The Thorn Healer

by Pepper D. Basham

  “I’ll help you finish.”

  He shot her a look from his periphery. “I do not think you are the best help.”

  She propped those palms on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Why ever not?”

  “You are a distraction.”

  “A distraction?” The defensive fire in her eyes died as his meaning became clear. A beautiful swell of rose flooded her cheeks and she tipped her chin in defiance. Ah, he loved her spirit. “You don’t strike me as the sort who is easily distracted, Mr. Reinhold.”

  His stare met hers. “I’m not the sort who is easily distracted, Miss Ross.”

  Her breath caught and she blinked as if stunned for a moment. No games. No coy manipulation. All honesty and fire and loyalty. Yes, exactly what his heart responded to from the first day. The authentic beauty of her heart.

  “What nonsense.” She cleared her throat and brushed past him. “Let’s get on with our work, shall we? I’ll take this board out of the way—”

  “Jess, wait.”

  She touched the slanted board, shifting it ever so slightly, and without warning, the massive beam from the ceiling plunged downward toward her.

  ***

  Jessica’s skin still hummed from the touch of August’s lips on her hand. If his lips left such a reaction on her hand, all tingly and warm, what on earth would his touch do to her mouth? Her brain blurred from the effort to match her past experience with this luxurious temptation, so different from what she’d expected, but not a surprise. Not from August.

  Everything about him proved different than her expectations.

  She shuffled forward in a bit of a daze toward the beam, attempting to sort the wild canter inside her chest like a lawn badminton match. “I’ll take this board out of the way—”

  Everything happened in a flash. She had barely slid the board from its spot before a movement above rooted her to the floor. The beam fell toward her.

  “Jess!”

  A weight from her right hit her hard, knocking her off balance and to the floor. Arms, strong and familiar with the scent of pine, cradled her fall, but not enough to keep the impact from stealing her breath.

  She groaned, frozen in place with August’s full weight pinning her to the floor. What happened? She sucked in a thread of air and looked to her left where the rafter beam lay mere inches away.

  “August.” His name squeezed from her pinned chest and she pushed at his arms. Nothing. A roiling panic rose through her. “August.”

  Her cry met with silence and his unresponsive body. She pushed out of his arms and held his head and back as she turned him over. His body flopped against the floor and the beginnings of a welt popped red on his forehead.

  She pressed her good ear against his chest. The faithful and strong thump of his heart eased her breathing a little, but as she pulled her arms out from behind him, the sight of blood sent a new chill through her. David.

  Not two years earlier she’d held her brother in her arms, her fingers covered with his blood, in an attempt to save his life from a German spy’s attack. Was it another head wound that would take August’s memory like it had David’s? Would it debilitate him? She turned August on his side and the sight pinched her air to a stop. Bright red blood soaked the back of his shirt.

  “Jude!” she called out, praying the little boy had stayed within earshot. “Jude!”

  The chapel door swung wide and Jude took in the situation with wide eyes.

  “Run to the house. Find Uncle David and Grandpa Ross or Carter. As fast as you can.”

  With a nod, he turned and fled. Jess began quick work of unbuttoning August’s shirt and slipping it from his body. The beam must have struck August as it fell, leaving a two-inch gash between his scapula and spine, clean from what she could tell. But experience had taught her wounds could travel much deeper than the eye could see.

  Oh, God, please. Please don’t take him. In mind or body. Please... let him stay.

  She reached down to her petticoat and ripped the cloth, a mixture of simple lace and cotton, making a poor but needed bandage. As she leaned his head on her shoulder to slip the cloth around his back, mindful of the growing lump on his forehead, he groaned.

  She sighed against his hair, a sudden relief washing over her as she tied the cloth in place. David had been unconscious for a week. A minute or two presented a much better prognosis. August pulled back from her and she placed her hands on his shoulders to help him orient himself. Those periwinkle eyes stared back, clearing with each blink.

  “Jessica?”

