by Ava Miles
He sat there holding her hand, looking at the engagement ring on her finger and telling himself she’d soon be up and well and promised to him for real.
Lemayian appeared, Hargreaves right behind him. The healer held the succulent leaves of the kalanchoe plant. “Hargreaves told me about her change. I brought this medicine. We heat the leaves and lay them on the skin for aches. Since she is so feverish, I will make a fire outside the hut.”
“Thank you. What about the vomiting?”
“Give her more tea from the warburgia,” Lemayian said, gazing at Michaela in the lantern light. “The vomiting is a good sign.”
“A good sign?”
“Yes, the body is not only trying to burn out the sickness but purge it as well. Her body is hard at work, giving us time before Mr. and Mrs. Hale return. I feel it will be tomorrow. I sensed they took the shortcut to the valley earlier. Have faith, Boyd.”
Faith was in short supply right now. “How long until the fever breaks with this medicine?”
“As long as it takes,” Lemayian said. “The warrior my son sent to take the message to your guides, Simon and Jaali, has returned. He waited until Simon called Michaela’s brother and delivered the message. Simon said her brother was very upset.”
Of course Connor was upset. He couldn’t communicate with Michaela. And her brother didn’t even know she was ill. Damn, he missed the sat phone.
“Thank you for sending the warrior,” Boyd said. “How far to the closest medical doctor? The vomiting…” Dehydration could kill her quickly.
The man sighed deeply. “Nine hours, I’m afraid. Six walking and the rest driving.”
Too long, although he’d guessed that. “What about the closest telephone?” Boyd asked.
Lemayian came forward and touched Michaela’s brow. “Also nine hours.”
But closer than Jaali and Simon. “Why didn’t you tell me that instead of having us send a warrior back down the river?”
“Because that was what you asked of us.”
Right. He’d forgotten how literally things could be interpreted sometimes.
“I know you are frightened for your woman, but both Naserian and I have had visions of Mr. and Mrs. Hale returning in time with the flower. A messenger cannot leave until the sun rises, you know. There is no light for walking, and there are many dangerous animals out.”
“Of course there are,” he said, realizing how far gone he must be to have forgotten.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hale will be back before we can bring a doctor.”
He shared a look with Hargreaves before pulling out his wallet. “I can’t risk her. When morning comes, can you please send someone to the closest phone and have them call the number on this card? It’s a medical evacuation company. They’ll send someone from Nairobi.” He just didn’t know if it would be in time.
“As you wish,” Lemayian said, bowing. “I will prepare more medicine.”
After he left, Boyd hung his head. “I should have asked earlier,” he whispered, his despair and helplessness growing as Michaela muttered senseless words. Each moan or cry was like a lance through his own skin.
“None of us thought to, Boyd,” Hargreaves said, wetting the cloth again and placing it on her brow. “Perhaps Lemayian is right, and Madam and Mr. Hale will return before the medevac.”
But they were out in the same hills Lemayian had just reminded him were perilous. What if lions attacked them? They could be delayed—or killed. Anything could happen.
“Do you really think so, Hargreaves?” he asked, fatigue lacing his voice.
The man stood up from his chair and crossed until he was right beside him. Boyd was surprised to feel his hand come to rest on his shoulder. “I know they will, Boyd.”
Hargreaves’ use of his first name only seemed to confirm the situation was dire. He couldn’t imagine the butler breaking protocol for any other reason.
Hargreaves resumed his seat beside Michaela on the other side of the bed. “The engagement ring looks good on Ms. Merriam’s hand. Let me be the first to offer my congratulations, sir.”
They shared a look, and the man’s dark eyes held more softness than their usual inscrutability. Boyd knew he was trying to bolster his spirits. “I didn’t officially propose yet—I want to do something special for that—but I thought it might…” He couldn’t say out loud that he’d hoped a tangible link between them might make her better.
“A good idea, sir,” Hargreaves said, dipping the cloth in the pitcher. “If I may ask, sir, what was the real reason you and Ms. Merriam parted ways?”
