Touched by Fire

by Gwyneth Atlee

  “She’ll want to see me,” he insisted.

  Still, the woman remained wedged in the doorway. “Do you want to catch it too?”

  “Catch what?”

  She shrugged. “Take your pick. This could be a lot of things. None of them very good.”

  “How bad off is she?”

  “I’d be guessing.” The woman gave a jowly frown.

  “Guess.”

  “My sister was like this last winter. She died late in the night. Some don’t, though. You might try praying. It couldn’t hurt.”

  “You’re a real comfort,” Daniel told her wryly, “but I’m going in. I’ll take care of her.”

  “You still need doctoring yourself.”

  “I’m fine, fine enough to move you if I have to. Neither of us would like it much.”

  With a grunt of annoyance, the iron woman moved her bulk. “If you catch this and die, don’t complain to me.”

  The two exchanged a twisted smile, an unspoken sign of truce, and Daniel moved into the room.

  And immediately wished he had not come. It was the smell that did it, that peculiar smell of sickness, death. During the War, he’d known it well, but since then, only once. With his wife. He began to sweat, and through his swollen eyes, he saw another time, another fever.

  To the slender form wrapped in a white blanket, he whispered softly, “Mary. . .”

  The stout woman had been right. His back rested against the door he had just pushed closed. He did not belong here. Tending the sick was work for women. His daughter was his job, that and helping John to get the farm rebuilt. What if he, too, took fever? What if he, too, died? Panic slammed his heart against his chest wall.

  He reached for the knob, filled with desperation to escape to open air. He couldn’t even breathe within this miasma of memory.

  “Daniel . . .” Hannah muttered. “Daniel, I’m so sorry. I never let you know.”

  He froze, all his size and strength useless against a few mumbled words.

  “I couldn’t tell you. How much you meant. How much you made me feel.” Her voice was little more than whisper, but he heard every word.

  The words thawed him, melted away his indecision. In an instant, he knelt beside her. “Hannah.” He said her name like a benediction, as much to reassure himself as her.

  She opened her eyes, her clear blue eyes, to gaze at him. Rivulets of sweat rolled down her face to mingle with her tears. He felt heat rolling off her pale face in waves just like the river fire.

  “John lived,” she told him simply. “We didn’t make it, but John lived. He’ll take care of Amelia now. And we’ll see Lucinda soon.”

  “Hannah? I’m alive. You’re alive. Here, you have to drink now. Cool water will taste good.” He lifted her up with one strong arm and raised a glass to her parched lips.

  She pushed the glass away. “Mother’s here. She’s singing to me now. I can’t quite make out the words. Do you hear her, too?”

  “She wants you to get better.” Again, Daniel tried to make her take some water. This time, she sipped at it, then coughed, her lungs rattling with congestion.

  He forced her to swallow more, then washed her face with some of the cool water. He thought he saw her smile, though he suspected the gesture was for whatever specters she now saw.

  “I’m going to stay with you,” he told her. “I’m going to stay ‘til you get better.”

  Her eyes slid closed again. “Mary says that I should stay, then. Mary says I belong here.”

  o0o

  The stout woman, Mrs. Brannon, brought a tray with food and coffee. She lit a lamp against the dusk and offered to spell him for awhile. He declined and thanked her. Then he returned to the straight chair where he’d sat most of the day, in a room that felt crowded with old ghosts.

  Mary says that I should stay, then. He shuddered at the memory of those words.

  Mary was a common name. Maybe Hannah knew someone named Mary. Another Mary who had died.

  Or perhaps his own memories had evoked her. Maybe Mary had told Hannah to stay here. That would mean that she approved, that somewhere, somehow she guessed what Hannah had come to mean to him.

  And what he meant to Hannah. If her delirium did not speak louder than her heart.

  He took her hand, a hand that even now felt impossibly warm. “You have to live,” he told her. “I can’t lose you now.”

