Bayou Fever

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  The younger Breaux sister offered Jeff a parting smile and headed toward her mother. He watched her as she took the baby in her arms, satisfied that she had made a full recovery.

  “Shall we go see Amalie?” When Angeline nodded, Jeff stepped inside the normally boisterous house and stopped short. “It’s quiet as a tomb in here. Are the children still with your aunt?”

  “Yes, Papa didn’t want to take any chances, and Tante Flo didn’t want to give them up so quickly. They conspired against Mama to keep the little ones over there one more night. It wasn’t easy, but Papa held his ground. I understand he told her he would hide the paddles for the pirogue too if she tried to slip off and fetch them herself.”

  Jeff walked past the pier glass and caught his reflection. Angeline moved into focus in the mirror, and his breath caught. In the morning light, she looked beautiful, not like the decorated dolls in Boston or the upper crust doctors’ daughters in New York, but with a beauty that radiated from within.

  Angeline Breaux was incredible. How had he missed something so obvious? What had he ever seen in any other woman?

  Why did he feel like dropping his medical bag and kissing her right on the spot?

  As much as he would like to do that, her admission—or rather her lack of denial—that she was to wed Arceneaux had certainly put a damper on his plans to court her. Lord, did I misunderstand Your intentions for us?

  “Like mother, like daughter?” he asked as he forced his mind back to the conversation. “With taking the pirogue out, I mean.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said with a mischievous grin. The smile disappeared and worry etched her face. “Jefferson, do you think it will be safe to bring the children back tomorrow? I would hate for one of them to come down with whatever Amalie has. I mean, if it is the influenza, well, I remember what it was like before when—”

  “Hush now,” he said. “Since Mathilde recovered so quickly, I can’t be sure this is influenza. Even if it is, Amalie has not shown herself to have a bad case of it. From what you’ve said, her symptoms seem to be fever and lethargy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Lethargy? That’s the tendency to want to sleep all the time.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Yes, she’s definitely had the lethargy.”

  Her use of the word amused him; he paused to reach for the door to the back bedroom.

  “So you’re sure about the children coming home tomorrow, then? It’s not too soon?”

  “Waiting to return until tomorrow is probably best, but I don’t see the need to delay them past then.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick hug. “Don’t worry, Angeline. I’m sure Amalie’s condition will be fine by then.”

  He released her to see to the task at hand, that of checking what he expected to be a recuperating Amalie Breaux.

  “You really think she will be all right, Jefferson?”

  Oh, but he wanted to kiss away the worry on that beautiful face!

  Lord, there’s hope for the two of us yet, isn’t there? Ignoring all caution, he touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “As I told you, I believe she will be fine.”

  But when he opened the door, he realized Amalie’s condition was anything but fine. Even from where he stood, he could see that the little girl had taken a dangerous turn for the worse.

  Sixteen

  “What’s wrong?” Angeline followed Jefferson into the room. “Has something happened to Amalie?”

  Jefferson’s form hid the little girl as he leaned over to examine her. From the way his shoulders slumped, she knew the diagnosis was not good. Rather than answer her question, he reached for his medical bag and pulled out an instrument. As he listened to the little girl’s chest, he frowned.

  “What is it?”

  “How long has she been like this?”

  “Like what?”

  When he leaned back, Amalie came into view. Her face had gone pale and her breathing seemed shallow and choppy, like she’d run a long way and found it hard to catch her breath. Dark hair curled in damp tendrils around her forehead, and her fingers clutched at the sheet as if she were looking to feel for something that was not there. Worse, Angeline could hear the rattle in her sister’s tiny chest.

  “I peeked in on her after breakfast, and she was sleeping. I thought she was fine.”

  She drew nearer and grasped one of her sister’s hands. It felt cold despite the warmth of the room.

  “How long ago?” he asked as he retrieved his notebook and pencil. “An hour or two, or was it longer?”

  Angeline tried to calm her racing thoughts. “I suppose it was around seven, so that would make it two hours ago. Why is she making that sound, Jefferson? It is awful.”

  He looked up from his writing to meet her gaze. “I won’t lie to you, Angeline. Your sister’s very ill. What you’re hearing is fluid in her lungs.”

  “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “If we can’t arrest the process, she could drown in her own fluids.”

  Terror gripped her. Little Amalie couldn’t possibly die!

  “It hurts,” her sister whispered.

  “Where does it hurt?” Angeline watched as Amalie made a weak gesture to her throat and her chest. A second later, she allowed her hand to fall limp at her side. She closed her eyes.

  “Amalie, can you hear me? It’s Jeff. Remember me? I’m your sister Angeline’s friend.” He paused to shake her gently. “Wake up and look at me.”

  Jefferson adjusted Amalie’s body to a more upright position, piling the pillows behind her. Rather than remain where he placed her, the little girl began to fight, first lashing out with clenched fists and then twisting her body out of his grasp.

  “Help me, please,” he said as he clutched at her tiny shoulders. “We need her to sit up.”

  Angeline stood there, helpless. “What do you want me to do?”

  Amalie went stock-still. Her gaze roamed about the room, focusing on nothing in particular.

