"He ... he took aspirin before," she stammered, not wanting to overstep her boundaries in a place where she didn't belong, but wanting to be helpful just the same. "It didn't much help. I . . . could I tend him? I ain't got the power, but I've had trainin' tendin' the sick. I ... I think I can help him."
"Of course you can. Shall I get some ice? I think there's some—"
"Where's your root cellar?"
"The root cellar?"
Ellis nodded. "Ya got a barn or an outshack? A tool shed maybe?"
It was a skeptical Anne LaSalle who gave Ellis the information she was asking for and directed her to her specific needs. She watched in bewilderment as Ellis cut onions and dropped them into a pot of boiling water, and she scurried off to find flannel when she was asked to, though she wasn't sure why. With a grimace she watched Ellis sauté one of the onions in butter until it was clear and soft and then added sugar to it, stirring until the mixture was a thick syrup.
With the four cloth diapers that Anne had taken from the supply she'd gathered for her baby, the pot of boiled onions, and a small jar of the onion syrup, Ellis returned to the sickroom on the second floor.
"This is likely to take a spell," she said when Anne and Buck seemed reluctant to leave Bryce's side. "But I don't need more than one other body to do it."
“You know," Anne said in a high, rather nervous voice, "I was wondering about taking him to the hospital."
Anne's skepticism hurt. In Stony Hollow she'd become inured to distrust. Yet coming from Anne it was like something new. She looked at Bryce. He was shivering, no longer pale, but flushed with the heat of his fever. The sight of his bare, hair-covered chest did fascinating things to her innards.
It did occur to her that if he went to the hospital, she could get four full hours of sleep before morning. She was spent and drained. But she also knew she'd never sleep again if she didn't follow her conscience.
"I told ya that I ain't got the healin' power like some, but I've tended worse off than him," she said. "It's high time to break his fever, and I can do it if ya say to, but it's for y'all to choose."
Buck gave his wife a one-armed hug and kissed her lightly on the temple, saying, "Go back to bed, Annie. Ya need your sleep. I'll help Ellis." Anne hesitated. "Go on now. Ellis can handle this."
Ellis can handle this. Let Ellis do this. She'd heard the sentiment of his words a thousand times. There had always been a job for Ellis. Cooking, cleaning, mending, plowing, chopping, hauling, pushing, pulling . . . But when Buck said the words "Ellis can handle this," it didn't sound the same. It didn't sound like, give this job to Ellis, it's all she's good for. Or, this is your job, Ellis, because I don't want to do it.
When Buck said those words; it was more like a vote of confidence. It was as if he were saying, this is something Ellis can do that we can't—it's important to let her do it.
"I can," she said, nodding a heartfelt thank you to Buck that he didn't see and probably wouldn't have understood. She smiled reassuringly at Anne. Being from the north would explain, Anne's uncertainty, she decided tolerantly. She wouldn't understand mountain ways the way Buck did.
"Okay. Call if you need me," Anne said, smiling at Ellis.
If Anne wasn't sure of Ellis's methods, she certainly had no reservations about her husband's. Such trust was noteworthy, Ellis thought, eyeing Buck as they stood facing each other over Bryce's bed.
"Onion poultice, right?" he asked. She nodded, and he chuckled. "Then we'd best get him while he's too weak to fight it."
Ellis found Buck to be an extremely able assistant. He got another sheet and folded it narrow, rolling his drowsy brother back and forth across it, leaving both ends free. With expert hands, she deftly placed the hot onion layers in one half of one of the diapers, folded the remaining cloth around them, and slipped it under Bryce's back before Buck rolled him over to lay on it. She quickly made another dressing for his chest and drew the ends of the sheeting tightly over it to hold in the heat.
They covered him with two more blankets, and while Buck held the invalid's head, she poured a spoonful of the onion cough syrup down his throat.
"Awk! What are ya doin' to me?" Bryce muttered feebly. His eyes rolled open, and he looked from Ellis to Buck before they closed again. "That smell. It's hurtin' my eyes."