  Hours later, another tap at the door jarred him from uneasy thoughts. When he answered, his heart leapt to his throat. Mary, in the hallway, held a flickering candle in her hand. Her soft blonde hair hung loose behind her, past her shoulders like a girl’s.

  “My mother sent me to see if you’d like anything. I hope I didn’t wake you.” The voice was wrong, no accent. Not Mary’s, but he recognized it anyway.

  Daniel swallowed, embarrassed by this trick of light, of memory, and his still-dim vision. Thank God he’d realized his mistake before he’d blurted his surprise!

  “N—no” he stammered. “We —we’re fine. But I want to apologize. I know your voice. You’re the woman I kept asking for the time.”

  She laughed, an odd sound in this grim place. “I’ll admit, I thought of prying the crystal off my watch so you could feel the hands. But it’s all right. My name’s Bess, Bess Brannon. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs all night.”

  “Thank you. For everything you and your mother are doing,” Daniel said.

  “What else could any Christian do?” she asked. “I feel fortunate my family wasn’t lost. But might I ask you something, if it’s not too personal?”

  He nodded his assent, and she continued.

  “Is this woman your wife?”

  Daniel glanced back toward Hannah and took a deep breath. “Not yet,” he answered simply. “Not yet.”

  o0o

  Daniel woke with a jolt. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, slumped against the chair’s unyielding edges. He’d been asleep when he lost Mary. He could not forget the shock of seeing her, of knowing that the stillness of her body went far deeper than sleep. Though he knew better, he’d often wondered if, awake, he could have stopped her passing.

  Grayish light filtered through the curtains, and he could tell his eyesight had greatly improved. The contours of Hannah’s pallid face were sharper; the loose hair consisted of dark strands, not just a blur. She lay so still. Like Mary.

  A rushing noise, like the firestorm, filled his ears.

  Somehow, just beyond it rose a sigh. Hannah’s sigh, soft and female. She rolled toward him in her sleep.

  Again her eyes opened, as if she’d sensed his gaze.

  “I thought I heard someone say you were dead,” she told him.

  Huge fingers trembling visibly, he took her hand in his. Heat no longer rolled in waves off of her flesh. “I’m fine,” he assured her.

  Accented by dark smudges just beneath them, the pale blue of her eyes stood out. Like the sky over Lake Michigan on a day sharpened by the sun. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently, then offered her some water.

  This time, she drank eagerly. When she finished, she said, “I was so frightened.”

  He nodded. “That makes two of us.”

  o0o

  Hannah slept throughout much of the day. Daniel, too, dozed, his back tortured by the unrelenting chair.

  Early in the afternoon, John arrived. A good night’s sleep, a bath, and a set of Phineas’s worn, but clean clothing, had left him looking far less ragged than the previous day.

  With Hannah resting peacefully, Daniel stepped into the hall and embraced his brother once again.

  “Is she —?” John began.

  “Better than last night, for certain, but she’s very weak.”

  “And you? Your eyes?”

  Daniel nodded. “I can even see the freckles on your forehead. How’s Amelia?”

  John grinned. “Uncle Phineas has a litter of kittens in the hayloft. Your daughter will be fine.”

  Daniel nodded. “She talk
much about Aunt Lucinda?”

  “Not yet. She cried for her doll instead.”

  “Will you watch for her another day? I don’t want to leave here ‘til I can be certain about Hannah.”

  John nodded. “Amelia will be happy you’re taking care of her. I imagine you know why.”

  Daniel nodded, chuckling. “That little girl’s a worse matchmaker than Lucinda ever was. Lord, John, I’m going to miss that old woman.”

  “So am I. I’m about to go check on her burial arrangements. We’ll have a service, soon as I can manage. There’ll be lots of services around these parts the next few days. I’ll let you know when I find out the details.” John’s gaze avoided his. Daniel was grateful, knowing both of them would be embarrassed by tears now.

  “Thank you,” he said simply. “We’ll have to start rebuilding soon. Winter comes on early.”

  “You’re willing?”

  “What else would we do? Hopefully, the money and valuables we buried will be a help.”

