Chasing the Sunset(21)

“This is going to be somewhat cooler than that horrible thing you are wearing right now,” Kathleen said matter-of-factly. “I would put it on if I were you. It is hot, and we are going to roast in the kitchen today.”

“Oh, I could not,” Maggie protested. “It is too pretty to wear for everyday.”

Kathleen looked at her in exasperation, and put her hands on ample hips. “Put it on, Maggie. What is the point of denying yourself? This one has short sleeves and a lowered neckline, and you know you are dying in this unseasonal heat. It is September, for heaven’s sake, it is supposed to be cooler now. I know that I am dying from the heat, and my dress is a lot cooler than yours.” She cast a disparaging glance at Maggie’s attire. “And a whole lot prettier, too.”

Maggie dimpled at her. “You make me sound silly, Kathleen, when you put it like that. I will wear it.”

She shucked her clothes easily, naturally in front of Kathleen and pulled the light purple dress over her head, doing up the buttons hurriedly. She tied the sash behind her as she stood in front of the ornate, full-length mirror Kathleen had moved into her room when they had begun their sewing.

The simple lines of the dress suited her, and the small touches Kathleen had added to each one, though just little things, made the dresses beautiful. Maggie could remember vividly the last time she’d had a new dress; it had been when her parents were still alive. The dress had been a beautiful brown velvet with lace cuffs, and she had loved the way the velvet felt when she touched it, like the warm living pelt of some small animal.

Kathleen smiled at her from over her shoulder. Maggie felt a smile come bursting out from deep inside her.

“I look . . . pretty, do I not?”

Kathleen laughed, a deep, throaty, from-the-belly laugh that made Maggie’s smile stretch even broader.

“You look beautiful, Maggie. You have put on a little weight since you got here, you are not wearing some awful dark color that washes all the color from your skin, and you are happy. You are beautiful.” She shook Maggie by the shoulders for emphasis as she said the words.

“I am,” Maggie said wonderingly. “I am beautiful.” She twirled around suddenly, the material of her dress making a bell around her slender figure. She curtseyed, dropping her eyes demurely. “No, sir, I cannot dance with you. My dance card is full. Perhaps the next time you see me out. Pardon me? You are dying with love for me? Oh, well, in that case . . . “She dipped and twirled with her imaginary partner, Kathleen leaning against a dresser in paroxysms of laughter. “Da dadum, da deedum, dada . . . .”

“Let’s get lunch started before your lover takes you away,” Kathleen said, grinning. “I

do not want to have to feed all those hungry men alone.”

They started down the stairs, still laughing, arms hooked together. Nick watched from his study, eyes brooding. The breath seemed to stop in his chest when he saw Maggie in a full frontal view.

She was so beautiful, good Lord, she was beautiful. She made him ache. Lavender muslin hugged the curves of her lush figure, as he had longed to and couldn’t, and the pastel of her dress emphasized the shining brown of her hair. She had it twisted up in some kind of chignon, a complicated thing that he remembered seeing on some of the women in Geddes, but it had not looked as good on them. Her hair seemed to have a life of its own; tendrils had come undone and swirled around her face, little wispy strands that caressed the sweet curve of her cheek. Light shimmered on the silky strands and seemed to hang there, as if it could not bear to leave. She seemed to glow; the sunlight loved her and betrayed its devotion by lingering on her finely cut features. Her pert little nose and full sensuous lips drew his gaze, and he remembered how sweet it had been to drink from the beautiful curve of those lips. She looked feminine, and lovely, and soft, and he wanted to go to her and haul her against him right now; he wanted to drag her into the nearest room and love her the way the sunlight did. All over. He felt his stomach clench with the force of his desire.

Nick cursed himself silently, and escaped back into the study, taking care to shut the door noiselessly. She was like a fever in his blood. He took a deliberately slow, deep breath, trying to ignore the pounding of his pulse. He hated this wanting; hated this heat that struck him like a blow whenever he saw her. One glimpse of her, even sweaty and rumpled after working in the kitchen all morning, made him hard. He had seen her that way yesterday, and he’d had a sudden urge to lick the salty sweat from her whole body. He’d had visions of stripping the gown from

her body and laving every salty-sweet inch of her with his tongue. He’d had to leave the room when she smiled at him.

