Abiding Love

by Melody Morgan

  Logic told her that a relationship of any kind with a man of Ross's background was unthinkable and out of the question. But, her emotions countered, that was Clara's way of thinking and she should try harder to think for herself. Considering another angle, logic pointed out that tempting herself with emotions that were unfamiliar could lead to dangerous situations. But she cast that thought aside, realizing that Andrew had instilled that fear within her to keep her in safe bounds.

  Finally, she decided that there was no clear-cut right or wrong, good or bad, black or white, just gray areas in between holding her transfixed, as if she were seeing them for the first time in her life. Ross, with his kind heart, loving touches, and warm kisses was definitely a gray area. She could see no bad in him, although she did not believe in saloons or the havoc they wreaked in people's lives.

  Well, she didn't have to be logical tonight. She would allow her emotions full swing and simply savor the aftereffects of Ross's presence. After all, it had been a magical winter night, and spring was a long time off.

  Lydia lay wide awake listening to Jonathan's soft, even breathing coming from the cot along the wall. She wished she could sleep so soundly, but she hadn't been able to do that for weeks. Each night she worried if the next day would be the day another letter would arrive from her aunt; then all her lies would be exposed and her dreams shattered.

  Turning her head, she stared at the window where fat wet flakes of snow brushed against the pane. She loved the snow and the fresh whiteness it brought to everything, covering the bare limbs and dead grass,

  She snuggled beneath the covers, dreading the thought of having to leave this house and Miss Barrett. How she'd grown to love Grand Rapids! And of course, there were her friends at the school whom she would miss and all the wonderful things they liked to do. She thought about spring so far away and wished with all her heart that she would be here then to see the river free of ice once more. She wondered what sort of flowers bloomed along the banks, what sort of berries she could gatherthat was, if she still lived here in the spring.

  A small tear leaked from the corner of her eye and stained the perfectly ironed pillow slip beneath her head. How she wished spring would hurry up so she wouldn't have to wonder about all these things before her aunt came to take her away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Even for late January, the morning had a bone-chilling coldness to it. Frost covered the window panes in every room of the house so that it was nearly impossible to see anything but the daylight that shone through.

  Jonathan sat at the breakfast table with his cheek barely propped up with one fist.

  "Eat your eggs, Jonathan," Irene said, pouring milk into his glass.

  His only answer was a cough and a wheeze.

  The ominous sound of a cold made Irene look closer at him. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked, laying her hand on his forehead.

  "He coughed like that all night," Lydia said.

  "Hmm. And he's feverish, too," Irene said thoughtfully.

  Winnie left her post at the hot stove to check his condition for herself. "No doubt about it," she said, heading for the pantry. "I'll make the honey and garlic."

  "Don't want any," Jonathan spoke up, then started to cough.

  "I'd say it's too late to say no," Winnie called over her shoulder, gathering the paraphernalia for her favorite medicinal concoction. "Little boys who take off their mittens to make snowballs should think about what will happen if they go bare-handed. And by the way, where is your scarf?."

  "Don't know."

  "Well, I'll make you another one," she said standing beside him. "Now open up." She held the spoonful of medicine ready.

  "Don't want any," he repeated.

  Lydia patted his hand sympathetically, secretly glad she didn't have to swallow the awful-smelling stuff. "She only wants to make you better."

  "No," He sat staring straight ahead, with his hand still holding up his head, not budging an inch.

  "It doesn't really taste so bad," Lydia whispered to him. "I was only joking when I told you that."

  He turned to look at her. "Then you take it."

  Lydia glanced at Winnie, who turned expectantly toward her. Swallowing hard, Lydia replied, "All right, I will. If you promise to take it, too."

  Jonathan stared at his sister, thinking hard. If she could do it, he could do it. He nodded.

  As the saliva ran inside her mouth, Lydia bravely opened up to the spoon, forcing herself not to flinch as it slid down her throat.

  With admiring eyes, Jonathan watched her face. If she could do it, he could do it, he told himself again. So he opened his mouth to take the pungent dose. Unwillingly, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth gritted together.

