Amon (22 page)

Nettie forced her gaze from Amon and looked at them. “What is it?”

Doc Drake pressed his lips together a moment before answering. “We don’t actually know. We just know it works.”

Nettie’s eyes widened. “What? You gave him something you know nothing about?” She stood, her hand still holding Amon’s. “What kind of physicians are you?!”

“Desperate ones,” Doc Waller replied. “Miles away from the nearest city.”

“A Mrs. MacDonald gave it to us … it’s a long story, one we won’t go into now,” Doc Drake explained. “Stay with him, Miss Whitman. He seems to be doing better now that you’re in the room.”

She looked at Amon. “I’ll not leave him again.”

“Good. In the meantime, we’ll get you something to eat. And I need to speak with your brother - he might be able to help us figure this out. Do you know where I might find him?”

Nettie stared at him. “No … I have no idea where he is.”

* * *

Newton guided his horse further into the woods. He had no idea what was driving him, but he’d needed to get out of town.

He’d gone to the livery stable after breakfast, borrowed a horse from Chase, the blacksmith, and set out across the prairie. At the time he’d just needed to ride, to feel the wind in his face from the back of a horse, to feel free again after so many months of being cooped up, first in the ship and later in his hotel room. But there was also a sense of loss that had been worrying at him, and he wondered if Nettie and Amon’s upcoming marriage was affecting him more than he knew.

True, twins were more attached to each other than most siblings, and he and Nettie were no exception. They were practically joined at the hip – they’d never been apart. Once she married Amon, they would be, for the first time in their lives. Maybe that’s why he passed through the flowered meadow and into the trees, both of which Amon loved so much.

He stopped his horse a moment and stared up at the branches. Sunlight came in sporadic streams through them as a breeze pushed them to and fro. He sighed heavily, his weariness of the last few months catching up with him. He hated being alone, and for the first time in his life he was going to be. The thought was terrifying.

Voices.

Newton’s heart raced as he turned his horse on the faint trail and studied his surroundings. He felt a prickle of warning and knew what he heard was real. He was not alone.

They came again, male voices carried on the breeze. Newton dismounted, tied his horse to a low-hanging branch, then carefully made his way along the faint trail toward the sounds.

It didn’t take him long to find the source, and he relaxed when he spied familiar figures through the trees – Seth and Ryder Jones. He stood straight, belatedly realizing he’d been skulking along in a half-crouch. He was about to call out to them to alert them to his presence, when he felt someone else behind him.

Newton froze. Was it the huge black man he’d met in these same woods a few days ago? Or somebody else? All he did know was he had an overwhelming sense of fear mixed with an odd calm. It was the strangest sensation he had ever felt in his life.

He swallowed hard, drew in a breath and, every muscle tensed, spun around. And then he gaped like a schoolboy.

The woman was beautiful, incredible, like none he had ever seen. She was dressed in rags, much like the tall African he’d met in these same woods only days ago. But her skin, though dark, was not the ebony black of the other. It was a rich mahogany, beautiful, without blemish or mark, her eyes a golden amber –

“
Gailah de uhn seh
?” she said, her voice soft, compelling, perhaps even addictive if a man wasn’t careful.

Newton swallowed hard, took a step back, then noticed how tall she was – she might even have an inch or two on him, and he wasn’t short. “Ma’am?” he said, his voice weak. He swallowed hard, unable to help himself.

“Newton? Is that you?” Seth called from behind him.

“Uh-huh,” Newton croaked as he continued to gawk at the magnificent woman standing before him. She had to be an escaped slave … but then, hadn’t Seth told him the African man was free? Was the woman in front of him also free, or had the man helped her to escape her master?

“Newton,” Seth called again as he came through the trees. “What are you doing out here?”

The woman smiled, looked at something beyond Newton and sidestepping off the trail, glided past him and Seth to … oh, there was the big man, standing with Ryder! Newton turned as she moved, still unable to take his eyes off her. Just as he’d suspected, she must be his wife. She went directly to him. He took her into his arms and kissed her soundly, then spoke to her in a language Newton could not identify. Some African dialect, no doubt. He looked at Newton. “We go now, yes?”

