Someone Like You (23 page)

“That doesn’t sound like much for such a severe illness.”

“It’s not, but it’s the best we can do. If we only knew the cause, we could treat the problem. That’s the dilemma.”

Later that evening Reed discovered a large amount of echinacea powder in the drugstore. Immediately he ordered that every patient was to get a dose of echinacea twice a day.

Jefferson Holt, publisher of the
Bluebonnet Weekly
printed out copies of Reed’s instructions for sanitation, cleanliness, and boiling water, and the use of echinacea, which Jonah and his deputies circulated. While they did that, Reed instructed Susannah and the ladies of the town on the procedures for using carbolic acid solutions and making powdered echinacea into a liquid to give to the sick.

Once that was done, he again made his way from one makeshift bed to another, ministering to those crying for medical aid until he had worked his way through the growing numbers of the sick. There was two-year-old Melly Brewster, who was delirious with fever and did not look as if she would make it through the night, and Reed remembered the large toll typhoid always took among the young.

He’d examined twenty-year-old William Bell, whom Reed diagnosed as being in the final stages of fever, and looked as if he had a fifty-fifty chance of survival. There was garrulous Mr. McGeary, who enjoyed playing jokes on the children as they frolicked in the churchyard on Sunday mornings.

Then he came to the two young daughters of Joseph Brothers and Reed remembered seeing them with licorice sticks in their hands as their mother shopped in Buck and Smith’s a few weeks back. He pulled the sheet over their heads. It was already too late for them.

A week after Reed took charge of managing the epidemic, Tate Trahern was carried into the hospital by two cowboys from the Double T. He was accompanied by his father, Thad Trahern.

“My boy is mighty sick,” Thad said. “You pull him through and I’ll give you anythiing you want.”

“I’ll do what I can for him,” Reed said.

“I want my son to be your top priority,” Thad said.

“Everyone here is a top priority,” Reed said. “Your son will be treated no better and no worse than anyone else.”

“I don’t think you understand…”

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Reed said. “Now leave your son and go home.”

“It’s going to be hard treating him, isn’t it?” Susannah asked later, looking at Tate Trahern’s pallid face.

Reed lifted Tate’s eyelid. “Our differences were put aside the moment he was carried through that door.” He unbuttoned Tate’s shirt and found the telltale red spots on the trunk of his body.

“Typhoid?” Susannah asked.

“Typho-pneumonia.”

“Typho-pneumonia? What is that?”

“Typhoid complicated by pneumonia. He’s delirious right now. We’ve got to get his fever down.”

“The drugstore has been out of ice for quite some time. We’ve only got cistern water to bathe the patients in.”

‘Just make certain the cistern water is used only for bathing.”

A month later the worst of the epidemic seemed to be over. There were fewer cases being diagnosed, and a higher percentage of those already stricken were recovering. Tate Trahern was among those showing signs of recovery, not that Tate appreciated anything Reed and the others did for him. More than once Reed observed him with a resentful look on his face and a caustic remark waiting for the first unsuspecting person who came his way.

Late one afternoon that unsuspecting person turned out to be Susannah. He slapped a bowl out of her hand. It went flying, slinging soup across the sick who lay nearby, and shattered when it hit the floor. “I don’t want your watery soup. I don’t want your cold rags on my head. I don’t want your prayers or your pious attitude of brotherly love. What I want is to get well. Get me some medicine so I can get out of this hellhole.”

Susannah remained calm in spite of the fact she wanted to slap him. “There isn’t anything that will cure typhoid. We are doing everything we can.”

“Ha! I know that bastard who calls himself a doctor wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire. He likes to see me suffer.”

“That isn’t true!”

“He’s found a way to get even, and he’ll let me lie here ‘til I rot before he lifts a finger to help me. Not that I expect you to admit anything. It’s obvious that he’s gotten under your skirts, so naturally you’d defend him.”

Susannah stared at him for a moment with wide, astonished eyes. The color left her face. “I…” She turned away, obviously unable to say anything, then went to where Dahlia and Hallie Foss were picking up bits of shattered pottery.

“Why don’t you go out and get some fresh air,” Dahlia said.

“Yes—fresh air. Excuse me,” she said. She began threading her way among the pallets on the floor. “I’ll get some air. Excuse me, please.” She walked until she had cleared those lying on the floor, then began to run.

Reed had seen the whole thing from across the room and tried to reach her, but it was difficult to weave his way among the sick. By the time he got to Tate’s bed, Susannah had already reached the door. A moment later he watched her dart through the doorway and out into the churchyard.

Reed paused only a moment beside Tate’s bed. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and he knew he could not say anything, for it would be impossible for him to stop with just a few words when he wanted to jerk Tate up and make him regret he had ever heard the name Susannah. Instead he went in the direction she had taken.

