Wyatt moved to the bedside, setting a bowl of fresh, cool water on the nightstand. In his other hand, he bore the medicine she so desperately needed. He would go in a little while to get fresh broth for her on the off chance he could catch her in a lucid phase.
Would today be like the previous days? Unless one of the other patients called for him, his focus would be on Katherine. By her side, dabbing her with a cold, wet cloth and watching over her. Armed with the medicine, and soon the broth, he sat with patience, ready for whenever she became lucid, which was less and less often.
Still he sat in silent vigil. He was tired, but that did not stop his thoughts from dwelling on her and the sacrificial servanthood that landed her in this situation. It didn’t seem right. Nothing about it seemed fair. And this was one of the problems he always had with the idea of an almighty deity, with God, who would make decisions like this at worst, or, at best, allow something like this to happen to such a selfless servant.
Wyatt didn’t know when his questioning of God began. Maybe the day his father started hitting his mother. Maybe the day he stepped in to stop him and received a thrashing in return. How could a good God allow that to happen? He remembered how he had prayed then for God to change his father, that God would rescue him and his mother. But God never saw fit to hear Wyatt’s prayer. So Wyatt didn’t see fit to pray anymore.
Watching Katherine suffer drove him to greater resentment. Maybe in his dad’s alcohol-infused brain, he and his mother deserved the beatings. But who would think that Katherine deserved this? Frustration is what came out. Frustration in his inability to help her, to bring her back from this darkness she found herself in. The emotion was so intense his eyes stung. So he sat, watching her, near tears at the thought that he might, in fact, lose this fight.
Her voice broke into these thoughts.
“Wyatt . . . Wyatt . . . ” she slurred.
She called for him? Not Timothy. Him. But why? He moved his seat closer to the bed and leaned over to take her hand. “I’m right here, Katie.”
Her voice was little more than a whisper; he had to lean in even closer to make out what she was saying. “No, Wyatt . . . we can’t leave . . . Ellie . . . ”
What? Leave Ellie? She wasn’t calling for him. No, Katherine thought she was talking to him. And he knew what she was talking about. That day, that horrible day so long ago. The day that haunted him still. The day Ellie Mae died.
“No, no, no!” She began to twist and turn in her sleep.
How he wished he could pull her from it! But he could not. All that was left for him was a feeble attempt to soothe her.
“Shh, shh,” he said, boldly stroking her hair. “It’s all right. Everything is all right.” His touch seemed to calm her, so he continued. After several minutes, she stilled and fell back into a deep sleep.
Some moments later, he pulled himself away and slipped down the stairs. He paced the wide space of the examination room. Katherine’s condition continued to worsen. This had happened too often with the typhoid patients under his care.
Wyatt had to do something. He could not stand by and watch her die like so many others. So he gathered more of his medicinal water mixture and made his way upstairs, all the more determined. Stepping back into her room, he found her once again in a disturbed, fitful sleep. She spoke nonsense. Delirious. But that would not stop him. Not anymore. He sat on the bed beside her and gathered her into his arms. She was a furnace.
“Katie, I need you to come back,” he insisted, speaking into her hair.
Her eyes opened halfway. She looked anywhere and everywhere but at him.
“Katie, listen to me. I need you to drink this.” He held the glass up to her lips and poured some of the liquid into her mouth.
She spit it back out at him.
Not one to be deterred, he continued. “Katie, you must drink this!” He made several more attempts and got some of the liquid down her throat, at least a couple of tablespoons. Whether it was by chance or she had heard him somewhere through her delirium he wasn’t sure. But he took comfort in it all the same.
* * *
The church was quiet. How could the small white building seem so dark and lifeless, eerie almost? Suitable, Timothy thought, as he returned from the latest funeral service. It was as if the ghosts of those who had passed awaited him there in the stillness, wanting a word with him. He lit a candle by the door and allowed the flame to bathe the church in its light, however dim, and push out any thoughts he had of lingering ghosts.
