Cindy Holby (23 page)

She immediately pushed the blankets away. She was hot. So very hot. “Why are you here?”

“I’m taking care of you.”

“Why you?” Leah shook her head. She felt petulant. Like a child. Something in her world wasn’t right beyond the fact that she was sick. “I don’t know you.”

“Leah. You know me.” His voice sounded different now, so she opened her eyes to see if he were still there. He’d turned the lamp down to a soft glow and she was grateful. He sat on the edge of her bed but his face was lost in the shadows. He shouldn’t be that close. It wasn’t right. Yet she’d done the same for him, and more, when he was sick. Hadn’t she? Or did she dream it? If it was a dream before, was it a dream now?

“I think you know me better than anyone has for a long, long time.”

Why did he sound so sad? Was it because she was dying? She could be. Lots of people died from the measles. Especially adults. Maybe he was sad because he was dying. He shouldn’t die because of her. “But you’ll catch it too,” she told him, confident that he would leave. But then she’d be alone. She didn’t want to be alone. Yet she didn’t want anyone else to get sick.

“I’ve already had the measles. When I was a boy.”

“No…it doesn’t make sense.” Not the measles. She understood that. He didn’t make sense. Her world had been strange since he came. Different. Off kilter. She pushed his hands away as he tried to cover her once more with the blankets. “You’re not him.”

“I’m not who?”

“The preacher. You can’t be him.”

“Leah you’re confused.” He won the war of the blankets when he tucked them in around her arms. “Because of the fever.”

Leah tried to think. It seemed like she was confused before she got sick. The trouble was she couldn’t recall not being sick because the ache and the burning was so
present.
If only she could clear her mind of the hot fog that enveloped it she might find the answers. It seemed like they were right there, so very close, yet hidden. She could almost see them. If only her head didn’t hurt so much. If only everything didn’t hurt so much.
Please God make it stop.

And just like that she knew why he wasn’t who he claimed to be. She opened her eyes once more and looked at him. His face was closer now and his dark sad eyes watched her closely. Behind his head the light shimmered and burned which made it painful for her to look. As if she were gazing upon something she should not see. One of God’s warrior angels. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael. That was what always went through her mind when she looked at him.

“You didn’t pray.” She watched his face, even though it hurt to keep her eyes open, in hopes that an answer would show, but it didn’t. All she saw was the sadness that seemed so much a part of him.

He wiped her face with a wet cloth. It cooled her burning skin and she could not help but think he also used the snow to bring her comfort just as she had done with him. He quoted scripture to her before, when he was sick. Was that the same as praying? Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she shouldn’t think about it so much. Maybe she should just not think at all.

“Try to rest,” he said and she closed her eyes without thought, so glad that the burning stopped when she did. She heard his footsteps as he left. She didn’t want him to leave. She had questions. Questions that desperately needed answers.

Cade used the time until dark to thoroughly search Leah’s shed. He considered himself lucky when he found a set of saddlebags. Her rooster protested mightily at the injustice of his intrusion, but decided to let it slide when Cade threw some feed at him and his brood of hens, who clucked in satisfaction. Why shouldn’t they be satisfied? They were warm and well fed. Apparently no one had used the saddlebags for quite a while because they were dusty and the leather stiff. They had more than likely hung there since her husband’s death.

He put some things in it he would need when the time came to go. Some coffee, flour, and beans. Socks and a knitted sweater that was her husband’s. Things he would need. For now he wasn’t worried. As long as she was sick no one would come, no one would expect him to act like a minister. All he had to concentrate on now was taking care of Leah. He hated that she was sick, but at least it gave him the time he needed to heal. Cade stuffed the saddlebags up into the ropes beneath his mattress and checked on Leah again.