He found her standing behind the church. She stared down at the time-washed tombstones, her hands pale, gripping the fence that surrounded the graveyard. The golden glow of lamplight coming through the church windows breathed life into the chestnut braids coiled at the nape of her neck, and he had never wanted to comfort anyone more in his life.

He stepped closer and came up behind her, standing no more than two feet from her now, realizing for the first time just how narrow her shoulders were, how fragile her appearance really was. “I’m sorry, Susannah.”

“I know.”

“I would have prevented that if I could.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” He was conscious of her wounded spirit, her humiliated pride. She had never seemed more vulnerable or remote. He could not leave her here like this, not when he could do something to ease her suffering. He stepped closer and kissed her neck, brushing the soft skin with whispered words as he told her how he hoped he could take the sting of Tate Trahern’s hatred away.

Even as his hands reached around her and he took her in his arms, he knew what he was doing was pure insanity. He told himself that he only wanted to hold her. Only hold her. Nothing more.

He might have done just that if she had stayed as she was, with her back to him, but something made her turn toward him and open her mouth, as if she was going to say something.

“Dear God, Susannah! Don’t you know what it does to me when you look at me like that?”

Desire washed over him in overlapping waves, each one warmer and more powerful than the one before. “Life is strange. I’ve thought about having you here with me like this a million times, and now that I do, there is no privacy for us.”

“I don’t want to think about the past, and I don’t want to worry about the right time or the wrong time. Kiss me, Reed. Kiss me and keep on kissing me until I tell you to stop.”

His arms came around her, dragging her against him as he pressed forward, hoping, wanting to absorb every part of her. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, the fine bones of her back through the thin muslin of her dress, the warm softness of her skin beneath. He heard her gasp as his hands dropped lower, over the curve of her waist and down lower to lift her against him.

His breathing was rapid, mingling with hers, and his mouth was desperate to be everywhere, to touch the comers of her mouth, searching, pressing, seeking.

He felt her shudder, and next heard her whispered words punctuated by soft kisses to his throat. “I know what it feels like to be struck by lightning.”

She pulled back. “Why do the things we want most in life come at the most inopportune times?”

He drew her against him once more and kissed her neck. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I’ve never experienced anything more difficult than trying to be magnanimous at an inopportune times.”

He released her and took her hand. She looked at him with a surprised, questioning expression. “Come on,” he said, and began leading her away.

“Where? Where are you taking me?”

“I’m sending you home. You’re tired. You need rest.”

“And you need help.”

“You’re no good to me if you pass out on your feet from exhaustion.”

“I’ve slept as much as you have.”

“But I’m the doctor and I’m in charge.” He saw her smile and wondered what she could have found amusing in what he said.

“All right, Doctor,” she said, and let him lead her away.

“I had no idea you had such an obedient nature. I thought you’d put up more of a fight. You must really be exhausted.”

“No, it’s just that I like the sound of that.”

“The sound of what?”

“You being in charge.”

Chapter Twenty

Time passed, but the typhoid did not. The few who escaped the dreaded disease worked tirelessly, to the point that Reed was as concerned for their health as those they cared for.

“How much longer do you think it will last, Doc?”

Reed hated to tell Jonah he did not know. “There is no way of telling. We can only hope that the worst is over, that the number of cases will begin to taper off. Only then will we know it is over.”

Jonah nodded. “I pray that it will happen soon. Everyone is doing all they can. You look plumb worn out, Doc. Maybe you should get a little rest. If you get sick, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

What he said was true. Every able-bodied person in the community pitched in to assist wherever they could, each of them working long hours with no sleep and little food, but no one seemed to mind. There were precious few families who had not lost a loved one.

Like the sheriff, everyone wondered if the epidemic would ever end.

And then, when suffering, loss, and death had almost become a way of life, the epidemic was over. Suddenly and blessedly over. When he suspected as much, Reed went to find the sheriff.

Jonah was sitting behind his desk when Reed walked in and told him the good news.

“Over?” Jonah asked, as if he could not believe it. “Over,” he repeated time and time again. “I can’t believe it’s over. Are you certain?”

Reed wearily rubbed the back of his neck praying that what he believed was true “There have been no new cases for over two weeks now. I think we’re in the clear.”

“My God,” Jonah said, then he laid his head down on his desk and cried.

Reed patted him on the back and Jonah raised his head and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I feel like a pure fool,” he said. “Crying like a baby. I don’t know what got into me.” His voice softened and a sad look came over his face. “There have been so many deaths. So many fine people are gone—a lot of them dear, dear friends. How do you get over something like that, Doc? I don’t know if the town will ever recover. I don’t know if anyone even wants to try. We’ve lost so much. How can I encourage folks to go on?”