These funerals took so much out of him. How he hoped it would be the last! He was tired. No, not just tired . . . weary. All the happenings of the last weeks weighed on him—the loss of so many of the townsfolk, the fear and sadness that had rippled through this town, the uncertainty at the mines, and Katherine’s illness. The latter of which he took on as personal guilt. Perhaps false guilt, but he could not convince his heart that he was blameless. He should have known, should have seen something in her demeanor.
She had been tired, too tired. And she’d complained of a headache in those last couple of days. He should have mentioned it to Wyatt. But she had shaken it off, so he did the same. Had he been in such deep denial? Not anymore.
His heart twisted in his chest as he passed the pews that once held so many people. He saw the faces of those he would not see again on this earth. Pausing at Old Man McCain’s regular seat, he was struck. Mere moments ago, he had said a few words of comfort to his widow, friends, and family and laid the man to rest.
The thought flew into his mind, unbidden, that he might have to, one day soon, put Katherine’s body to rest and say farewell to her for all of his earthly life. The thought left him breathless. He had to catch himself, gasping for air, and lower himself onto the dais’s steps. Now his heart raced. And try as he might, he could not pull his thoughts from those that disturbed him so. What was there for him then? What would he tell a parishioner? To pray.
“God Almighty, I do not know how I should pray. You know my heart. You know how it beats furiously within me. And You know why. I fear for Katherine. I come before You pleading yet again, Father God, for a miracle, for the healing of her body. I’m not ready to let her go. This town is not ready to let her go. Her work here is not done. I pray You see fit to bring her back to us and allow her to complete that work. Bring her back to me.”
* * *
Lauren sat at the dining table, head in her arms. David brought her a cup of coffee and sat in the seat next to her, but she barely acknowledged him. The most recent reports about Katherine were not good. Dr. Sullivan remained hopeful she would yet recover, but he could not give them a good prognosis based on her current condition. So many townspeople had been lost to the typhoid. Neighbors, friends, family, truly. And Lauren feared Katherine would join that number.
“Don’t fret so, Ma.” David put an arm around her. “Remember how stubborn Katherine is. She is a fighter. It’s going to take a lot more than some plague to take her down.”
Lauren smiled at him, patting his hand. She was thankful he and his family had come to keep her company this evening. What would she do without them?
“Katherine will pull through,” Mary added, taking the seat on the other side of Lauren. “I just know she will.”
Lauren appreciated their confident words, but they held no weight compared to those of Katherine’s physician. Only he could say what was going on with her body. But only the Lord knows what will happen. So, she closed her eyes and sent up yet another silent prayer on her daughter’s behalf. Would He see fit to answer her?
As she ended her prayer, she brought the cup to her lips and sipped the warm beverage, then nearly spit it back out. She made a move to get up. “I should put on some fresh coffee for us. This batch has gone stale.”
Mary put her hand on Lauren’s arm. “Let me do that.”
Lauren nodded her thanks. She did not have the wherewithal to make coffee this evening. Not when her daughter might not make it through the nigh
t.
In a handful of minutes they were all seated with steaming cups, waiting, watching Jessie and Peter play on the carpet in front of the fireplace. It seemed an eternity before they heard the sounds of a horse outside.
David placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder to still her as he got to his feet to look out the window. Only a few moments went by before he announced, “It’s Pa!”
This is what they had been waiting for all day—Tom’s return. He had braved going into town for provisions and for word about Katherine’s condition.
Lauren wrung her hands. She only had to wait a few more minutes before Tom would be beside her, telling them what he had learned. It had seemed like days since they had heard from Dr. Sullivan. Though in reality it had just been two.
Mary walked to the stove and poured Tom a cup of coffee to set on the table. It wasn’t long before he burst into the house.
“Grandpa!” Jessie said, jumping up to get a hug.
“Gra’pa!” Peter cooed.
