All of a sudden, a spasm hit her chest that made her cough over and over and over again. Each cough harder and tearing at her throat. Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes and she gripped the side of the piano.
“Quick, get her some water!” Whitney’s voice echoed in her head.
But the coughing continued until Melissa feared she’d never be able to take another breath.
All sound around her disappeared but the pulsing of her heart pounding in her ears. The cough tightened her chest and pressed into her like a knife. Again. And again. And again.
When the coughing spell finally stopped, she struggled for air. Sucking in as hard as she could.
Nothing happened. A horrible croaking sound came from her lips. But no air had entered her lungs.
Everything began to swim. The girls were shouting, but she couldn’t understand them.
God . . . is this the end? Is asthma going to kill me? Please take care of my girls. They’ve already lost one parent. I can’t imagine how hard this will be. And who will take care of Papa?
Pressure built in her head. And then—
Her chest released its grip and air flooded in.
She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. The roaring in her ears stopped, but she was so weak she could only collapse into Whitney’s arms.
“Mama?”
She needed a bit of rest. That was all . . .
Twenty-One
Geoffrey Kingston urged his horse to move faster. John Roselli, the foreman at the Bundrant Dairy Farm, had sent a worker to summon him because Mrs. Powell had collapsed after a coughing fit and hadn’t woken up since. The worker looked scared.
If Geoffrey didn’t watch it, this infernal plan with Reynolds was going to kill people. How could he have been so stupid? The man had reassured him that he’d supply the real medications as well as the fake ones. What Geoffrey hadn’t realized—or maybe he hadn’t bothered to check—was that the last box of the real Kinsman’s Asthmatic Cigarettes he’d ordered were actually Kinman’s Asthmatic Cigarettes. The packaging was an exact replica other than the missing s.
And the product wasn’t real.
He thought he’d given Mrs. Powell the real medication—because that was what he’d asked Judas to send—but to discover it was all fake? What was the man trying to pull?
Now Melissa Powell was sick. Had Judas done that on purpose? Or had it been his fault?
When Bundrant’s daughter came to him a while back, it had been difficult to give her the diagnosis of severe asthma. Especially with her father’s ill health. He still couldn’t fathom why she’d asked him to keep her secret from her close-knit family. Unless, of course, she didn’t want them worrying about her in the midst of all that was going on with her father.
As he rode up to the family home on the farm, he hoped he’d be able to help her. But what if he couldn’t? What if he wasn’t good enough? He climbed off the horse and wrapped the reins around the hitching post.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Miss Powell—Whitney, was it?—stood on the porch. “Her lips have turned blue and the coughing fits are getting worse.”
Coughing fits? That didn’t sound good. Either her asthma was more severe than he’d thought, or . . . no . . . Please no. Not another case. He couldn’t let his mind go there yet. “Lead me to her, please.”
The house was quiet. Every other time he’d been here to visit Chuck, there’d been lots of music emanating from the parlor.
But today, a hush fell over the rooms.
Whitney led him to another bedroom, where one of the other sisters sat with their mother. She stood when he entered. “She just coughed for over a minute and then couldn’t breathe. It sounded awful.”
The panic and worry in her wide eyes told him more than he wanted to know.
His stomach dropped. Could his suspicions be true? How would he cope with an epidemic? There’d already been a death. The other physicians would find out. . . . He’d be kicked out of town. “Where’s your other sister?” Placing his bag on the end of the bed, he pulled out a wooden stethoscope.
“Havyn? She’s with Granddad.” Whitney’s red-rimmed eyes pled with him for help.
So the other curly-haired sister in front of him must be Madysen. He met her worried gaze. “Has Havyn been in here when your mother has had a coughing fit?”
The two sisters shook their heads. “No. I don’t think so. I sent her to stay with Granddad last night. We haven’t talked about today yet, but we were all together last night when Mama started coughing. Why? Is there a problem?”
He listened to Mrs. Powell’s breathing. “I don’t wish to alarm you any further, but I’m afraid she may have developed whooping cough. There are several cases of it in town. Which means that you’ve all been exposed. It’s not something we want your grandfather to come down with, so we’ll need to come up with a plan of prevention.”
“Will Mama be all right?” The younger sister stepped closer to him.
“I hope so, but considering the condition with her lungs . . .” He’d just betrayed a patient’s confidence, but it couldn’t be helped.
“What condition with her lungs?” Whitney’s words held a bite to them. She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped closer. Her take-charge stance was . . . imposing.
He stepped back to gain his bearings. He was used to being in charge. He was the doctor, after all. “I hate to be the bearer of such bad news, but she’s been dealing with severe asthma.”
“What exactly is asthma?” The younger one’s voice squeaked as tears streamed down her face.
“It’s . . . uh . . . a condition where the bronchial system is in distress.” Why was he so nervous all of a sudden?
“What exactly does that mean?” Whitney’s voice brooked no argument.
“Well . . . it’s a bit difficult to explain. But her airways constrict and it’s difficult for her to breathe.”
Madysen gasped, and Whitney stepped even closer. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you telling me that she’s had this for a while and you didn’t think it was important for us—her family—to know?”