Her motions were jerky and her breathing raspy. If only she could rest. There wasn’t anything more he could do. She had to beat this. If she didn’t, if heaven forbid she died…

He refused to even consider it. Cade went back to his room and retrieved the revolver. He strapped it to his hip and went out the back door. Dodger quickly jumped up from his place in the hall with a huff and followed him out. Cade’s restlessness was rubbing off on Dodger.

Cade stood on the back porch and watched Dodger run around the yard with his nose to the ground, sucking up the scents buried beneath the snow. In the distance a wolf howled, a signal to his pack to start the hunt. It was quickly followed by the yipping of coyotes. Cade tested the revolver on his hip over and over again, to make sure it slid easily from the holster, instead of catching on the frost.

If and when he left, would anyone follow him? Surely not. Wouldn’t they just think he lit out, overwhelmed by the weather and his wound and the responsibility of ministering to the people of Angel’s End. Surely they’d curse his name and call themselves every kind of fool for trusting him.

Curse Timothy’s name…
Timothy certainly didn’t deserve that.

Leah knows I’m not Timothy…

Maybe it was better that she did know he wasn’t Timothy Key. She could say she had her suspicions when everyone talked about it. And there would be talk. Not enough for anyone to go looking, but enough that if and when Fitch caught up to him, they could send him on his way. No harm done.

No harm at all.

He should check on her again.

“Come on Dodger,” he called out. “Let’s get back inside where it’s warm.”

Dodger turned from his smells and took two steps before a howl stopped him in his tracks. The dog stood by the shed and tested the air with his nose. A low growl rumbled in his throat and the ruff around his neck stood straight up. Cade stepped into knee-deep snow and cut a path to where the dog stood watching the darkness on the opposite bank of the stream.

Dodger growled again. Cade saw a movement, nothing more than a shadow in the darkness. Dodger saw it also and crouched low. Suddenly there was an explosion of snow. A rabbit took off, moving this way, then that, twisting back and forth along his hasty path. On its trail were six coyotes. Cade buried his hand in the fur behind Dodger’s neck.

“Not tonight boy.”

Dodger whined.

“I know. They’re close. Too close.” Cade tugged on the dog. “Come on, boy. Let’s go inside where it’s warm.” They heard the death scream of the rabbit as they stepped onto
the porch. Cade pushed Dodger through the door, and then turned to watch and listen. The wolves had heard it too. Their howls sounded over the selfish snarls of the coyotes as they ripped apart their kill. The coyotes would be done and gone before the wolves got there.

There was nothing lonelier in this world than the mournful sound of a wolf, especially when you were out on the trail on a cold winter’s night on your own. Cade had spent many a lonely night listening to the howls, and many more nights with company that made the wolves seem generous in comparison. Alone was better to his way of thinking. Unless…Cade shook his head. He was crazy to even think such things. To think that he could have some kind of life with Leah.

“Don’t go.”

Cade turned to find Leah standing in the hall. Her hair, loosened from its braid, hung in damp disarray around her face. The buttons on the front of her gown were open and it hung precariously off one shoulder, nearly baring a breast. Her face was lost in the shadows but he saw the heat of the fever glistening on her skin. He shut the door firmly behind him. He shouldn’t have left it open. The chill was likely what woke her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he lied.

“You’ve got your gun on, Nate. If you go out there he’ll kill you.” Cade looked at his hip where her dead husband’s gun hung and then back at Leah. She took a step toward him with her hand outstretched. Her eyes shone eerily in the dim light. “Don’t go. We need you.”

She was reliving the night that her husband died.

“I hate guns. I hate them,” she said. “I wish you’d never got one. I wish you’d never put one on. I wish we’d never come here. I wish…” She put her hand to her forehead. She screwed her eyes up tight and then put the heels of her hands to her eyes.

“It hurts.” She opened her eyes again and looked at him. “Make it stop.”

He picked her up and felt the heat off her feverish skin through his shirt. She was burning up with it. Leah clung to him. She tucked her head beneath his neck and grabbed on to his shirt. “Don’t go,” she said again. As if she could read his mind. As if she knew, inside, what he wanted more than anything.

