The day passed quickly, and soon it was suppertime. Slowly Melinda pulled the roast beef and potatoes from the oven. She had burned herself while cooking breakfast, so she was trying to be extremely careful tonight. She walked steadily, and reached the table without mishap, but then stubbed her toe on the table leg. Hot liquid spilled over the top of the baking pan and on her hand. She gasped and set down the roast quickly. Her shoulders slumped as she patted the reddened skin with a wet tea towel. She was tired, oh so tired. After dinner, she'd be able to take a warm bath and get a few hours of sleep while Red would take care of Birdie. How she longed for just a moment of rest.
She stepped out on the porch and scanned the farmyard for the men. "Supper's ready!" she shouted and went back inside.
She ate a small bowl of potatoes and then resumed her nurse's post. Just another half hour and I can rest, she thought.
She could hear Red and Bobby washing up in the kitchen. They had come through the back door. They talked between themselves. Red's words seemed chipper enough, but Bobby's voice was low and hoarse. She decided to refresh her water basin so that she could check in on them.
The men looked up from their meal. "Evenin', Miss Melinda," Bobby said. With these few words, he clasped his throat momentarily.
"You alright there, Bobby?" Red asked.
He nodded and swallowed some coffee.
"Melinda," Red addressed her, "Thought you should know that Bobby was at Betty Hoffines' house when her boy was sick. Maybe you should check 'im out an' make sure he ain't comin' down with the fever too."
Bobby held up a hand. "I'm fine. Just tired. Tired an' sore from the long ride to the city. An' I didn't sleep real good last night. But I'm fine. Really."
Melinda stopped pumping the water and walked to the table. She reached out and touched Bobby's face. "You're quite warm," she said.
"Just sunburned," he insisted.
"I saw you rub your throat a minute ago," she told him. "Does it hurt?"
"Maybe a little. But it's nothin'."
"Do you have a headache?"
He looked at Red and then back at her. He nodded slowly. "But really—I'm okay."
"I don't think so," she said. "You're staying here tonight."
He sat his coffee cup on the table. "There's no need for me to…"
Red stopped him. "I think you should do what she says, Bobby. She's had some schoolin' on that medical stuff. She knows what she's talkin' about."
"I wouldn't' want to trouble ya," Bobby added.
"No trouble," Melinda said matter-of-factly. "I'd never forgive myself if you went home sick and had no one to take care of you."
"All I need is a little sleep," he stated.
"Then you can sleep here," Red said. "I'm sure she'll let ya go home tomorrow iffen you really do get better."
Melinda touched Bobby's shoulder. "After dinner, go upstairs, and Red will bring you some hot water for a bath. That'll help you feel a little better. I'll make you some cookies. I'm going to wash down Birdie once more and then I'll get the dishes." She picked up the full basin and left the room.
Bobby watched her go and gently rubbed his shoulder where she had touched him. "She's some kind of woman, ain't she?" he asked.
"Yep," Red agreed. "Her an' Birdie—they don't come much better than those two."
Melinda sat the plate of warm sugar cookies on the table. The sweet milk jug was empty, but there was plenty of buttermilk.
"Tomorrow's Birdie's birthday," she told Red who was mending a harness in his few free minutes between Birdie's sponge baths. "I guess there's no need to have a big shin-dig."
"No," he replied. "We'll do somethin' for her after she gets better."
"Okay," she agreed. "I got a new sour cream pound cake recipe from Sister Lyla that I'm dying to try." She filled the dish pan with hot water from the kettle.
"I found out a little information yesterday wile I's in town that I thought you might find interestin'," Red told her.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Seems this area's rich in crude oil. Your land, as well as mine and Quinton Jessler's, are right in the heart of it. An' that, my dear, is why that Sloan McCanne is after it. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried most anything to get his hands on it. Turn 'im down flat iffen he asks to call on ya. Marriage would be a good way for him to get a hold of yer property."
Melinda bit her lip and continued washing the dishes. Oh, well, she thought. I'll be here for the next week or more. Mr. McCanne cannot call if I'm not at home.
She looked up when she heard the ceiling pop. Bobby slowly descended the staircase and entered the kitchen. She watched him walk to the table. "Make sure you stay out of the living room," she warned him. "If you haven't already contracted the fever, you need to stay away from Birdie so that you don't.
He nodded and poured himself some milk.
"Do you want coffee?" she asked him.
"No thanks."
She dried her hands and walked to his side. "How's your throat?"
"'Bout the same."
"And your head?"
"Not real good."
"Stick out your tongue," she said.
"What?" Bobby looked confused.
"Most times when you have scarlet fever," she explained, "your tongue turns this distinct color of pink with large red sores. They sometimes call it strawberry tongue." She reached for his chin. "So open up."
His face's red tone deepened as he slowly opened his mouth. He stuck out his tongue.
