Abiding Love

by Melody Morgan

  "Are you thirsty?" Irene asked.

  He nodded.

  She poured a glass from the pitcher on the table and held it for him to drink. Then he closed his eyes and drifted off.

  "I know it's good for him to sleep," Irene said.

  "Best thing for him."

  "But I'm concerned when I can't talk to him."

  "I know just what you mean," Winnie said. "When Janie had pneumonia, I had the hardest time keeping myself from waking her up every few minutes just to ask how she was feeling. Of course, your father was there and he was a great help, assuring me that she would he fine and to let her rest. I did, and she was. Jonathan will he fine, too." She rested her hand on her daughter's arm.

  "Thanks, Mother," she replied, squeezing her mother's hand. "I'd forgotten Janie was so ill when she was young. You'd certainly never know it now." She smiled, thinking of her younger sister.

  "Why don't you go down and make us a pot of mint tea while I sit here for a while," Winnie suggested. "You probably need to straighten out a few of your muscles before you get cramped."

  "All fight." Irene left the room, stopping downstairs in the parlor to add another chunk of wood to the fire. In the kitchen she put on the kettle and prepared the tea for the teapot. It was going to be a long night and probably the first of many.

  Carrying the tray upstairs, she wondered what she would do about her students at school. She couldn't continue having Clara crowd them into her room. The only thing she could do was to contact Mr. Walker; perhaps he could take over for her as he'd done for one of the other teachers. Hopefully it would only be for a few days. Surely Jonathan would be showing some signs of improving by then. She prayed he would.

  She placed the tea tray on the stand and poured two cups.

  "That smells wonderful," Winnie said, accepting the cup Irene offered her. "You know, I think Dr. Stephens is a very modern man. He's so open-minded that you just can't help but trust him."

  "That's because he didn't disapprove of your herbal remedies."

  "That, too. And he doesn't seem to have the gloomy approach so many doctors have. I like him."

  "I think Jonathan will like him, too." Irene pulled up another chair alongside her mother's.

  "Before this is all said and done, Jonathan will undoubtedly have Dr. Stephens promising to take him fishing in the spring," Winnie said, with a bit of hopefulness in her voice.

  As he had Ross, Irene thought, which brought another problem to mind.

  "Mother," Irene began, feeling as though she needed to clear the air between them on this subject, "I've decided not to participate in the temperance meetings anymore."

  Setting her cup down in the saucer on her lap, Winnie stared at her daughter with relief. "You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that."

  "Clara will be furious."

  "Let her."

  "I have to make my own choices."

  "You certainly have that right. Everybody does."

  Irene knew there was more to be said, but not now. Not when she was so worried about Jonathan. She set aside her half-empty cup and leaned over the bed.

  "He seems to be sleeping soundly," Irene whispered, noticing his even, although shallow, breathing.

  "It's the medicine."

  He looked so small and vulnerable tucked beneath the comforter that way. Even his hands were hidden from view.

  "Have you heard anything from the children's aunt?" Winnie asked.

  "No, nothing. I suppose I should send another letter. Maybe I'm not sending it to the right place. Lydia wasn't sure of the woman's location. Anything could have happened to the ones I've sent."

  "Yes, I suppose you should." Her feelings weren't as set about that as they once had been.

  Jonathan coughed, a dry, wheezing sound, and both women turned their attention to him. Irene looked at the clock, wishing the time away until they could give him more medicine.

  Winnie laid her hand on his forehead. "I believe I'll go down and check the fires," she said, gathering up the cups.

  When she'd gone, Irene took her place beside the bed, pulling the shawl she wore closer to her. Although the room was chilled, it wasn't cold and she knew Jonathan was plenty warm beneath the comforter even without the fever. She supposed it was her nervousness that caused her to shiver.

  She glanced at the clock again. Eleven-thirty and she wasn't the least bit sleepytired and tense maybe, but not sleepy.

