Page 64 of Mail-Order Lady

Nathan rested on his back on the bed, his head pressed into the pillow like he was trying to burrow into something cool. Robert stood at his side, still gripping Nathan’s arm. James had moved to the foot of the bed, his face tight with something between concern and wariness. Enoch stood on James’s other side, but she couldn’t see his expression.

Bea nudged Robert aside. “We need water. Cold cloths.”

“I’ll get them.” Rose moved from behind the door, and Clara stepped aside to let her exit. As she passed, Rose touched Clara’s arm with a look that she couldn’t quite decipher. Concern most likely.

Clara entered the room and lowered the satchel to the chair beside the bed. The leather thudded against the wood. “Here’s the pack.”

Nathan’s eyes cracked open at the sound. “Quinine.” The word came out in a rasp. “Inside.”

She reached for the buckle, but Robert moved to her side. “I’ll get it.”

Perhaps better she not riffle through a strange man’s belongings.

When she stepped back to allow Robert room to search, Thomas entered the chamber and went to stand beside James, who filled him in on the situation with only a handful of words.

“Doctor. Go after him.” Bea shot a look toward the three brothers lining the end of the bed.

Thomas glanced at the others. “I can’t leave Kate.”

A thickness slipped into the room as James and Thomas both looked toward Enoch.

His jaw tightened. “Not leaving either.”

Clara’s hands curled at her sides. This man—their brother—lay in bed burning with fever, and they were more concerned about...what exactly? That he might be a danger while barely conscious?

James shifted his weight. Was he really going to decline too?

“I’ll go.” Robert turned from the pack and held out a small tin to Clara.

Relief flooded through her as she took the container. Of course Robert would go. Of course he would be the one to do what needed doing while the others stood here being bull-headed.

Her husband.

Nathan made a sound—half groan, half exhale—that pulled her attention back to the bed. His eyes had closed again, and his breathing came too fast. Shallow. Like he couldn’t quite fill his lungs all the way.

“The quinine.” She moved toward the bed. “I have it here.”

Nathan kept his eyes closed. “Need water. Or molasses. To mix.”

She placed the tin in Bea’s hands and turned to the door, already moving. “I’ll get both.”

When she reached the bottom step, Robert was already headed out the front door. He should be back with the doctor in less than an hour, Lord willing.

In the kitchen, the molasses jar sat on a shelf in the pantry. She grabbed it and a spoon, then filled a cup with water from the pitcher on the counter. Maybe a bowl too, in case they needed it for the molasses.

She had to slow down on her way back upstairs to keep the water from spilling.

When she reentered Nathan’s room, Rose had returned with a basin and cloths. Bea was already pressing a damp rag to Nathan’s forehead.

Clara moved to the bedside and set the water and molasses on the small table there. Her fingers fumbled with the tin’s lid until it finally gave way. Inside, a fine white powder filled half the container. “How should we mix it?”

“A teaspoon in the molasses.”

Good thing she’d brought the bowl.

She poured out a portion of molasses, then measured the powder and stirred it into the thick, gummy liquid. The scent of it—bitter and medicinal—made her middle churn. If it helped though…

“Here.” She moved to Nathan’s side and held the spoon toward him.