Chapter Five
Bethany gripped the edge of the tub as she lowered herself into the warm water. Her silver charm bracelet clinked when it touched the porcelain of the bathtub. Resting her head against the papered wall behind the tub, she glanced around the washroom and remembered how envious she had been when her father and Levi built the pretty cottage for Lydia. With the medical office downstairs and Lydia’s private room upstairs, the purpose of the cottage was for Lydia to be available when anyone in the village needed care, but Bethany had wished they would build a cottage for her too. And when Connor arrived and fell in love with Lydia, Bethany thought life unjust. She remembered how—at only fifteen—she thought Connor was the most perfect man she had ever encountered. While Lydia took her time considering the possibility of sharing her life with Connor, Bethany had burned with envy, desperate to be loved by such a brave and courteous man. Now Lydia was happily married to Connor, and Bethany had grown out of her jealousy. Instead of dreaming of Connor, she now watched the love between him and Lydia and dreamed of finding a love like theirs someday.
As Bethany began to fantasize about being loved, she thought of Justin. The charming and mysterious outsider was downstairs, asleep and ill. He had said he liked the sound of her voice. Though she had only just met him, she liked him too. She hummed as she recalled the feeling of his chest beneath her hand. A wave of dizziness swayed her vision. She blinked and the strong and strange sensation went away. Maybe such a powerful physical reaction to a thought about a person had some deep and instructive meaning. Before she could delve into the notion, the dizziness returned. It was not a swoon of emotion, but a warning from her body. Sitting up, she reached for a rag to dab her face. As the soft cloth absorbed drips from her forehead, more ran down. She had not yet wet her hair and the tub water was not hot enough to produce steam. Bethany glanced to the ceiling, wondering why her head was so wet. As she lifted her chin, the dizziness returned with full force. Her ears began to ring and her heart pounded with hard, irregular thumps.
Bethany pulled the plug and clung to the side of the tub as the water swirled down the drain. She began to shiver even though she was not cold. Clenching her eyes shut, she reached her fingers to the floor outside the tub and found her towel. Her teeth began to chatter as she clambered out. She knelt on the floor and willed her shaky fingers to open her nightgown and pull it over her head.
Overcome with dizziness, she curled her legs beneath her body and buried her spinning head in the damp towel. Maybe she had caught the deadly illness. Panic set in. Her throat tightened and her breath came in painful, shallow spurts. She lifted herself to her knees and crawled across the painted wood floor to the washroom door. Her vision blurred as she looked up at the glass knob on the door, so she closed her eyes and turned it.
The dark bedroom felt eerily empty. Her head began to throb as she glanced back into the bathroom where the lantern’s warm light glowed from the shelf above the sink. The lantern was out of reach and she did not trust her shaking legs enough to stand. As she crawled into the darkened bedroom, streams of the lantern’s orange light trailed through her blurred vision. She squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her aching head to the floor. Through the piercing that rang in her ears, she thought she heard Connor downstairs. She coiled her fist and pounded it against the floorboards, desperate for help. Every knock she produced sent jarring pain through her body.
The door opened. Connor’s voice came from above her. She could not see him. He was close, but the sound of his voice was faint like an echo in the distance. “Beth? Are you all right? What happened?”
As she lifted her head from the floor, sweat dripped into her eyes. Connor’s hands pressed on her shoulders and she tried to answer, but her mouth would not move. Her eyes felt detached from her body and refused to focus on anything.
“Bethany? Oh no, you caught it! Can you hear me?” He scooped her from the floor. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay. Can you hear me?” He kept talking and she wanted to hear his words just to know he was there, but every sound felt like a dagger jabbing into her already aching brain.
Connor laid her on the bed and put his hand on her forehead. “You’re burning up. It’s not supposed to happen this fast. I’ve got to tell Lydia. She’ll know what to do. I’ll be right back. Bethany? I’ll be right back, okay?”
