Daisies In The Wind (28 page)

“I’m scared, Miss Rawlings! I don’t want to
lose Gramma. First My ma died when I was a baby and now if Gramma
dies ...” His voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes. He swiped at
them with a grimy hand and sniffed. “There’s something else. I’m
worried my pa will marry Miss Westerly or Mrs. Simpson. I don’t
want either of them coming to live with us in our house—trying to
be my ma or to take Gramma’s place. If they do, everything is going
to change.”

He began to sob—small, frightened sobs that
shook his narrow shoulders and brought anguished tears coursing
down his cheeks. Rebeccah’s heart went out to him. She drew him
into her arms without even thinking, hugging him and stroking the
fine, dark silk of his hair.

“Billy, I know just how you feel,” she
murmured. “Change is frightening. I know all about that. When I was
little, I used to ride with my father’s gang all over the West. We
were always together. And then one day he sent me away. To boarding
school all the way in Boston. Look, this far away.” She pointed on
the United States map. “I hardly ever saw my father after that. And
my life was completely different. I used to lie awake every night
wishing things could go back to the way they were. I hated all
those changes. I was scared—as scared as you are now. But you don’t
have to be afraid, Billy. You’ll still be with your father, no
matter what else happens.”

He was sniffling now, watching her. She
continued in a soothing tone.

“Your father will always take care of you.
He’ll help you handle things no matter what happens. That’s
something you can always count on.”

“She’s right, Billy.”

Wolf’s voice came quietly from the doorway.
Both Rebeccah and Billy jumped, twisting around to gape at him.

“Pa!” Billy pulled free of Rebeccah’s arms
and ran to his father. “What are you doing here? Is Gramma ... did
she ...?”

Rebeccah’s heart slammed into her throat
until Wolf’s next words brought a modicum of relief. “No, son,
she’s holding on. But I’m here because she made a request. I came
by to talk about it with Miss Rawlings.”

He strode toward the front of the room,
seeming to fill the schoolhouse with his tall form, with the quiet,
iron strength that characterized him. But he looked tired, Rebeccah
noted, and there were grim lines around his mouth.

“Caitlin asked for you to come. She didn’t
say why. But I rode home to check on her a while ago, and Emily
Brady said she’d been fretting for you.” He took a deep breath.
“Will you go to her?”

Rebeccah jumped up. “Of course. Let’s go
right now. Wolf, I’m so sorry Caitlin is ill. What can I do to
help?”

“A visit from you will help a lot.” He
reached for the armload of books and papers she’d quickly scooped
off the desk. “Let me carry these. Billy, do you want to ride with
Miss Rawlings or come with me?”

“I think you should go with your pa,”
Rebeccah said quickly, seeing that the boy was ready to speak her
name. “You two need a chance to talk. You’ll have to rely on each
other now until your gramma is well again.”

His gaze locked on hers. She read the truth
in his eyes and felt her knees tremble. Oh, God. Wolf didn’t
believe Caitlin was going to get well.

She wanted to ask questions, for she couldn’t
understand how things had reached such a bad pass so quickly, but
she couldn’t question him in front of Billy. She reached for her
dark blue cloak, choking back tears.

When they reached the Double B, Wolf came to
help her down from the buckboard while Billy ran inside. She put a
hand on his sleeve and searched his weary face.

“Wolf, is it really that bad?”

“It’s bad.” He glanced around to be certain
Billy wasn’t within earshot. “She’d been nursing Sally
Ralston—Sally’d come down with influenza, along with her whole
family. Caitlin worked around the clock trying to get Sally and the
others well. Doc Wilson warned her that at her age she might be
susceptible to catching it bad herself, but she’s never been one to
flinch from helping someone in need.” He sighed. “She’s upstairs,
waiting to see you. Come on.”

Caitlin looked like a tiny, gray-headed doll
tucked up in her bed. The windows were shut fast against the early
snow and the groaning wind, and a small fire burned in the hearth,
but she seemed unaware of either warmth or light, staring
sightlessly toward the wall. Her lined cheeks blazed feverishly,
looking brighter than peonies against the white bed-sheets drawn up
across her frail chest. Her breathing sounded labored, raspy, and
uneven.

