Darkness was beginning to settle by the time Ezra returned. He had waited, a good distance back, to ensure that the message was seen and picked up. The driver read the sheet addressed to him and looked down toward the town. Seeing he was being watched, he waved an acknowledgement before climbing back on the coach and moving on. Ezra sighed with relief. At least that part had worked. He turned and walked back to where Chaucer grazed, taking his time. There was no rush.
What good would come of this effort remained to be seen. He couldn't imagine what might be done to help, but then he had no idea what was wrong. All he knew is that eight people had died so far, and he expected there would be more. He wasn't worried about Chris. He tried to tell himself that was because he simply didn't care at this point if the man lived or died but knew that wasn't true. But his illness had nothing to do with whatever was ravaging this town. He'd been sick before they got there, and this outbreak was well established before they were even in the area. And there wasn't a cold or influenza virus out there that was stronger and more stubborn than Larabee – he was certain of that.
The rest of the town was another matter. From what Miss Preston had told him, every time they thought things were under control, someone else fell ill. There was no pattern to the victims, and other than the tight community, there was little common ground. Most were locals, but two of the first fatalities had been new arrivals, planning to homestead. Some were from the farms in the area, but most were townsfolk. Ages ranged from very young to the elderly. This plague showed no preferential treatment.
The minimal activity there had been in town during the day was silenced by nightfall. Most of those helping the ill had returned to there own homes, no doubt praying they hadn't contracted anything. Lights burning low in the makeshift care wards were the only signs of life to be seen.
The trough in front of the stables was full after the previous days rain even though today's clouds had remained quiet, so Ezra scooped a bucket from there for Chaucer, hoping the horse wouldn't be too finicky about eating and drinking. "I know this is not your usual fare my friend, but beggars cannot be choosers, and this town does not offer a wide range of options. You shall have an extra serving of Tiny's mash when…" he paused. There would be no more of that special treat. "Well, I shall find some way to recompense you for the hardships you must endure. No doubt there will be several more days of hay and rainwater in your future."
"Is that such a bad thing?"
Ezra turned suddenly, the instinct to draw his weapon tamped down as he registered the young woman's voice.
"Miss Preston, it is ill advised to approach quietly from behind when you are dealing with a man who cannot be trusted."
"Nonsense. Who would ever say such a thing about you?"
"Anyone who has ever met me. And while I appreciate your discretion, I have no doubt you heard much if not all of my discussion with Mr. Larabee. You were not that far from the door at the time."
Ezra couldn't stop himself from smiling at the faint blush that came to her cheeks. "I did not intend to eavesdrop I assure you sir. As for his comments, I am certain they are the result of the fever he has."
"Your charm and grace are a match for your beauty my dear. Would that I could acknowledge a truth to your statement, but the sad reality is that Mr. Larabee has the support of the facts on his side in this case. But this is not a matter you need concern yourself with. Now, I may be of little assistance in caring for the people of this town, but perhaps I can offer other aid and comfort to the caregivers. While my culinary skills do not match those of the finest restaurants in Atlanta, and I am sorely out of practice, I daresay I can recall enough of the ways of a chef to provide some form of repast for yourself and the others who have been tending to the sick. If you could point me in the direction of the nearest kitchen?"
She smiled and took his offered arm. "I doubt there is much more than the fixings for a few sandwiches but come with me to the diner and I will set you up Mr. Standish."
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Jeanie was up at first light, making her way down the quiet street toward the hotel. She stopped in front of the church to offer a quick prayer that all those inside that and the other buildings had survived and that no one else had joined them. The town had suffered enough. Scarcely a family remained untouched by this scourge, and some had been devastated. Help for the ill was hard to come by as well. Understandably, most people wanted to remain with their families to care for them. And if by fortune or fate they remained untouched, there was little incentive to risk exposure.
She wished, not for the first time, that she had a better understanding on matters of health and care. She had thought as a child growing up in an orphanage that the life of a nurse would be the perfect choice for her. Little did she know that her circumstance would never permit her the education needed for such a role, and by the time that realization dawned, she was so emotionally committed to the dream that she settled for any job in a hospital she could find. Training as a nurse's helper did not give her the skills she needed now. The town was paying the price for having two well-meaning but woefully unqualified amateurs as their medical guardians. If there was a town left when this was over, she was sure changes would be made.
Pushing such thoughts aside, she made her way up the stairs to the hotel, wondering who, if anyone, would be there to help today. Mrs. Hudson ran the establishment, and luckily had not fallen ill, but she was not a young woman. She watched over the patients during the night but handed that responsibility back as quickly as possible each day, disappearing into her own quarters, no doubt sipping on her gin - the worst kept secret in town. Jeanie was preparing herself for another exhausting 18 hours, starting with changing the sheets and trying to get some water or broth into anyone strong enough to take it. It was no small wonder that she almost stumbled over the bundle of laundry piled next to the door when she walked in. Even more surprising was the soft southern voice coming from the other room.
"Master Jonathan, we had an arrangement. I would show you the card trick and in return you would take at least a half bowl of this delightful broth. Now, as I have fulfilled my end of the agreement you are required to do the same."
"But I want to see it again so I can figure how you did it." The young boy's voice was weak, but he spoke with determination.
