“He’s alive, but just barely. His pulse is very weak, and growing weaker by the minute.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Drank himself into a stupor, most likely, and now his own body doesn’t know it’s supposed to keep his heart beating. He’ll be dead soon if we don’t get help.”
The knot of fear that had held her back now unwound like a spring and sent her running across the room. She didn’t want to see this man die. She didn’t want to see anyone die.
“Is there something you can do?”
James continued to move over Mr. Schneider’s body, loosening his shirt and removing his boots. He didn’t look up as he answered, “Yes. I can stay here and try to keep him breathing while you go to the Zwebels’.”
“The Zwebels?” Ann’s head fogged. James had pointed out so many neighbors, and she remembered so few names.
“The closest neighbors as you’re headed toward town. They live in the yellow house about a mile from here. Take Hal’s horse, and tell Jed Zwebel you need Doc Henderson.”
“James, I can’t.”
He stopped his movements over the body. “You can’t?”
“Oh, I wish I could, but I can’t. I don’t ride—remember?”
James raked his hands through his hair.
“I shouldn’t have sent George away. He could have gone, but there’s no time now. I’ll ride and you’ll stay here.”
Ann grasped James’s wrist as he passed by.
“W-what should I do?”
He bent his head so his hazel eyes were inches from hers.
“Just keep Hal alive.”
Then he was gone. No chance to protest or beg for more instructions. The front door slammed and she was alone.
The setting sun sent fingers of light through slits in the tattered curtains and cast the dark room in a sickly orange glow. A sudden chill traipsed over Ann’s back despite the heat, and she hastened to the nearest window and threw back the heavy fabric. A cloud of dust billowed from the curtains and Ann coughed and choked on the thick air. She yanked at the window frame, but it had been haphazardly painted shut. Covering her mouth with a handkerchief would have to suffice until the dust cloud settled.
A gagging cough arose from the corner.
Ann’s heart raced.
“Mr. Schneider, are you alright?”
She wished she could stay as far away from the man as possible until James returned, but she only had one task—to keep him alive. He coughed again. What if he was choking? She tiptoed to the corner. The cough continued, growing into a strangled wheeze. His head lay on a tattered gray pillow, but his slouched posture on the sofa pushed his chin into his chest. Ann gingerly slipped her hand behind his greasy head and removed the pillow. His head flopped back and the sound stopped.
With reluctance, Ann placed her head on his chest.
Please let me hear something. Anything, she prayed.
Her own heart beat deafeningly in her ears and threatened to drown out any other sounds. His shirt stood up stiff with grime, and the once-soft cotton scratched her cheek. She held her breath and pressed her ear even more firmly against his chest.
Nothing.
I’ve killed him.
The stench of alcohol and unwashed body set her eyes to water. She held her breath and quieted the room like a grave. After a moment, a slow, irregular thump pulsed against her ear.
Ann sank to the floor. She hadn’t killed him. Not yet anyway. She stood and crossed the room to a dusty lamp sitting on the sideboard. Only a quarter inch of oil remained, and she didn’t know where to find more. She would light it only when the room became too dark to see. The cluttered space was crowded with odds and ends, but it held little furniture, save for the sofa, a worn leather trunk and a bare wooden rocker tossed on its side. Ann drew the rocker next to Mr. Schneider and dropped into it.
The grit clinging to her hands proved the rocker, too, was shrouded in filth. Muffled scratches and scurries telegraphed countless mice in the walls. How on earth did George and Sadie live in a place like this?
Ann scooted to the edge of the rocker and listened to each now-raspy breath. They were shallow and infrequent, and she began counting between each one. No clock was in the room, and she marked time by the space between each ragged intake of air. Despite the stench of man and dirt in the air, the heat and the counting soon drew Ann into a stupor. Her eyes grew heavy, and she rocked the chair to rouse herself. But the rhythmic movement only added to the trance.
She continued to slowly count, even as her eyelids grew heavy. One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine. Wait, nine seconds between breaths? Her eyes fluttered open. In hundreds of breaths, she’d never reached nine in her count. She lit the lamp and thrust it over Hal Schneider’s face.
His pale, waxy skin stood out against the dark fabric of the sofa. Perspiration beaded on his forehead. She grasped his hand and found it cold and clammy. No signs of life. Ann reluctantly placed her head against his chest again, but heard nothing except the stiff scratch of dirty flannel. She moved her ear to his mouth, and prayed to feel hot, foul breath against her cheek.
Nothing.
She had to do something, but what? A dim memory sent her racing outside. The well pump was rusty but in working order, and a pail hung from the handle.
She raced back to the room and the pail sloshed water onto the floor as she heaved it into her arms and upended it over Mr. Schneider’s head.
With a tremendous gasp, he bolted upright. The shock sent Ann stumbling backward into the leather trunk, the pail flying across the room and clanging against the wall. The man’s eyes were still closed. Water streamed over his face and soaked his clothes and the horsehair sofa beneath him.
