Six-year-old Mercy Hollingsworth worsened as the night faded to dawn. Her fever raged, dampening the gold ringlets at her brow, and everything Tessa tried merely slowed the fever, did not stop it. Mercy's lungs filled until she couldn't draw more than the faintest of breaths.
The reverend prayed beside the father and mother at the foot of the bed while Tessa worked. She crushed herbs and made poultices and compresses intended to bring down the fever and loosen the congestion in the lungs. Nothing worked. Not one thing.
"I cannot lose her," Susan sobbed.
She and Susan had gone to school together and had been in the same class. They had grown apart when Tessa's mother grew ill and she no longer attended school or socials or parties or regular meetings. Mother had needed her, but Susan had always remained kind, unlike many others.
Glancing around the small parlor where the child's bed had been brought down close to the fire, she saw the touches of a loving family-finger painted masterpieces by the little girls tacked on the walls, a doll on a bench in the corner and beneath it toys huddled in a small pile. Such a priceless life Susan had.
Pain wedged into an unyielding ball in her throat and Tessa blinked away unwanted tears. Mercy coughed, and Tessa held her gently. Susan crept close and she handed the child to her mother, the poor thing so fevered she did not know who held her.
"I can see it in your eyes, Tessa." Susan's face crumpled. "I'm going to lose her."
"I can't lie to you." Tessa's throat ached with sadness. "I can think of only one thing to try, a stronger dose of blackbale root. 'Tis a dangerous level, but at this point she'll not recover anyway."
"You know we can't afford a surgeon, but if that would save Mercy-"
"Nay, he wouldn't get here in time. Besides, I have never noticed much improvement from bleeding. If it comes to that, I can do it myself." She hurt for Susan, for this precious child she stood to lose. "She needs more cool compresses. Like this."
She showed Susan how to apply them, then hurried to the kitchen to crush more roots into powder. As she worked, a tiny girl crawled down the ladder in her flannel nightdress, her cap askew revealing bountiful gold curls.
"Whatcha doin'?" the child asked as both stockinged feet hit the floor.
"Making medicine for your sister." Tessa knelt down, her roots forgotten, to admire the child, still plump with baby fat, her eyes as blue as berries. "Is your other sister up in the attic sleeping, too?"
A serious nod. "Julia's a slug 'cuz she won't get outta bed."
"I see." Tessa spied a crock and peered inside it. Just as she suspected. Cookies. She snatched two and held them out for the little girl. "Why don't you go sit at the table and eat these? I need to talk to your mama."
"Thank you." Delight shone in those eyes, for what a treat cookies were before breakfast.
But 'twas the only thing Tessa could think of to keep the child from the sick room. "Susan?"
The woman sat on the bed, leaning over her dying daughter, applying die cold cloths to her fever-raged body. She looked up and, as if she could tell from the tone in Tessa's voice, tears welled. "No, not my other girls."
"Julia is upstairs. I need to go check on her. I want your husband to take little Judith over to your mother's house and keep her there in isolation. She doesn't yet look flushed. Mayhap she will not fall ill."
"Zeb!" She flew at her husband, panic sharp in her voice, for she knew this illness could take all her children.
Tessa checked on Judith, who was just starting in on her second cookie, and then quietly climbed the ladder. She spied a small lump in the bed. "Julia, I hear you are feeling poorly."
"Aye, is that you, Mistress Tessa?"
" 'Tis. Remember when I tended your fever last winter?"
"I do. You made me better."
"Aye. Let me feel your forehead now."
The child's brow was indeed warm.
Tessa smoothed Julia's unruly curls, sadness filling her. A deadly illness was sweeping through the village. Her problems felt small in comparison.
Dawn teased at the curtains in Andy's room, a gray dreary light that promised a rain-filled day. Jonah dusted the slivers of bark from his shirt and straightened away from the hearth as the flames greedily licked at the new wood.
"Where is Tessa?" Andy asked from his bed. "I'm surprised she is not here to torture me with more of that evil brown powder."
"She was called to the Hollingsworth home late last night and we have not heard from her since. One of the girls is ill." Jonah tugged the chair sideways and sat on it. "You look fevered. Your face is flushed."
"I sure don't feel like getting out of bed." Andy stared at the ceiling, looking troubled. "But I have no time to be sick. I have to help you thick-skulled oafs turn the sod in the fields to get it ready for planting."
"Aye, Thomas and I are dolts and we would not know where to start without you to show us." Jonah scooped a dipper of water from the small pail and poured it into an empty cup on the nightstand. "Drink this. I'll have Anya bring your breakfast to you."