Newton shook himself, then glanced at Seth and Ryder. “Go? Where?”

“It is time,” the woman told the man then looked at Newton as well.

“Time for what?”

The big African smiled broadly as he gently stroked the cheek of the woman, kissed it, then looked at Newton again. “To find your sister.”

Twenty-One

“Water,” Amon rasped.

Nettie glanced around, spied a pitcher and glass atop a dresser and quickly poured him some. It was hard to take her eyes off him, or even let go of his hand. Perhaps she was sick – when she did let go of him, she felt as if she were sailing off a cliff. Was this some strange fever she’d picked up during their journey to America? If so, what was it? None she had ever heard of, that was certain.

And why would Amon contract it and not Newton or Cutty? The four of them were together each time Amon had come to call. Maybe it depended on how strong a person was. Maybe Amon had been ill before and not fully recovered, so the mystery disease was able to take hold of him first.

Nettie returned to the bed, sat, then tried to pull Amon up with her free hand so he could drink. When she held the glass to his lips he did so greedily and for the first time she noticed his cheeks had taken on a grey tinge. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no …”

“Nettie,” he said, his voice weak. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea … I was this sick.”

“You were fine yesterday! I don’t understand!” she said, her voice laced with panic. “This can’t be happening. Why …” She choked. “Why is this happening now?”

“Now?”

Their gazed locked and she set the glass on a small bedside table. “Now, when I’ve just discovered that … that I love you …”

He gave her a weak smile, reached up and cupped her face with his hand. “And I love you, Nettie … my beautiful Nettie.”

He gasped for air, and it almost did her in. She grabbed his hands and held them tight. She didn’t know what to do and felt utterly helpless. “Doctor Drake!” she shrieked.

The young doctor rushed into the room, took one look at Amon and nudged Nettie out of the way. “How long has he been like this? He looked so much better not a half-hour ago!”

“I just noticed it too,” she said, now standing off to one side of the bed. “His color changed in a matter of minutes.”

Doc Drake put his hand against Amon’s forehead. “No fever …” He bowed his head a moment, eyes closed, then looked at Nettie. “Step outside, please.”

She shook her head. “No! I won’t leave him!”

“Miss Whitman, I will only ask you once more.
Leave me alone with him
.”

A chill went through her as she took a step back. Doc Drake watched her and she caught his eye. “I don’t want him to die without me by his side,” she mouthed.

“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t,” he whispered back.

She nodded, turned and left the room.

Bowen Drake proceeded to do the only thing he could think of to save the man on the bed, who was quite obviously dying. He took Amon’s hands in his and started to pray.

* * *

Nettie went down the hall, past the parlor and out the front door. She heard Cutty call after her, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. For the moment, she needed to just breathe.

Every time Amon had gasped for air, her own chest tightened, accompanied by the strange thought that he was the man the Almighty had planned for her all along. Why else would she feel so connected to him, even more than she and Newton were connected as twins? And now that she was finally here to marry him, he was going to die?! Her chest burned with the thought and she threw her face into her hands, but no tears came. She was all cried out.

“Well, lookie here! If’n it ain’t Miss High-‘n-Mighty!”

Nettie froze, then slowly looked up to see Clinton Moresy standing at the bottom step of the porch, sneering up at her. “Where’s your
fee-awn-say
– he already give up? Change his mind?”

“Go away!” she said, louder than she’d intended.

Clinton strode up onto the porch. “No way! I got as much claim to ya as that rat Cotter.”

“I said go away, you little worm!”

Clinton stepped back. “Woo-ee! Yer a feisty one, ain’tcha?” He reached for her, his fingers like talons. “I like my women feisty –”

“You there!” came a shout from down the street.

Clinton paled. “Uh-oh …”

Irene Dunnigan had launched herself off the mercantile porch and, cast-iron ladle in hand, was marching toward them. “What do you think you’re doing, Moresy, you no-good scoundrel?”

