Embers of Love

by Tracie Peterson

  Lizzie wanted to cheer. Instead, she came to G. W.’s side as Stuart picked himself up off the porch floor. She took hold of G. W.’s arm just in case he had thoughts of continuing the fight.

  “I think it’s time for you and Mother to leave,” she said in a soft, but firm, tone. She looked to G. W. “Would you mind getting the door?”

  He quickly complied, leading her into the house. Lizzie noted the stunned expression of her mother and addressed her immediately.

  “Mother, Stuart has explained your arrangements with him regarding our marriage. I realize your cause is more important to you than I am, but I refuse to be used in this manner.”

  Her mother stared back at her with openmouthed surprise. For a moment, she was struck speechless, but then her wits returned. Getting to her feet, she pointed a finger at Lizzie.

  “You are an ungrateful wretch of a child. No doubt this is the influence of your new friends, but I will not tolerate the selfishness. You will do as you’re told. I will not see my cause suffer because of your unwillingness to aid us.”

  “Aid you?” Lizzie exchanged a glance with G. W. “You mean sacrifice my life and happiness for you. This is far more than simply ‘aiding.’ You require my entire being – my all.”

  “And what if I do? It’s no more or less than I’ve given.”

  “But you forget, Mother – this is your cause, not mine.”

  “Women’s rights should be the issue of every female in this country,” Harriet countered. “How can we hope to convince the men who run this country if we cannot even rally our sisters to the cause?”

  Lizzie shrugged. “I have no idea, nor am I overly concerned about it. I will not sacrifice my happiness for a political scheme.” By this time, Stuart had come to stand only a few feet away. She turned to him. “Nor will I sacrifice for the sake of your inheritance.”

  “This is completely unreasonable,” her mother said. “You have no idea the harm you are causing.”

  Shaking her head, Lizzie looked at them with great sadness in her heart. She was nothing more than a pawn in their game. “You have no idea the harm you’ve already caused.”

  –––––––

  “I’m proud of you,” Deborah declared when Lizzie finished revealing the evening’s conversation. “And I would have dearly loved to have seen G. W. put Stuart Albright in his place.”

  “It wasn’t as satisfying as you might have imagined.”

  Deborah could hear the sadness in her friend’s tone. “Look, it will be all right. We’ll go see the lawyer in Lufkin, and if he can’t help, then we’ll go to Houston. We’ll get your annulment and that will be the end of it.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “I know I threatened Stuart I’d do so, but the truth is, I have very little money left. And without Father’s help, I have no way to get any more.”

  “You leave that to us,” Deborah replied. “I’m certain everyone in this family will want to give you whatever you need.”

  “I can’t take advantage of you in that way. I need to find work that will pay me.”

  “Nonsense. Don’t let your pride stand in the way. Besides, I can easily train you to assist me. As we add more employees and more expenses, I’ll need the help.”

  “I suppose I could try it,” Lizzie said with a shrug, “but if it doesn’t work out, then I’ll have to search for something else.”

  Deborah smiled. “It will work out. You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Deborah looked at the town constable the next day and then to the sign posted on a barricade in the middle of the dirt road. The entry into Perkinsville was clearly blocked by the crudely constructed warning: Quarantine. She applied the wagon brake and questioned the man standing at its base.

  “Ralph, what in the world has happened here?”

  He tipped his hat in greeting, then announced, “It’s typhoid, Miss Deborah. I can’t let anyone in or out – Dr. Clayton’s orders.”

  She looked to her mother. “I suppose we aren’t going to be able to trade at the commissary.”

  “Ralph, is there much sickness?” Euphanel asked.

  “The Fosters came down with it first, and most everyone who lives near them.” The younger man pushed his hat back. “Looks to be bad.”

  “And your family, Ralph? Caroline, the boys?” Mother asked.

  “They’re fine . . . for now. Thanks for askin’, Miz Vandermark.”

  Deborah thought of Dr. Clayton. He would be overwhelmed with work. “Is there anything we can do to help? I could stay here and assist Dr. Clayton.”

