of the gray leaf a few days ago and swore it cured her hay fever.” She smoothed the fabric of Marian’s dress. “Her legs are fine. I don’t see any more stings.”

  Doctor Ashton doused a rag with vinegar and continued cleaning the inflamed marks on Marian’s hands and arms. “She told us the oil from a gray leaf healed a cut on her skin within minutes.”

  Jonah ignored the fact that Marian had been experimenting with the gray leaf while he was away and tried to rouse her again. “Marian, look at me!”

  She turned her head, but her eyes remained closed.

  He took her hand and glanced at Doctor Ashton. “Have you got any sal volatile?”

  “Smelling salts won’t help, son. Her body is fighting the poison with poison. There is nothing to be done for her.”

  Mr. Foster rushed inside the cabin. He opened his arms to Catherine. She left the cot and dropped her head against his collar, sobbing.

  Doctor Ashton stuffed a rag into the vinegar bottle. He set it on the lid of a trunk beside the cot then stepped away and whispered something to Anna.

  It was only Jonah left beside Marian. He had never felt so alone in his life. He wanted her back and she was not even gone. Though her eyes were closed, he put his face close to hers. “Please open your eyes. Say something, please. Anything.”

  Her eyebrows moved a degree and she gulped in a breath then spoke. “Make tea from the gray leaf.”

  They were not the words he wanted to hear, but at least she was still alive. “You’re in enough misery as it is. This is no time to experiment.”

  “The gray leaf heals.”

  “I won’t give you something that could make you worse.”

  “Please.” Her breath wheezed out of her diminishing airway. “Use my dried leaves… brew them…”

  The kettle on the stove whistled at the same pitch as her breath only much louder. Jonah’s minimal clinical experience had left him neither in favor of granting a patient’s wish for a potentially dangerous substance, nor confident enough to disregard such a request. He glanced at his father, who was putting away his medical supplies.

  Jonah gave Marian a quick study then stood to confer with Doctor Ashton. “Do you think we should try the gray leaf tea she’s asking for?”

  Doctor Ashton scratched his temple. “It could be pure poison for all we know.”

  “She believes it will heal her.” Jonah lowered his voice. “Perhaps it will help as a placebo.”

  Doctor Ashton handed the bottle of vinegar to Anna. He stroked his graying beard and gave Jonah a long, impassive look. Then he nodded. “My treatment is complete. There is nothing more I can do for her. I put her in your care, son. Do what you believe is best for your patient.”

  Jonah looked at Marian, his love and now his patient. His professors at Penn would not have allowed this, but he was here now and he wanted nothing more than to care for her.

  Her pallor had increased, as had his concern. He glanced back at Catherine. “Do you know where she keeps the gray leaves she was experimenting with.”

  Catherine pulled away from Mr. Foster. Her chin quivered as she blew out a weepy breath. “She has a cloth full of dried leaves beneath her mattress.”

  “Get it, please.”

  “No,” Mr. Foster said as he turned and hurried out of the house. “I will go get it.”

  Catherine followed Mr. Foster to the doorway. “Look for the tea towel beneath the head of her mattress.” Her shoulders slumped and she began to cry.

  Jonah returned his attention to Marian. As he took her hand, a scuffle came from outside. He ignored it at first, consumed with worry for Marian. But soon someone ran into the house.

  “Doctor Ashton!” Peggy Cotter yelled from the threshold, aggravating Jonah. “It’s Mr. Weathermon! He’s fallen over in the yard and we can’t wake him.”

  Jonah’s gaze shot to his father. “He had palpitations while
walking home today.”

  Doctor Ashton dashed outside. Peggy moved out of the doorway to let him pass, but did not leave. She stood staring at Marian. “What happened to her?”

  Anna stepped toward the door blocking Peggy’s line of sight. “She was attacked by a swarm of bees. Jonah is taking care of her,” she said as she gracefully guided Peggy out of the cabin. “Thank you, Peggy. Go home now so the doctors have room to work, please.”

  “Jonah?” Marian squeezed his hand. The skin around her lips had a faint blue tint.