She tried to respond, but her breath stung her constricted throat. Connor left the room. She did not want to be alone. Her lungs felt like they were filled with fire. She rubbed her quivering fingers across the bedsheet and they dampened with the moisture that leaked from her sweating body. Then a hand was beneath her head, lifting her onto the pillow. She heard a voice, deep and muffled, and tried to focus on it.
“Bethany, you have to drink this.”
The pungent aroma of steeped gray leaf wafted across her face. Her stomach churned. “No.”
“Drink it, Bethany. Mercer is awake and he feels better. We think the gray leaf will heal this disease, but you have to drink the tea.”
She could hear Connor and wanted healing, but her tongue felt swollen inside her dry mouth. She could not will her mouth to move but was able to open her eyes. Lantern light glowed from the bedside table. It illuminated Connor’s worried face and the porcelain cup he held close to her lips. Then everything went black.
“You have to drink this.” He pressed the cup to her lips. “Just swallow.”
She let the cup part her lips and the hot tea poured over her tongue. The tea tasted bitter, but not as unpleasant as she had always imagined it would be. She swallowed and the heat of the tea passed through her throat and into her stomach. After another sip she stopped and caught her breath. “I want my father.”
“He can’t come in here. He’s really worried about you, Beth, but he can’t come in here or he will catch it too. Please, drink all of this.”
She looked at Connor’s begging eyes. If she did not finish the tea, she had no hope of fighting off the disease. Her chin quivered. “I don’t want to die.”
“I don’t want you to die either. Drink the tea.”
Bethany forced herself to take another sip and when she did, heat rose again inside her body, but not from the temperature of the tea or from the crippling fever. This heat was different, and it lured her to swallow again and again until the cup was empty. The sensation spread through her, calming her shaking muscles and easing her staggered breath.
As Connor drew the empty cup away, Bethany’s vision cleared except for little flecks of white light that twinkled in the periphery. She took a slow, deep breath and when she exhaled, the pain that burned her lungs dissipated. Her ears stopped ringing and the headache dissolved. As the gray leaf tree’s healing properties flowed through her body, fatigue overtook her. Her head dropped to the soft pillow.
Connor sat on the edge of the bed and hovered over her, studying her. “Bethany?”
“Yes.” She breathed the word through unmoving lips.
“You stopped shaking.” He wiped a rag across her forehead. “Do you feel better?”
“I want to live.”
He gave a short chuckle that sounded like it was part sob. “Then fight this disease. I think the gray leaf will help, but you have to fight.”
She liked the warmth brought by the gray leaf medicine. It reminded her of her mother. She missed her mother. If she did die she would get to see her mother again. She liked the thought. It would be all white light and peace and angels singing. But it was too soon. She wanted to go back to the pottery and make all of the things she had dreamed of making. She wanted to sit at the kitchen table in her father’s house and eat and laugh with her family. She wanted to see her friends marry and have children. She wanted to see Everett. Though she tried to lift her head, it would not budge. She looked at Connor. “I want to be loved.”
He drew his head back a degree. “You are loved. Your family loves you so much… and your friends… this whole village. You father is gathering the elders right now. Ha
lf the village will be awake praying for you all night. You are loved.”
Knowing the village was praying for her gave her hope, but that was not the kind of love she meant. Her eyelids began to close against her will. “No, I mean by a man. I want to be loved by a man—the way you love Lydia. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Bethany’s breathing settled into a smooth, shallow rhythm and as she slipped into sleep, she heard Connor’s kind voice. “You will be loved like that one day, Beth. You will.”
* * *
The glow of morning light seeped through Bethany’s eyelids. She drew her pillow over her head and hoped to return to a particularly pleasant dream, then she remembered where she was. She peeked one eye open to confirm she was in the upstairs room of Lydia’s medical cottage. The reality of that horrid illness flooded her mind, and she drew the quilt to her chin. The gray leaf tea seemed to have removed all trace of the symptoms—save for exhaustion.