He raised a hand to his brow, and frowned at the heat he felt there. He felt dizzy all of sudden, and sat down in the heavy, carved chair behind his cluttered desk. Just what I need, he thought savagely. On top of it all, I am coming down with the ague. He frowned blackly. He did not feel that bad. He would just take it easy for the day, and he would feel better tomorrow.

He was not better the next day. He was worse, his stomach rolling and tossing all morning, as a matter of fact, and Kathleen and Maggie had taken one look at him as he sat down for lunch at the long table with the rest of the help, and ordered him to bed. He had protested, and they had shooed him up the stairs as if he were ten.

By that night, Tommy was complaining of a headache, and when Maggie put a hand to his forehead, the heat of him seemed to sear through her palm. In two hours, he was delirious, vomiting, and trying to get out of bed, and an hour later Nick was just as sick and just as delirious. She had Ned help her move another bed into Nick’s room, and moved Tommy in for convenience. She was wearing herself out running from room to room, and they were both sick with the same illness, anyway.

Maggie sent Ned for the doctor with white-hot fear burning a hole in her heart. Their fever was climbing despite the cool water she was bathing them with. She had thought for a while that she was going to have to tie Tommy into the bed, but she’d finally got him to stop trying to crawl out, and both her patients had dropped off to sleep. Both were fretful, tossing and turning, and Maggie did not know how long her respite was going to last.

Nick moaned softly, and Maggie was right there with her cool cloth.

“Ssshhh,” she murmured. “Go back to sleep.”

Nick felt her slender fingers stroking the hair back away from his forehead. Everything was hazy to him; it seemed as if her voice came from a long way away. His eyelashes fluttered, and her hands stroked down his chest and arms, lulling him with the cool and pleasing texture of the towel she had soaked in water. The fragrance of eucalyptus drifted up and tickled his nose.

“Just go back to sleep,” she whispered. “Just keep on sleeping . . . I found some herbs in the pantry and I made an infusion from them. They must have been your mother’s. I remember my mother using some of them. This one’s good for lung fever and it will make it easier for you to breathe. Just sleep now, go back to sleep and rest. You need to rest, Nick. It is very important.”

He struggled to open his eyes, then gave up the fight. He did not really want to wake up; he wanted those soothing strokes to keep on happening. The sensation of her hands on his skin and the smell of the herbs was the last thing he remembered before falling into a fretful sleep.

***********************************************

The doctor frowned as he leaned close to Tommy’s chest and listened to him breathe. Maggie caught her breath when the small line appeared between his bushy, gray eyebrows. He pried Tommy’s eyelids up and made a small hmming noise as he stared at the boy’s red, bloodshot eyes. Tommy’s skin was flushed and he shivered occasionally despite the blankets that covered him. When the doctor finished with Tommy and propped Nick’s mouth open to look at his tongue, the small frown had become a large one, and Maggie’s heart thudded with terror as he watched the labored rise and fall of Nick’s chest.

The only sound in the room was the twin rasp of breath as both Tommy and Nick struggled to draw air into their lungs. Maggie was afraid to speak, afraid to ask questions, because she was afraid she did not want to hear the answer. When Doctor Fell closed his black bag with a definite snap, he looked at her gravely and she followed him into the hallway. As she walked behind him, she noticed how slowly he was moving, as if every step was a hardship, and she wondered how long he had gone without sleep. He was in his late sixties, at least, and he was too old to doctor this whole county alone. Maggie had heard, through Kathleen, that Doctor Fell had someone coming from back east to help him with his patients; she wished that whoever he was would get here now.

Maggie pulled the door shut behind her.

“Mrs. Reynolds, have you ever had yellow fever?” Doctor Fell asked bluntly, rubbing a calloused hand through his disordered, thinning hair. “Because I am very much afraid that is what they both have, and half of the county with them.”

Maggie swayed and put a hand on the wall to steady herself. The other hand crept to her throat in sudden, paralyzing fear.