  “No, Miss Deborah, I cain’t let you in. Dr. Clayton said you might suggest such a thing, but I was to turn you away.”

  She felt her cheeks flush. Dr. Clayton had presumed to know how she would respond. Worse still, he’d told Ralph about it. Her mother seemed to sense her embarrassment and moved the conversation on.

  “What about supplies, Ralph? Does the doctor have everything he needs? We can always bring things to you and leave them here.”

  “Right now everything seems to be under control. Doc says we need to see how far this has spread before we’ll really know what’s needed.”

  Deborah suddenly remembered Lizzie’s mother. “What of Mrs. Decker and Mr. Albright? Did they leave on the morning train?”

  “No one was allowed to board the train. They’re still here, quarantined with the rest of the folks.”

  “Oh dear,” Mother said, shaking her head. “That will not bode well with them.”

  “No, ma’am,” Ralph agreed. “They tried earlier to head out your way, and I had to turn them back. That Mr. Albright wasn’t at all happy.”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t,” Deborah muttered.

  “Well, I suppose you’d best turn the wagon around, Deborah. Ralph, you let the doctor know that we’ll check back. If he needs anything – or if you need anything – we’d be happy to help.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d send word to my family. Tell Caroline to hold up at the house and not let anyone in or out. No sense in risking it.”

  “We’ll stop by there on our way home,” Mother assured. “Take care of yourself, Ralph.”

  “You, too, Miz Vandermark, Miss Deborah.” He tipped his hat again.

  Deborah released the brake and turned the horses in a tight circle.

  “I do hope this will pass quickly.”

  Deborah saw the worry in her mother’s expression. “Dr. Clayton is a good doctor, Mama.”

  “Yes, but typhoid is quite dangerous. I’ve seen these epidemics before.”

  She wished she had words to comfort her mother. Deborah knew something about typhoid. William Wood Gerhard of Philadelphia had established typhoid as a specific disease in 1837. She had attended a lecture at the university dealing with various diseases, and Gerhard had been mentioned with great pride.

  Typhoid was now known to be spread through fecal-contaminated water and milk, as well as a general lack of cleanliness from person to person. Deborah remembered that the prominent markers of the disease were fever and diarrhea. There were four main stages of the illness, and each one had its miseries.

  “You are worried, aren’t you?”

  Deborah turned to face her mother. “I remember hearing a lecture about typhoid and the many dangers for those stricken.”

  Her mother nodded. “It will be weeks before we know the full effect.”

  “I was just thinking on that. At least four weeks are needed to let the disease run its course, right?”

  “Yes, at least.”

  “The people have been so afraid to use Dr. Clayton’s services,” Deborah said thoughtfully. “I suppose they will have to let him help them now.”

  “Perhaps this is the very thing necessary to bring the people to their senses,” Mother replied. “Although it’s a hard lesson to endure, people often have to come to the end of their own self-sufficiency in order to trust someone else.”

  “Just like we sometimes have to come to our lo
west point in order to trust God.”

  “Exactly like that. We are very stubborn children at times, and acknowledging our need of God is difficult. It makes us feel helpless – out of control. Little do folks realize that when we put God in charge, only then do we find true confidence and liberty from worry. Maybe the townsfolk will see the same thing with Dr. Clayton. They will come to trust him when they come to the end of their own abilities.”

  Deborah knew her mother was right. “So long as they don’t blame him for the typhoid. I’ve seen folks do that, as well. Blame their caregivers for the very ailment they help them with. Still, Dr. Clayton has often mentioned Mrs. Foster’s lack of hand washing and keeping wounds clean. I suppose it’s possible that she’s the cause of this epidemic.”

  “There’s no real way of knowing, so there’s no sense in accusing her. It won’t change the situation now.”