And he would fetch Tessa home. Andy worsened. And besides, they had much to discuss. He didn't like how they parted last night with her running off in a cold temper, even if it was to help a sick child.
"Thomas, mayhap we should head to the Hollingsworths' house and see if they are in need of anything."
"I know what you're up to. You just want to try to make things right with your wife." Thomas clomped into the room with a cup of steaming tea. "From Anya. Tessa left it behind for you, Andy, and it smells powerfully bad."
"Oh, joy." Andy made a face, then stopped to cough. "I had hoped without her here, I could escape her bird dropping tea."
"And she scared Anya into the importance of your drinking it, so I suspect she will be up here shortly with some ruse to check and make sure you didn't dump it into the chamber pot." Thomas handed the cup to his littlest brother.
Jonah laughed. "I hear footsteps on the stairs."
" 'Tis her, Andy. Drink it quick, else she will tell Tessa." Thomas teased.
Andy doubled over with a fit of coughing, nearly spilling the tea. Jonah swiped the cup from his hands and held it far away so he did not need to breathe in the horrid aroma from the steam.
Anya rushed into the room carrying a tray of corn pone and poached eggs and fragrant sausages. Her pale face flushed as they watched her unload the plates and bowls, and he realized she had brought food for all of them.
"And I served your father as well," she said quietly, chin bowed to avoid eye contact. She looked more rested today without the bruised fatigue beneath her eyes. She had looked like little more than a skeletal waif on the ship's deck in a worn dress that looked as if it could be patched no more.
Now, she wore a simple muslin dress that had been their sister's long ago, a light yellow fabric with sprinkles of tiny budded roses. 'Twas too large for her narrow frame, and birdlike, she practically hopped to the door. "I know 'tis wrong of me to presume, but mayhap I could take a meal basket to Mistress Tessa. She has worked the night through and that means the child is so ill she cannot leave her side. I know, for my mother was a healer once, too."
Jonah had wondered if the Hollingsworth child was gravely ill. 'Twas the only reason he hadn't charged over there to speak with Tessa and soothe her temper. " 'Tis a good idea, Anya. Prepare the basket and we'll take it over to her."
"Might I add more for the family? In times such as this, no one has the heart to cook, yet they must eat to keep up their strength."
"Aye, that would be fine."
He watched Andy's face change as the servant left the room. His cough had stopped, but his face was red and strained with pain. "Thomas, did Tessa leave any more medicine?"
"Nay. She wanted to see how he was before she administered more."
Jonah handed the tea to Andy. "I know. It smells like a wet rat, but there is naught to be done but to drink it. It should give you enough piss and vinegar to chase pretty Anya around the kitchen."
"If I did, Tessa said she'd have my head, and I believe her. Your wife may be a kitten when it comes to you, but she is still fearsome when riled." Andy took a sip of his tea and choked. "You cannot imagine how powerfully putrid this tastes."
"Drink it." Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and braced his feet against the floor. "I'll not have my brother become more ill."
Jonah caught Thomas' gaze and read the concern there. Aye, he had worries, too.
"I'll saddle the horses." Jonah stood. Keeping his hands busy would make him less likely to worry over the dangerous work Tessa did, tending to those who were ill, and how he wished he had last night to do over again.
The pain in his heart reminded him she was gone. He couldn't believe it hurt so much to be without Tessa in his life.
"She feels a bit cooler." Tessa laid her cheek against Mercy's forehead just to make sure. "Aye, she does. Susan, the fever is retreating."
"Praise Heaven." Susan crumpled to her knees at the bedside, unshed tears finally falling. "Oh, Zeb. Did you hear? Mercy is going to live."
"Aye, and all because of Mistress Hunter's care." Grief eased from his rough face as he knelt down beside his wife, taking her in his sturdy arms.
Tessa dropped her gaze to give the couple privacy as she dunked another cloth in the herbed water and wrung excess moisture from it. There was still the lung fluid to be dealt with, but the onion poultice had helped the colonel. Tessa thought it would do the same for little Mercy.
A knock rattled the door. Zeb stood. "I wager that is the reverend. He's back from his duties at the meetinghouse."
A cool wind slung through the cabin, making the fire flicker when he opened the door. "Major Hunter. Have you come looking for your wife?"
"Aye. And our Anya has made breakfast for all of you, thinking you wouldn't have time with a sick child to care for." Jonah's voice rumbled with warmth, with a spine-tingling richness. Tessa folded the cloth in thirds, deliberately keeping her back to the door, both to block the child from the wind and to stop herself from turning around to face him. To keep from letting him see her heart in her eyes, her foolish, dreamer's heart.