The bedroom door creaked, causing Bethany to open both eyes. Connor held a coffee cup in one hand and closed the door with the other. He gave her a quick glance. “Hey, you’re awake.”
Bethany could smell the coffee from across the room. She took a deep breath. “That smells heavenly.”
“Want some?”
“I don’t drink coffee. I like the smell but not the taste.”
“I know. I just thought maybe your tastes changed after getting a second lease on life.” Connor grinned as he walked to a chair near the bed. “How do you feel?”
“Better. Tired but better.” Bethany rolled onto her side and watched Connor as he sat. She didn’t remember a chair being in the room. “Have you been up here all night?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
He took a sip from the mug and looked at her through the steam. “You’re welcome.”
“How is my father?”
“He’s grateful that you survived.”
“Has Justin fully recovered?”
“He’s better. Lydia thinks his lungs will need another day to heal, but it looks like the gray leaf can beat this. She said this form of tuberculosis is different from what the founders wrote about seeing in America. It took you down fast. Mercer said that’s how it affected a lot of people in the outside world. They don’t have the medicine to keep up with it.”
“I would have died if you hadn’t acted so quickly, wouldn’t I?”
Connor shrugged. “Probably.”
Bethany sat up and leaned against the cool iron headboard. “Since I’m better now, can I go into the house?”
“No, we still have to keep you quarantined. Lydia made a sanitizer out of gray leaf oil and we’re using it on everything, but there is no way to know if the bacteria are dead. We just have to wait it out.”
Bethany hated being forced to stay indoors. Wanting to go to the pottery and feel the clay in her hands, she glanced at her pigment stained nails. “How long will I have to stay in here?”
Connor tipped his cup high, draining the last drop. He set it on the side table. His brow contracted as he folded his hands in his lap. “Ten days.” When Bethany groaned, he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “You don’t want to risk getting anyone else as sick as you were last night. This would kill Andrew. I know you don’t want to be stuck in here for ten days, but we think it’s the only way to make sure no one else gets sick.”
Bethany thought of her father and siblings and little Andrew. She would do whatever it took to protect them from the illness. She nodded. “That’s fine. Whatever you and Lydia say is right, I’m sure.”
Connor leaned back in the chair. “That’s a very mature attitude.” He brushed his palms together then reached for his empty cup and stood. “I’ll go tell everyone you’re awake. Levi and Mandy were here before the sun came up. Mandy made breakfast; I’ll bring some back for you.”
As Connor walked to the door, Bethany remembered Samuel’s death and her grief returned. “Is the burial this morning?”
Connor stopped and looked back at her. He put his hand against the doorframe. “It’s at noon. I’m sorry, Beth, but you can’t go.” When she wrapped the quilt around her hands, Connor inclined his head. “Do you need me to stay here with you?”
Bethany thought about the expectation in the village—every person was to show respect by attending a funeral service. She could think of no one outside her family that she respected more than Samuel Foster. She could not go, but she would not keep anyone else away. Bethany shook her head. “You must go. I’ll be fine, really. Just please tell Everett I’m sorry.”
* * *
Everett stared at the dirt being shoveled over his father’s casket. Tears slid down his face as he watched two men rhythmically cast more soil into the grave. The stems of the mourners’ flowers quickly disappeared beneath the dirt. The fragmented shadow of a nearby gray leaf tree dispelled the early afternoon sun as the mourners silently left the graveside. John Colburn whispered condolences to Samuel Foster’s relatives as they filed away.
Everett peeled his unfocused gaze from the grave and glanced at Connor. Before their eyes could meet, he looked back at the dirt. Connor put a hand on his shoulder. Neither man spoke. They did not need to. After a moment, Connor gave Everett’s shoulder a squeeze then turned and walked away.