  Her name had never sounded so sweet. “Nice to see those eyes, Mr. Reinhold.”

  He squinted and winced, attempting to straighten his back. “What happened?”

  “The rafter beam fell and you pushed me out of the way of it.”

  His gaze rose to hers. “Are you injured?”

  She smiled, softening her hold on his shoulders, and wondered how she ever mistook him for a villain. “Your speedy reaction saved me from any harm, but you? You hit your head, I assume, from coming down hard on the floor.” Her gaze dropped to his chest and her makeshift bandaging skills. “And the beam grazed you with enough force to leave a mark.”

  He touched his forehead, grimacing as his fingers inspected the impressive lump now turning a lovely shade of green, and then he looked down and ran a hand over the cloth across his chest. “You... you did this?”

  “I am a nurse, you know.”

  His smile wobbled into place, and the spark returned to his eyes as he scanned her body. “I am grateful, I’m sure.” He examined a loose piece of the cloth between his fingers. “And this? This was from your petticoat?”

  She crossed her arms, her face warm. “Desperate times, Mr. Reinhold. Your life was much more important than the welfare of my undergarment.”

  His brow tipped in that attractive way of his and she prepared for the impish aftermath. “I’ve been wrapped in your petticoats? I believe a wedding is necessary now.”

  Jess stood to hide her smile. “You, August Reinhold, are an incorrigible flirt.”

  He struggled to stand so she braced his arms with her hands and assisted him the remainder of the way. His muscles flexed beneath her touch, budding the awareness of his shirtless form with a bit more potency. They stood close, much too close for a bare-chested man who was unashamedly wearing pieces of her petticoat.

  “Only with the right woman who is in desperate need of an incorrigible flirt.”

  She fought the urge to look away and instead, stared back, drinking in the sight of him, whole and somewhat safe. In fact, besides the knot swelling on his forehead in brilliant colors, his appearance left a feverish wave running through her body. Or perhaps it radiated from his skin, infecting hers with an intoxicating need to feel encapsulated by his strength one more time.

  “I think you’re going to be fine,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to his lips.

  “No, I still suffer from an ailment only you can cure, Mause.”

  “Do you?” She swallowed her fear and edged a step closer into the foggy heat. “I’m afraid your malady requires training for which I’m ill-equipped.”

  “I suspect you are a quick study.” The tenor in his voice reverberated low.

  She touched his cheek. “Not as quick about things of the heart, I’m afraid.”

  “Then take your time. I’m a willing patient.”

  He didn’t hurry her, made no movement to rush but merely stood there, waiting for her initiation, bending slightly to give her more ready access to the items of her fascination—his lips. She drew close enough to feel his breath on her mouth, and she hesitated, flipping her gaze from his lips to those eyes. His brow rose in question, but otherwise, he didn’t move an inch, and she smiled, finishing the distance.

  His lips were soft and warm beneath hers, sweet and inviting. She waited for the fear to overrun the curiosity, but it didn’t. Instead, he gently stroked her lips with his own, ever so slightly. She pulled back to take in
a breath and check his status. Did his pulse pound in his ears too? Was breathing becoming increasingly more difficult? He opened his eyes and looked at her with such tenderness, such life, it welcomed her to bridge the gap for another sampling. She cradled his face in both hands and brought her lips to his again.

  Those lips took on a firmer quality in response, entreating her to remain right where she was. It was a slow discovery, a sweet caress, pouring over the gaping wounds of a distorted experience with a healing touch. This was altogether lovely.

  She lost sense of time as they took turns exploring the gentlest of kisses. Nothing forced, only freely given, welcomed, and wrapped in something beautiful—a direct contrast to her fears.

  She pulled back, her eyes closed, savoring the sensations flooding through her. For years, she’d yearned for one taste of such tenderness from a man. Aching for the romance she’d witnessed with others in her life. Resolving to spend her life alone without the taste of such... love?