How could she not suffer her grandchildren their hugs? But she felt as if she would burst if he didn’t speak soon.
Once the hugs were distributed he came over to his seat. Mary scooted the cup of hot coffee closer to him.
He smiled his thanks and took a swig.
Lauren’s eyes were glued to her husband, pleading with him to speak.
He did not hold out much longer. As he finished his long sip, he put the cup down and took off his gloves, sliding a hand over Lauren’s. “Doc says she’s made a turn for the better.”
“Oh, thank God!” Lauren said, clasping her chest, nearly swooning.
“When can we see her?” David said.
“Doc wants us to give it a couple of days, make sure she’s strong enough for visitors and the typhoid is out of her system.”
Lauren was disappointed, but not disheartened. The worst was behind her. Katherine would recover. She met her husband’s eyes, tears of joy in her own. Their daughter was safe.
* * *
The clock chimed noon. But Timothy hadn’t needed the chime to tell him it was twelve o’clock. He had been pacing and watching the timepiece since early morning. News of Katherine’s return to health had spread. And no one was more eager to see her than he.
Just earlier today, Wyatt had pronounced her well enough to receive visitors. As much as he wanted to rush to the clinic right then, he held back. Her parents would need time with her. So, he forced himself to stay away though everything in him screamed for him to go to her.
At dawn he decided that noon was the longest he could hold out. So he began his vigil at the clock. He attempted to distract himself with sermon writing, the piano, and cleaning the church, but nothing could keep him from the clock for long, as if that timepiece was his only connection to her. And he prized it greatly, watching the minutes tick by. But the waiting had finally come to an end.
No sooner had the long hand clicked over than he was out the door. In his enthusiasm, it became difficult to steady his walk. So, he found himself all but sprinting to the clinic. The walk from the church to the clinic on a good day took him about eight minutes. But it was only 12:02 when he was knocking on the clinic door.
Wyatt answered the door. “Yes?”
Timothy slid his hat off his head, feeling like a boy calling on a girl for the first time, speaking with Wyatt as if he were a disapproving father. “I’m here to see Katherine.” He paused, and then thought to ask, “Are her parents still here?”
“Yes, but I’m sure they won’t mind if you come up to see her for a few minutes,” Wyatt said, his words hesitant. Did he not wish Timothy to see Katherine? Perhaps he simply protected her need for rest. Either way, Wyatt moved out of the way and allowed him to enter.
Once inside, Timothy climbed the stairs, tempted to take them by twos he was so eager to lay eyes on his Katherine again. As he came to her room, the only one occupied in the clinic, he knocked with light raps on the door.
It swung open, and Katherine’s father greeted him.
“Reverend,” he exclaimed. “Come on in.”
“Yes, please do.” Katherine sat in the bed, her voice a bit raspy.
Timothy shuffled his way into the room only to discover there wasn’t much space for three visitors. So he stood by the door, his frame rather awkward in the small pocket. But that didn’t matter to him. His gaze fell on Katherine. He again felt like a schoolboy with his wide grin and bright eyes.
Lauren spoke, but he didn’t turn toward her. “We were thinking about going to the café for lunch. And we planned to bring something back for Katherine. Would you like something, Reverend?”
Hearing his title pulled Timothy out of his trance. “No, thank you. I just ate moments ago.”
“All right, then,” Tom said, a strange smile on his face as he glanced between Timothy and Katherine. “We best be on our way.”
“Thank you, Ma, Pa, for the flowers,” Katherine said, fingering the white lilies in a jar by her bedside.
Tom and Lauren looked at each other.
“It wasn’t us, darling,” Lauren said as she stood, stepping around the bed to her husband.
Katherine’s eyes fell on Timothy.
He shook his head.
“Perhaps Wyatt brought them in,” Tom suggested.
Katherine looked at the flowers for several moments, seemingly lost in thought.
Lauren moved to give Katherine a quick kiss on the forehead. “We’ll be back soon.”