Beside her Billy huddled in a rocking chair,
his hands tautly gripping the carved arms. Rebeccah threw him an
encouraging smile, though her own heart sank as she saw the
shriveled figure lying on the bed.

“Caitlin, it’s Rebeccah.” She knelt beside
the bed and sought the blue-veined hand that clutched at the folds
of the patchwork quilt. Rebeccah reassuringly clasped the hot
fingers in her own. Even Caitlin’s hand, once strong and firm
despite her years, now felt thin and crumpled as paper.

“You ... came.”

“Yes, of course I came. What would you like
me to do for you? Please tell me how I can help.”

“Piano.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Play ... the piano. Would you play ... my
favorite song.”

“With pleasure. Which song, Caitlin?”

A cough bubbled out of her gray lips. Then
she formed the words with difficulty. “My mother always used to
sing me ‘Oh, Susannah.’ I loved it. It was ... Jimmy’s favorite
too. When he broke his leg falling out of the tree ... and we had
to wait all night for the doctor to come, I sang him that song, and
it kept him calm. Remember, Wolf?”

“I remember.”

Rebeccah heard only calm in Wolf’s voice.
None of the pain or anxiety he must be feeling. Glancing up at him,
standing only a few feet away, she saw the stoic expression on his
face, but she also saw something else. Beneath his calm a deep
anguish burned, apparent only in the very depths of his eyes.

“I’ll play it right now if you like,” she
said, turning back to Caitlin with a forced smile. The dim blue
eyes blazed with the fever, and she looked completely bereft of
strength.

“Do, please, dear,” she whispered, and
somehow managed to pat Rebeccah’s hand.

So Rebeccah left the sickroom, with Billy’s
anxious face imprinted on her mind and Wolf’s strong one helping to
keep her own emotions at bay. She hastened downstairs to the
piano.

With the door upstairs left ajar, she knew
the notes would carry up the stairs and along to Caitlin’s bedroom.
Her hands shook as she raised them over the keys. Dear God, it
terrified her to see Caitlin so ill. Surely she would recover. With
good care and Doc Wilson’s skill there must be a chance.

Her fingers skimmed across the keys with deft
precision, and the tune rolled out with a hearty festiveness
totally at odds with Rebeccah’s spirits. She played the song
through twice and then rose from the bench, her knees trembling.
But before she reached the stairs, Wolf appeared at the landing,
with Billy trailing behind.

“She fell asleep halfway through the second
time you played it. Maybe she’ll rest more easily for a while.”

She wanted to reach out and caress his cheek,
to put her arms around him and tell him everything would be all
right. But instead she offered to cook supper.

“We’d appreciate that.” Wolf rumpled Billy’s
hair. “Wouldn’t we, son? If it’s not too much trouble,” he added
politely.

“No trouble at all. It will give me a chance
to try some of the recipes Caitlin has given me on someone other
than myself.”

But then she saw that Wolf was no longer
paying attention to her. His gaze had swung beyond her, to the
front window.

Rebeccah turned to follow it. Her lips
tightened.

Nel Westerly was trodding gracefully across
the porch, a large wicker basket slung over her arm, and as all
three of them watched, she gave a quick knock and pushed open the
front door.

“Yoo-hoo. May I come in? Wolf, tell me,
please, how is Caitlin? I brought her some of Mama’s special
chicken broth and also a sweet potato pie. And Billy, I brought you
a whole batch of my very own shortbread cookies!” She sparkled her
famous smile at the ten-year-old regarding her darkly from beneath
his lashes, flipped her fair hair over her shoulder, and turned
brightly to Rebeccah.

“Why, hello, Miss Rawlings. What brings you
here? Did you bring sustenance to these big hungry men too?”

Something in that gooey-sweet voice jarred
Rebeccah as much as fingernails scratching down a blackboard. She
longed to slap that smug grin off Nel’s pretty, lightly freckled
face, but she reminded herself that she’d be setting a very poor
example for Billy and that Wolf would probably arrest her for
public brawling. “Not exactly,” she countered, meeting the other
woman’s cloying gaze with a cool, direct glance. “But I’ve just
offered to fix supper for them, so—”

“Well, aren’t you sweet, but I reckon that
won’t be necessary. I’m here now and I’d be glad to do it. What
would you like for supper, Billy—fried chicken and dumplings? I can
whip up a batch faster than you can spell
Mississippi
.”