  The creak of a stair tread was common enough, but this time it was louder than usual, making Irene turn to see who it was. Within a few seconds, Ross stood at the door. Her heart quickened at the sight of him.

  "Your mother said it was all right to come up. How is he?"

  Rising from her seat, she faced him. "The same, I think." She took a step away from the bed. "What do you think?"

  He quietly crossed the room to stand beside her and stared down at the motionless boy, who had never been motionless during the whole time Ross had known him.

  "No change. Yet." He turned his gaze to her. "He'll be better tomorrow. You'll see."

  It helped hearing him say that, and it gave her more than hope; it gave her a little peace. Something about his presence did that to her; she'd sensed itno, felt itbefore. When they were on the adventure in the woods, she'd had a feeling of security and solidity just being with him. And again, when they'd gone ice-skating alone, she'd felt free, but even better than that she'd felt protected, cared for in a way she'd never experienced with Andrew.

  "Has he complained about the medicine yet?" he asked, leaning down to touch Jonathan's face.

  "No. He hardly seems aware that we're giving it to him."

  Then he turned to her. "How are you holding up?"

  "Me? I'm all right. I'm just worried. I can't seem to help it. I only want him to get better. Soon."

  To her surprise, he gathered her in his arms and held her. She tucked her head beneath his chin, closing her eyes, then relaxed against him. Under other circumstances she would have reveled in the feel of him, the smell of him. But now she simply welcomed his strength and support. They stayed like that for several long minutes with the quiet thud of his heart soft and steady in her ear.

  Irene was the first to break the pose.

  "He'd be so glad to know you're here," she said, reluctantly moving away. "You know he talks about you all the time."

  Ross smiled. "I'll bet that gets kind of old after a little while."

  She smiled back, apologetically. "Well, I'll admit I was a little jealous."

  "You have no need to be. He likes it here and he likes you."

  Nodding, she replied, "He said the same thing today. He even said I was a good teacher."

  "I'd be willing to bet you're the best," he said, softly. "If you had been my teacher, I might not have skipped out to go fishing so often."

  "That's very nice of you to say that."

  "I mean it," he replied with an earnestness that made her look at him. "And a whole lot more."

  His gray-blue eyes had the warmth of a summer sky, and she felt as drawn to him as any flower would be to the sun. The intensity of his gaze held her transfixed while she tried to discern his thoughts. Neither moved nor spoke.

  Winnie stood in the doorway, knowing they were unaware of her presence. She sensed rather than saw what was transpiring between them, and being uneasy with it she rustled her skirts and cleared her throat to break the spell. She had enough worrying on her hands with Jonathan, and this was the last thing she intended to get into with Irene. At least for now it was.

  "Any improvement?" she asked, as though she hadn't witnessed anything out of the ordinary.

  "No," Irene replied, turning to Jonathan once more.

  Winnie took the chair Irene had vacated, pulling her shawl around her and settling in like a brood hen.

  Unable to miss the message she was sending him, Ross stepped away from the bed and Irene. "I guess I'll be going. You need your rest."

  "I'll walk you out," Irene off
ered, leading the way toward the door.

  When they were downstairs in the kitchen, Irene turned to Ross.

  "I should apologize for Mother."

  "No, that's all right. At least she's straightforward in her own way." He grinned.

  "Well, would you like a cup of coffee before you go?" she asked. "I haven't exactly had a lot of practice at making it, but if you're willing to let me experiment on you, I'll give it another try."

  "Sounds good," he replied. "I'll give you a hand."

  She got out the beans and the little grinder, while he offered suggestions on the length of time to grind them and how much to put into the pot.

  "That much is easy to remember," she said. "It's the boiling time I'm not sure about."

  He stood beside the stove, enjoying the warmth of her company. "Well, there's no doubt about it, time is important." The time he'd been spending with her had come to be very important.

  She walked around the table in the soft glow of the lamp to the cupboard, from which she removed a stoneware mug. Smiling, she lifted the mug and said, "I thought you might be more comfortable drinking from this instead of a china cup."