  His warm hand came to rest against her cheek and she looked up, tears framing her view of his handsome face. Now, here she stood, safe and loved in a way for which words fell impossibly short.

  “You overwhelm me.” He framed her face with his hands. “I... I am intoxicated.”

  Her breath came in spurts of caught air. “Can you hear my heart pounding? It’s a marvel one survives such emotions.”

  “They’ve been constant companions for me lately.”

  “You’re quite remarkable, Mr. Reinhold.”

  The glint in his eyes turned mischievous, a feature she was beginning to appreciate more and more with each passing moment. “I’m glad you’ve finally seen the truth of it, Mause.”

  His fingers dropped to slip through a lock of hair at her neck. She reached to cover her scar, a habit born out of her own pride, but he caught her fingers.

  “I have heard that the skin healed with scars is stronger than the skin without the scars?” He brought her fingers to his lips, his lashes low.

  She stared up at him, tears and breath lodged in her throat. His gentle caress, cool against her warm skin, sent a wave of awareness trembling through her chest with the brilliance of electric lights. “Yes?”

  “Is it true?”

  Words scratched over a strained breath, gaze caught in his. “It is.”

  He looked at her, his smile soft. “Then I would wager, the scars on your heart have made your heart strong enough to survive many more kisses, because I have no intention to end what you’ve begun.”

  “What I’ve begun?” She couldn’t tame her ridiculous smile. “I think you may have hit your head much harder than I thought, because as I recall, you’re the one who began all of this.”

  He shook his head, the glint deepening in his eyes. “I never began the kissing. The kissing changes things.”

  She felt the truth of that statement all the way through her tingling body. “And exactly how?”

  “It confirms all the reasons why being wrapped in strips of your petticoat encourages an immediate wedding.”

  She laughed and turned to distance herself from the magnetizing draw of his lips. “Speaking of petticoats and head injuries, what do you suppose happened to cause your beam to nearly decapitate us?”

  The door to the chapel burst open just as Jess made it far enough away from August to keep the curious eyes of her father and brother at bay.

  “Are you all right?” Her father crossed the room to take her by the shoulders.

  “Yes, I’m fine. It’s August that got the worst of it.”

  David approached August, examining the hastily made bandage. “What happened here?”

  “One of the rafter beams came loose and nearly caused real harm. Had it not been for August’s quick reaction, I don’t know how serious the injuries might have been.” Jess pulled her attention away from August and up to the ceiling. “I’m not certain what went wrong.”

  “I secured those rafters yesterday. I am certain of it.” August shook his head. “This makes no sense.”

  “I’m afraid I see the problem.” David knelt by the beam on the floor, the look on his face chilling away all the previous warmth in Jessica’s body.

  They all moved closer. He pointed to the edge of the beam where shoddy saw marks slit into the wood. “Someone sabotaged this beam.”

  “Sabotaged?” Jess joined her brother on the floor and ran her hand over the beam’s ragged edge. “That’s why August didn’t know why a supporting beam had been placed beneath it.” She exchanged a look with August and then her father. “But why? Who would wish to hurt us?”

  “Not us.” August’s expression hardened. “Me.”

  Her father spoke into the wintry silence. “August, do you know of anyone in Hot Springs who wants you wounded or dead?”

  He shook his head. “Not with certainty.”

  “Do you think the sudden outbreak of typhoid in the camp is a mere coincidence?” David asked.

  “Typhoid?” Jess stood, searching her brother’s face. “In the camp?”

  “That’s why Dr. Peck called grandfather to the camp after breakfast. He wanted a second opinion, but yes, it’s typhoid fever.”

  Jess’ gaze found August’s. “Then this... this was no coincidence.”

  “It seems there is someone who wants more than my death.” August’s frown firmed, deepening the creases in his forehead. “But all the Germans.”

  Jess approached him. “You can’t go back to the camp. Not with typhoid as a possibility.”