The boy glared at her. “I want Miss Rawlings
to cook us supper. She was here first.”

Rebeccah wanted to kiss him. Wolf’s
expression was suspiciously unreadable, but he did say in a flat
tone, “Billy, that’s not polite.”

“Oh, I don’t mind!” Nel let out a light
laugh. She stooped gracefully before the boy and appealed to him.
“Billy, you don’t exactly understand. Miss Rawlings is trying to be
nice, but she’s probably not used to cooking for two great big
hungry men, while I have three big brothers and know exactly what
hardworking, fast-eating men like.”

“I believe I’ll manage somehow. When I was
eleven, I cooked for an entire gang of ravenous outlaws,” Rebeccah
tossed out casually. She allowed the tiniest of smiles to touch her
lips. Turning her head so that only Billy could see, she winked at
him. Then she reached for Nel’s basket. “Let me put this away in
the kitchen, and then I’d best get started on supper. Wolf, you go
right ahead and visit with Miss Westerly. I’ll call when I’m ready
to serve.”

“She’s leaving!” Billy whispered a short
while later, peering from the kitchen into the parlor. “Pa’s
walking her outside!”

“It’s bad manners to spy on people,” Rebeccah
said primly, rummaging through the pantry to assess the kitchen’s
provisions. But she was pleased when Billy reported that Nel had
ridden off.

“Pa’s going back upstairs,” he added.

“Fine.” She set a sack of flour on the
counter and then knelt beside him. “Why don’t you go see to your
chores for a spell and let me get busy in here fixing you a
scrumptious supper?” she urged. “Your gramma will probably sleep
for a while, and I’m sure your father is counting on you to keep up
with your responsibilities. He needs your help now, Billy, to keep
things running smoothly around here—and he needs you to be a strong
young man.”

Outside, Sam began barking, and Billy glanced
eagerly toward the door.

“Go on, shoo. See what Sam is all fired up
about—but don’t forget your chores,” she called, smiling after
him.

Children needed to play, she reflected as she
tied on one of Caitlin’s starched cotton aprons. It wasn’t good for
them to fret and worry over things beyond their control. She hated
seeing Billy so sad and so scared. The best thing for him to do
right now would be to get his mind off Caitlin’s illness for a
while and to put his cares aside. But what about Wolf?

Rebeccah sensed his frustration at being
helpless. A man like Wolf Bodine was accustomed to solving
problems, to taking action. But in this circumstance there was
little he could do except pray, hope, and wait.

That would be hard for him to swallow. But he
would do it. There was an inner as well as an outer toughness about
him that would enable him to handle just about anything—even
death—with steady strength.

Death. She closed her eyes, praying it would
not come to this house, praying that Caitlin would find the
strength to fight off the ravaging fever.

But deep inside, the fear was there, and her
heart was leaden as she set a kettle of water on the stove to boil
for stew and sliced up beef, potatoes, and onions to simmer.

It was a simple meal, in the end, but to
Rebeccah’s relief both Wolf and Billy thoroughly enjoyed it. In
addition to the stew she fried chicken and baked cornbread biscuits
and even served Nel Westerly’s sweet potato pie. Wolf ate two
servings, she noted, but Billy avoided it and stuffed himself with
half a dozen biscuits instead.

It felt strange to sit at the table in the
pleasant kitchen without Caitlin there. Just as they finished, Doc
Wilson stopped by for the second time that day to check on her.

Rebeccah had finished washing the dishes and
Billy was drying them when Wolf and the doctor came down the
stairs.

From their grim expressions she knew the
outlook was not good.

“Do you think she could take some soup?” she
asked the doctor as he shuffled wearily toward the door.

“You could try, but I don’t know if she has
the strength for it.” His gaze settled briefly on Billy’s anxious
face, and he forced a wan smile. “Hey, there, young man, you’re
sure shooting up fast. One of these days you’re going to be as tall
as your pa.”

That was all. No words of encouragement, no
offering of hope. Rebeccah fought back tears as she hurried into
the kitchen to dip Caitlin a bowl of soup.

But the woman in the bed appeared to have
withered even since the afternoon. And the fever had not yet
broken. Despite cool compresses, her papery skin was hot to the
touch, and sticky perspiration filmed her face and neck.