  John nodded. “There’s enough to make a start. We’re better off than most.”

  Daniel glanced back toward the doorway. “It sounds ridiculous when you consider all our losses, but right now I feel like a damned lucky man.”

  o0o

  Hannah heard a light tap at the door, then someone speaking to Daniel. She recognized the voice of the stout woman who’d been helping Dr. Heinrich. “I thought, since you haven’t keeled over like I warned, you could help clean up your wife.”

  Wife? Was that what Daniel told them, or had the woman just assumed? Either way, he said nothing to correct her error. Through slitted eyelids, Hannah watched him carry in a steaming basin and some clean, white cloths.

  She was so tired, she didn’t make a sound. Earlier, Daniel had given her spoonfuls of broth, as if she’d been a baby. The effort of sitting up had exhausted her last reserves of strength.

  He set the basin on the washstand and gazed at the clean water. She smiled to herself, imagining him thinking he could stand a wash himself.

  She watched as he removed his shirt. Opposite him, in the mirror, the muscles of his chest rippled as he washed his upper body. The burned area on his shoulder looked less angry than she expected. Her interest quickened as he leaned forward to touch the singed hairs of his upper chest.

  Behind him, she chuckled. “Preening like an old tom turkey.”

  He turned to look at her. “I thought you were asleep.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll bet that bath was meant for me. If you’ll give me a wet cloth and turn your back, I think I can manage.”

  Hannah sat up quickly. Too quickly. With a groan, she sank back on the pillow.

  “Here,” Daniel offered. “Let me get someone to help you.”

  She shook her head. “They have so many to take care of.”

  He gazed at her intently. “Then I will. There’s no need to be prudish. I came to make sure you’re taken care of. Here. Lean forward, and I’ll help you with the dress.”

  She looked uncertain, but after a moment, did as he asked.

  Daniel fumbled with what seemed to be dozens of fussy little buttons. Before he’d finished unbuttoning half of them, it became apparent his efforts were in vain. The seams of the soot-stained dress were tearing with the strain of his attempt.

  “Sorry. There’s not going to be much left.”

  “I’ve found Wisconsin —very hard on clothes.” The filthy cloth slipped over her head. She panted with the effort and closed her eyes as she lay back.

  Gingerly, he began to wash her bare arms with a clean cloth. Strange, how exposed she felt. Here she was still in her petticoat, but she might as well be naked for the way her heart was pounding.

  She was all too conscious of his still-bare chest, of the intimacy of this moment.

  “That feels nice,” she whispered. The thin strap of the petticoat slipped down her shoulder. Very slowly, he allowed the cloth to round its curve. In the wake of the warm water, her skin prickled with goose flesh.

  Slowly, deliberately, Daniel leaned forward and kissed that shoulder, then the pulsing throat. She stared up into his dark eyes. Her body felt heavy and languid, yet she could not have slept for all the world. The tingling of her neck and shoulder, where’d he’d kissed them, was far too intense.

  With an almost imperceptible shrug, Hannah let the second strap fall too. Again, he cleaned, then kissed that shoulder, her throat, and last her parted lips. His free hand slid along the smooth curve of her waist, then lingered near the ties that held her petticoat. Lingered, then pulled gently to loose them.

  He pulled down the fabric, unlaced her corset, until her chest was as bare as his. Then, remembering his task, he washed her, his hands traveling so slowly that Hannah wanted to speed them with her own. He helped her to sit up, and cleaned her back as well. When she leaned forward, she felt each cooling droplet as it ran between her breasts.

  He took a soft, dry cloth and toweled her back with it. “I mustn’t let you chill. It’s important that I warm you.”

  She was trembling now, but not with cold. She lay back and let him dry her front. Then he lay aside the cloth and stared down at the hollow of her throat.

  “I see I’ve missed a spot.” He moved closed to kiss away the beads of water. His kisses traveled, soft and wet along her neck. She wanted to cry out, in joy or fear she wasn’t certain, but he took her mouth then with his lips.

