His voice faltered. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and wiped a shaking hand across his eyes.
“You’re…not…Abigail,” he muttered.
Then, as though grief and disappointment had sapped the last of his strength, he crashed to the floor like a fallen oak.
Chapter Two
Asila dashed to his side. Seeing the bandana he’d tied around his leg, she pulled his pants up to find his calf swollen and purple. Fang marks stood out angrily in the bruised flesh. If he hadn’t tied the makeshift tourniquet so tightly, he’d probably be dead already.
She dumped the potion meant for Salai into the bowl on the table and put more water in the pot. Placing it back on the coals to boil, she weighed the situation. As a Medicine Woman it was her duty to do everything possible save his life – and hope she and the child could escape before he became well enough to summon the soldiers who would drag them away.
Asila ran to the woodland clearing. The baby was sleeping peacefully under the tree, wrapped snugly in her blanket. She snatched up the child, grabbed her precious medicine bag and their few possessions, and hurried back to the cabin.
The farmer had struggled to his feet while she was gone, only to collapse again half-on, half-off the bed. He seemed to be unconscious, and Asila prayed he would remain that way long enough for her to do what had to be done. She laid the sleeping child gently on the floor near the table and headed for the hearth.
Taking the pot of boiling water off the fire, she plunged her knife in all the way to the hilt to cleanse it. Choosing another bundle of herbs from her bag, Asila crumbled them into the steaming pot, stirring the mixture with the blade of the knife. Purple coneflower for snakebite, basil to reduce the fever, ginseng root to give his body the energy it would need to fight the deadly venom – and finally, from her leather pouch, a pinch of the secret powder her people made with an ancient blend of minerals mined in the clan’s riverside cave, the same cave where Salai had been hidden. The skill and knowledge she possessed had been handed down from Medicine Man to Medicine Woman for generations, the potions tested and refined by her people since the beginning of time.
But there was one more step to the healing arts she practiced. Asila bowed her head, asking the Spirits to guide her hand, then turned to the bed.
Rolling the young man onto his back, Asila worked swiftly, lancing the wound with the heated knife blade and draining as much of the tainted blood as she dared. Then she scooped the steaming herbs out of the pot and covered his leg with them. She took the window curtain down, tearing it into strips she tied around his leg to hold the poultice in place.
The young man jerked up and screamed, trying to shove her away, when she made the cuts around the snakebite. But he was too weak to fight her, and he fell back on the bed, unconscious again.
His scream had roused Salai, and she whimpered in the corner. Once Asila finished bandaging his leg, she turned to her little niece, settling in the rocker with the baby on her lap. The Medicine she had brewed had cooled enough, and she patiently fed it to the little one, spooning it into her mouth a bit at a time. Along with the healing herbs, she’d added a powdered root she hoped would stimulate the little one’s appetite.
Next came the venison stew. Mashing up tiny portions of potatoes and carrots in the rich broth, she fed the child a spoonful. After days of being offered only tasteless mush, when she smelled the aroma of the stew, Salai eagerly polished off the treat and asked for more.
“Oh, no, little squirrel,” Asila cooed. “Your tummy is not used to such rich food. Just a little now. You can have more later.” With her stomach soothed by the warm liquids, Salai dozed off, and Asila laid her on her deerskin in a corner of the room.
Only after assuring herself that both her patients were taken care of did Asila allow herself a taste of the stew. Though she was ravenous, she too ate only a little, knowing if she allowed herself more, her body would reject it. Ever since Salai became ill, Asila had been too sick with worry and fear to stop and eat anything herself. She lived on the occasional handful of berries scavenging animals left behind or chewed the leaves of edible plants she gathered in passing. The farmer’s stew was much like a dish her clan prepared, but very bland, lacking the variety of herbs she’d have used to give it more flavor.
Days on the run with very little to eat, followed by the stress of treating the injured farmer had left her drained. Desperate for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, she curled up on the floor of the cabin next to Salai, who was awake again, quietly playing with her toes.
Asila woke to the sound of a low groan. She waited for a moment, hoping her patient would fall asleep again, but she could hear him thrashing around on the bed. Salai was deep in dreamland, her fever down and her belly full for the first time in days. Silently, Asila went to the hearth, stirring the embers and adding a handful of kindling from the small stack of wood next to the fireplace. She put more water in the coffee pot then turned to check on the farmer.
* * *
Gabriel awoke with a start. The cabin was dark. Only a few embers remained in the fireplace. He lay there for a moment, his mind trying to piece together bits of the strange dream he’d had, then rolled over to get out of bed.
A bolt of fire shot through his leg. Groaning, he fell back on the mattress and closed his eyes. Maybe it hadn’t all been a dream. Judging from the agonizing pain in his leg, the rattler’s strike was real. He vaguely recalled dragging himself home through a haze of pain, planning to get on his horse and ride to the nearest doctor. He remembered walking up to the cabin, finding the door standing open, seeing Abigail tending the fire – no, wait, that part was wrong.
Abigail was gone.
A wave of grief poured over him. Every time he woke it was the same. She’d be there in his dreams – laughing, singing, smiling at him from the rocking chair then coming to his bed. Night after night, he made love to her. He heard her sighs, her whispered endearments as he kissed his way down her body, drawing out the pleasure for both of them. Then, slowly, he slid into the tight heat of her core.
He’d wake from the dream, hard and ready, and reach for her on the other side of the bed. Then suffer her loss anew, the pain fresh as an open wound.
An unfamiliar sound made him open his eyes again.
Abigail! There she was at the hearth, just as in his dream. Gabriel struggled to think clearly through the haze of pain. It couldn’t be a dream. The throbbing in his leg felt all too real. “I’m going mad,” he muttered. “The venom from the snakebite has spread to my brain.”
Abigail turned her head at the sound of his voice. It must be madness. Her long dark hair looked the same, but her face – even in the flickering light of the fire she tended, Gabriel could see her features were different. He groaned again and closed his eyes. Maybe when he opened them, the strange apparition would be gone.
Instead, he heard her come nearer. A gentle hand touched his forehead. He hadn’t realized how hot he was until he felt the blessedly cool touch of her palm.
“I know you aren’t Abigail,” he said aloud. “But I swear you are a real presence here beside me. Are you an angel?” His voice broke. “Have you been sent by God to bring me Home?”
The apparition made no reply. He lay unmoving, afraid to open his eyes again, and felt her move away.