"Shut your yap and stop complainin'," Buck told him, not unsympathetically. "The onions stink, but your nurse is pretty. Settle back and enjoy it."
A smile curved one side of Bryce's mouth, then drooped.
"She thinks she owes me for something," he muttered. "Otherwise she'd let me die."
"A lot you know," she said, wondering if giving up her sleep had been such a wise decision after all. Lordy, how could anyone so sick be so contrary . . . and so appealing? "If ya think ya can sleep between the changes, I'll bicker with him till he falls back to sleep," she said, addressing herself to Buck.
He nodded, smiling, and turned to leave without comment.
The door closed, and Ellis sighed, knowing there was nothing left to do but wait for the fever to break. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she sat down on the bed beside Bryce with nothing but time to muse over the night's events.
It would be easy and very wonderful for her to take Bryce at face value, to believe every word he said, and to believe that he had no ulterior motive for his kindness toward her. She wanted to think that he liked her, not as an object of his lust or as someone to be pitied or as someone of potential use to him, but simply as Ellis—a person with feelings and thoughts of her own.
No one knew the real Ellis except Ellis. She wasn't sure when she had become the great pretender she was, but in Stony Hollow what she felt, thought, and did behind people's backs had been very different from the way she'd acted in their presence.
She was seven before she knew the truth of her birth and finally figured out why she never seemed to fit in anywhere. The woman she called mama was the real mother of three sons slightly older than Ellis. She was a widow woman who lived with her older brother, and her name was Effie Watson.
Effie was the kindest woman she had ever known. The only time Effie spoke to her of her birth was when Ellis had asked, and she never treated Ellis any differently than she did her own children, though there had been some contention with her brother.
Her birth-mother had been a young, middle-class woman who'd come into the mountains of eastern Kentucky to teach the poverty-stricken children. According to Effle, Stephanie Ellis hadn't been prepared for what she'd found. She'd tried, Effie had insisted, to overcome her middle-class standards and relate to the people she'd come to help. But folks didn't cotton to what they considered her condescending attitude and snooty ways, and by the time she'd met Effie, only a few would have anything to do with her.
Effie seemed to understand her, and they got along famously. Stephanie started to teach her and her oldest boy to read, and Effie tried to explain mountain ways and spread goodwill toward her in return. And then Stephanie had turned up pregnant.
She'd refused to name the father, and speculation had run rampant until the young Vista worker had been completely isolated from the community—the men not wanting to be accused by association, the women protective and jealous of their husbands and sons; the younger women afraid of catching her disgrace. Only Effie, a widow, whose sons were too young to be involved, had befriended Stephanie.
She'd sworn that she'd done all she could for Stephanie when "female problems" had interfered with the delivery of the baby. Stephanie died two days later, leaving a sickly, undersized girl behind. With no one else to care whether the baby lived or died, and a secret wish for a baby girl of her own, Effie had taken the child in against her brother's wishes and had named her Ellis.
Because Effie's brother cared for her, he'd tolerated Ellis's presence in his home. It wasn't until Tommy Lee Tucker had thrashed her soundly after school one day and recalled for the entire schoolyard the circumstances of her birth that Ellis had discovered why her "uncle"
had never been as loving with her as he had been with his nephews.
Bryce moaned and threw off his covers. He went for the bandage on his chest, and she gently but firmly held his hands away. He didn't put up much of a fight.
"Shh. Ya rest now," she said softly. “You'll need your strength later, for fightin' the poison in your body."
"Ellis," he mumbled, weakly coughing the grog from his throat.
"Go back to sleep, Bryce." She put his hands to his sides and brought the blankets back up to his neck. His left arm battled its way out again, and when she moved to replace it, she felt his grip, astoundingly strong around her wrist.
"Ellis."
"It's Ellis," she said, as if he'd asked. "But don't start fightin' with me again. You ain't at your best, so I can stomp a mudhole in your chest, if ya give me any trouble."
'Tough as a cob, ain't ya?" he whispered, his eyes closed.
"Sometimes ya gotta be."
"Why?"
"So ya don't get crushed," she said simply. His hand relaxed at her wrist and slipped into hers.