  “Should I go get Mama or Mathilde?”

  “No, not yet. I’d rather we stabilize her first. Besides, neither of them needs to be in close proximity to her. Mathilde’s too weak, and your mother’s with child. I don’t want either of them exposed to Amalie should she prove to be contagious.” He paused and gave Angeline a direct look. “For that matter, I would prefer if you’d exercise caution while you’re near her. Take care to wash your hands and practice good sickroom hygiene. It will keep you healthy.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” He turned his attention back to Amalie. “Why don’t you talk to her?”

  Her brain went numb as Amalie went into action again, kicking and shaking her head as if she didn’t recognize her visitors.

  “Talk?” Angeline asked. “Do you think that will help?”

  “Yes,” he said as he ducked a tiny swinging fist. “I need you to calm her down so I can get her into a better position.”

  Angeline squeezed past Jefferson to reach for her sister. “Amalie, Honey, it’s Angie. Open your eyes.”

  When the little girl didn’t respond, Angeline looked to Jefferson for guidance. “Try again,” he said as he continued to wrestle with the pillows.

  “Amalie! Wake up!” No response. “Amalie Patrice Breaux, if you don’t wake up this instant, I’m going to go fetch Mama and Mathilde, and they’re going to make you take a nap with the babies instead of swimming this afternoon. Do you hear me?”

  This time her sister’s eyes opened slightly. “Swimming?” she asked. “I get to go swimming?”

  Angeline pasted on a smile. “Yes, Honey, just as soon as Jefferson says you’re feeling up to it.”

  “You mean it?”

  Her dark eyes focused on Angeline, then she quickly shifted her attention to Jefferson. Before she could speak, she began to cough, and Jefferson covered her mouth with his handkerchief. When he pulled it away, dark rust-colored flecks decorated the white material.

&n
bsp; “Blood?” she whispered as Jefferson nodded his agreement.

  “I’m afraid she’s developed pneumonia.”

  “I want to go swimming,” Amalie said before going limp in Jefferson’s arms.

  Angeline worked alongside Jefferson to position her sister as if she were sitting up. When the last pillow had been put into place, she turned to him. “Is there any hope?”

  “We can still save her, Angeline,” he said as he reached into his bag to remove a stethoscope. “Or rather, God can save her, with our help.”

  She sank down on the bed and rested her hands in her lap. “How?”

  “Let me examine her, and then we’ll talk about what to do.”

  “Can I help?”

  He offered a weak smile. “I could use a good nurse right now.”

  “Well, I don’t know how good I am, but I can learn. Just tell me what to do.”

  As Jefferson took care to check Amalie over, Angeline followed his instructions and assisted him. She lifted her sister when asked and held her hand when she complained. Once, she even caught the little girl before she attempted to climb past Jefferson and head for the door.

  That action took the last of Amalie’s strength, however. By the time Jefferson finished his exam and made his notes, she was sound asleep, her slumber only interrupted by the occasional fit of ragged coughing.

  Angeline fussed with the covers, adjusting them so they were smooth and straight again. Amalie would never notice the effort and would most likely mess them up again before she awoke. Still it made her feel like she’d done something—anything—to make the little girl more comfortable.

  “It’s as I expected. Her condition has deteriorated into pneumonia.” He lifted Amalie’s wrist and took her pulse again. “Now that she’s worn herself out, her vitals are returning to a more stable rate, but I’m still skeptical as to how well she will do over the rest of today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that this kind of condition can cause a patient to deteriorate rapidly.” His gaze met hers. “You said she looked fine a couple of hours ago, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, take the amount of change you see between the state she was in after breakfast and her condition now. As her condition worsens, she will deteriorate even faster.”

  Angeline stifled a gasp. “You can’t let that happen, Jefferson. There must be some way to make her well again.”

  “Actually, the only way to begin her healing is to empty the lungs of their fluid. For that, I can only recommend one course of treatment.” He scribbled one last note on his pad and looked up. “Your sister needs to be in a hospital.”

  “A hospital?” She shook her head. “We’re just poor folks, Jefferson. We can’t afford a hospital.”

  “But the ideal conditions for treating this type of pneumonia are constant care, and the only place she can get that is in a hospital environment.” He paused. “There are plenty of people there who are skilled in this sort of illness, and they could give her excellent care.”

  “We just can’t.”

  Angeline stroked her sister’s forehead and fought off panic. Influenza and pneumonia took the elderly and the weak. Amalie was neither, but she had been sick for nearly a week.

  She watched Amalie struggle for a breath, then held the handkerchief against her lips when she coughed. Again the cloth came away spotted with blood.

  Something had to be done.

  Please, Lord, don’t let my little sister die. Please fix her and quick.

  “Ma Chere, you have to take her to the hospital.”

  His tone was insistent yet gentle and sympathetic. She knew that, even as he said the words, he realized the impossibility of the situation. People like them didn’t take their sick to places like that. Unlike Doc Broussard, hospitals didn’t take their fees in fish or furs or some other type of bayou produce.

  They wanted cash money, something the Breaux family, like too many others on the bayou, had little of. No, there had to be another way.