  “He has no choice, Jess. They’ve already announced a mandatory recovery of all Germans until the relocation to Georgia.” Her father sighed. “Colonel Ames made the announcement as soon as they confirmed the typhoid.”

  “You could run away.”

  “Jessica,” her father reprimanded. “Would you have him be a fugitive as well as a prisoner?”

  She turned on her father, desperate for a way to save this man who’d suddenly filled up so much of her heart. “But... but he’d be safe. Placing him back behind that fence with something or someone causing this deadly disease? Is that the right choice either?”

  “I will not run like a coward as my countrymen suffer from someone’s evil. I must help discover what has happened.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “If I leave, I will not leave from fear or shame, but by choice.”

  Her hand fisted in his hold. “And I have no choice but to let you go?”

  “You have a choice—to trust the God who watches over us... or not.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jessica took her first opportunity, cane in hand, to abate a needling curiosity. She took the sidewalk at a frenetic pace up Broad. Past the mercantile and the pharmacy. Over Bridge Street toward the church. Across the street, the lovely white home of Jane Gentry emerged, elevated a little from the street and surrounded by oaks that promised to stand tall guard in a few years.

  Jess took the steps to the front door and prayed her instincts, and those of her family, were wrong. Surely she hadn’t fallen prey to blindness yet again? Not after all the thick-skinned suspicions she’d nurtured.

  She rang the doorbell and waited for the familiar steps of Mrs. Gentry clicking toward the large wooden door. Most days, the woman insisted on being the first to greet prospective guests. She’d always been an anomaly for most of the women in these parts with her ready friendliness and openness to cultures and people beyond the mountains.

  Her small frame, gray hair pinned back in a bun, barely made a silhouette in the massive doorway. “Well, now, Jesse Ross. What brings you to my doorstep?”

  “I know you’re keeping busy with all your boarders, Mrs. Gentry, but I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “You know I always have time to talk.”

  Which meant ‘listen’ most of the time. Almost everyone in town shared their secrets, dreams, stories, and desires with Jane Gentry. But when she did talk, it was usually about something worth hearing.
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br />   She ushered Jessica in to her home, a small table in the parlor already set for tea as if she’d been waiting for a caller. “Most of the boarders have already come for tea, but I have a pot still warm. Why don’t you sit a spell and join me?”

  Jess settled into a high-back and accepted the dainty cup from Mrs. Gentry with a thank you.

  “Now, what’s on your mind?”

  “It shouldn’t take very long, Mrs. Gentry, but I was wondering if you’d had the pleasure of meeting a Mr. Jasper Little yet? I sent him here a few weeks ago, as you’re one of the local experts of our ballads.”

  “I heard about him arrivin’ into town, but I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him. Which is a shame since the ladies seemed to think he was worth seein’.”

  Jess leaned forward, her stomach curling with a growing disgust. No. Not fooled again. “He hasn’t been here? At all?”

  “No. I even mentioned it to Zepporah, since I heared your Grandpa was sending him her way too. She ain’t even laid eyes on him, let alone talked to him.”

  Jess took a quick drink of her tea and placed her cup down. “Then what I have to say next is even more important. Your boarders need to know.”

  Mrs. Gentry starting pouring her own tea. “Yes?”

  “There are two reported cases of typhoid in the camp.”

  “Typhoid?” Mrs. Gentry lowered the tea pot to the table and sank slowly into her chair, her hand to her chest. “They don’t reckon it’s this La Grippe we’ve heard tell about coming from out west?”

  La Grippe? Oh yes, she’d read about it in the papers but no one knew much about it, except that it was highly contagious and incredibly lethal. A new illness, The Spanish Influenza some called it, started in the West, but had spread east following the railway. It attacked quickly and left a steady death trail in its wake.

  “Grandfather confirmed the diagnosis along with Dr. Peck, but we don’t know the extent or the origin yet.”

  Her wise eyes steadied their gaze. “And what of Mr. Little? How does he relate to this news?”

  That woman was too keen for her own good. “I hope he doesn’t.”