“They eke out a living with no money, they rebuild after a tornado destroys their homes, they replant the crops that have been rained out. They will go on and they will do it surprisingly well.”

Jonah stood and pulled his hat off the peg next to his desk. He held the hat in his hands and fiddled with the brim, shaping and reshaping it, as if he were trying to think of what he should do first. “This is sure good news…the first
good news
I’ve had to tell anyone in over three months. It’s the best Christmas present I could give.”

After his visit with Jonah, Reed went home to find Susannah.

She was sitting at the kitchen table writing something in the family Bible. She glanced up when he entered. “I didn’t expect you home for supper.”

“I wasn’t planning on coming home either, but I had some news…”

She paled and he saw the tears come to her eyes. Quickly, then, he said, “It’s over, Susannah. Over.”

“What’s over?”

“The epidemic. The typhoid has run its course.”

Her reaction was much like Jonah’s. Disbelief at first, followed by tears, then numbness. When she looked at him after a few stunned minutes, Reed saw the dampness on her sleeve where she had laid her head when she cried.

When the shock passed and Susannah regained her composure, she turned to him and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dissolve like a wet sugar cake. It’s just that it’s so long overdue. And now, looking back, it all seems like such a terrible, terrible waste.”

He wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs. “Don’t look back, Susannah. It’s over. Look to the future, the joy that will come.”

‘Joy.” She shook her head. “Death has been with us for so long. I cannot remember what joy feels like.” She took a long, deep breath and released it slowly. “I cannot conceive what it will feel like to be happy again.”

“Only Nature has a right to grieve perpetually. The cold will be gone soon, and the mockingbirds will sing along the creek just as they always have, and the sound of it will be as pleasant as ever.”

“‘For God is in His Heaven and all is right with the world.’”

“Or will be for me as soon as I get some sleep.”

He kissed her quickly, gently on the nose.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“You’re a decent man, Reed Garrett. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

He ruffled her hair. “Like you, I cannot conceive what it would feel like to be happy again.”

A week later Reed sent the last patient home from the makeshift hospital, then said to Reverend Pettigrew, “Looks like you can start using it for a church again, Reverend.”

After leaving the church, Reed went to Dr. Bailey’s office and put things in order there before riding home. He could not remember a time when he had ever been so tired, a time when exhaustion had seeped so deeply into his very bones. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

“He’s been sleeping for two days,” Susannah said to her aunts after dinner. “Do you think we should check on him?”

“I don’t suppose it would hurt to take him a bite to eat,” Violette said.

“The chicken and dumplings were especially tasty tonight,” Dahlia added. “Why don’t you take him a nice bowl of dumplings? They would feel mighty good in a man’s insides, I think, on such a cold night.”

As if proving Dahlia’s point about the weather, a gust of wind whipped around the corner of the house and whistled its way along the eaves, sending a few gusts into the house through the drafty places. Dahlia pulled her wool shawl more tightly about her and said, “Well, I’d best be getting back to work. I’ve got a lot to do.” She went into the storeroom she had cleaned out for her personal use, stopping just long enough to turn around the sign that hung on a nail beside the door so it read, DO NOT DISTURB.

Susannah glanced at Violette and smiled. At some point during the epidemic, Dahlia had found her calling. It happened innocently enough one afternoon when Reed needed more echinacea to be powdered, then mixed into liquid form. Seeing Dahlia standing around looking lost and helpless, he assigned the task to her. And that was when they lost Dahlia to a collection of medicinal herbs.

Now she had herbs growing in pots all over the house and bundles of herbs hanging from every available beam and nail in the kitchen and storeroom. Her days were filled with making frightful-looking concoctions from the plants she collected. Once they were made, she tried to foist them off on anyone who would take them. No one had died from her potions—yet.

“It gives her something to do, something that makes her feel useful,” Reed had said, and Susannah supposed that was the most important thing.

Susannah spooned up a tin full of dumplings and put that in a basket along with a jar of fresh milk and half a loaf of bread. As she was about to open the door, Violette walked over and dropped the box of dominoes in the basket. Susannah gave her a puzzled look. “No need to rush back,” she said. “If you’re going to take the time to walk down there, you might as well stay a spell.”

“Dominoes?”

Violette winked. “Or you might find another game to play,” she whispered, and Susannah put her free hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

She lifted her cape off the peg by the back door and settled it across her shoulders before adjusting the hood to cover her head. When she had the basket on her arm, she stepped outside and felt a cold draft of wind travel up her skirts.

“Don’t rush back,” Violette said as she closed the door.