"Ah, that is an entirely different matter. Lessons will come at a higher cost. For those, I must insist you have a full bowl, along with similar intake later today. Then, if you are strong enough by evening, I shall share that particular secret with you, but only if you solemnly promise to never tell anyone else."
She peaked around the corner in time to see the youngster nodding his head as he reached for the spoon with a trembling hand. Ezra looked up to see they were being watched and leaned back slightly to be out of the direct line of sight before offering a wink to the observer. She smiled and pulled back so as not to interrupt the moment. A few minutes later, Ezra joined her in the lobby.
"My apologies Miss Preston. I had intended to have those sheets out of the way before your arrival but was distracted by a very insistent young man."
"I thought Doc Windom told you to stay away from the sick rooms. Don't need anyone else getting whatever this is." She tried to sound severe, but she was so grateful for the help it was hard to be convincing. And the southern charm and hypnotic green eyes didn't do anything to strengthen her resolve.
"I suppose I should apologize again in that case. My intention is decidedly not to cause further difficulties, I assure you. Mrs. Hudson came by the doctor's home to indicate she was simply to exhausted to take care of the bedding changes that were needed, and as I had no other plans for the moment, I presumed you might appreciate the assistance."
She blushed, and Ezra felt his own knees weaken slightly. "Now it is I who should apologize to you. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful and am in fact deeply indebted to you for your help. I just would hate to see you get sick."
"We Standishs are made of stern stock, I assure you. If I can survive my travels with Mr. Larabee, I can promise you this annoying incapacitation shall not prove to be my downfall."
Jeanie smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her skirt as she fidgeted with unexpected awkwardness. "Oh yes – how is your friend?"
"Well, I might question the designation, but he seems to be doing as expected. He was restless due to the repeated coughing, and is feverish, but not to a degree that need cause anyone concern. I imagine he will sleep for most of the day if not longer, if we are all blessed with good fortune. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall take these things out to be laundered." He bundled the items all into one sheet and gathered the corners together, aware of the fact his every move was being monitored and feeling surprisingly self-conscious at the thought. Approaching the door, he registered the flaw in his plan and turned back to see her smiling at him. She knew what he was about to ask. "Is there an establishment in town who can perform the task, or should I locate the nearest rock and stream?"
He was thrilled to earn a small laugh with his poor joke. "There is a laundress up the street and to your right." She pointed as she spoke. "But she is one of the patients at the church. Just leave the items there if you would, and I will get to them later."
"You have enough on your agenda for the day, I am sure. I cannot promise my skills are up to the task, but I will make the effort to freshen these for you." He hesitated when he saw the hint of sparkle in her eye, realizing what he was offering. "I can presume there are sheets from the other locations as well?"
"And towels." It was only fair to give him a chance to take back the offer. After all, he was technically a guest in town, and from the way he looked, he had already been up most of the night. And then there was the issue of being concerned about his friend. Yet with all of that, he was still somehow managing to favour her with that charming smile as he offered to wash soiled sheets. She shook her head slightly to stop her mind from wandering. "Really Mr. Standish, it is not necessary."
"A Standish does not renege on a promise made." Not entirely true, but there was no need for her to know that. "I cannot guarantee perfection but will make a valiant effort."
It wasn't difficult to find the laundry but keeping himself from feeling frustration at the work ahead of him once inside was another matter. The fire had gone out in the massive stove, so that was the first step in the process. A few minutes later he had large vats of water heating as he sorted out what needed to be washed. Hoping to get the task underway quickly, he found the least soiled sheets and set them into the first vat to have something underway before going over to examine the contraption that stood in the corner. He could only assume this was the washing machine he had heard tell of, although the complexities of its operation were a mystery to him. Fortunately, the most obvious feature was also quite a simple one to figure, as he slowly turned the crank that operated the rollers. Clearly that was intended to wring water out, and the thought of how much labour that simple invention could save was an enormous relief.
Back at the stove, he churned the waters, hoping the action would be sufficient to perform the task, knowing in his heart there was scrubbing in his future. The mindlessness of the action was dangerous, as it allowed him to puzzle over why he was there. If the others were to discover what he was doing, he would most certainly never hear the end it. JD would certainly have comments to make, as would Buck. He stopped his actions as he remembered they would not be saying anything to him. That would necessitate his return to Four Corners, which was no longer an option. They wouldn't have the chance to ask him why he had stooped to such drudgery.
Which was a good thing, since he didn't think he could provide an answer. There certainly was no profit to be had. If anything, this would likely cost him, as he could envision that taking care of this, and the other tasks he had offered to assist in would likely result in damage to his wardrobe and boots. He did not have the appropriate attire with him for cleaning out stalls and digging graves – two jobs he had told Doc Windom he would undertake later in the day. At least he had set aside his jacket and a clean shirt, so he would have something to change into later in the day when he took dinner over to Miss Preston.
The thought caused Ezra to stop his actions again. What earthly difference did it make what he wore for that? It was a foolish notion, and one he tried to put out of his head and focus on the task at hand. He didn't even register he had started humming an old Stephen Foster song to himself as he worked until the lyrics came to mind - "I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair". Oh Lord, what was happening to him?
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tbc