  “Perhaps not, but if she could understand that it was her unwillingness to listen to Dr. Clayton’s advice that caused this sickness, maybe she would gain a desire to change. I don’t doubt at all that Mrs. Foster knows a good deal about healing, but with the discovery of bacteria and the cause of diseases, her methods are antiquated.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but I’d say nothing about it for now. It would serve Dr. Clayton better to simply treat the sick and prove himself capable of helping turn this situation to good.”

  “He’ll have no one to help him,” Deborah murmured, not really meaning to speak the words aloud.

  Mother patted her leg. “He’ll have God, Deborah. You told me he’s a man who fears the Lord and prays. God will not abandon him to face this on his own.”

  “I know, but I fear that with so many folks suffering, he’ll have to work alone. He will risk his own health, and that could leave us without a doctor.”

  “Then we must pray for him more than ever,” her mother suggested.

  “That’s the hardest part,” Deborah said, shaking her head. “It seems so little.”

  “But it’s not. You are petitioning the King of all things for help.” Mother smiled. “God knows what Dr. Clayton faces physically and spiritually.”

  “But Mrs. Foster is responsible for turning the people against Dr. Clayton.”

  “And God is able to change that, as well.” Euphanel grasped Deborah’s hand. “God is in control, Deborah. Let Him change hearts, for you cannot.”

  –––––––

  Lizzie was anxious for G. W. and the other men to return from logging. Word had been sent by Mr. Perkins that the mill was running at a very limited capacity, since more and more of the men had fallen ill. So far the Vandermark employees and family were faring well, and Arjan wanted to use the time to work ahead on cutting trees. The logs could sit and wait until they were needed – a sort of insurance against problems that might yet befall them.

  Everyday activities went on much as they always had, with exception to their weekly trips into town. Lizzie thought of her mother and Stuart. Had they succumbed to typhoid? For all of her frustration with the duo, she could not wish them ill and found herself praying for their health and safety frequently throughout the day.

  Putting another kettle of water to boil, Lizzie checked the clock again. G. W. should be home within the half hour. She hurried to pour a cooled pan of water into a pitcher for use. Deborah had insisted that they boil all water and milk – apparently it helped to kill any typhoid bacteria. It seemed a lot of fuss since none of them were showing signs of the illness, but Lizzie knew Deborah was far more learned about such things and complied without complaining. If it kept them well, it would be worth the extra work. She would be devastated if G. W. took ill.

  It amazed her that she’d grown to love this man so dearly. He was nothing like the man she’d imagined herself marrying, yet he understood her as no one had before – not even Deborah. He admired her artistic abilities but also encouraged her to learn new skills. He also offered her laughter and joy, things that had been sorely missing in her life until now.

  “Have the men returned?” Deborah asked as she strode into the kitchen.

  “I don’t think so. Since the train isn’t running, I can’t always hear them when they get in. I suppose they should be back soon, however.” Lizzie turned her attention to the oven and pulled out a large pan of creamed ham and potatoes. “Supper’s ready.”

  “It smells wonderful,” Deborah said, going to the back door. She looked outside for a moment, then turned back to her friend. “I wish I knew how things were going in town.”

  “I know. I do, too. I was just wondering if Mother or Stuart had taken sick.”

  Deborah nodded. “I know. I thought of them, too. Hopefully, Dr. Clayton will have warned everyone to boil their water and wash thoroughly.”

  “Is there nothing else that can be done?”

  “Not that I’m aware.” Deborah took down plates from the cupboard. “Even amongst scientists, there are arguments and debates on how best to manage sickness. I suppose Mother is right in saying that it’s all in God’s hands. We can only watch and wait.”

  The unmistakable sound of the men drifted through the windows. They were bringing the mules in, and it would only be a short time before they’d come to the house, expecting their supper.

  “I guess we’d best get a move on,” Lizzie said. “Gracious, just listen to me. I’m sounding more and more like a Texan.”

  Deborah laughed and headed to the dining room while Lizzie began cutting the corn bread. She found a great sense of satisfaction in her routine here, and hopefully tonight she would find herself sitting beside G. W. on the porch after supper. She shivered slightly at the thought. She hoped he would ask her to marry him soon. They both knew it was an implied desire, but the question had never been posed.

