The day dawned gray and gloomy, matching the mood of the treehouse. Challenger stared at the storm clouds poised ominously to the south with deep concern. It was a little past 8 a.m., and Ned and Veronica had yet to return. His fear was their trip back had been hampered by the poor weather. In the meantime, Marguerite was getting worse. Her fever had yet to break, and her breath wheezed and rattled in her chest. Her fingernails had a bluish tinge to them, a warning that fluid in her lungs was hampering the delivery of oxygen to the tissue. Challenger was doing everything he could think of and more. He and Roxton continued to dose her with willow bark tea and mustard plasters. They had placed chamomile and thyme leaves in boiling water and forced Marguerite to inhale the fumes. Still, there was no change.
I need that butterfly weed. Nothing I'm doing is helping her, Challenger thought. He ran his hand through his thick, red hair, his fingers stopping momentarily to work the aches out of his stiff neck. Neither he nor Roxton had gotten much sleep last night and both wore the signs. He walked past the door of Marguerite's room, glancing in to see a bleary-eyed, unshaven Roxton continuing to keep a vigil by his beloved's bedside.
Roxton looked up at him, his eyes asking the question that made words unnecessary. "No, they're not back yet," Challenger said quietly. "There are storm clouds to the south, and I'm afraid the weather has held them up. They would have been back by now otherwise."
Roxton's dark eyes seemed to darken even more as he heard the news. He vaguely heard Challenger tell him that he was off to prepare another mustard plaster, but nothing else seemed to register. His whole body felt numb with the exception of the hand that held Marguerite's hand. That union of flesh against flesh was like a lifeline, as if somehow through the physical contact he could somehow will his strength to her. He used his other hand to gently lift up a corner of the mustard plaster and dutifully checked the skin underneath for blistering. Though it was red, the skin appeared unblemished. Some of the plaster had leaked around the cloth they used and had stained her camisole yellow in several places. He smiled for a moment as he thought of what Marguerite's reaction would be. She'll probably demand that we be more careful with her precious clothing the next time we save her life. At the very least she'll pester Challenger to invent something to get the stains out. That's
my girl; a fighter through and through.
"You listen to me, Marguerite," Roxton said emphatically. He wasn't sure she could even hear him, but at the moment he didn't care. "You will not let this beat you. You have never walked away from a fight in your entire life, and I'm not going to let you start now. I once sat here by your bedside and told you that I didn't think I could ever leave this place without you by my side. You heard me then, and I hope to God that you can hear me now. I love you, Marguerite. I love you so much that it scares me sometimes; the way I know it scares you sometimes. You are not only my present; you are my future as well. I need you to get better, my love. You have to get better," he finally choked out.
It was less than an hour later when an exhausted and muddy Veronica stepped into Marguerite's room and saw Roxton sound asleep in the bedside chair still holding Marguerite's hand. She quietly walked over to him and gently nudged him awake. A momentary panic was silenced when he saw Veronica standing in front of him.
"Did you find it?" he asked, almost hesitantly.
"Yes," she said with a smile. "It was right where I remembered. We would have been here sooner if it hadn't been for the bad weather. Challenger has the plants and has started making the medicine. Hopefully, this will do the trick." She stared down at the young woman who had gone from being a general nuisance to the closest thing to a sister she had ever had. She prayed that the plants she and Malone had brought back would help.
Veronica was headed out the door on her way to clean herself up when she heard Roxton call her name.
"Thank you," he said with so much emotion, it almost made her heart break.
"What are friends for?" she asked as she turned and headed for the shower.
I need that butterfly weed. Nothing I'm doing is helping her, Challenger thought. He ran his hand through his thick, red hair, his fingers stopping momentarily to work the aches out of his stiff neck. Neither he nor Roxton had gotten much sleep last night and both wore the signs. He walked past the door of Marguerite's room, glancing in to see a bleary-eyed, unshaven Roxton continuing to keep a vigil by his beloved's bedside.
Roxton looked up at him, his eyes asking the question that made words unnecessary. "No, they're not back yet," Challenger said quietly. "There are storm clouds to the south, and I'm afraid the weather has held them up. They would have been back by now otherwise."
Roxton's dark eyes seemed to darken even more as he heard the news. He vaguely heard Challenger tell him that he was off to prepare another mustard plaster, but nothing else seemed to register. His whole body felt numb with the exception of the hand that held Marguerite's hand. That union of flesh against flesh was like a lifeline, as if somehow through the physical contact he could somehow will his strength to her. He used his other hand to gently lift up a corner of the mustard plaster and dutifully checked the skin underneath for blistering. Though it was red, the skin appeared unblemished. Some of the plaster had leaked around the cloth they used and had stained her camisole yellow in several places. He smiled for a moment as he thought of what Marguerite's reaction would be. She'll probably demand that we be more careful with her precious clothing the next time we save her life. At the very least she'll pester Challenger to invent something to get the stains out. That's
my girl; a fighter through and through.
"You listen to me, Marguerite," Roxton said emphatically. He wasn't sure she could even hear him, but at the moment he didn't care. "You will not let this beat you. You have never walked away from a fight in your entire life, and I'm not going to let you start now. I once sat here by your bedside and told you that I didn't think I could ever leave this place without you by my side. You heard me then, and I hope to God that you can hear me now. I love you, Marguerite. I love you so much that it scares me sometimes; the way I know it scares you sometimes. You are not only my present; you are my future as well. I need you to get better, my love. You have to get better," he finally choked out.
It was less than an hour later when an exhausted and muddy Veronica stepped into Marguerite's room and saw Roxton sound asleep in the bedside chair still holding Marguerite's hand. She quietly walked over to him and gently nudged him awake. A momentary panic was silenced when he saw Veronica standing in front of him.
"Did you find it?" he asked, almost hesitantly.
"Yes," she said with a smile. "It was right where I remembered. We would have been here sooner if it hadn't been for the bad weather. Challenger has the plants and has started making the medicine. Hopefully, this will do the trick." She stared down at the young woman who had gone from being a general nuisance to the closest thing to a sister she had ever had. She prayed that the plants she and Malone had brought back would help.
Veronica was headed out the door on her way to clean herself up when she heard Roxton call her name.
"Thank you," he said with so much emotion, it almost made her heart break.
"What are friends for?" she asked as she turned and headed for the shower.