She removed her fingers from his face. "Okay, you can have it back now," she chuckled.
"Well?" Red prompted.
She shrugged. "Can't really tell. I'll take another look in the morning. Now if you will both excuse me, I think I will retire for a few hours."
"Fine with me," Red assured her. "You deserve it."
"Cold water baths every half hour," she reminded him.
"Got it." Red watched Melinda go and then refreshed his coffee cup. "She's been a life saver," he told Bobby.
Quietness filled the room. Bobby pushed at some cookie crumbs with his index finger and then rubbed his throat. He was thinking about Melinda—her hand on his shoulder, her soft fingertips against his chin. He shook his head. No need to be thinking about a woman. His involvement with a woman nearly ruined his life.
Red finished off his coffee and then broke the silence. "I've been meanin' to ask you about somethin' all day."
"What's that?" Bobby muttered.
"When I was in yer room this mornin', you were talkin' in yer sleep. You said that you—didn't kill 'er—I think were your words. You mind tellin' me what that was all about?"
Bobby shut his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, he said, "It's a long, painful story that I really don't like to talk it about."
"I'm sure it is," Red said, "but considerin' you're workin' here for me an' are around my wife an' family all day—it sounds like that it may be somethin' I need to hear. Those weren't exactly words you hear every day. Who did you not kill?"
Bobby sighed and fingered his milk glass. "'Bout nine months ago, I ran into a girl in the town where I was stayin' at in the east part of the state. We talked awhile an' she invited me home for lunch. Her father owned a plantation, and of course, was a wealthy man.
"We started seein' each other pretty regular-like, but it was always when her pa wasn't around. Then one night she decided to have me over for dinner to meet him. We were both tired of goin' behind his back.
"Since I wasn't rich, he didn't like me one bit, an' he kicked me outa the house before I could even finish my soup. As I was walkin' home, here came my girl on 'er horse. Appeared she had her heart set on me an' wanted to run away together. Course, Daddy didn't like that neither. He took a shot at me but missed an' got her instead. Shot her in the back. She only lasted a few minutes.
"The old man wasn't thinkin' right an' started shoutin' that it was my fault—that I was the one that killed her." He shrugged. "I was scared, so I took off runnin'. Went an' got my horse an' headed west. I couldn't go back. Who would believe a poor stranger over a wealthy land owner with an established name?"
"So yer a wanted man?" Red asked.
"Prob'ly." Bobby rubbed at his temples.
"I know yer tired," Red said. "You go on up to the spare bedroom an' git some rest. We'll talk more about this later."
He nodded and squinted against the lamplight.
Melinda couldn't sleep, so she tiptoed back downstairs. She expected to find Red asleep, but, instead, he was talking to someone. Then she heard a very weak and quiet, but so familiar voice. Birdie was awake. Melinda stopped at the doorway to the living room and cleared her throat. Red looked up at her.
"Is everything alright?" she asked.
"Great," he replied. "Birdie's gonna cook breakfast in the mornin'." He smiled.
Birdie laughed and coughed at the same time. "How 'bout boiled eggs? Pretty simple. Maybe I could handle that."
Melinda walked to her sister's side and felt the young woman's forehead and cheeks. "You've still got a fever, but not as bad as it was," she informed them. "I don't blame Red for not wanting me to cook anymore. You've always been a better cook than me. But you're not getting up off this divan until that fever's gone completely."
"Yes, Dr. Warren." Birdie grinned slightly, and then closed her eyes tightly.
Melinda smiled back at her. "And Dr. Warren needs nurse O'Brien to continue with the cold sponge baths 'til the fever's gone. It will still be another few days to a week until you get over this." She studied her sister's face. "The light hurts your eyes, doesn't it?" she asked. Birdie nodded. "That's a common problem while you have the fever, though most victims are too sick to notice. You are blessed to be doing as well as you are." She picked up the basin. "Here, I'll go get more water, Red, while you go up and check on Bobby. I think he felt worse last evening than he wanted us to know."
With the knowledge that Bobby seemed to be doing fine and that Birdie was slightly better, Melinda returned to bed. She had hoped to fall asleep quickly. She was tired and needed to rest. But she lay there awake for many long moments watching the shadows of the twisting tree branches in the light of the full moon play about the room.
She smiled as she thought of Joey. He would try to catch the shadows that danced in the moonbeams. And he sometimes jumped and tried to reach the sun. He once gave her a jar of "sunlight" for her birthday. It was really just honey, but he insisted that it looked like liquid sunlight. And he was right. She smiled again. John had been the same way. He gave her a box of "moon dust" on their wedding night. It was really sequins and beads that he promised he would help sew on an evening gown for her. And in the middle of the box was a "star"—a diamond pendant.
