Thundering Meadows, page 14
A gasp, broken in with a tight sob, tore through the room. James whipped around and saw Rose, a crestfallen expression on her lovely face.
“What happened?” she asked, her forehead creased.
James stepped aside to let Ben into the room. “I’m not rightly sure,” Ben said. “He fell ill with a fever soon after we left. Anne and Katy thought it was a touch of the flu, so they put him to bed and kept a close eye on him. As the evening wore on, they got worried. They sent for the doc, and after he looked the tyke over, he sent Sam to get us.”
Rose started to crumble, but James raced to her side, catching her as she fell.
“Sweetheart, we don’t know how sick he is. We’ll get you to the ranch as soon as possible so you can be with him, alright?”
She raised her eyes to his and nodded, but the self-recriminations in them were his undoing. She was doubting their night together, as if that were the reason for Tommy’s illness. Wiping her eyes, she pushed him away, stood, and regained her composure.
“We’ll be down momentarily,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Nodding, Ben stepped into the hallway. “I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted our trip to end.”
Not much later, they met Ben and Elizabeth on the steps in front of the hotel. Ben had the buckboard waiting, and they left Helena behind. Rose berated herself on the way back to the ranch. Was this her punishment for finding a small measure of happiness? Carnal love was a sin, and she had indulged herself without a thought for her children.
Before Ben applied the brake, Rose had gathered her skirt and jumped down, her ankle twisting, but the pain was mild compared to the pain in her heart. She ran up the steps and went inside. She wasn’t sure where her little boy was, but she was going to find him. Frantic, she ripped open doors, her movements erratic, almost unhinged in her desperation.
When she couldn’t find him on the main floor, she ran to the stairs where Anne met her halfway up.
“Rose, you’re here. We didn’t expect you ‘til later this afternoon.” Anne’s smile was forced as she knew the reason why they had rushed home.
“Tommy? Where is he?”
“He’s upstairs in the nursery.” Anne’s concerned eyes were almost her undoing, but Rose stayed on her feet.
She picked up her skirts, pushed past her, and ran up the remaining stairs.
“Rose, wait,” Anne cried, but Rose had only one thing on her mind and that was to get to Tommy.
Bursting through the nursery room door, Rose saw Tommy lying in the bed next to the window. His eyes were closed, his face flushed, and he looked so small and frail. She emitted a small screech of horror. “My baby.”
The doc held out his hands to stop her. “Ma’am, please. Let’s talk outside where Tommy can’t hear us.”
He ushered her into the hallway and closed the door behind them. The soft click was the only sound in the quiet hallway. By this time, James and Elizabeth had arrived.
“Please, Doc, what’s wrong with Tommy?” Her voice sounded high-pitched to her own ears. She knew she was anxious and likely going to be reduced to a puddle of tears if the doc didn’t tell her soon.
“Why don’t you sit?” he said. He put his hand on her arm to encourage her.
She wrenched her arm from his grasp and said, “I don’t want to sit. What’s wrong with my son?”
The doc hesitated, glancing at James as if asking for his aid. This further infuriated her. She didn’t need the doctor looking to her husband, but as James came toward her, she gave in and sat with a heavy sigh on the chair at the end of the hallway. If that is what they wanted, she would sit.
The doc’s hands rested behind his back, the vest buttons pulling as he paced in front of her. “Tommy’s seriously sick, dangerously so. His fever’s extremely high, his chest is congested, and pneumonia has settled in. With his young age, I’m uneasy if…”
“He was fine when we left. How could this happen?” She swallowed her tears. “What can we do?”
“It’s hard to say. He could’ve had a mild cough for days and not shown any real symptoms but doesn’t matter now. We need to work on reducing his fever and removing the mucus from his chest.”
“How long…” Her voice broke. “How long ‘til we know he’s out of danger?”
The doc raised his pudgy hand to his face and rubbed his wide forehead. His ears were small and looked out of place, and his round body reminded her of a roly-poly. He had been kind when he had looked her over after Sarah’s birth. She had to trust he knew what he was doing. “Typically, it lasts anywhere from seven to ten days, but what worries me is his breathing.”
“Is there something that can help, Doc?” asked James. He placed his hand on Rose’s shoulder and squeezed gently, the comfort he was trying to give her not welcome, and she shrugged out of his grasp. His hand dropped to his side, but he still stood near her, his presence both a comfort and a distraction.
“There are new techniques where they use oxygen, but I’ve never heard of it being used on a patient so young.”
“Has it worked?” Rose asked.
“In a few adults, there have been surprisingly positive results, but we aren’t sure how much to use in children. We don’t want to use too much, you understand?”
“Are there other treatments?” she asked.
“Yes, we can create a steam tent to help break up the mucus, give him cool baths to help with the fever, lots of warm broth, and pray. There are those doctors who consider bloodletting, but I’m not a supporter of that treatment,” said the doc.
“What about this oxygen?” asked James.
“As I mentioned, I hesitate because of his age. I don’t want to try it unless we find nothing else works.”
“If you think it can help, what does it hurt?” James pressed.