He poured more tea for Michaela. “Well, in short form, Hargreaves, I’d have to say I felt like Cinderella to her Prince Charming in the relationship.”
Boyd lifted her head and pressed the cup of tea to her mouth. She swallowed a little, although she didn’t stir.
“An interesting way to frame your relationship,” Hargreaves said, bathing Michaela’s brow with the cloth.
At one time, he’d thought the analogy clever. Now it only made him sad. “Since we’re talking about this, any advice on how to change the story? You’ve been around wealth your whole life with Clara, but it’s not yours. Kinda like Cinderella.”
“I’m a butler, sir.” Hargreaves set the cloth aside and rested his hands on his knees. “I know my station. If I may be so bold, I would say you’re mistaking prosperity and social status with worth. The problem with your story seems to be that you consider yourself Cinderella in the first place. Isn’t the point of the fable that neither wealth nor station is of consequence in matters of the heart?”
“It’s different for me then,” Boyd said, feeling defensive. “I just wanted to bring something to the table. Be an equal. My own man.”
“In your terms, Madam could buy Mr. Hale many times over,” Hargreaves said. “Wealth doesn’t enter into their relationship. Perhaps it’s his advanced years, but Mr. Hale knows he’s respected regardless of how much he’s worth financially.”
His jaw tightened. Hadn’t Michaela said much the same thing? But he’d always felt such a powerful need to pay his share of things. He just couldn’t afford as much as she could. “And yet their bank accounts still look really different, I imagine. That’s never been a problem for them?”
“I wouldn’t be privy to such details, but I don’t think they would mind me sharing that while Madam still enjoys certain luxuries, she lives in Mr. Hale’s more modest home in Colorado because he loves it and because it’s close to his family and the life he’s made there—one Madam happens to love. They seem to have recognized what is important to each other. Having served the Merriam family for many decades, I can affirm that most of them don’t value their wealth over their relationships. You might recall Clara’s brother married a woman whom you wouldn’t consider wealthy.”
A fair point. Assumpta was a proud woman. Had marrying into wealth bothered her? He’d never had the guts to ask. “I’ve met Michaela’s parents, and I can see what you mean.”
“Unfortunately, Madam’s first husband did value wealth over relationships,” the man continued. “The irony is that he was as wealthy as Madam.”
“Right now, none of the reasons we fought seem to matter. I only want her to get well, Hargreaves.”
“Then we will make it so,” the man said, rising from his chair. “I will see if I can help Lemayian. The women would like to bring you something to eat.”
He wasn’t in touch with his stomach, but he hadn’t eaten all day. In the windowless hut, he’d lost all track of time. “I’ll step out when you two return and grab something quickly. I don’t want to eat around Michaela since she’s nauseous.”
“A good decision, sir,” Hargreaves said, leaving them alone again.
He stared down at Michaela, thinking about what Hargreaves had said. Perhaps he was right. The problem was that he thought of himself as Cinderella, the one from nothing, with nothing. When had he decided he had so little to offer her? And why had money become the measurement of
his worthiness?
Some of the kids at the special math and science school he’d won a scholarship to had made fun of the clothes his mother had bought at Goodwill. He’d shrugged it off, but it had bothered him. Then someone had discovered his mother “cleaned up other people’s shit,” as Freddy Bado had so aptly put it. He’d been embarrassed, no denying it. He’d preferred being seen as “that crazy snake charmer,” something he’d overheard someone saying as they passed his house. That boy had commanded respect.
He’d grown up, as people do, and left behind the boy he’d been—until he went to Michaela’s parents’ house for dinner that first time. That night, he’d seen another world, the kind he’d only previously glimpsed when visiting his mom at work. Old fears of not being good enough had kicked in. When people at work started ribbing him for being Michaela Merriam’s boyfriend, the shadow over him had widened until he’d blindly pursued the most lucrative job offer he could find.
Was he over that hump now?
God, he had to be because he couldn’t lose her again.
He angled closer to her on the bed, touching her face flushed red from the fever. “I love you. Come back to me.”