Now up against the wall, he held up his hands. “She made me promise to keep it a secret. She didn’t want anyone having to worry over her. I gave her the only medicine that I knew to help, and have been checking up on her.”
“Where’s this medicine?” The oldest Powell daughter had her hands on her hips. Her cheeks burned fiery red. “Why aren’t you giving it to her now?”
“I don’t know where your mother keeps it, but I have some more in my bag. I just don’t know if we’ll be able to administer it.”
“Whyever not?” Whitney’s voice rose.
“Because she has to smoke it. That’s why. And right now, your mother is unconscious.”
“We’ll wake her up. If that’s the only way, then we will do our part to help.” She turned to her sister. “Come on, Madysen. Help me get her to a sitting position. We’ve got to get her awake.”
“Her lips are so blue. What does that mean?” The younger one’s voice sounded weepy.
Geoffrey dug in his bag. No time now to mince words. “It means she’s not getting enough air.”
“Oh, please help her, Doctor.”
“Mama, we need you to wake up.” Whitney patted Mrs. Powell’s cheeks.
As he dug around, he found a box of Kinman’s—the fakes. There had to be a box of the real medicine left. If he ever needed it, it was now. Underneath the rest of his instruments, he found another box. Holding it up, he saw the label read Kinsman’s.
At that moment, Mrs. Powell began a horrible round of coughing.
“Keep her upright.”
Whitney rubbed her mother’s back. “It’s all right, Mama, we’re here.”
The woman’s eyes were open, but they were glassy.
Geoffrey took out a match to light the cigarette. “Mrs. Powell, I know this is very difficult, but I need you to stay alert. As soon as you can breathe again,
we’re going to give you something for your asthma.”
The woman looked up at him and continued coughing. Her face turned a deep shade of red. When the coughing spasm finally passed, he counted to twenty before she was able to inhale. Her breaths came in short gasps, and her eyes rolled back.
“Stay with us, Mrs. Powell. Stay awake.”
Leaning against her youngest daughter, she gave a barely perceptible nod.
He lit the cigarette and held it up to her lips. She sucked a tiny bit and then blew out. Then she sucked again, this time with what seemed more strength. After the fifth inhale, her lips were no longer blue but returning to a normal color.
She closed her eyes. “Thank you.”
Madysen snuffed out the cigarette. “Can we use this again?”
“Yes. And I’ll leave the rest with you, just in case.” He handed Whitney the box. “Now, I’m afraid this is only a small portion of the problem that we are facing. It indeed sounds like your mother has whooping cough. That means that you will need to be very careful. Try to keep your faces covered when she’s coughing so that you don’t get it. Keep things as clean as possible in her room, and make sure she doesn’t cough around your grandfather. In his weakened condition, whooping cough could be deadly.”
Another gasp from the younger sister. “Will Mama make it?”
Geoffrey stared at the patient on the bed. “I think she will be fine, but it takes a long time for whooping cough to run its course. I’ve often heard of it described as the one-hundred-day cough. And it has the potential to get much worse because of her asthma. So make sure you are using plenty of steam in the room. Hot towels on her chest. Hot tea to drink. If you notice she’s having trouble breathing—and not just during a coughing attack—treat her with one of the asthmatic cigarettes.”
“Yes, Doctor.” At least Whitney didn’t look like she wanted to hit him any longer. “Thank you for coming. Will you check on Granddad for us?”
“Of course.” Geoffrey walked out of the room and closed the door. He walked down the hallway toward Mr. Bundrant’s bedroom.
Twelve cases of whooping cough. What if more people died?
The middle daughter greeted him at the door. “How’s Mama?”
How he hated having to deliver bad news. “I’m afraid she’s very sick. Your sisters can fill you in on it later, but she has severe asthma and has now developed whooping cough.” He moved past her to Chuck. He really didn’t need to deal with one more emotional woman.
The older man’s eyes were open and Havyn had him propped up on several pillows.
“How are you today, Chuck?”
A moan came out.
“Good. You’re awake and responding. That’s very good news. Let’s try some of our exercises.”
After some work, he and Havyn were able to ascertain that the apoplexy had indeed hit the right side again. But with some effort, Chuck had moved his left arm and left leg.
Geoffrey turned to Havyn. “He’s going to need a lot of help with the exercises. Every day. Several times a day. The sooner we get the left side of him working, the sooner that side can help support the right. I’ve brought some more medicine for you to give him each morning and night. It should help him to recover a bit faster.” He looked back to Chuck and handed the bottle of elixir to his granddaughter. “We need you to be strong now, Mr. Bundrant. Your daughter is very sick. I know your granddaughters and all your workers at the dairy are relying on you. I’ll come back in two days.”
The older man moaned again and lifted his left hand an inch. Good progress. At least until he had another bout.
Geoffrey picked up his bag and led Havyn out of the room. “Your grandfather has had two pretty significant bouts of apoplexy. Do you know if he had any symptoms that led up to this point?”
Her face paled.