  He kept his fear to himself and touched her hair. “I’m here. I’ll see you through this. Your father went to get your leaves. We’re going to make the gray leaf tea for you. I’m here with you and I won’t leave you… not now or ever.”

  “The Land,” she whispered.

  He kept his voice low so their mothers would not overhear. “We get to stay here in the Land. There is no way to leave, and I wouldn’t leave now even if I could. We can stay here and build a little house and you can study the gray leaf tree and do whatever you want, just get through this.”

  She gasped and gripped his arm with her swollen hand. “I feel like I’m drowning. I want to sit up.”

  “It is best if you stay lying down. Take slow breaths. I’m here.”

  Her fingers trembled as she tried to push herself up to her elbows. Jonah helped her sit up and sat on the cot behind her. She wheezed out a breath and reclined against his side. He slid his fingers to her neck and felt her sluggish pulse. If she died in his arms, he would die too, maybe not immediately but surely. It might take days or even weeks, but he would rot from the inside out until they buried him beside her to rid the settlement of the stench of his grief.

  “The Land… ” She rolled her head toward him, but her eyes remained closed. “Tell me,” she drew in a staggered breath, “about the Land.”

  “We walked about forty miles north and…” he paused, as Mr. Foster returned. “The Land is vast and beautiful, but don’t think about that now. I just want you to get through this.”

  Marian’s father stepped inside the house with a folded tea towel clutched in his right hand and baby Asher sleeping in the crook of his left arm. Catherine took the towel and crumbled the leaves into the tea strainer.

  Anna poured the kettle’s water over the leaves and said to Jonah, “It will be ready in a moment.”

  He looked down at Marian. “They’re making the tea, but now it must steep.”

  A faint smile briefly curved one edge of her mouth and disappeared as quickly as it came. “Speak more.”

  “More? About the Land?” He glanced continually at the brewing tea and then down at her. “The Land is incredible, no doubt. I hope to explore it more, but I will never leave your side again.”

  “Here it is,” Catherine said as she held the cup out to Jonah.

  He took it and paused for a moment reconsidering his decision to give her the gray leaf tea. It could be medicinal or it could be poisonous and kill her within seconds, but whatever the result, she was his patient now and he was responsible for the outcome.

  “I can smell it,” she whispered, eyes closed.

  He held the cup to her lips. “It’s very hot. Breathe the steam first.”

  She drew a shallow breath and then a second. Her hand slowly moved to take the cup, but he didn’t release it. She touched her parted lips to the rim and sipped. He waited with every muscle in his body taut and ready for her to cough or convulse, but she only took another slow drink.

  Her delicate sips broke the silence as her parents watched in nervous dread. She raised both hands to the cup and pulled her weight off of Jonah, able to hold herself upright. Still, he didn’t let go.

  She tipped the cup high and drank the last drop. As he pulled the empty cup away from her lips, the swelling of her hands receded and the red welts faded beneath her skin. She dropped her arms to her lap and hummed contentedly as her coloring returned to normal.

  Jonah didn’t take his eyes off Marian as his mother lifted the empty cup from his outstretched hand. He felt like he was witnessing a miracle and didn’t want to miss a moment of it. The immediate response Marian’s body had to the tea certainly looked miraculous, but she had been right: the gray leaf tree simply had medicinal properties and no matter its chemical makeup, it worked. But when the difference in life and death lay in the power of medicine, no scientific explanation could account for the sense of the miraculous.

  Marian released a long full breath and wiped both hands over her face. “It’s working. I can feel it inside me.” Her voice was full and steady. She looked up at Jonah. Her eyes had cleared. “It will put me to sleep any moment now, but it’s healing me already. I can feel its warmth. Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Jonah leaned back in the hard kitchen chair and stretched his neck deep to one side and then the other. Someone from every family in the settlement had come by the cabin at some point during the evening to inquire of Marian and Mr. Weathermon’s conditions. But now it was late and finally the Ashton cabin was quiet.

  Jonah shifted his position and his chair creaked. His father glanced at him from across the room. As soon as their eyes met, Mr. Weathermon snored in his sleep. They both looked down at him where he slept on a mattress on the floor. Jonah wondered how many of these episodes Mr. Weathermon had endured over the years and how many more his body could take.