“I worry because if given too much, it could cause added complications.”
“What type of complications?”
The doc hesitated before answering. “He could stop breathing altogether, have seizures, his ear drums could rupture, to name a few difficulties with using it.”
Rose’s eyes grew wide with horror.
James knelt at her side, picked up her hand and held it in his large palm. “Do you want to try it? I’ll support whatever you decide.”
She looked at him, confused. “I don’t think so, at least not yet.” She was shaken and distraught, and she was afraid she was doomed regardless of what decision she made. Her little boy was sick, and she couldn’t fix it.
James stood, not letting go of her hand. “Let’s try the oxygen as a last resort.”
The doc relaxed with the suggestion and he and Elizabeth discussed what they needed, while Rose’s own breathing intensified with fear.
The doc studied her, concerned. “Are you alright, ma’am?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, although she clearly wasn’t.
His eyes probed, but he asked. “Do you want to go see your son?” He held up his hand. “But remember, he doesn’t understand what’s happening, so try not to show you’re scared. If he senses your distress, it’ll only make it harder for him to breathe.”
Nodding, Rose wiped the tears from her eyes and struggled to regain her composure. She needed to be strong. When ready, she stood. James put his arm around her waist, but she hardly noticed. Her only thoughts were for her son.
He would survive. He had to. She couldn’t lose Tommy so soon after the death of his father. She had lost too many people in her life, and losing Tommy would damage her beyond repair.
Nineteen
James opened the door to the nursery, the firelight flickering and casting an orange and yellow glow across Tommy and Rose. She was nestled at his side, her hand resting on his belly as though needing to feel him take each breath.
His heart tugged painfully. It had been two days and Tommy wasn’t improving. She was scared, and so was James. The doc had explained to him just moments before how dire the situation was. If the congestion didn’t ease, there was a chance he would suffocate.
Wanting to spare Rose the ominous words, James asked the doc not to tell her, at least not yet. He didn’t want her to worry any more than she already was. She couldn’t stand to have more dreadful news. After weeks of sadness, she had broken free of the baby blues, but this could set her back.
While in Helena, they had grown closer, albeit most of it in a sexual nature, but it had been a start. Something he hoped they could build from, but now, with this, he wasn’t sure anymore. She was retreating and shied from his touch. Her eyes had a blankness to them that scared him. They reminded him of his own ma and how she had looked at him when they decided he had to leave their ramshackle homestead.
His ma’s eyes had been lifeless and held no spark of happiness or the joy she had well before she met Elizabeth’s pa, George. Within months of marrying him, she had been resigned to her fate, and when things spiraled out of control a few years later, she had given James what little money she had squirreled away. Her hand held his tight, the money folded inside. She had pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear, kissed his cheek, and shooed him gone before George came home. The memories were painful and ones he didn’t care to remember.
Grabbing the cot, they had brought into the room the day before, he placed it next to Tommy’s bed and brushed her shoulder with his fingertips. She raised her head and rubbed her eyes. She looked at James and then at Tommy to make sure he was still there, still breathing.
“Is Tommy…” Her voice was quiet, reverent as though speaking in a soft voice would help his recovery.
“He’s still with us. Nothing’s changed. I’ll put the cot here so you can be next to him.”
“I shouldn’t sleep. I just wanted to rest for a moment.” She yawned, her mouth wide, her eyes closing with drowsiness.
“I understand. You want to be here when he wakes and needs you.”
Telling her she wouldn’t be of any help to her son if she didn’t get any rest seemed heartless. James knew he was riding a fine line where, if he made the wrong move, any trust they had built could disappear as fast as an icy wind on a warm spring day.
Instead, he said, “I’ll sit while you take a quick nap on the cot and wake you if there’s any change. I won’t go anywhere, I promise. I’ll be here the entire time.”
He could see the turmoil she tried to reason through, but her exhaustion won, and she nodded, albeit reluctantly. She stood and almost fell from fatigue. Breaking her fall, he tried to help her, but she stopped him, brushing his hands away.
“No, don’t. Just give me a moment, please.”
What had he done to deserve this? It hurt that she didn’t want his help. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was.
“You’ll wake me?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Promise me,” she insisted.
“I promise.” He’d give her whatever she wanted. He just wished she understood that.
When he had set up the cot, she sat and removed her shoes.
“Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” he asked.
She stared at him, anger, hurt, and desolation in her eyes.
“No, I’ll be fine.” She curled on the cot, her body facing Tommy. With one hand under her cheek, she rested her other on Tommy’s leg.
Touched by her compassion, James settled into the chair she vacated and watched over them both. Within a few minutes, Rose’s eyes closed. She fell into a fitful slumber, startling herself every so often, reaching for her son.
As the night wore on, Tommy’s breathing was labored, but he struggled no more than he had since they had returned to the ranch. Eventually, James himself couldn’t fight his sleepiness and he too fell asleep. After spending six years sleeping with one eye open for fear of what might happen, James was a light sleeper and knew if Tommy stirred, he’d wake.