“Mr. Schneider? Mr. Schneider?” She crept toward him, a hand outstretched to block any blows he might try to land in his stupor. He turned in the direction of her voice, mumbled something indecipherable, and promptly retched on the floor. Then he fell back against the sofa in the same posture as before, and commenced to snore violently. His eyes never opened.
Ann collapsed against the trunk. Her heart raced, only now in exhilaration. She hadn’t let him die. At least not yet. She moved to clean up the mess, but the sound of horses and men’s voices floated in from the yard. Relief washed over her. James had returned.
Chapter Thirteen
Please let him still be alive, James prayed as he crossed Hal Schneider’s threshold. His stomach knotted. He’d been gone far too long. And he’d left a large, obscenely drunk and dying man with a tiny woman with no medical training. What had he expected her to do? The fear in her eyes when he’d left was unmistakable. He wouldn’t blame her if she’d fled back to his farm.
Doc Henderson entered the parlor first and darted straight to the stricken man. James’s heart jumped at the scene. Hal Schneider looked as if he had barely moved on the sofa, but now his hair and shirt were soaking wet. Fresh vomit soiled a spot on the floor. What could possibly have happened?
“I’m so sorry. I made such a mess, but I didn’t know what else to do.” Ann appeared next to him and sank into his side. He wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders and drew her close. She shivered despite the stifling heat of the room.
Doc Henderson looked up from his patient. “No need to be sorry.” He nodded to James. “She’s done right by him. His pulse is better than you described.”
The doctor turned to Ann. “Did he vomit before or after you roused him with the water?”
“A-af-after,” she stammered. Her delicate arms clutched James’s waist and he struggled to focus on anything else in the room. He wanted to scoop her in his arms and take her far from this horrible scene. “The water was the only thing I could think of to do. I thought he’d stopped breathing.”
“He likely did
. You did the right thing, young lady. A man can be in such a stupor he can’t rouse himself. If he’d vomited on his back, he very well might have drowned.”
James’s stomach flipped. Ann’s heartbeat thudded against his ribs.
“In London,” Ann explained, “I once saw a constable perform the same service for a man passed out in an alley, though I doubt his intentions were the same as mine.”
“Best thing you could have done,” the doctor continued, “given the circumstances.” He drew a small glass vial from his bag and plunged a syringe into the clear liquid. “If you two hadn’t found him, Hal Schneider would have likely—” he paused to administer the injection “—been dead by morning,” he finished.
James gazed down at her. “Thank you, Ann. And forgive me. You never should have been left with Hal for so long.”
“How long were you gone?”
“Over an hour. I intended for Jed Zwebel to fetch Doc, but found no one at home. Hal’s horse threw a shoe half a mile later. I ran to the next nearest house—the Winters’—and by the grace of God, Doc was there delivering a baby.”
“A fine baby boy,” the doctor called over his shoulder.
Doc Henderson stood and replaced the items he’d withdrawn from his bag. “I believe the worst is over, but I don’t think he should be left alone tonight.”
“I can stay,” James offered.
“No, you can’t!” Ann pushed away from him and cast him a scolding look. “If he aimed a gun at you for being on his property, imagine what he could do if he awakes and finds you in his house!”
The doctor peered over his glasses. “Is this true?”
James saw no sense in lying, and he’d be a fool to argue his way into staying the night in a filthy house with a drunk who might wish him harm.
“More or less.” He shrugged.
Doc Henderson removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I suppose that leaves me to do the job. Very well.”
Ann stepped forward. “George—Hal’s son—has a terrible cut on his head I believe needs tending.”
“Of course, of course. Is the boy upstairs?”
“He and his sister are next door at my house,” James interjected. “I can tend to his wound.”
The doctor straightened his shoulders and shook his head. “Nonsense. If you stay with Hal awhile longer, I’ll see to the boy. Should I return with the children?”
James glanced at Ann. Her brows were arched and her eyes wide in concern.
“Given the circumstances, they can stay at my house this evening,” he answered.
Ann’s countenance relaxed and she squeezed his upper arm in thanks.
“I’ll fetch the children some clean clothes and leave with James when you return, Doctor,” Ann added.
Together, they scrounged another lantern with some oil from the kitchen and Ann disappeared with it upstairs. She returned at the same time as the doctor, carrying an enormous bundle. “I couldn’t find any clean clothes but plenty of dirty ones. I’ll wash these tomorrow,” she explained.
“How is he?” Doc Henderson asked James.
James swung the lantern over the drunken man’s face. “Breathing is deep and regular now.”
“I imagine he’ll awake in the morning with a powerful headache. If he has any food in the house, I’ll try to get him to eat.”
The two men shook hands, and James and Ann left.
The clock struck eleven as they entered the front hall. The kitchen was still ablaze with lamplight and they found both children there with Uncle Mac. Drawings of every kind littered the table.
The eyes of all three brightened when they entered, but none more than Uncle Mac’s. He creaked to his feet and let out a heavy sigh.