And then Lauren and Tom made their way out of the room.
Timothy nodded at them as they left, but his eyes returned to Katherine’s. Moving over to the chair Lauren had vacated, the one next to Katherine’s bedside, he gave her a meaningful smile while he fiddled with the brim of his hat. After some time, he found his voice. “How are you? I mean, you look good.”
“Thank you.” Katherine offered him a weak smile. “I am much better. Wyatt says I’m over the worst of it.”
“What a relief.” He leaned forward, reaching for her hand.
She slid her smaller hand into his.
The contact invigorated him. It gave him courage and boldness. “I prayed for you constantly,” he confessed.
“I know you did, Timothy. And I know your prayers pulled me through.”
Timothy smiled, looking at their clasped hands. “I have missed you, Katie,” he said, his voice serious as he raised his eyes again.
“And I you. But this is all behind us now, and we can get back to our picnics soon enough.” Her eyes were bright as they met his.
“And our reptile hunts,” he joked.
“And our reptile hunts.” She smiled.
Silence fell between them, and he became lost in the joy of being with her. He would prefer it never end.
“Tell me news of Cripple Creek since the plague.” The sadness in her eyes did not escape him.
Timothy drew in a breath, ragged with emotion. “The town is devastated by the many losses, but celebrating each recovery.”
Katherine nodded.
“Katie,” Timothy said as he leaned a little closer to her. “This is not the town you remember. There are hurts, scars. The people that remain have been changed by this plague.”
She nodded again, looking down at her hands. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.
He reached for her other hand, now encasing both of her hands in his, so delicate, so frail. “What we always do. Pull together. Look to God for guidance.”
Katherine let her head hang for a moment.
Timothy could almost feel Katherine withdrawing. So, he decided to change the subject. “On the one hand, we were lucky. There are only two orphaned children.”
“Charlotte’s children.” Katherine’s head jerked up.
Timothy’s nod was slow, trying to communicate his sorrow.
“What’s happened to them?” Her question rushed out of her.
Timothy cleared his throat, not sure he liked where the con
versation had turned. “The mayor and his wife are keeping them. We haven’t been able to find any relations, so we’ll have to see if anyone in town can make a home for them.” He hoped that would satisfy her curiosity.
“What happens if no one in town volunteers?”
Why was she so interested? True, she was close to Charlotte and, of course, would be concerned after the children, but he didn’t expect her to be so preoccupied. But he could no more deny Katherine whatever she asked of him than he could stop his heart from beating. “We’ll send them on to Denver to an orphanage.”
Katherine’s expression became more thoughtful. But she did not question him further about the orphans. “Tell me, what news have you heard of my students?”
Smiling, Timothy squeezed her hands. He was pleased with her ability to focus on her students in the midst of all the unpleasantness. She was strong. Stronger than he anticipated.
Chapter 6
The days that followed passed slowly for Katherine. Days in which she gained strength, but also had time to think on what might become of Charlotte’s children. It occupied much of her thoughts. Her parents begged her to focus on her own recovery and allow God’s will to take its course for the two children, but Katherine could not let it go. Charlotte had trusted her. Maybe not with her children, but with so many things. And she owed it to her friend to see that her children were cared for.
Even now, Katherine urged her legs to move faster as they carried her across the bridge toward the church grounds. She prayed she wouldn’t be late for the meeting that would determine the fate of these two precious children. Sleep still clouded the edges of her mind. What she intended to be a simple rest had turned into an hour-and-a-half nap. When she realized her folly, she raced for the church as fast as her body would carry her. And though her body was still recovering from her illness, frustration pricked at her.
This meeting was too important to sleep through. So she had pulled on her shoes and rushed out of the room, not even taking the time to check her appearance. However, as she moved up the steps that took her into the small building, she ran her hands over her dress to smooth down the wrinkles and checked her hair with her hands, ensuring errant strands were pinned.
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