Emma’s flushed face and thrashing body reinforced Davis’s unease. No matter how much water he forced down her throat, or how many cloths he put on her head, the fever stayed stubbornly high. She mumbled incoherently, and attempted to tear off her clothes. At one point she grabbed his shirt, and with fever-glazed eyes begged for her mother.
One of the older women in the train approached the spot where Davis sat on the soft grass, with Emma stretched out alongside him. “Here, Mr. Cooper.” She held out a small packet. “Make some tea with this and try to get your wife to drink it.”
Davis rotated his neck to relieve some of the tension. “No offense, ma’am, but what’s in the tea?”
“Willow bark, ginger and some hot pepper.” Her mouth moved in a toothless smile as she placed the packet into his hand. “I used it for years on my little ones, and it helps to bring the fever down.” She patted his arm and left as quietly as she had arrived.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, bringing early relief over the area where the wagon train had stopped. Three days had passed, and Emma remained delirious with fever. Davis’s head snapped up from his vigil at Emma’s side in the wagon, to the sound of wailing, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.
“My baby, my baby,” Sarah screamed. “Please, someone help my baby.” In her fear and panic, she ran down the row of wagons, clutching Stephen in her arms, looking in each wagon for the doctor. Davis joined Dr. Bennett as he moved around one of the wagons and reached Sarah. The doctor took the baby from her arms.
Dr. Bennett placed the lifeless child on the ground and examined him. The child’s skin was pale white, an almost pasty color. He looked up at Sarah with tired compassion. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Boyle, but your boy’s gone.”
Chapter Nine
Sarah’s knees buckled and Davis caught her. He held the sobbing mother, rocking her back and forth. After a while, he slowly walked her back to her wagon. Rising from his spot on a tree stump, Buck took her from Davis, a knowing sorrow etched on his face, tears standing in his eyes. The doctor laid the now silent child on a small table scattered with the remains of the family’s meal.
With a sense of renewed vigor, Davis returned to his wagon. The cooling cloths weren’t doing anything for Emma, and he wasn’t about to lose the wife he’d just gained. He couldn’t get her to stay awake long enough to take much of the tea, which had sat for days on the wagon floor.
Undressing her down to her chemise and drawers, he lifted her seemingly weightless body, and carried her from the wagon. He strode a short distance to a small creek, to either cure or kill her. Saying a silent prayer, he eased her into the stream, and splashed the cool, clear water over her body.
“Are you crazy, Davis?” Ezra raced up to the edge of the creek. “You’re gonna kill that girl.”
“I refuse to sit by and watch Emma burn up with fever until she dies like little Stephen. I have to bring her fever down.” His heart pounding with fear and anger, Davis smoothed the cool water over her arms and legs. Realizing he left the wagon with nothing to cover her, he asked Ezra to get a blanket from the wagon. When he returned clutching a red and blue patchwork quilt, Davis pulled Emma out of the water and wrapped her in the blanket and carried her back to the wagon.
In the wagon he stripped off the still unconscious Emma’s underclothes, dried her, and dressed her in a clean nightgown. Then he wrapped her in another blanket and laid her down.
Overcome with exhaustion from nights of little sleep, he lay alongside her, and pulled her body against his chest, wrapping her in the cocoon of his arms.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next time Davis opened his eyes it was dark, but the shadow of flickering campfires played against the canvas of the wagon. He touched Emma’s face with the back of his hand. She felt a bit cooler, and a fine sheen of sweat covered her face. The fever had broken. He sat up, running his hand down his face, and took a deep breath. Maybe he wouldn’t lose his wife after all.
He left her long enough to start a campfire and put on coffee. His nimble fingers rolled a cigarette while he waited. As he bent over the fire to check the coffee, a soft voice called from the wagon.
“Davis?”
He hurried over and climbed in. Emma had her eyes open for the first time in days. “I’m so thirsty. Can you get me a cup of water?”
Davis broke into a huge grin. “Sure can, darlin’. Are you feeling a bit better?”
Emma nodded her head, but frowned. “I don’t feel so hot anymore, but my throat is sore and my head aches. What happened to me?”
“You’ve been sick, as well as many of the others. Dr. Bennett thinks y’all have influenza. But now that your fever’s broken, you may be on your way to healing.” While he spoke, Davis pawed through one of the boxes and pulled out a cup. He dipped it into the water barrel and placed it at Emma’s lips. He held her head as she drank thirstily. Then he coaxed some of the cool tea into her mouth.
“Do you think you can eat a little something, honey?”
“No, my stomach’s a bit queasy. Maybe later.” She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
Davis sat for some time just watching Emma. After having lost his mother and sister in such a terrible way, he swore he would never allow himself to feel so deeply for anyone again.
His initial attraction to the woman when he first arrived at her wagon all busted up, turned into something else after spending these weeks with her. Now that they were married, and she was truly his wife, he found his feelings ran deeper than he’d expected.
Her soft brown curly hair lay in tangles around her head. He was so intent on getting her fever down, he hadn't bothered with brushing her hair. Once she was awake again, he would offer to do that for her.
He sighed, pulled up the blanket covering her, and left the wagon. Six or seven wagons down he found Dr. Bennett. Of the twenty or so passengers who had come down with the influenza, three had died. Besides little Stephen, another young baby and an older woman had succumbed to the disease.