  "Ugh!" he groaned.

  "You'll get used to it," Winnie said.

  But he seriously doubted it.

  Irene pulled him gently from his chair, feeling his face once more. "No school today for you. Let's get you back to bed."

  This time he offered no resistance, but followed docilely alongside her. At one time he would have loved getting out of school, even if it meant taking that horrible medicine, but he liked school pretty good now and kind of hated missing it.

  "Will you tell Danny that I'm sick?" he asked her as she tucked him into Lydia's bed.

  "Yes. I'm sure he'll miss playing with you at recess."

  "Will he be able to come over and see me after school?"

  She pulled the covers up to his chin. "Well, I'm not sure that's such a good idea. What if he catches your cold and then has to miss school just when you're getting better?"

  "Oh. Yeah. I didn't think of that. Just tell him to send a note instead."

  "I will," she answered, brushing his thick brown hair back from his face.

  "Miss Barrett?"

  "Hmm?"

  "I never told you this, but I like living in your house. A lot." He tried to smile, but he was too tired and hot. "I think you're a pretty good teacher, too." His eyes drifted shut.

  "Thank you, Jonathan. That means a lot to me," she said softly. Frowning at the flush on his cheeks, she laid her hand against their bright pinkness. It's probably just a cold, she told herself, nothing to worry about. All children come down with one at least once during the winter. Still, she wouldn't rest easy until that fever was gone.

  Downstairs, Lydia wiped the last dish as Irene walked into the kitchen. "How is he?"

  Irene could see the concern on her face and forced herself to sound positive. "It's just a cold, I'm sure. A day in bed will make all the difference."

  "Jonathan never gets sick," Lydia said. "But when he does . . . Well, he always worried Mama."

  It was the first reference Lydia had made to her mother, and for some reason it gave Irene an odd catch in her chest, a sort of prick almost like a wound. But she forced the feeling aside.

  ''We'll check on him at noon," she said. "He'll be all right with Mother to look after him."

  Lydia nodded and pulled on her coat.

  All morning, neither of them could help thinking about Jonathan, wondering if he was better and maybe even giving Winnie a hard time. At least they hoped that was how it was.

  At noon they hurried home to see for themselves.

  Winnie met them at the back door. "Irene, I think we should get the doctor. That child is burning up, and nothing I do seems to help." She wrung her hands. "I wish I had my bag of herbs."

  Irene pulled off her coat and hung it over a chair. Turning to Lydia, she said calmly, "You know where Doctor Stephens' office is, don't you?

  "Wide-eyed, Lydia nodded.

  "If he isn't there, you know where his house is, right?"

  She nodded again.

  "Good girl." Irene smiled reassuringly. "Everything is going to be all right. We'll just have the doctor take a look at him and make sure it's only a cold."

  "Irene," Winnie began, "I think that boy has pneumonia." She wrung her hands again.

  Without a word, Lydia dashed out
the back door.

  Fear clutched Irene's heart. Pneumonia. Children died from pneumonia, and there was so little they could do to stop it.

  "We don't know that, Mother," she replied, forcing herself to remain calm. "We'll wait for the doctor to decide." With that, she turned and went upstairs, a prayer forming on her lips.

  Lydia ran as fast as the snowy streets would allow her. The bursts of her frosty breaths could not keep up and trailed behind, only to disappear.

  "Oh, please," she whispered, hoping God would hear. "Don't let Jonathan die." He was all she had left. Don't let me lose him, too!

  She tried not to remember how feverish her mother had been or how bad she'd coughed. She tried to think only about how fast she must run to get the doctor and concentrated on not falling down and delaying her mission. Hurry, hurry, she told herself.

  With her head more down than up, she didn't see the man who had just come out of the livery stable, and with a solid thump she slammed into his chest.

  "Oh!" she cried.

  "Whoa there!" he said, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Lydia? Is that you?"

  "Ross?" She looked at his familiar, kind face and, like a dam bursting with the pressure, she released a torrent of tears.