"How thoughtful." Susan swiped the tears from her eyes. "With two ill children, I haven't given a thought to cooking. Come in, Major Hunter."
She heard his boots knell on the floor and the click of the latch catching as the door closed. The room felt warmer with him in it. She gazed down at the sleeping child. Another touch to her brow proved the fever was truly fading.
Encouraged, Tessa concentrated on her work and kept her back to her husband. She did not want to be distracted from doing her best for little Mercy, not even if her own heart was breaking. She heard the low voices of Anya and Susan talking in the kitchen and the rumble of the men in conversation right behind her, and the pop from the blazing fire in the hearth. Still, Jonah's low voice drew her thoughts away from her work.
Although she felt ready to crack in two, her body heated, knowing he stood an arm's length away. All she would have to do was reach out and he would take her against his strong chest and hold her until the fear and the pain subsided. But she could not allow it. She would not be a fool twice.
She knelt to uncover the frying pan on the floor at her feet and scooped a goodly amount of onion mash into a spoon. She gently set the heated paste on Mercy's chest.
"I often helped my mother." Anya knelt on the other side of the bed, across from Tessa, the little girl between them. "She knew much about tending the sick. 'Tis necessary to have at least one healing woman in a village."
"I could use help. I've two girls here to tend, and Thankful Bowman to check on. How's Andy?"
"Worsening, but I think the tea is helping him fight it. He doesn't seem as ill as this one."
"Aye, but he may. I will send another mixture home with Jonah. If you wouldn't mind spreading this poultice, then I can see how little Julia fares."
"I have applied these before." Anya no longer looked shy but competent, sure of her skills. She had tender hands, slim and careful. She would do a good job, Tessa knew.
Avoiding Jonah, she climbed upstairs to see Julia. She did not wish to move the child yet, who slept cozy beneath several quilts, her fever not yet dangerously high. She would crush more roots and maybe make a strong poultice. It worked for Mercy's aggressive fever. Mayhap Tessa could stop the illness before it made Julia as sick.
When she climbed down the ladder, Jonah was there. Oh, apology was plain on his face. He thought he could smile at her, that she would be grateful enough for a good home and a husband better than Horace Walling, and that would be all. He couldn't see how his motives mattered.
He would soon see how wrong he was.
"Have some breakfast. You need to keep up your strength." He held out a cup of tea, steaming and fragrant. "You look far too pale."
"From lack of sleep and from you." She said it low, without accusation. For in truth, half of the blame was hers. She was at fault for believing his lies, for imagining this man could love a woman like her.
He winced. "I had hoped for some quick forgiveness."
"Go on and hope. I'll not stop you." She plucked the tea from his grip and sipped it, retreating to her work space on Susan's polished counter.
Jonah's hands settled on her shoulders. "I'm proud of you, Tessa. This work you do, 'tis courageous. It takes a strength of character to sit beside the dying and not run, not be afraid."
"I am often afraid," she confessed, unclasping the lid from a crock. "But such is life, Jonah. 'Tis scary business. The birthing and the dying and all that comes in between. 'Tis not only in legends of war heroes, but in the strength of quietly living and loving and trusting."
Jonah saw it then, how completely he'd failed her. There was nothing wrong with setting a criterion for a wife, using it to choose his bride. The wrong came in letting her believe she was special to him, that she was above price, beyond his own fear to trust and love another. Those gifts, that courage, he hadn't given her.
Because he was afraid to hand over his heart to another, to feel emotions that could make him vulnerable, like he was at this moment.
'Twas all she could do to gather enough courage to walk through the door. She lingered on the road outside the impressive clapboard house with a dozen black-paned windows glimmering in the weak sun.
Overnight it seemed as if the earth had been reborn. Tiny gray buds dotted black-limbed trees, promises of the leaves yet to come. And on the ground, when she looked closely, tiny shoots of green struggled beneath the dirt and last year's grasses. Birds sang more loudly, as if rejoicing in the change of season. Even the afternoon air smelled different, filled with promise.
Tessa narrowed her gaze to the house. She could see the colonel's room, the curtains open to take advantage of the view of forestland and the river beyond. A great fondness for the old man penetrated the cold shock still clamped around her heart She knew Samuel would be hurt, but it could not be helped.
Gathering what strength she could, she pushed open the door and stepped inside the house that would no longer be her home. The parlor was empty, although a fire crackled in the hearth. A book lay closed on the chair between the fireplace and the window where the colonel liked to read. He was probably upstairs taking a needed nap.
She did not bother to take off her cloak, for she would be leaving soon. More numbness crept over her, and she felt as she had when her mother finally died, unable to feel anything at all. But this numbness wouldn't last long, she knew that, too, as ice on a pond could never stay frozen. In time, spring always came.