  He knew immediately that she'd bought it just for him and couldn't help being pleased. Grinning sheepishly, he replied, "Did I look that obvious?"

  "No, not really. I just suspected it." Turning her attention toward the boiling pot, she asked, "Is that long enough?"

  Ross nodded, so she pushed it to the cooler part of the stove. The pleasant aroma filled the room. It would be so easy to get used to this, he thought. But what would her reaction be if he told her about his past? Would she be so willing to serve him coffee if she knew the truth about him? Not likely, he decided. His being a saloon owner had been a big enough obstacle to overcome, and he wasn't sure it had actually been overcome so much as temporarily overlooked. No, if he told her now, it would break these new-found feelings and he didn't want that to happen-not yet, maybe not ever.

  As he took the filled mug from her hand, their eyes met through the steamy vapors. He held her gaze as long as she let him, until finally she drew away and seated herself at the table.

  "I hope there'll be a change for the better by morning," she said, returning to what was uppermost in their minds. "If only the medicine would take effect."

  He pulled out a chair and sat across from her. "He's a tough little fellow. You can't deny that."

  "And thank goodness for it."

  After that they sat in silence; everything seemingly had been said, and neither could think of anything else to say.

  Ross took a sip of his coffee while he continued to watch her. Unaware, she thoughtfully traced an ironed crease in the table cloth.

  "Well, I'm keeping you from Jonathan," he said, gulping down the last of it.

  "Mother would let me know immediately if there was a change."

  "I'd better be going anyway." He rose and took his hat from the peg where he usually hung it. "Remember, if you need anything, just send for me."

  "I will," Irene replied.

  "I'll drop by sometime tomorrow."

  She nodded. "Good night. And thank you for coming by."

  "Good night," he said. Then he was gone. But his presence lingered, giving Irene a measure of comfort.

  Once upstairs, she went directly to Jonathan's bedside.

  "I'll take the first watch," Winnie said. "I'll wake you when I need some rest."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive."

  "Well, I guess I am tired." She leaned down and kissed her mother's cheek. "Good night."

  Irene undressed in the dark and climbed in beside Lydia, who stirred, then became wide awake.

  "How's Jonathan?" she asked.

  "The same, dear. Go back to sleep."

  "I don't think I can. Is Mrs. Barrett with him?"

  "Yes."

  "I think I'll sit up with her a while," she said, scooting from the bed.

  "Take a blanket to keep yourself warm."

  "I will."

  Alone, Irene closed her eyes. It was important that she get some rest, she told herself, if she was going to be any help to Jonathan or her mother. And after only a few minutes, she drifted off.

  The next few days were a repetition of the first except that those who watched over Jonathan and cared for him had become more quiet and somber-eyed. At Winnie's suggestion, they began a process of patting Jonathan's back after he'd been roused for his medicine in an attempt to help "loosen his lungs." She said it was what she'd done for Janie, and she didn't see how it could hurt anything. It had made good sense then, and it made good sense now. Neither Irene nor the doctor disagreed.

  Ross came to call, sometimes twice a day, and Dr. Stephens stopped by every morning, but he could only tell them what they could already see: there was no improvement.

  Then, on the evening of the fourth day, Jonathan's fever dropped and the tight cough gave way to a loose, productive one.

  Irene stood at the stove, stirring a pot of vegetable soup. She and her mother agreed that it was important to keep nourishing food in Jonathan's body. Surprisingly, they had agreed on several things lately. She ladled a small amount into a dish just as Lydia burst into the room.

  "It's down!" she all but shouted at Irene. "The fever broke!"

  Quickly setting aside the dish, Irene replied, "Thank God," and hurried along behind Lydia, who had already turned and dashed from the room.

  Upstairs, Irene rushed to the bedside, where Winnie was sitting holding Jonathan's hand.

  Leaning over, she pressed her lips against his now cool forehead, saying a silent prayer of thanks. Moving away, she said to him, "How are you feeling?"