  "What's wrong? Tell me," he insisted, peering into her tear-streaked face. "Is it Irene? Jonathan?"

  Nodding her head she said, "He's sick. I'mI'm going for the doctor." She tried to get a hold of herself, but she was so afraid. Mama had died of pneumonia, and she just couldn't lose Jonathan, too!

  Ross's instant relief that nothing was wrong with Irene was quickly replaced with worry for Jonathan.

  "I'll go with you."

  They found Doc Stephens at home having lunch. In a matter of minutes he had his coat on, tucking his scarf around his throat. When they arrived at the back door, they were greeted by a very nervous Winnie.

  "Oh, I'm so glad Lydia found you, Doctor," Winnie said. "Hello, Mr. Hollister." She took their coats. ''I was just making some tea for Irene. Would you like some later?"

  Both men declined.

  "Follow me," she said and led the way up to the room where Jonathan lay in a feverish sleep.

  Irene heard them coming and was relieved that Lydia had found the doctor home. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she smoothed the covers under Jonathan's chin, then touched his hot, dry cheek. He looked so small in the big bed with its thick comforterso vulnerable, too. Rising, she turned to speak her thankfulness when she saw Ross standing there beside the doctor.

  Her first instinct was to go to him and wrap her arms around him for comfort, but of course she didn't. Instead, she allowed a measure of relief to wash over her at just having him near at a time when she needed his comfort.

  Without saying a word, she stepped aside and Doctor Stephens took her place. He laid a hand on Jonathan's brow, then pulled back the covers. Jonathan flinched at the sudden cold but didn't open his eyes. While the doctor checked him over, Irene stood with the others in tense silence.

  Ross moved to stand beside her, his hand slipping into hers, gripping it with reassurance. She didn't dare look at him for fear of dissolving into tears, but she was grateful he'd come, so very grateful.

  At the foot of the bed, Winnie stood with an arm around Lydia's shoulders.

  Turning from his patient, the doctor scanned the worried faces surrounding him. "He's a very sick boy, which you already knew or you wouldn't have sent for me." He took a bottle of medicine from his bag. "I have no doubt he's come down with pneumonia."

  Lydia's body went rigid, and she forced herself not to burst into tears again. Later, she promised herself, later when she was alone.

  "But," the doctor went on, "he's young and strong, and with the proper care as well as a few prayerswell, I think he's got a good chance of throwing a few more snowballs before winter is over. Now I'm not saying this isn't seriousit is. Very serious. But like I said, with the proper care, which should come easily in this household"he smiled at Winnie, Irene, and Lydia"he should improve.

  I'll leave this medicine for you to give to him. Whether he likes it or not, understand?

  "They all nodded.

  "Good. Now, I believe I'll have that tea, Mrs. Barrett. It smelled like mint. Am I right?" With a twinkle in his blue eyes, he added, "Did you know that mint is wonderful for a cold?"

  With one last look of concern toward Jonathan, Winnie led the doctor out of the room. "Yes, I've always believed in the powers of the plant. Doctor, perhaps you could tell me if you've used garlic and honey as a tonic and what results have you had?"

  Their voices slowly ebbed until their words were indistinguishable.

  "Is he going to" Lydia sniffled and wiped at her nose. "Is he?" She moved to the bedside, wanting to be closer to her brother.

  "Whatever we have to do to help him get better, we'll do," Irene told her.

  "I'll stay up all night with him," Lydia promised.

  "We'll take turns," Irene replied. With a catch in her throat, she watched as Lydia crawled up on the bed, tucking her feet under her.

  Ross leaned over the sleeping boy and brushed the hair from his face. Then, leading Irene by the hand toward the door, he stepped into the hall and pulled her into his arms. She went willingly, allowing him to cradle her while he rubbed her shoulders and felt the tension in her back.

  "He'll be all right," he whispered into her hair. "You'll see."

  With her eyes closed, she accepted his soothing ministrations. How wonderful to be held so securely by his strong arms, to share her emotions in this unspoken way.