As the days wore on, Tommy’s condition stabilized until the seventh night, when he took a turn for the worse. He gasped for breath, his mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from the stream, begging for it to end. He quit eating and refused to drink anything she tried to give him. All Tommy wanted to do was sleep, and no matter how much cajoling Rose did, he wouldn’t take it. His mouth held tightly closed. Then his fever reached a dangerous high. The doc reluctantly sent for the oxygen and told James to prepare Rose for the worst.
Taking a break from the constant vigil, James pulled Rose out of the room and left Tommy in the capable hands of his sister. Elizabeth said she would find them if things changed. James led her to the dining room, where he forced her to sit and to eat. He would not let her leave until she put food in her belly.
She stared at him in stony silence as he prepared a plate of food. What he had to tell her was going to break her heart. She would need to have as much strength as she could muster over the next twenty-four hours, especially if the oxygen did not do as wished. It had become their last measure of hope, one in which neither he nor the doctor believed would save the little boy.
Placing the food in front of her, he waved for her to eat. She glared at him, as if to say, “how will you make me?” Prepared to force feed her, if necessary, he scowled right back. As if reading his mind, she picked up the fork and shoved a forkful into her mouth. Her angry eyes spoke volumes. She was furious.
Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and she had lost more weight, weight she could ill afford to lose. She was only leaving Tommy’s side long enough to feed Sarah and if she didn’t eat, it wouldn’t be long before her milk would disappear. After watching her eat for a few minutes, he was satisfied enough to fill his own plate.
For a while, nothing but the sound of the forks hitting their plates and the occasional swallow of drink filled the silence. When James felt she had eaten enough, he relaxed in his chair.
Stubbornness and irritation flashed in her eyes. “What?”
“I’m glad you finally ate,” he said, not reacting to her anger.
“You didn’t give me much choice,” she replied, disgust lining each word. She shoved away from the table and stood. “Now that I’ve eaten, your royal highness, can I go to my son?”
“We should talk. Please, sit.”
“Tommy needs me. I’m going upstairs.”
Realizing he had very little time to talk to her, he stopped her by blocking the doorway. She tried to move around him, but he grabbed her wrists.
Eyes flashing, daggers fairly flew from her eyes. “Let me go.”
“There’s something we need to discuss.”
“It can wait. I’m going upstairs.” She tried pulling away, but he held her tight.
He had to tell her. He had waited long enough. “No, you aren’t. Not until I have my say.”
She fought him, and realizing he had few options, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her over his shoulder. Her fists hit his back, her legs trying to kick, but he held them firm with one arm. He carried her through the hall to Ben’s study. He needed a room where they could talk without interruption.
“Let me down!” she screeched.
He ignored her and carried her to the sofa, where he released her. Jumping up, she tried to run for the door, but he stopped her, slamming the door behind them.
“What are you doing? Let me out of here!” she screamed.
“No. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It’s up to you. But you’ll listen.”
Panting and nearly falling apart from hysteria, he could see her emotions. Her hands fisted and her chest heaved. Taking a deep breath, she twirled around and plopped in a chair. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at him and didn’t say a word. If things weren’t so dire, he would chuckle at the display she made. Spitting mad but capitulating as though to tell him she’d do as he’d say, but she certainly wouldn’t listen.
He paced before he blurted it out. “The doc’s convinced Tommy won’t make it.”
As the words tumbled out of his mouth, he wished he could take back every word he just uttered. He could have done this gently, tactfully, but he said the one thing he knew she was scared to death of. That her son would die.
“No,” she cried. “Tommy has lasted this long. He will not die.”
Then she cracked. Huge wracking sobs tore through her slight frame, and she shook uncontrollably. He reached her side and held her hands in his. She fought him, but he pulled her into his arms.
Wrapping her arms around his sides and with her face pressed against his shoulder, she cried and cried for what seemed like hours. He held her close, murmuring words of comfort into her ear, trying with everything in him to give her the support she needed.
Eventually, her sobs subsided, and she sniffled into his shirt. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. While she needed to cry her heart out, he needed to hold her. Tommy may not have been his child, but in the few months they had been married, Tommy had carved a place in his heart. James didn’t want to lose him anymore than Rose did.
James wiped a tear from her cheek, his touch soft, gentle. He needed to further explain to her what the doc had said. “Tommy’s condition is deteriorating. The doc sent for the oxygen, but he isn’t hopeful. He isn’t coughing up the mucus that’s in his chest and if it doesn’t clear soon, he could suffocate and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.”
“No.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. “I refuse to believe Tommy will leave us. Sometimes you have to get worse before you can get better. If we pray hard enough and encourage him, he will pull through.” She stood and paced in front of him.
“You need to be realistic. Tommy isn’t getting any better,” said James, his voice hard but filled with sorrow.
She stumbled, grabbing a chair to keep from falling.
“I don’t care what you say,” she said, her voice broken. “Tommy will make it through the night and nothing you can say’ll change my mind.”
“Be reasonable.”
“I am. I think you’re the one who’s being unreasonable. If you give up, he will pass away, and I’ll never forgive you. If you hadn’t made me go to Helena, I would’ve been here. I could’ve prevented this.”