Everett stood somberly between his mother and sister. Roseanna’s hands shook as she dabbed her eyes with a scallop-edged handkerchief. Mandy’s unrestrained cries pierced the air. Levi wrapped his arm around her waist and ushered her away from the grave. Roseanna turned and followed them through the shadowy grass, weeping.
Everett looked at the grave as the men patted the dirt with the backs of their spades. In time the dirt would settle, but for now his father’s coffin swelled the earth unnaturally. Everett heard footsteps in the grass and glanced back as John came to stand beside him. The dark skin beneath the overseer’s eyes attested to the long night he had endured because of Bethany’s sickness.
John thanked the men as they walked away with their shovels, and then he looked at Everett. “What can I do to help you through this, son?”
Everett felt childish for having cried. He cleared his throat. “I don’t need help.”
“You will. You now own the largest property in Good Springs. Your herd nearly doubled this year. And your father was a village elder. That is quite an inheritance for a young man.”
“I have hired two men and I will hire another soon. And I’m prepared for the training to be an elder.” Everett did not want to talk about the weight of his new responsibilities as he looked at his father’s fresh grave. “Connor told me Bethany got sick last night and she’s better now, but I know whatever happened was more serious than Connor described.” He turned to John. “Is she still in danger?”
John cleared his throat. “She is weak but appears to have overcome the worst of it. The gray leaf tea worked against the illness, but Lydia believes it is imperative that they remain quarantined. There must be no symptoms for ten days before she will release them.”
“And then what?” Everett felt a surge of anger. “What will we do with this Mercer?”
John’s eyes narrowed. “Justin Mercer was Connor’s colleague. He searched for three years to find this land. I do not believe he is wrong in coming here.”
“He made Bethany sick. She could have died, John.” Everett glanced at Samuel’s grave and lowered his voice. “I don’t like the thought of them being in the cottage together for ten days.”
“Nor do I. We have to trust Connor to handle this. He is the only person immune to this disease and he saved Bethany’s life last night. He will watch out for her.” John put his hand to Everett’s shoulder. “I know you love her, son.”
John’s paternal demeanor reminded Everett of his father. He looked away. “Yes, I do.”
“I do too and staying out of that cottage last night took every ounce of self-restraint I had. I know she is eighteen, but she is still my little girl. If I can tr
ust Connor to protect her, so can you.”
* * *
Though it was only noon on the first day of the quarantine, Bethany already felt restless being confined to the upstairs bedroom of the cottage. In cautious movements, she slid her weak legs over the edge of the bed, then kept her hands on the mattress as she stood. She waited for the lightness in her head to pass before she straightened her nightgown and stepped to the window. The sun-filled yard below beckoned her, and the sash window creaked as she raised it. She stuck her head out and inhaled the salty ocean air. A cool breeze moved the edges of the curtains as it swirled into her prison.
She turned away from the window and scanned the room for her sketchbook. The mountain of personal belongings she had dumped on the bed the day before was now a neat stack atop the dresser. Bethany pulled her sketchbook and pencil box from beneath the carefully arranged items and wondered if Lydia’s organizational skills had rubbed off on Connor or if his care for a person extended to her possessions. She carried her sketchbook and pencils to the bed. While she flipped through her old drawings, she heard Justin call to her from downstairs.
“Bethany?”
She turned her head toward the closed door. “Yes?” When he did not respond, she assumed her tired voice was too weak to carry through the cottage. She rose and inched to the door then cracked it open. “Justin?”
“Are you feeling better?” His voice came from the medical office below, but she could not see him.
She opened the door a bit wider. “Yes. Are you?”
“Yeah. That gray leaf tea is something else, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“It felt amazing. It knocked me out and I woke up feeling great.”
“Oh, yes. It helped me, too.” The walk to the door had drained her energy. She leaned against the wall. “But I’m still weak.”
She heard Justin moving around downstairs. His voice sounded closer. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way.”
Uncharted Inheritance (The Uncharted Series Book 3) Page 7