“I won’t,” Susannah said, and started down the back steps.

She walked toward Reed’s house, her step brisk because of the cold. The night was sharp and clear, and the sky was littered with a million stars that seemed delighted to cast their light upon her path. Somewhere, not too far away, a cow bawled and something flapped out of a nearby tree.

When she reached the orchard, she remembered the first time Reed had kissed her and how very long ago that seemed. She paused briefly, trying to make out the tree where he had carved her initials, and found herself tempted to go there, as she often had, merely to put her finger on the letters, as if by doing so she could feel his warmth and strength and love.

She walked past the orchard and continued down the path until she saw the silhouette of his house and saw, too, the dull glow of amber light coming through the window. Her heart skipped a beat.

When she arrived at Reed’s door, she knocked twice, but there was no answer. Freezing now, she opened the door and peeked inside. The room was empty, so she entered and shut the door behind her, then carried the basket to the table.

There was a big fire going in the pot-bellied stove, and the room was overly warm. Her heart hammered in her chest as her first thought was that Reed was ill and running a fever. It made sense that he would build a fire to ward off the alternating chills.

Susannah tossed her cape over a chair and hurried into the back bedroom, expecting to see Reed writhing in pain on the bed. What she found surprised her.

Reed was taking a bath, or rather he was just stepping into the tub to take a bath. He was now standing up in the water with a look on his face that she was certain matched the astonishment on her own.

“Susannah?” was all he managed to say.

Susannah, however, couldn’t even muster that much sound from the dry depths of her throat, so surprised was she at the effect his nakedness had on her. It didn’t surprise her to see a naked man—God only knew she had seen plenty of those in New Orleans as a child, nor did it surprise her to see that Reed’s naked body was basically the same as she remembered a man’s body was supposed to be. The surprise came from her reaction and the wild surge of desire she felt for him. She perceived his body not as an instrument of ugly and sordid intentions but as a thing of beauty that she was more than curious to know.

She seemed frozen to the spot, unable to take her eyes off him. How hard and lean he was, how perfectly formed, with a tapered torso and unbelievably long legs. It was what was between those legs that both fascinated her and left her feeling a mixture of fear and awe, for there he was as beautiful as he was everywhere else, and even in the relaxed state, there was a subdued sort of magnificence to him that she saw as both powerful and vulnerable. Never would she have thought she could have looked at a man and felt desire for him, desire that was born of love and tenderness. She realized suddenly that none of the taint, the sordidness had followed her from her childhood, that what she saw was a man, no better, no worse than herself, a man who neither forced himself upon her nor denied his feelings for her.

“Susannah…love, what are you doing here this time of night?”

“We were worried about you. I came to see if you were all right. I was afraid you might have a fever. I knew you must be hungry.”

“I wanted sleep more than food, but now that I see you, I have a hunger of another sort.”

Her gaze dropped down to the proof of what he said, and she heard his laugh, then the splash of water as he lowered himself into the tub. When she looked down at him sitting in the immense tub, she started laughing, for he wasn’t sitting in a washtub of the sort she and her aunts used for bathing, but in a watering trough.

“Do you have enough room?”

He chuckled. “For me and Miss Lavender.”

“You must have been heating water for hours.”

“I have been, but now that I am in here and enjoying the luxury of a bath where my knees aren’t sticking out, it was well worth the effort.” He fished around in the water and came up with a sponge. He extended it toward her and said, “Wash my back?”

“If you promise not to throw water on me.”

“Never.”

She came toward him, took the sponge, kneeled beside him, and began scrubbing his back, lathering his skin with the big bar of soap he handed her. When she finished, she said, “All right. You can rinse off now.”

After he dunked himself, she lathered his head, then poured fresh water over it from the pail on the floor. She no more than put the pail down when she felt his hand close around her wrist. Before she could think about what he was doing, she found herself yanked into the tub, clothes and all.

She came up sputtering and calling him names, which he soon silenced with a deep and lengthy kiss. “You said you wouldn’t do that!”

“No, I didn’t. You asked me to promise, and I said, ‘Never.’” He kissed her again. When he released her, he began unlacing her shoes. “We might have a time drying these out, so I’ll toss them in the corner.”

“You have soaked my clothes.”

He threw one shoe into the corner and then the other. “Take them off and I’ll hang them in front of the stove. They’ll dry in no time.”

“It’s hot enough in here to scorch them.”

He started with the buttons on her dress, and when he had them undone, he said, “You’ll have to stand up. I can’t get these things off with you sitting down.”

“I don’t think I can get up, and even if I could, I have no intention of taking anything off. It’s one thing to be in here with you with my clothes on, quite another thing entirely to be here with nothing on.”