Ellis tucked the covers up close to his shoulders, leaving his left arm exposed, his hand in hers. Impulsively, she stroked his upper arm. She caressed him again. And once again, because touching him fascinated her. His skin was hot and smooth over ice-hard muscle. Even in sleep, his body lax and unguarded, he was solid and brawny, grand and impressive. Ellis took liberties, letting her eyes and fingers stray, liking what she saw and felt.
What would it feel like to be held in arms that were as strong and powerful as Bryce's? she wondered. Would he touch her gently and whisper sweet words to her? Would he kiss her tenderly? Would his eyes shine with love and happiness? Would he cherish her, care for her, protect her?
She jumped from the bed, dropping his hand like a hot potato, when he began to move restlessly, saying, "Hot. Too hot."
"I . . . I know," she said, feeling guilty for her thoughts. Even if Bryce had the slightest inclination to feel or do any one of the things she'd been dreaming about, she couldn't for a second forget that she had a prior commitment to someone who meant the earth, the moon, and the stars to her. And there was Liddy Evans to consider. . . .
She dampened a cloth in a bowl of cool water and pressed it to his cheeks and forehead. For long minutes she cooled his furrowed brow, smoothing his thick, dark hair from his temple, thinking him to be asleep. When he reached up and took her hand in his, she watched his face to see if he would look at her. He didn't.
"Ellis?"
“Yes?"
"Thanks."
There was something thick and heavy in her throat. She tried to swallow around it and her chin quivered. Lordy! What nonsense, she chided herself, taking the cloth into her other hand to fold it across his forehead.
The hand she held easily in hers caught her attention. Instead of putting it under the covers to ward off any further flimflam, she covered the long, work-worn fingers with her own and turned her thoughts in another direction.
Effle Watson's fingers had been fat and stubby, but calloused like Bryce's. They had been special hands. Gentle when they'd brushed the tangles from Ellis's too-long and too-thick blond hair. Kind when they'd patted a kiss into Ellis's cheek before bed every night.
Until Ellis was eleven she'd depended on Effie and her hands for protection. And Effie had tried. She'd done her best to make up for all the ills and prejudices of the world, to make Ellis feel loved and wanted, but nothing was ever quite the same once the truth had been told.
She missed Effie. She could still feel the pain she'd known in the days following the fateful morning of Erne's accident. Every soul in Stony Hollow descended on the Talbot-Watson home in grief and sorrow after hearing that a tree had fallen on the dear, kind-hearted woman. But nary a one had had a kind word for the young girl whose heart and future had died with her.
Effie's beloved family muddled along for as long as they could, but a bachelor with four children soon became a hopeless case. Finding it impossible to work and feed and tend the children as well, Effie's brother had been forced to turn to his family for help. His second sister had been willing to take the boys into her home, but Ellis wasn't kin and she was baseborn to boot.
"I promise to be good," Ellis had sobbed, clinging to her oldest brother, hoping he'd never let go of her. "I'll work hard and I won't eat nothin', I promise."
"Let go of her, boy," Uncle Cal had said quietly. "She can't go."
"She ain't no trouble," Bobby'd said, his pubescent voice cracking at the edges with emotion.
"We'll take care of her. We'll share our food," the other boys had chimed in, the younger one wiping his teary eyes and nose on the sleeve of his shirt.
"She ain't one of us," Cal said. "She ain't kin. Faylyn don't know her like we do." He'd pried Ellis from her brother's arms. "There's no need to carry on now. I promised your ma that I'd make sure she was cared for, and I will."
Ellis had been sure that her heart was torn and bleeding inside her. Uncle Cal had promised to fetch the boys back when he could, but they were all mountain kids and knew the way of things. Nothing would be the same again.
Six
Ellis heard Buck in the hallway before he touched the door handle. She was standing across the room near the window when he stuck his head into the room.
"It's been an hour. Is it time to change those onion plasters?"
She nodded him into the room. "I changed the top one a half hour ago. I been waitin' on ya." She picked up the kettle of boiled onions.
"Shoulda called," Buck said, walking over to the bed to check on his brother.