  Anna stepped into the house, carrying a full water pail. She placed it by the stove and wiped her hands on her apron. “The boys filled the barrel outside before they went to bed.” Her gaze moved between him and his father. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  Jonah shook his head and returned his attention to Marian, who was lying on the cot, still unconscious. Her pulse and respiration were stable, but she had not moved in the ten hours since she had drunk the gray leaf tea.

  The peaceful expression on her face worried him. Her color had returned to normal, but her complete stillness was more indicative of coma than sleep. He wanted her to awaken more than he wanted his next breath.

  Doctor Ashton rose from his chair, closed the front door, and met Anna by the stove. He kissed her. “Thank you for your hard work. Go to bed, dear.”

  She nodded and walked to the back room. After she closed the bedroom door, Doctor Ashton stood beside Jonah. He put his hand on Jonah’s back, and studied Marian. “No movement?”

  “No.”

  “Comatose.”

  “I believe so.” Jonah glanced up at his father. His eyes looked tired. “You can go to bed if you need sleep. I’m not leaving her side and there’s nothing to be done for Mr. Weathermon.”

  Doctor Ashton yawned and walked back to his chair. “I’ll give it another hour and if neither of them awakens, I’ll go to bed.” As soon as he sat, someone knocked lightly on the front door.

  Doctor Ashton stood again and answered it. “Harold. Do come in.”

  Mr. Foster stepped inside, holding his hat in his hands. He looked at Marian, but spoke to Doctor Ashton. “Catherine and the children are in bed, but they couldn’t sleep for worry. I was sent to check on Marian. Has she come to yet?”

  Doctor Ashton closed the door behind Mr. Foster. “She’s in Jonah’s care,” he said as he motioned across the room.

  Jonah stood, accepting his duty. “She has not.”

  Mr. Foster stayed near the door. He threaded the brim of his hat between his fingers in short, jerky movements as he stared at his unconscious daughter. “Is she sleeping?”

  Jonah shook his head. “It appears the gray leaf tea has put her in a coma.”

  “But she tried the tea last week and only slept for a couple of hours.”

  “She drank but one sip that time. Today she drank a full cup of the tea.”

  “Might it kill her?”

  “We don’t know.” Jonah wished he had some positive reassurance to offer, but he did not. He pointed at the chair beside the cot. “You may sit by her.”

  Mr.
Foster’s chin wrinkled. He blinked rapidly and looked away. “No, no. I should go. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  “You’re not bothering anyone. She is your daughter. You’re welcome to stay with her.”

  “I can’t stay in here.” Mr. Foster’s voice cracked as he reached for the door. He planted his hat on his head and backed out of the house, leaving the door open. But instead of going home, he scurried into the dark toward the corral.

  Irked by Mr. Foster running away, Jonah followed him into the yard. “Mr. Foster, she is your daughter! We don’t know if she will recover from this, but if she does, she won’t be pleased to learn that you abandoned your family during another crisis.”

  Mr. Foster halted abruptly. He kept his back to Jonah. “It’s not your business, boy.”

  “At present, I am her physician and her welfare is very much my business.”

  “I can’t face losing another child.”

  Jonah walked across the darkened yard. “Your family needs you to be strong for them.”

  Mr. Foster’s shoulders slumped. “I know you think I’m a coward.”

  “I think you have endured more loss than a man should ever know, but so have Catherine and Cecelia and Benjamin. You are a husband and a father. You can’t keep hiding when your family needs you. Your hiding caused them to depend on Marian for strength. And now if she doesn’t survive this and you hide yourself away, who will they have?”

  Mr. Foster turned and faced Jonah. “And if she doesn’t survive, who will you have?”

  If the question was meant to grate Jonah’s insides, it worked. He tried to ignore it, but it stuck in his mind like a ship lodged in a sandbar. If he dwelt on the possibility of losing her, his thoughts would trap him in an avalanche of what-ifs. He refused to allow that while he had a patient in his care. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Mr. Foster, you’re frustrated that your daughter’s life is in jeopardy and there’s nothing you can do about it.”