  She frowned as a thought came to mind. Perhaps G. W. wouldn’t ask for her hand until the annulment was secured. She supposed that was only right. He was a gentleman, and a good Christian man. He wouldn’t want to besmirch her reputation.

  Putting such matters aside, Lizzie squared her shoulders and stacked the corn bread on a plate. No matter what happened, things were better here than they’d ever been in Philadelphia. God would see her through. She had to trust that He had made a way through for all of them.

  –––––––

  G. W. finished washing his face and hands. He took the towel and dried off, then drew a comb from his pocket and smoothed back his damp hair.

  “You sure are gone over Miss Lizzie,” Rob teased him. “I ain’t never known you to worry overmuch about your looks.”

  “No one could ever fuss as much as you do,” his brother countered.

  Rob shrugged. “I have my reputation to uphold, don’t ya know. The ladies expect me to look my best.”

  G. W. laughed and put the comb back in his pocket. “You’re gonna have to pick just one of ’em and settle down soon. Ain’t good for a man to be alone – God himself said as much.”

  “I’m hardly alone, big brother. ’Cept for now, maybe. What with the quarantine, I can hardly head to town for my usual sparkin’.” He frowned. “Sure hope things are going good for folks.”

  “I do, too,” G. W. replied, heading to the house. “But right now, I’m hopin’ even more that supper’s hot and waitin’ on the table.”

  He bounded up the steps and into the house. The pleasant aroma of coffee and ham filled the air. Much to his satisfaction, he found Lizzie watching him from the corner of the kitchen.

  “You look like the cat that stole the cream,” she teased.

  G. W. shrugged. “I feel more like the cat whose stomach is so empty it’s pressin’ against his backbone.”

  “Mercy, that can’t be good. We’ll have to see to that. Can’t be having you suffer such misery.”

  He fixed her with a wicked grin. “Feedin’ me won’t put me out of my misery, but I don’t guess it will hurt me, neither.”

  Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. “Hopefully, we can ea
se your suffering in every way – one of these days. Soon.”

  “That’s what I’m a-countin’ on,” he replied. “And what I’m prayin’ on.”

  Sooner or later, he was going to make this woman his wife. He’d wait for as long as it took.

  CHAPTER 20

  Christopher looked down at the ailing Mrs. Foster. He put a hand to her head and could feel that the fever had not yet abated. She was still desperately ill, and worse yet, she knew it. That was the trouble of having knowledge of sickness and disease. Mrs. Foster knew the seriousness of her ailments, and by the looks of it, she was not only in misery and pain but also gravely afraid.

  He listened for a moment to her heartbeat. The woman opened her eyes and focused her dazed expression on him. “I’m dyin’, ain’t I?”

  “Nonsense. You just rest, Mrs. Foster. You’re doing a bit better, but this is going to have to run its course. Can you take some water?”

  She gave a weak nod. He lifted her shoulders and brought a glass to her parched lips. “Not too much at a time. Just sip it.”

  To his surprise, she did exactly as he told her. “I figure God is punishin’ me for my pride,” she said as he placed her back on the pillow.

  “How is that, Mrs. Foster?”

  She put a hand to her stomach and moaned softly.“ My pride,” she finally continued, “ain’t no excuse for how I acted toward you.”

  He smiled. The third week of the disease was often marked by delirium – perhaps her confession was nothing more than that. “You just need to rest. Soon you’ll be back on your feet.”

  Christopher realized with great relief that he held this woman no malice. For all her ill treatment toward him, she was a suffering soul who needed his help. Whether her change in attitude was due to the illness or a contrite heart, Christopher wanted only to see her recover.

  “Is the whole town sick with the typhoid?”

  “Quite a few of them are. Some seem to have escaped the worst of it.” He blotted her forehead with a damp cloth, then straightened. “I need to go see to the rest of your family, but I’ll be back to check on you tonight.”