Clinton quickly glanced around for a potential escape route. “Nothin’. Just, uh, havin’ a friendly conversation with the lady here –”

“No, he wasn’t!” Nettie sobbed at the top of her lungs. Death might come for her and Amon both, but she was not going to let a blackguard like Clinton Moresy get away with a lie at her expense. Or anything else, for that matter.

Cutty and Imogene came out the front door before anyone else could comment. “Clinton Moresy!” Cutty bellowed. “’Less’n yer mortally wounded, ya got no business bein’ on this porch!”

“Oh yeah?” Clinton hissed. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

Cutty’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Imogene, shrugged, then grabbed Mrs. Dunnigan’s ladle out of her hand and whacked Clinton over the head with it. He dropped like a stone to the planks. “That. And
now
I guess ya gotta reason to be here.”

“Cutty!” Imogene gasped. “That was … was … magnificent!”

“Really?” he asked as he handed the dumbfounded Mrs. Dunnigan her ladle.

Imogene’s expression was almost rapturous. “Oh yes!”

“That no-good Clinton ought to be locked up!” Irene said. “In fact, I’m going to get the sheriff right now!”

“What did he do?” a voice asked. They were all so busy staring at Clinton’s crumpled form that no one noticed the small group of riders approaching. Newton was the first to reach them. “Nettie, what’s wrong?” he asked and jumped off his horse. “I could tell you weren’t yourself this morning. What is it?” He glanced at Clinton. “And what did he do?”

“Nothing, other than picking a bad time to arrive,” she said, a tear escaping. “And being himself, I suppose.”

“Clinton being himself is a crime right there,” Irene squawked, then headed toward the sheriff’s office.

“Nettie?” Newton said and wiped it away.

“It’s Amon,” she told him, her lower lip trembling.

Newton suddenly realized where they were. “Good Lord, no! What happened?”

She shook her head. “The doctors don’t know. The preacher came by earlier – he thinks maybe he contracted some sort of disease that … that we brought!”

“What?”

Before he could question her, the others dismounted and joined them. Everyone openly stared at the tall Negro couple dressed in rags. Seth stepped forward. “These are our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Awahnee.”

“We’ve known them since we were younguns,” Ryder explained.

The tall man gazed into his wife’s eyes, then looked at Nettie. “It is time.”

Newton glanced at them, then Seth and Ryder. “Both of your friends said that! Time for what, exactly?”

Mr. Awahnee threw his head back and laughed. Everyone jumped in surprise, except Mrs. Awahnee, who was gliding already toward the Wallers’ front door. “He is in here,” she said, her voice silky-smooth.

“Yes, I know,” her husband answered. He turned to Nettie. “Come wid us.” Without waiting for an answer, he took her by the arm and pulled her from Newton’s embrace.

“What are you doing?” Newton asked, yet not in anger, which surprised even him. He felt a calmness he could not explain. Well, maybe he could – the huge African had an air of command. He instinctively knew the man was not only accustomed to giving orders, but having them obeyed.

“No harm will come to her,” Mr. Awahnee told him. “You have my word, little bro-dar.” He took his wife’s hand with his other and steered both women into the house.

The rest stood a moment, transfixed, before Newton shook himself and followed them. He entered the house and headed down the hall just as Mr. Awahnee finished saying something to Doc Drake in the kitchen – something that made the good doctor’s jaw go slack.

Drake let the trio pass, but stopped Newton from following them. “Let them go. He knows what he’s doing.”

“What … how … do you know this man too?” Newton demanded. “What’s going on?”

Doc Drake turned as the door to the patient room closed. “I’ll tell you in the parlor. There’s nothing more I can do.”

“Do?” Newton whispered. “What are you saying?”

“Amon Cotter is dying. If they can’t save him, no one can. And if Amon dies … your sister may also.”

* * *

Nettie watched in fascination as the ragged African looked upon Amon, his face stern. His wife stood off to one side, having pulled a long cloth over her head and wrapped it around her neck. It was hardly cold in the room, Nettie thought, but maybe it was some sort of custom for her when entering a sickroom. Mr. Awahnee glanced around, spied a wash bowl with a wet cloth in it, and snatched it up. He wrung it out, placed it on Amon’s brow, then wrapped it around his head.