“I won’t,” he said, and he realized he wanted to stay here with her forever. If only it were possible. If only she wanted him too, but she thought he was her dead husband. “It’s so hot,” she murmured against his throat.

Cade put her down on the bed and untangled her fingers from his shirt so he could straighten up. What to do now?

Cade went back out. The washtub hung safely on a hook on the porch wall. He took it down, sat it in the hallway and with the door open, shoveled snow into it until it was full. It was heavy when he was done and his ribs screamed in protest as he half carried and half drug it to her room. Once there, he wrapped Leah up in her robe, sat her in the tub and piled snow around her. He braced her neck with a towel rolled up behind it and folded her arms over her stomach. Her feet hung over the end, and he pulled her thick woolen socks off.

Dodger whined.

“I’m trying to help,” he said to the dog.

She coughed, hard and croupy, deep in her throat. “What are you doing?” Her voice was hoarse and cracked. She barely opened her eyes, just enough to take in her surroundings.

“Cooling you down.”

“Leave me alone,” she protested weakly.

“Make up your mind,” he teased gently. “You said to make it stop.”

She shook her head and muttered something so low that
he could not hear it. Cade crouched by the tub, wrapped a handful of snow in a towel and ran it over her face.

“You are the darnedest woman I’ve ever met,” he said. “Taking in wounded men and stray cats and helping little boys with the measles.” He picked up a slim arm and ran the icy towel down the length of it. “Stubborn too.” He held her fingers in his palm and cooled them with the snow. “Won’t tell anyone your pump is broken. Would rather melt snow and haul bucketfuls of water from a stream than ask for help.”

Ashes clawed her way onto the bed and watched the tub with curious eyes and a twitching tail.

“And you’ve got me so twisted up inside I don’t know which end is up.” He turned her hand over and rubbed the palm. “One minute I’m imagining what I’ll do when I leave and the next I’m daydreaming about a life with you.” He started on the other arm. “Mostly I just want to kiss you senseless.”

A fleeting smile lit her face.

Cade touched her cheek and pushed her hair back. Sick as she was, he wanted to kiss her again. What was wrong with him? She was sick!

He could only hope that the snow cooled her fever. But now what was he supposed to do with her? Her robe and gown were soaked and her bed was wet from her fever. Cade grunted as he lifted her from the tub and carried her across the hall to his room where the sheets were fresh and clean. His ribs were never going to heal at this rate.

He took off her robe and gown. “I’m doing this for her own good, not mine,” he reminded God and the devil, whichever one was listening. He caught a glimpse of plump breasts and the curve of her hip as he pulled the blankets over her. He touched her face and was relieved to find it felt somewhat cooler.

He went into her room and stripped the sheets. Even
though it was late, he made use of the snow. He carried the tub into the kitchen, heaved it to the stove top so that it would melt. He stoked up the fire to warm the water and dropped her sheets and gown in to soak. He hung her robe close by the stove to dry and searched the shelves until he found what he hoped was soap flakes. As he dropped them in the water the smell of roses wafted into the air. At least he knew he’d never forget her. Every time he saw a rosebush he’d think of her. Luckily he didn’t see that many in his travels.

You’d be better off to forget her…

Cade went to her room to get one of her gowns. He really should put something on her. She’d more than likely be put out with him when she realized he’d seen her naked. A delicious grin lit his face at the thought, along with the realization that she more than likely had looked her fill when he was sick. “Yes, I am definitely going to hell.”

A high bureau with a mirror sat on the wall opposite the doorway and, as he made to open the top drawer, he caught sight of his reflection.

How long had it been since he really looked at himself? He saw the man in the mirror; saw the lines and angles of his face beneath the three-day growth of beard. He saw the dark hair that badly needed a cut. He saw the deep brow and the dark eyes, shadowed beneath and filled with shame.