He and Hargreaves kept a quiet vigil through the night. The vomiting worsened, to the point where Michaela’s body was wracked with spasms so great he feared her bones would shatter. The fever continued, her skin as hot as the embers in the fire outside the hut where Lemayian went from time to time to heat the plant leaves before placing them on her body. Boyd braided her hair finally, nearly crying at how weak and lifeless she felt in his arms. At dawn, her fever was still raging, and she began to mumble.
“Fever dreams,” Lemayian said from the entrance to the hut, his demeanor grave. “The messenger you asked for is preparing to leave. He is our top runner. Unfortunately, I cannot send one to Mr. and Mrs. Hale since the valley’s location is a secret, but I will post a lookout close in the hills to watch for them.”
Maasai runners were known worldwide for their speed. “Thank you, Lemayian,” he managed, although he wasn’t sure how much longer Michaela could go on like this—although he kept plying her with liquid and tea, she was vomiting and sweating something fierce, losing too much liquid. But he had to keep believing—for her sake as much as his own.
“She’s strong,” he whispered, looking at her laid out on the bed, her body slicked with sweat and so very still—like the fight had gone out of her.
“Of course she is,” Hargreaves said, returning to his chair. “She’s a Merriam.”
Boyd nodded, lowering his head onto the bed beside Michaela, her hand still in his, and did something he hadn’t done since his father had left him and his mother.
He prayed for help to whoever would listen.
Chapter 19
Walking for two consecutive days wasn’t for sissies, that was for damn sure.
Arthur toddled—yes, toddled—down what Sironka had announced were the final hills to the village. Amen. Hallelujah. The flower would be able to work its magic on Michaela. He’d focused on walking and not worrying, needing every ounce of his strength.
“Clara, my dear, I keep telling myself to be grateful we didn’t have another run-in with a mammoth crocodile or hippo, but I fear my body is short on thanks after all this walking.”
“After this, I’m considering climbing Kilimanjaro,” Clara said, her skin glowing with vigor. “I could make it to base camp. Face down their famed leopards. I’m sure of it now. Hargreaves is game to give it a go.”
He didn’t have the energy to harrumph. Last night, Clara had conked out, but he hadn’t slept a wink. Darn monkeys and other animals had been partying until dawn. Who knew it was cocktail hour in the jungle? And after seeing that lion disappear…
Well, he’d been concerned it was the early sign of a stroke. Except Clara had seen it, and she had all her marbles.
He looked at her. The silver mane of hair trailed down her back, and there was a determined thrust to her delectable chin. In the afternoon light, she was so beautiful she took his breath away, assuming he had any breath left after this journey.
“I’ve never been prouder of you, my dear,” he said, taking her hand.
“Right back at you, Mr. Hale.”
“That damn shortcut might have shaved off an extra day, but let’s not speak of our perils to Boyd or Michaela. Feel free to regale Hargreaves, of course.”
“Agreed,” she said with smile. “I’d planned to tell Hargreaves over a strong gin and tonic. You should join us.”
“I’ll need a double scotch,” he said, making her laugh.
As they crested down a hill, a Maasai warrior appeared and waved his spear in the air. Sironka gestured in kind, and the warrior from the village started racing toward them, his arms and legs pumping furiously.
“My heavens,” Clara exclaimed. “He could win a marathon at that speed. Sironka, ask him how Michaela is.”
Sironka nodded. When the other warrior reached them, the two men communicated in rapid-fire Maa. Arthur grew frustrated listening to the foreign tongue. He wanted news of his niece, but he couldn’t make out a word.
“Your niece is still quite ill,” Naserian said, turning toward them. “Clara, this man will run and take the flower to my husband, who will make it into a tea.”
She eased open the woven shoulder bag Naserian had given her for the flowers they’d harvested together. The woman had taken her own bag for the village. Clara’s flowers were to be used for any testing or early production.
And to save Michaela.
“How many flowers does she need?” Clara asked.