Andy slept in his bed, a hot fire snapping in the grate. She set her basket down quietly and laid a hand to his brow. Aye, there was a fever, but it wasn't as intense as the colonel's had been, or little Mercy Hollingsworth's.
Encouraged, she snatched her basket of herbs and headed down the hall where the door stood open. She paused in the threshold to see the bed carefully made, Anya's work, and the curtain thrown back to let the meager sun gleam through the window.
It took no time at all to pack, for she'd hardly had the chance to unpack. Her mother's wedding gown, the dress she had worn to become Jonah's wife, was already folded in paper on top of the few keepsakes she owned, Mother's hymnal, her book of prayers, a treasured volume of Shakespeare's sonnets.
Tessa gently brushed this last book with the tips of her fingers. 'Twas the only remembrance she had of her father, of the man whose love Mother had talked about and treasured all of her life. Tessa had wanted to find a man like that, but poetry and dreams did not make love. Only two caring hearts could.
She gathered her hairbrush and pins, the cap and nightdress and underthings from the chest of drawers. A dull ache settled between her brows and behind her eyes. She rubbed the tense muscles there and then clasped the trunk lid tight.
There, she was packed, ready to go. 'Twas a little trunk and didn't weigh more than a sack of grain. She hefted it in both hands and carried it down the corridor, passing the colonel's room.
She heard a clatter in the kitchen and set the trunk down out of the way of the door. What if that was Jonah? How could she face him?
He'd been so confident this could be fixed between them, judging by the way he treated her at the Hollingsworths'. Fixing her a breakfast plate, bringing her tea, and when he left, promising to check on her before nightfall. He worked hard to convince her he cared, that much was true.
But simple caring was not enough. Not now. Not with the way her heart ached for his touch, for all of him.
He'd made her love him with his acts of caring. Now such a bright affection burned in her heart, her days would be dark without it.
How did she deny her feelings? She could not embrace Jonah Hunter's idea of a practical marriage.
But 'twas Thomas in the kitchen, heating tea for Andy. From the dark warmth in his eyes and the set of his chin, he must know all that had happened. Aye, he'd probably known from the start, being Jonah's confidant.
What did he think of her? Did he look at her and see a woman desperate enough to imagine love where there was only resignation? To call home a place where she was only needed for her useful skills?
Recalling how she'd thanked him in the stable that day for coming to care for her mount and to run her errand, she blushed and could not meet his gaze.
"Here is more powder for Andy. Anya will be home soon to administer it. I have already told her how much to give him. And these are the herbs for the compresses. And this for the tea. Do not mix them. One is to help strengthen the blood, and the other to fight the congestion in his lungs."
Thomas took the offered packets, already carefully measured. "You will not stay and tend him yourself? Or does the Hollingsworth girl need you more?"
"I'll come and check on him, as I would anyone else." She took a step toward the door, staring hard at the floorboards. "My trunk is in the parlor. Will you see that it is delivered to my grandfather's home?"
"Are you leaving us?" How low his voice, and his kindness hurt-Aye, how it hurt. "This is not my home, not truly. Violet and my step grandmother have fallen ill, so I am welcome there for now."
"Then allow me to see you home." His hand settled on the doorknob before she could turn it. "If you ever have need of anything, and I mean it, then you come to me. Not because you saved my father's life, but because I will always consider you my sister."
Those were kind words, and she knew Thomas meant them. Somehow, she found the breath in her too-tight chest to speak. "The hardest thing about leaving is knowing I'll no longer have brothers to tease."
He laughed then, making her leaving easier. She stepped out into the sunlight and smelled spring in the air.
After leading the oxen in from the fields, he headed toward the house. Judging by the sun slung low over the treetops it was nearly suppertime. He wanted to drive Anya over to the Hollingsworths' to bring Tessa her meal.
The back door banged open to reveal an empty kitchen. Leather pouches sat on the counter near the hearth. He recognized them. Tessa used them to store some of her roots and things in. Had she been here?
Thomas was nowhere to be found. Father was in the parlor, reading.
"Heard that wife of yours is saving lives left and right again." Natural color was back in the man's face, and the snap of fight back in his manner. "I saw her leave with Thomas. I gave Andy the bird dropping tea, just like I promised. I made him drink every drop."
"How is he?"
"Feverish, but Tessa looked in on him. Thomas said she thought he had a light case, nothing to fear as long as we take good care of him." Father's nose turned toward his book. " 'Tis good to have a healer in the family. Will come in handy when your babe is sick, as babes are wont to be."