“I’m sorry to put you on the spot. I know it’s difficult when a loved one suffers so much. But I just wish we would have known . . . something. Dr. Gordon mentioned him working too hard and needing rest, but nothing that suggested apoplexy. If we’d known, perhaps we could have taken measures to prevent this. Or at least prevented it being this bad.” He shook his head. “My apologies. It’s not like we can do anything about it now.” Patting her shoulder as he walked out, he gave her a smile. “I’ll be back. But send for me if your mother’s condition worsens, all right?”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Her words sounded strained. No wonder. Their family seemed to be crumbling.
As he rode back to his office, his thoughts volleyed back and forth.
One minute, he was tormented by the thought of giving out all that fake medicine. Then the next, what did it really matter? He was helping lots of people.
But Mrs. Powell was a genuine and wonderful woman. Shouldn’t he feel bad that her asthma had worsened? Because of him?
No. He straightened his shoulders. It wasn’t his fault.
Judas was to blame.
When he made it back to his office, a familiar figure strode toward him. Great.
“Dr. Kingston, I’m glad I caught you.” Reynolds’s voice sounded all too fake.
“What can I do for you, Judas?”
“Let’s go inside, shall we?”
Geoffrey opened the door and put his bag on the desk. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared down his business partner.
“I just came by to drop off this.” Judas pulled a leather drawstring bag out of his jacket pocket. “Things have been very profitable.” He put a hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder and placed the bag in his hand. “Very profitable. This is yours. You’ve earned it. I look forward to a fortuitous relationship for many years to come.” Judas gave an oily smile, nodded, and walked out.
Geoffrey wanted to take a bath after the man had touched him, but when he opened the sack, the sight of all those gold nuggets made him smile. He walked over to his desk and poured them out.
More than a year’s salary for most men. In one little bag.
He put a hand to his brow and stared at the nuggets for a moment. Was it really all that bad working with Judas? After all, he’d helped a lot of people. And Reynolds had a great reputation around town.
Clearly, his association with the man was to his advantage.
Especially if he could make this kind of profit regularly.
He picked up each of the nuggets and put them back in the bag. Hang it all, his conscience was getting all bent out of shape for nothing. The best thing he could do was better himself. And that took money.
Besides, he’d done his duty. He’d gone through his certificate program twice. He’d earned this right.
From now on, he wouldn’t worry about the medicines Judas delivered.
It was worth it.
Twenty-Two
The fresh air did nothing to assuage Havyn’s grief. She and her sisters were all dragging. They’d been taking turns with Mama and Granddad. Whitney had to take time out to care for her dogs, and then Havyn had her responsibilities with the chickens. Then Maddy and the sheep. And somehow they had to keep the farm running. Thank heaven the workers were dedicated to their family. And . . .
They had John.
Little had been said about paying the employees, but John must have taken care of it.
The excitement over their new cheese business was no more. Yes, it would be a great way to make money, but now they didn’t have the hands to do it. And they would need more money than ever to pay for Mama’s medicine, the doctor, and the extra hours the workers were having to put in with all the extra livestock. God, what are we supposed to do? It was good to have the extra money from the Roadhouse, but would they be able to keep it up? They were all running ragged.
Pastor Wilson’s sermon came back to mind: rejoice always. But how was she to rejoice at this moment?
The pastor’s words replayed in her mind. “Here’s the tricky part. The part where I’m going to ask you to examine yourselves. Are you content in all circumstances? Are you just as willing to
rejoice when things are difficult as when they are easy? This is the point here. And it’s driven home by verse thirteen. A verse that many of us know by heart. ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’”
In her weariness, she couldn’t even cling to it. She couldn’t be content right now. She was a failure.
Every step she took seemed heavy with the worry she carried. Worry for Granddad. Worry for Mama. Worry for the farm. Now worry for her own walk with the Lord, because she obviously wasn’t handling things well.
Then there were Dr. Kingston’s words. Had she been wrong to keep Granddad’s secret? What if all of this could have been avoided?
All of her life she had thought that keeping secrets was a good thing—a way to keep others from experiencing pain. Of course, there were those few secrets that were pleasurable, but most were ways to keep the terrible things of life hidden. Surely that wasn’t wrong. Telling those secrets could only generate pain and sorrow.
Of course, that wasn’t the case with Granddad’s secret. If she had told Mama about his collapsing maybe he wouldn’t be in such a bad situation now. Maybe he wouldn’t have even had the attack of apoplexy. Could she have stopped it?
“Lord, I don’t know what I should have done. I was honoring Granddad’s desire that I say nothing, but now I see that may well have caused more harm than good.” She glanced heavenward. Why did it feel as though the words were just bouncing back? She knew God was there for her. She knew He heard her prayers. So why did she feel so alone? In the past, when times like this came, she would talk to Mama. Mama always had a way of soothing Havyn’s spirit and pointing her in the right direction. But she was far too sick to talk to.
When Havyn was almost to the gate of the chicken yard, she spotted John exiting the milking barn.
John.
Maybe she could talk to him. Seek his counsel. Changing directions, she went to him. The only person she wanted to talk to right now.
He spotted her and smiled.
Oh, how that smile did things to her insides. She wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore. John had become her rock, and she appreciated it. Even if he thought of her as just a friend.
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