Naserian selected a single flower from Clara’s outstretched hand. “We will reach the village by the time she needs another. A few hours…” She handed the flower to the warrior. He bowed very formally and spoke in their direction before running off.
“It is a great honor for him,” Sironka added. “Let us go. It is not far now.”
Still, it felt far on his old legs. To think he’d once used a cane. Then Clara had come into his life, and he hadn’t seemed to need it anymore. Of course, she’d put it out of reach to make him walk. And he’d done so…more easily than he remembered. And yet today, he could have used that infernal cane.
“Oh, Arthur,” Clara said as they sighted the fence surrounding the village. “We’ve made it!”
He wanted to kiss her, but there was plenty of time for that. “Yes, and now we must see about Michaela.”
People were spilling out of their huts, abandoning cooking fires and other chores, as they entered the village. Chief Mingati approached with other elders and bowed. Arthur had to grind his teeth at the ceremony.
“Welcome back from your journey, Mr. and Mrs. Hale,” the chief said. “Our people thank you for the honor you do our ancestors and for your help in sharing the flower with the world. Now, you must see to your niece.”
Arthur bowed because he didn’t know what the hell else to do. He caught sight of Hargreaves moving toward them in the crowd, his normally composed face lined with worry.
“My God, man, you look a hundred years old,” he said when the butler reached them.
“You look little better, but you are a welcome sight.” Hargreaves took Clara’s outstretched hand, and for a moment Arthur thought the two would embrace. But no, that damn protocol prevented it. He was tired of it.
“Dammit, Hargreaves, if you don’t take Clara in hand now, you’ll never do it,” he barked, “and after what we’ve been through, she’d find it a comfort.”
The butler somehow managed to look down his nose at him even if it wasn’t a full-wattage set down. Nonetheless, he stooped to kiss Clara on both cheeks. “Forgive the impropriety, Madam, but our predicament has been unusual to say the least.”
“Thank you, Hargreaves,” Clara said, smoothing back her hair. “How is Michaela?”
“Very ill, Madam,” Hargreaves responded. “So ill Boyd sent someone to call for medical evaluators from Nairobi. Lemayian adminis
tered the flower, and we are waiting for it to take effect.”
She was that bad? The news gave him a surge of energy. “Well, good God, man, let’s not waste another moment blathering.”
When he entered the hut, the shock of seeing her hit him in the chest. He flashed back to those horrible last days with his first wife, Harriet, when she was in the hospital chock full of cancer. “No.”
When Boyd turned, his face haggard, Arthur realized he’d said it aloud.
Clara gasped behind him, and then he felt her slide her hand into his. She was trembling. Of course, he was too. Michaela was still as if dead.
“Lemayian gave her the tea,” Boyd said, his voice rough as sandpaper. “The medevac people haven’t arrived yet, and I don’t know when they will. She stopped vomiting, but her fever continues. The flower had better…”
Arthur helped Clara into the chair beside the bed and she immediately took her niece’s hand. “Her fever hasn’t broken? My God, she’s still burning like an inferno.”
“I know,” Boyd said. “She only woke up once, when I put the engagement ring on her finger. I keep wondering if that’s the last time I’ll ever talk to her.”
Grief dripped from every word.
Arthur shuffled over to Boyd and put a hand on his shoulder. He knew the agony of sitting beside someone he loved, helpless to change her suffering. Of course, Clara had recently sat beside his hospital bed after his heart attack. She’d refused to leave for any reason. It was then he’d realized he was one of the lucky few who’d been blessed with two great loves. When he looked at Clara, she was staring straight at him, her face tense as a wire. He couldn’t tell her it would be all right.
“We walked two days for that damn flower,” Arthur said, falling back on his old ways. Still, he wouldn’t mention their brush with death. Boyd had enough problems without listening to theirs. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll walk back to that Valley of Stars and stomp on every single one. I don’t care if it pisses off that lion.”
“There was a lion?” Boyd asked.
“We’ll tell you another time, Boyd,” Clara said, reaching for a cloth to wipe Michaela’s brow.