"Aye." Father didn't seem to know of the problems between him and Tessa, and he was grateful. He headed toward the stairs, but that troubled feeling wrapped tight around his guts worsened.
He'd been out in the field since dinner and had been visible from the house. If she had been here, why hadn't she come out to see him? Why hadn't Thomas come to fetch him and let him know she was here, able to finally talk?
The chamber felt strangely empty. It felt as if all the light had gone from the room. He couldn't explain the feeling. Troubled, he pulled off his muddy shirt and shucked off his breeches. Something definitely didn't feel right
He tugged open a drawer and saw the empty place where Tessa's brush and comb had been. He turned and saw the old trunk gone from the place against the wall. An icy chill shivered down his spine.
Pain as cold as an iceberg rammed through his chest. Jonah staggered. It couldn't be. Tessa could not have left. This was her home. She was his wife. There had to be some other explanation.
But none other came to him. Not a single one.
A horrible renting emptiness tore him apart, worse than any Indian's sharpened arrowhead. It surely could not be his heart hurting, for he had no heart. No heart vulnerable to love, that is.
He grabbed clean clothes from the drawers, dressing as he charged down the hall.
"Tessa!" A furious pounding rattled Grandfather's back door, nearly shaking it off the leather hinges. "Tessa, open up, damn it!"
"Jonah!" She pulled the latch and swung open the door just before his upraised fist slammed into it again. "Stop cursing and lower your voice. There are sick people in this house."
"Where is your trunk?" He pushed past her, tense male might and sizzling rage.
Tessa took one look at the power bunched in his arms, tensed in his shoulders, and her heart stopped. "In my attic room. Where it belongs."
"Belongs? Nay, your place is with me. I mean it. To run out like this, 'tisn't right. We haven't even tried to speak of this."
"What do we have to discuss? You wanted a nursemaid for your father and you found one. He's recovering now. What need do you have of me?"
A light flickered in his eyes, a dark and dangerous light. "I thought you were very clear on the different ways I need you."
"Aye, you need a woman. There are more than a dozen in this town hungering for a man like you. 'Tis best that you leave, Jonah. I no longer want to be your convenient wife."
"You are the least convenient person I know."
"Good, then you're finally rid of your difficult wife." She splayed both hands on his chest and shoved hard. "You should be glad."
"I'm not glad." He didn't budge.
She shoved again, but he was an unmovable pillar of steely muscle and furious determination. How did she think she could move him? "I never want to see you again, so get out of this house."
"Never." His fingers curled around her wrists, holding her hard, just short of bruising. "Not without you."
"What are you going to do? Use force? Haul me over your shoulder?"
A spark lit his eyes as if she'd given him an idea. "All I want is for you to listen to me. I can make you understand-"
"Make me? What would you have me do? Live the rest of my life looking over the breakfast table at a man who will never love me in return? Spend the rest of my nights making love to a man who is only taking his pleasure with me? Spend my days being useful instead of feeling loved in return?"
"Tessa, I truly care for you." Tension dug lines around his eyes, around eyes so dark she could never know what truly lived in his heart. "Haven't you felt that in my touch? Heard it in my voice?"
"Nay, I have not seen one true act of love. Not one. But plenty of caring and kindness and treating the unwanted wife well. I have my pride, Jonah. I am worth being loved. Truly loved. I already know you're not capable of it."
Bitterness rushed across her tongue and she tore away from him, hating that part of her that had always held such foolish dreams. "I'm going to fetch Grandfather. He'll see that you leave."
"Go ahead. Ely will listen to me."
"Nay, he has been unable to keep any hired help, so at least I am useful here. And I know what I'm getting in return."
She turned her back and walked fast and hard away from him, now that her angry words had attracted her grandfather's attention. He would not let Jonah into the house, she was sure of it. She hid in the parlor, took a deep breath, and tried to will the terrible roiling pain out of her heart.
She'd never been special to him. Not she, Tessa Bradford. She would never be the woman he dreamed of at night or in the quiet moments of the day.
He still wanted a convenient, practical marriage. But she did not. She never did. She never would.
She peeked around the corner and he was still there, standing in the rain at the open door. Wind lashed his black hair across his strong chiseled face. Rain soaked his shirt and the white fabric clung to him like a second skin, showing the breadth of his powerful shoulders and every fascinating muscle in his chest and abdomen.
Their gazes locked and he just stared at her. He looked so lost. Her throat tightened, and she knelt to feed the fire in the parlor's hearth, where Violet, her sister, and Charity all lay, consumed with fever.
She turned her back on Jonah and vowed not to cry another tear.
From this day on, she would not want, would not wish. She would not dream foolish dreams again.