“Bed,” he announced.
James patted him on the back as he passed, his chest expanding with pride. It was a wonder he’d entertained the children as long as he had.
Ann leaned into James and murmured in his ear.
“We need to bathe these children before bed.”
Ann was right. The doctor had wiped George’s forehead clean to tend to his wound, but grime plastered his hair to his head, and dirt streaked his arms and throat. Sadie didn’t appear much cleaner. How could he have missed the decline in their care? Though their clothes were often rumpled and soiled, they had at least appeared freshly bathed at church each Sunday. Was Hal Schneider getting worse than before? How long had these children been so totally neglected?
James fetched the large washtub from outside, and Ann put on the kettle. With startling efficiency, Ann prepared the bath and scrubbed the children from head to toe. Her scrubbing was gentle but thorough. George protested at first that he was too old for her to bathe him, but quickly settled into the warm water and brisk scrub with a contented look on his face. Sadie splashed and giggled, and cried piteously when Ann announced it was time to emerge from the warm water and Pears’ soap bubbles.
James marveled as Ann moved through the motions of readying the children for bed. Her voice was simultaneously soothing and firm, and they followed her about like kittens. If she stood still too long, they wrapped their thin arms around her and held on tight until she gently pried them off. His heart panged. With each touch, Ann likely showed them more love and affection than they’d received in a year.
Ann repurposed two of James’s old work shirts as nightclothes and put Sadie’s wet hair into two long braids. James sloshed out the wash basin and wiped up the dribbles of water on the floor. Ann walked them to the privy, and when they returned, George and Sadie stood in the middle of the kitchen like two tiny soldiers awaiting instructions.
“Could they both sleep in your bed?” Ann suggested.
“As good a place as any.”
The four of them climbed the stairs, and with each step James felt the day’s stress weigh on him more heavily than he ever had in all his twenty-five years. His legs ached. His back cramped. He didn’t look forward to sleeping in the hammock tonight.
Ann set the lamp on the dresser and tucked both children into James’s bed.
“You two will be staying here tonight in Mr. McCann’s room. Isn’t that exciting?”
For the first time that evening, Sadie’s obedience wavered. She jumped up from the bed and threw herself into Ann’s arms.
“Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me!” Sadie sobbed.
“Shh, shh. It’s alright,” Ann whispered against the girl’s cheek. “You’re safe here.”
Sadie’s arms tightened. “Let me sleep with you.”
Ann looked up at James with wide, soulful eyes. “What do I do?” she mouthed.
George remained on the bed, but there was no mistaking the longing in his eye or his faintly quivering lip. George didn’t want to be left alone any more than Sadie did, but he was too proud to say it. The last year had taken so much of the little boy out of him.
James bent his lips to Ann’s ear. “I was thinking of staying in here with George, if that’s alright with you.”
“Does that mean I can stay with you?” Sadie exclaimed, clearly having overheard.
“Alright, then. Come along.”
Ann sounded exasperated, but James could see it was only a show. She hugged the little girl tight and smiled.
James caught Ann’s eye as she squeezed past him in the doorway.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for everything tonight. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” He stroked Sadie’s back and his fingers brushed Ann’s. A tingle raced over his skin, and his hand lingered. Her fingers twined with his and heat traced up his arm.
“I haffa use the privy again,” Sadie mumbled into Ann’s shoulder.
They both chuckled and James slipped his hand free from her grasp.
* * *
James rolled over and was struck with a blinding light. Sun streamed through the window and warmed his face. What time was it? He hadn’t slept past dawn since he was a boy, but his own bed had been like a balm to his body after weeks of sleeping on the back porch. So much so, he’d slept harder and deeper than he had in years. He moved to get up, but George Schneider lay draped over his chest on top of the covers.
It all came back to him. Hal’s drunkenness. Fetching the doctor. Ann surprising him yet again with her strength and resourcefulness. His face warmed as he recalled last evening. It was a good thing George and Sadie stayed. Without them in the room, he would have swept Ann into his arms and kissed her in gratitude and admiration.
Light knuckles rapped on his bedroom door.
“Come in,” he whispered.
The door slit open, and Ann’s blue eyes peered through the crack.
“Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”
Her lilting accent tumbled his heart.
He tilted his head to George. “Should I wake him?” James whispered back.
George stirred and flopped off James. His face was slack and his mouth hung open, the picture of exhaustion.
Ann cracked the door farther and craned her neck inside. Her lips curled into a pitying smile.
“We must let him rest. Yesterday was a trial for such a wee one.”
“Right, right.” His legs itched to move. He’d never been comfortable staying in bed when the room was this bright, even when he’d suffered from influenza. “What time is it?”
“Noon.”
“Noon!”
James cringed as his shout reverberated off the walls. Fortunately, it didn’t wake George, who began to snore.
“Shh... Shh!” Ann moved her hands about as if she could grasp any further exclamations from the air. “I’m joking. A quarter past seven, I think.”
A Mistaken Match Page 14