Questions and unrest plagued Nathaniel like a disease. He’d been unusually busy with patients’ unending needs and had not a spare moment to call on the ones he cared about most—the ones who could provide the cure for what troubled him. Thomas’s print shop had been closed since morning, and the worry over his and Eliza’s unspoken troubles refused to abate.
Pulling his backdoor shut after the long day had ended, he eased his hat on his head and started toward the road just as the sun dipped behind the horizon. He drew in a deep breath and gazed at the purpling sky. The quicker he arrived at the Watsons, had a filling meal and a refreshing laugh, the sooner he would regain a bit of his regular enthusiasm. A good talk with Thomas would help put his mind at ease.
He’d wanted to discuss his encounter with Cyprian, but Thomas hadn’t come Sunday evening as expected, another reason for the concern that wriggled ever deeper. Thomas needed to know of Cyprian’s mention of Kitty. The thought still turned his stomach. If Kitty wouldn’t speak with Nathaniel, at least he could tell Thomas his concerns, and Thomas could then advise Kitty to give Cyprian a wide berth.
As he tromped across the dry road, Nathaniel tried to crush Cyprian’s words with every step, but they refused to pulverize. Kitty was a Tory, true enough. She held her beliefs firm, but simply wished to watch the contention from afar. Cyprian’s accusation that she knew anything of the missing powder was ludicrous. Just because Cyprian and Kitty were both Tories did not entitle the man to any kind of association with her, let alone authorize him to profess in any way that he knew something about Kitty that Nathaniel did not.
When Nathaniel finally reached the Watson home, he waited on the stoop and rested his palm on the door’s cool handle. He needed to calm his breathing and restrain the gathering storm. If the ladies were in the main room, his distress would be obvious and he needed to reserve his unease for Thomas.
Drawing the warm evening air deep into his lungs, he knocked twice before swinging the door wide. Removing his hat, he rested it on the peg and shut the door. “Good evening one and all. I know you have been eagerly awaiting my—” The scene before him snipped the remaining greeting from his lips. He snapped his jaw shut and stared.
Eliza covered her mouth, turned away and rushed upstairs, but not before Nathaniel got a clear view of the tears that painted her face.
Thomas stood motionless in front of the fire, his gaze following after his wife. His own face was drawn and the lack of life in his eyes turned their blue color a dull grey.
Nathaniel tromped forward and tapped his leg as irritation sought escape through his fingers. It seemed whatever ailed them yesterday had worsened, not improved as he’d hoped. His ire from the walk over acted as a stepping-stone for the brooding curiosity over what caused his friends such grief.
He tried to tamp down his frustration and keep his voice even as he marched to the front of the room. “Tell me the tears on Eliza’s face have nothing to do with something foolish you’ve done.”
Thomas jerked as if repulsed by the very thought. “You know I would never do anything to hurt her.”
Nathaniel lifted and lowered one shoulder. “Not intentionally perhaps. But men are flawed creatures where women are concerned.”
Thomas’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he trained his gaze on the stairs.
Gads! If Thomas refused to confess what bothered them, then Nathaniel would pry it from him. “Is she suffering with the child? Is it causing her pain?”
“What?” Thomas pulled back as if Nathaniel’s words snatched him from the thoughts that lured his mind. “Nay, she is well.”
“Is your press struggling?”
“Nay.”
His irritation forced its way out through Nathaniel’s voice. “Are you in financial strain? Have you received some kind of ill news? Blast it, Thomas, I care for you as I would my own family. Tell me what is the matter, I want to help you!”
Thomas whirled to face him, his mouth taut. “Kitty is ill, Nathaniel. Very ill.”
The blood that had risen to Nathaniel’s face only seconds before now drained down his neck. “Kitty?”
Time slowed and he blinked as Thomas continued. “She’s been ill since yesterday morning.” With another glance upstairs, he sighed. “Eliza is beside herself with worry, and I too can hardly think for the concern that eats me.”
The words slapped against Nathaniel like a cold rain and he struggled to think through the haze. Kitty was ill? He stuttered. “Why... why did you not fetch me right away?”
“At first, she insisted that we not bother you. She wished for you to rest and care for your own wounds. Then when she worsened I tried to find you but you were attending other patients and I—”
“So she has improved then. That is why you didn’t bother to seek me further.”
Thomas opened and closed his mouth several times before sound finally emerged. “Nay, she is not though we had hoped so when she was able to keep down a few sips of drink.” Thomas rubbed his jaw. “When she first started vomiting yesterday morning, she insisted she was simply over-tired, but it has not ceased since.”
“What?” Nathaniel didn’t wait to hear more. He lunged then stopped and grabbed Thomas’s arm. “Run to my home and grab my medical bag—and my lance and blood bowl.”
Thomas nodded with tight lips and dashed for the door.
Pulse charging, Nathaniel raced up the stairs and burst into Kitty’s room.
His lungs pumped and his mind raced. Years of medical training and many years more in the practice of his trade could not prepare him for this. He rushed to the bed and Eliza moved aside to let him near.
The grey in Kitty’s porcelain face turned his stomach to rock and his breathing seized. The circles around her eyes, and the lack of color in her lips made her appear lifeless, though the blessed sight of the slow up and down of her chest testified she lived. Her skin glistened with moisture left behind from Eliza’s moist rag, and her red cheeks screamed of fever. He lowered to the bed and brushed his hand over her forehead and ground a curse between his teeth. Scorching.