  "I'll stay if you want me to," he offered, hoping she'd take him up on it but not wanting to push.

  Oh, yes, she did want him to stay! To stay forever like this, holding her, helping her keep strong for Lydia and Jonathan! But she knew she couldn't expect that of him, even though for once she didn't give a tinker's damn what the people of this town thought.

  Pulling away, she looked up at him. "Thank you, but I'll be all right, and there are three of us to look after him."

  "I'll stop by again later. If that's okay with you."

  Smiling, she nodded. "That would be fine. Maybe by then he'll be a little better." She knew that was wishful thinking, but at least it was positive thinking.

  Grasping her by the shoulders, he bent and kissed her forehead, lingering over the scent of her closeness. "If you need anything, anything at all, will you promise to send Lydia for me?"

  She nodded, her forehead rolling against his chin. "I promise."

  He backed away then, slowly dropping his arms to his sides, hating to let her go. "If you need anything . . ."

  "I promise," she repeated.

  He nodded, then turned to go.

  Irene went hack to stand beside the bed, where she could hear Jonathan's labored breathing. How could he have gotten so bad so quickly? she wondered. Had he been sick for a while and she just didn't notice since she was so wrapped up in her own emotions?

  She pulled up a chair and sat close to the bed. She might be a teacher, and a good one too, but she wasn't a mother. Maybe she didn't have the instinct for it. Surely, if she did, Jonathan wouldn't be so sick right now.

  Before he left, she asked Doctor Stephens to drop by the school to say that she wouldn't be in for the remainder of the day. Her class would have to be incorporated into Clara's, which would please neither Clara nor Irene's students, but there was simply nothing else she could do. Perhaps by tomorrow Jonathan would show some sign of improvement. She prayed so.

  For the rest of the day, Lydia and Irene kept their vigil, bathing Jonathan's hot forehead with cool cloths. Winnie prepared chicken broth and made bread, occasionally leaving her duties to check on Jonathan or bring a cup of tea for Irene and warm milk for Lydia.

  Later Winnie came quietly into the room, lit a lamp, and slipped an extra shawl around Irene's shoulders, then coaxed Lydia off the bed. "You need to get some rest," she said softly to the girl. "We don't want you coming down with it, too.
"

  "I'd rather stay here," she insisted.

  "Mother's right," Irene said. "I want you to put on a warm gown and climb into my bed. If there's any change, I promise to wake you." Irene tucked a wisp of hair behind Lydia's ear. "All right?''

  "I won't sleep. I know I won't," she replied reluctantly.

  "Well, at least try to rest. And stay warm."

  "I don't have to go to school tomorrow, do I?"

  "Of course not. I'll be staying home, too."

  "All right," Lydia said, giving in. "But if you want me to sit up while you sleep, I will."

  "We'll all take turns," Winnie said. "So come along."

  With a backward glance, Lydia followed Winnie out of the room.

  Irene watched Jonathan's shallow breathing, herself taking deeper breaths in an attempt to help him. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she saw that the next dose of medicine wasn't due for another thirty minutes. She wished the time would hurry. Anxiety forced her to touch his fevered brow for the tenth time in twice as many minutes. She wrung out the cloth in the washbasin and applied it. If only he was well enough to run, slam the back door, shout for Lydia, even pout and complain about having to go to school. If only . . .

  "It's nearly time for his medicine," Winnie spoke softly from behind Irene.

  "I know. If only it would take hold quickly."

  "I'm keeping the fires going downstairs so that it won't be nearly so cold in here."

  Irene nodded while she bathed his bright pink cheeks again.

  "Mother, if anything happens to him . . ." Her throat closed, choking off the unbearable words.

  "Now we won't think such things," Winnie said, paring her shoulder in understanding. "He's a strong boy, and we'll do whatever it takes to see to it that he gets well."

  Another glance at the clock said it was time for Jonathan's medicine. Irene sat on the edge of the bed, supporting his head and shoulders in a raised position while Winnie spooned the proper dosage into him. He coughed a little and opened his too-bright eyes, then lay back on the pillow.