  A shudder rippled through her as she felt his hands slide upward from her waist to test the fullness of both breasts. His thumbs played with the nipples until his mouth moved slowly downward to join in the caresses.

  Stop! Why didn’t she push him, instead of caressing the straining muscles of his back? Why didn’t she tell him to move away? Her lips parted, but only a long sigh escaped. She tried to gather her resolve, but all she could remember was how it felt when she had thought he was dead, how much she had regretted not making love to him before.

  She thought of how he’d sat with her so long. She thought of all the gentleness of his attentions. It had been so long since anyone had cared for her, and perhaps no one ever would again. Would it be so wrong to take whatever comfort he was offering for now?

  One of his hands caressed her ankle, and he looked up into her eyes. “It seems a shame to wash only the top half.”

  She shifted her hips as he tugged off the petticoat and her remaining underthings.

  “The water’s cool by now,” she told him.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. I can warm you.”

  Hannah closed her eyes and with her flesh traced the progress of the damp cloth along her feet and legs. She tensed as the refreshing water moved higher, higher, until it raised goose flesh along the sensitive skin at the inside of her thighs. The coolness glided across her belly. With maddening strokes, he dried her, then rolled her over and turned his attention to the backs of her legs, then her buttocks.

  She felt so comfortable, so reassured. So tired but pleasantly relaxed. She felt so . . .

  o0o

  Daniel couldn’t believe it when he heard the faint rattles of her snores. He ran a palm regretfully along the indentation of her spine, then sighed.

  Of course she was exhausted. She’d been so near death last night. Seducing her in this state would have been taking advantage, and he was almost grateful she had put a stop to it.

  Almost. He admired her slender curves for a full minute before covering her with sheets and blanket. Then he looked down at the ruins of her clothing. All of it was stained with soot and muddy river water, and half the dress’s seams had come unraveled.

  He buttoned his own shirt and finger-combed his wavy hair.

  She was going to need some clothes. He wondered if Bess had by now complicated the matter by informing her mother that he and Hannah were not man and wife.

  He need not have wondered long. Mrs. Brannon’s fat face rippled like a squall line when he met her in the lobby.

  “Bess says you misled me. I’m not sure
you know it, but my cousin, Mr. Horatio Simonton, owns this place. He wouldn’t think much of an unmarried couple spending the night in the same room. Why didn’t you correct me when I brought you the wash basin?”

  Daniel frowned. He had no patience for such technicalities. “Didn’t seem worth your attention. You have a lot of sick and dying folks. I thought I’d help by taking care of Hannah.”

  “How? By giving the poor thing something to live for? The buttons on your shirt are still askew, Mr. Aldman. I’d suggest you leave, before I have someone remove you.”

  He stared at her in utter disbelief. Now probably wouldn’t be the best time to mention that he’d ruined Hannah’s clothes.

  How could this insufferable woman be worried about niceties when so many lay near death? He wanted to give her the rough side of his tongue, but some part of him knew Mrs. Brannon was half-right. He’d nearly led Hannah down the garden path in her weakened condition. It would be best if he left for now. Hannah would never forgive him if he made matters worse by stirring up a ruckus.

  Striding out of the makeshift hospital, Daniel promised himself that he would be back soon. So what if the old battleaxe was death on unwed couples behind closed doors together?

  As long as this town still had a minister, he knew a cure for that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Hannah noticed the feeling of the crisp sheets against her nude limbs first. Then her stomach growled insistently. She rolled over on her back, eager to see Daniel and ask if he might get her some real food this time.

  But the chair where he had sat was vacant, and that shock brought back all the rest. The bathing, the kissing, the forbidden touches. She felt a flush warm her face, but in spite of it, she smiled, remembering.

  Remembering . . . exactly what? Every detail remained with her until . . . She shook her head, confused. Had she made love and then forgotten? Recalling the heat Daniel’s touch inspired, she doubted such a thing were possible. But fevers sometimes did strange things to memory. Still, she felt it more likely that in her weakened state she had drifted off to sleep.