  “Papa can barely feed us all as it is, and there’s another little Breaux coming in a few months. All we’ve got saved will go to paying medical bills once Mama’s time comes.” She paused to collect her emotions. “Isn’t there any other way?”

  His silence, combined with the look of sorrow on his face, landed a blow that nearly caused her to double over in pain. Angeline felt a sob well in her throat, and tears stung her eyes.

  “You have to do something. Please don’t let her die,” she whispered.

  “Angeline, I. . .” His voice fell away, leaving the anguish in his eyes. “I’m a researcher, not a general practitioner.”

  “So what’s the difference?” she demanded.

  “I work with data and lab personnel, not with patients.” His shoulders sagged. “You need Doc here, not me. He’s the family practitioner.”

  “You’re a doctor. You graduated with honors, so you know medicine, right?” When he nodded, she continued. “And you know about influenza and pneumonia, right?”

  “Right,” he said softly.

  “Then if you know all of this, why can’t you just use what you know on my sister?”

  He seemed to consider the question a moment. “There were techniques we used in school that might work. We can try and simulate the hospital treatments here,” he said slowly. “But I can’t guarantee. . .”

  “Only the Lord can make guarantees, Jefferson. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  “First we need to elevate the bed. Can you get something to put beneath the headboard that will lift it higher?”

  Angeline raced to the shed and came back with two bricks, left over items from when Papa repaired the chimney last fall. While Jefferson lifted the headboard, Angeline slid the bricks into place.

  “Now what?” she asked as she climbed to her feet and dusted off her hands.

  “Now we work on getting her lungs clear. Follow my lead and do what I tell you, all right?”

  When she nodded and moved closer, they set to work. Half an hour later, they had pushed and pounded the poor little girl’s back and chest until Angeline thought her sister would never survive the treatment that was supposed to save her. To her surprise, the chest percussion, as Jefferson called it, seemed to help.

  Jefferson had patiently instructed Angeline as he went through the motions of the chest percussion. As a result, the muscles in Angeline’s arms and back screamed from the exertion.

  At least Amalie now lay more comfortably, her breathing a little more even and her cough subdued. Exhausted from the ordeal, however, it was all Angeline could do not to crawl up next to her sleeping sister and fall into a deep sleep.

  “Well done, Nurse Breaux.” Jefferson tossed a smile in her direction as he put away his notebook and set his medical bag on the nightstand. “I think we just might have caught this thing in time to beat it.”

  “Thanks to you, Dr. Villare. You’re really good at what you do, did you know that?” When he smiled, she felt bold enough to continue. “Are you sure God hasn’t called you to be a. . .what did you call it?” She searched her mind for the word he had used. “A family practitioner?”

  His expression of surprise startled her. “Do you think you’ll be able to do this next time on your own?”

  “I’ll do my best,” she replied.

  “Good,” Jefferson said as he rose. “I’m counting on my nurse now.”

  Angeline nodded weakly and gave him a mock salute. “Nurse Breaux reporting for duty,” she said with what she hoped would be enthusiasm.

  Evidently her words fooled Jefferson, for he looked relieved. He reached for her hand and helped her stand, cradling her against his shoulder when she wobbled on unsteady feet.

  “Are you sure you can do this, Ma Chere?”

  To keep her little sister out of the hospital, she would do whatever it took. She looked up and smiled. “Of course. How often should I repeat the procedure?”

  “You’ll know whe
n she’s in need of a treatment, but as a guess I’d say at least once every two hours for the first twenty-four hours or so. After that, you can probably get away with going three to four hours in between treatments, unless her symptoms worsen. Regardless, someone will have to be with her constantly to monitor her vitals and see that she doesn’t take a turn for the worse. Her fever may go up, and that is to be expected. Let me know if it doesn’t break and go away completely by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I will,” she said softly. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Jeff smiled and collected her into an embrace. “Yes, that I’ll be praying for your sister and for you.”

  Too soon he released her and made his exit. “Every two hours,” she whispered as she rubbed her tired arms and watched the motorcar disappear in a cloud of dust. Father, You and I are going to have to do this together. I know I can’t manage it alone.

  Too many hours later, Angeline slumped back in the little straight-backed chair and tried to close her eyes. The morning sun now filtered through the partially closed shutters and fell in long stripes across the floor, casting the room in an odd combination of light and shadows. In the light, Angeline watched her sleeping sister. Amalie slumbered peacefully.

  The night had been a long one, and her only rest had come when Ernest and Papa took over for a few hours each so she could curl up in the empty bed. Her sleep had been fitful, filled with dreams of awakening to find Amalie dead.

  It had been nearly impossible to keep Mama out of the room. Finally, when Papa threatened to take her to Tante Flo’s right then if she didn’t remove herself from the doorway and get some sleep, she grudgingly gave in and went to bed. Mathilde had been easier to convince. Her strength had not yet returned completely, so she could do nothing but see that the washbasin stayed filled with cool water. Finally, after midnight, she’d grown weary of even that small job and pleaded exhaustion.

  With each treatment, Amalie seemed to breathe easier, and sometime before daybreak her coughing had all but disappeared. Still the fever, which had spiked dangerously high as Jefferson predicted, failed to break.