“Doctor Drake says he hasn’t a fever …,” Nettie said without thinking, trying to understand Mr. Awahnee’s actions.

He looked at her. “He burns, little one, more dan you can know.”

Mrs. Awahnee went to the other side of the bed and sat. She reached out her hand tentatively, then touched Amon on the chest. He took a huge lungful of air, held it, then let it out slowly and opened his eyes. Mrs. Awahnee smiled at him, cocked her head to one side and spoke very softly. “
Khelah veh, Amon
.”

“What does that mean?” Nettie whispered.

Mrs. Awahnee looked at her. “It means ‘welcome home, Amon’.”

“Home?” Nettie said confused. “What …?”

Mrs. Awahnee smiled. “
You
are his home.”

“I … am?”

Mr. Awahnee chuckled low in his throat. “Look at him. Is he not yours?”

Nettie glanced between them, not understanding what they were talking about other than the obvious. “We were to be married …”

“And so you will,” Mr. Awahnee said.

“You can save him? You know what’s wrong?”

“Yes, we know,” Mrs. Awahnee told her. “We have seen it before where we come from, many times.”

“Then help him! Do you need to give him something? Dr. Drake and Dr. Waller already gave him what they could but –”

“We have what he needs,” Mr. Awahnee interrupted. He looked at his wife, and Nettie caught the tiniest hint of a smile curve his mouth. His wife gave him a single nod, put one hand on Amon’s forehead, the other on his belly.

“What is she doing?” Nettie asked.

“Praying,” Mr. Awahnee said.

Much to Nettie’s surprise, Mrs. Awahnee began to softly sing. The woman’s voice was beautiful, lyrical, and tears filled Nettie’s eyes as she listened. Amon’s eyes slowly closed in response.

“Do you love dis man?” Mr. Awahnee asked.

“Yes!” Nettie cried, unable to help herself. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but yes, yes!” She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. “Please, if there’s anything you can do …”

He smiled. “Do you love him enough to take care of him, see dat he is fed, give him what he needs to get his strengd back, keep him strong?”

“Yes! Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it!”

“I just told you what to do.” He smiled. “And he loves you.”

Nettie swallowed hard and sniffled. “He … how do you know that?”

“Because he is still alive. Fighting to stay dat way. I have seen dis before. It can kill quickly. Take his hand, tell him you will be wid him de rest of his days. Give him de reason to live.”

Nettie looked at Amon. Color was returning to his cheeks.

Mrs. Awahnee stopped singing for a moment, removed a small bottle from her clothing and put it to Amon’s lips. She didn’t even lift his head to help him drink. But he drank it, all of it. “It will help him heal,” she said before Nettie could ask. “Now take his hand as my husband told you and tell him.”

Nettie sat on the bed. “Tell him what?”

“Dat you are here,” Mr. Awahnee said. “Dat you will be to de end of your days.”

Nettie stared at Amon a moment as she took his hand. Her eyes drifted to Mrs. Awahnee whose eyes were intent on him. “What good will it do?”

Mrs. Awahnee looked at her. “All men want a woman they would die for. Be that woman now.
Give him the reason to live.
”

Nettie squeezed Amon’s hand as she stared at the woman across the bed. Amon’s eyes opened. Nettie’s met his and locked. “Amon … Amon, I’m here.”

He tried to swallow, opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak.

Nettie leaned toward him. “Amon, I’ll not leave you, I’ll never leave you. You have to fight this, you hear?” She stopped to calm herself. “We have too much to do.”

He stared at her, closed his mouth and smiled. “Yes,” came out, raspy but clear.

Nettie was encouraged by his voice. “Whatever this is, you’re going to get better. And I’m going to take care of you. I can cook quite well, I can sew all your clothes … I … I know how to work and work very hard. Between the two of us, we can have our home built in no time.”