  "I'm hungry," he said, his voice weak.

  "Well, what would you like?" she asked, willing to give him just about anything.

  "Something besides soup," he replied.

  Irene and Lydia laughed, and even Winnie couldn't help smiling.

  "How about soup for now with some biscuits, and tomorrow we'll make something you can sink your teeth into?"

  He nodded. "I'm too tired to chew much anyway."

  "I'll be right back," she said, touching his face once more just to feel its coolness.

  As she was leaving the room, she heard Lydia say, "Oh, Jonathan, you gave us a real scare. I'm so glad you're getting better."

  And she agreed. Never had she felt such a depth of fear. She'd fought against the sickening worry that gripped her heart, knowing deep inside that this child could be taken from her. It was too easy to believe in the worst, and she'd tried so hard not to, harder than she'd even realized until now. As she descended the stairs, her legs shook with her relief.

  By the time she got to the kitchen, the previous days of worry took their toll, and standing in the doorway she leaned her forehead against the framework. Unable to stem the tide, she allowed the tears to flow. What would she have done if something, the unthinkable, had happened? Thank God, oh, thank God, he was beginning to improve!

  A knock at the back door escaped her awareness, so wrapped up was she in the overwhelming release. When the door opened, she wasn't startled, but glad to see Ross's face. Quietly, she walked toward him.

  ''What is it? Has he gotten worse?" Tension showed in the lines around his mouth. The worry had gotten the best of him, too.

  "No," she said, and walked into his waiting arms. The comfort and security of his embrace cushioned her tumultuous feelings and eased the anxiety that had built up within her for so long. Even longer than Jonathan's illness, she now realized.

  "What then?"

  Without raising her head she spoke into the coolness of his jacket, "The fever broke."

  Barely intelligible, her words caused his eyes to close in thankfulness. "I was beginning to worry that maybe he wouldn't make it." Tightening his hold on her, he rubbed the tenseness out of her back and shoulders.

  "I know," she said, the tears once more flowing. It felt so wonderful to have his strong arms hold her like this. S
o wonderful.

  "I've been worried about you, too," he said, kissing the soft curling hair at her temples.

  She lifted her face to his, needing more than just being held and stroked. He lowered his lips and gently touched hers. The warmth of his kiss spread like warm honey in the sunshine. Then he deepened the kiss, igniting her from within, and a desire such as she'd never experienced overtook her. It carried her to a peak that she could not seem to climb, nor could she leave it. Her arms stole around his neck and she felt the pressure of his body against hers, molding and melding. A small groan emanated from him, sending shivers down her spine, a chill which soon warmed and heated in her rising passion. Never had she been brought to this height before, and never was the soonest she wanted to leave it.

  Breaking their bond, Ross traced the line of her jaw to the tender spot at the curve of her neck. His breathing was as erratic as hers, and he wondered who would have the will to bring them under control. She was a treasure, and he feared that if he let her go he might not be allowed to sample it again. If she knew his past, the truth . . .

  "Irene," he said, suddenly able to get a grip on his escalating emotions with the sobering thought that she really knew nothing about him.

  She lay limp in his arms, relaxed to the point of wilting.

  "Hmm?" she responded.

  "If your mother should see us . . ."

  "She'd see two adults doing what adults do."

  "She'd be very angry with me."

  "I'd tell her it was my idea."

  "Then she'd be angry with you."

  "I don't care," she said with emphasis, smiling. And she meant it.

  He kissed her lightly. "I don't want to be the cause of any more trouble between you and your mother. Especially not now, with this good news about Jonathan."

  "It is wonderful, isn't it?" she replied, moving back in the circle of his arms. "Do you want to go up and see him?"

  "You don't have to ask twice," he said, following her.

  Inside the bedroom, Lydia was telling Jonathan about all the friends who had asked about him. Her chatter could be heard to the foot of the stairs. When Ross entered with Irene, she turned happily to him to give the same good news he'd already heard.