"There was no need before now," she said, admiring Buck's obvious concern for Bryce. "Changing one dressin' at a time is best, so as to draw the fever out gradual, but I needed to heat these up, and I was wary of leavin' him alone for long."
"He behavin'?"
"Never had a better patient," she said, letting go with one of her rare smiles. “Too bad he ain't so mannerly when he's feelin' fit."
"He's not?"
Ellis had meant to be humorous, for contrary to what Bryce thought of her, she did like a good joke. But she'd only managed to confuse Buck. It was as if they were speaking about two different people.
"No, he ain't. Not to me, least ways," she said. "He's nosy and nasty and flies into a snit over the tiniest things." She paused thoughtfully. "'Course, he laughs at the wrong times and he's understandin' when he oughta be spittin' mad, and ... I don't mean to be badmouthin' your kin and all, but tryin' to figure out what he'll do next is like tryin' to lick honey off a blackberry vine."
She was reassured by a slow, knowing grin on Buck's face.
"Well, I expect if anyone can handle him, you can," he said, looking down at Bryce. "And he ain't half bad once ya get to know him."
She nodded but didn't respond. She didn't want to handle Bryce, and she didn't have time to get to know him. She had a fortune to earn, and he was getting in her way . . . muddling her thoughts, confusing her body, tormenting her emotions.
They put a fresh onion poultice to Bryce's back, removing the first with the onions now looking fried rather than boiled. Buck asked if there was anything else he could do and, receiving her negative response, turned to go back to bed.
"Are ya sure ya wouldn't like to get some sleep?" he asked at the door. "I'd call ya if anything changed."
"Thanks, but it'll be over soon. I'll stay."
She had no hope of seeing the bed she'd been promised any time soon. Bryce was restless at times, but not thrashing. He'd mumble and complain of aching or being too hot or of a terrible cold and drift back to sleep.
She sat in a chair next to the window for the next hour, staring off into space. Well . . . she might have dozed off for a second or two, but she was wide awake when she heard Buck's footsteps in the hall again. They changed the compresses as before, and during the third hour, beads of perspiration popped up on Bryce's face like dew drops. He soaked the bed linen and slept the next hour away
in a deep, sound sleep with easy, regular respirations. The fever was beaten.
Shortly after dawn he awoke, making several attempts to get out of bed and cursing Ellis soundly when she impeded him.
"How can ya look as sweet as ya do and be so mean?" he complained, frowning furiously.
"Hush. You'll wake the others. You're talkin' loud enough to wake the dead."
"I feel like the dead," he said, falling back into the damp sheets with a groan. “Talk to me, Ellis. Only say somethin' nice for a change, so I can think of somethin' else besides the way I feel."
“You want a bedtime tale?" she asked, remembering someone else who liked them.
“Yeah. About Ellis. Tell me what ya dream of."
"I don't have dreams, just plans," she said, dismissing her dreams, loath to expose her weaknesses to anyone.
He studied her quietly. Several long seconds went by before he responded. "Then tell me about your plans."
"My plans."
"The money. What are ya goin’ to do after you pay off your debt? Buy a big fancy house and one of those limousines? Or are ya goin' to move to California and dress up in jewels and animal furs?"
Her chuckle was quiet, but her grin was bold and bright.
“You're pretty enough to be a movie star," he said.
"And you're full of corn."
“Tell me what you're goin' to do with all that money. I swear I won't tell nobody."
Exhausted, her guard worn paper thin, she sat down on the bed beside him and dabbed at his brow with a cool damp cloth.
"Close your eyes," she said, wanting him to rest. "The money I'm savin' now is important 'cuz . . . well, 'cuz it is. I gotta go back to Stony Hollow to get what's mine. After that, I'll set about makin' a new life for myself," she said with fervor. "Since ya don't know me, I reckon you'd think I was hankerin' for a big house and fast cars and all that, but I ain't. I read in a magazine once about California. . . . There's things I'd like to see there, but I don't think I'd care much to live there. New York neither. Fact is, I think the best thing about livin' in the mountains is that there ain't too many people who do."
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