She closed her eyes and clutched her necklace. She listened intently. The world was quiet—and peaceful—the way John loved it. We never sewed that evening gown, she thought. I should get those beads out and do something with them. The wind made a slight whistling sound as it blew through the rafters. She could also hear the frogs croaking on the nearby pond. An owl hooted in the distance. Oh, the beautiful sounds of summer.
She opened her eyes. What was that? she wondered. A man's voice? It was muffled and quiet, but it was definitely someone talking. She sat up and strained to hear it. It wasn't Red's voice, she decided. She stood and stepped to the open window. The warm breeze blew about her. She heard the man again, but he was not outside. He was inside the house. It was Bobby.
She shuffled down the hallway and rapped at the door of the spare bedroom. Bobby said something that she couldn't make out. She knocked again.
"Get the doctor!" he shouted.
She pushed open the door and hurried to his side. "The doctor?" she asked. "Here, I'll help you. What's wrong?"
"She's hurt. We need the doctor," he said. His eyes were closed.
"Are you awake?" she asked him.
"She's shot in the back," he mumbled.
"Bobby, wake up."
"No! No! Not me! I didn't kill her!" He turned over and pushed at Melinda.
She clasped his waving hand. "Bobby, wake up!" she shouted again.
"I didn't…" He opened his eyes. "LeAnna?"
"No, it's Melinda."
"Melinda?" He sat up. "Oh, Melinda. Is somethin' wrong?"
"I was about to ask you the same question. Nothing's wrong with me. But are you okay?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
"You were talking, well, shouting, really, in your sleep. You asked for a doctor, so I came to help."
"Oh." The one word was raspy and drawn out. It sounded more like a breath of air than a word. He shut his eyes and started to rub his throat, but he checked himself and lowered his hand.
"You're in pain," Melinda said. She pressed her palm against his forehead. "And you have a high fever. I'm going to go downstairs and fill another basin with water. And you'll need some sage tea also." She darted through the door before Bobby could object.
The night seemed to last forever. Between the coldwater baths, Melinda tried to get some sleep, but it just wasn't possible. She would doze for a few minutes but then awake quickly. A long night. And tomorrow would be an even longer day.
Bobby drifted in and out of a restless sleep. His dreams were filled with visions of LeAnna. At first she would be in front of him, and then she would disappear. Or many times she would die in his arms. Then, every time, came the thunderstorm. The sky grew dark, and it began to rain. He would run as fast as he could as the lightning flashed about him. It rained harder and harder. Then the water became deep, a flood. He tried to swim, but the force of the water was too great. He was drowning, choking. His throat burned as he breathed the water. And then he would wake up. Over and over again he would dream, never getting any peace.
Two days later, Birdie's fever broke. Melinda thought that her younger sister would recover quickly from the sickness since she had fought the fever so well. But she was terribly weak, weaker than expected. It would be many days before she would be able to take care of herself. Melinda knew that ear aches, cold in the eyes, nose, and throat, or pneumonia many times followed scarlet fever. Perhaps Birdie was inflicted with one of those illnesses. Red helped her as much as his work on the farm allowed, but Melinda was stuck with most of the nursing. Not that she minded, really. She loved her sister, and she loved taking care of people. She was just so tired. Many days she felt as if she didn't know whether she was coming or going
Melinda sat on the edge of Bobby's bed, patting a cool, wet cloth on his face. He had had the fever three days now. Just awhile longer, she thought. He should come through it in another couple of days. Then he'll be on the road to recovery.
But she wondered how much longer she would have to nurse her sister. Birdie's fever had broken two days ago, but she seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Her new symptoms, however, included vomiting and abdominal cramps, and neither was related to scarlet fever, a cold, or pneumonia. Melinda's guess was that Red must have brought some new sickness home with him from town.
I hope we all don't get that too, she thought.
She focused her attention back on Bobby's reddened face. She ran her fingers through his hair and pushed it away from his forehead. She smiled. He was quite handsome, even with a rose-colored face and messed up hair. And Joey liked him so much.
She sighed. She missed her little Joey. It seemed like forever since she had seen him. It had been over a week. Tomorrow is Sunday, she mentally noted. She sighed. She would have to miss church again. Bobby tossed his head in his sleep. "LeAnna," he mumbled and then was still again.
I wonder who this LeAnna is, Melinda continued her mental conversation with herself. He's probably said her name a dozen times in the past few days.
She scanned the small town of Point Blank in her mind's eye. She knew of no one named LeAnna. Perhaps she was in another town close-by. She would have to ask Red, she decided. If Bobby had a girl he was courting, the young lady would surely want to know of his condition.
Sunday dawned cloudy but warm and balmy. Melinda seemed to perspire with every slight movement. It's going to be another long day, she told herself.
As she helped Red prepare some luncheon sandwiches, she asked him about Bobby's friend. "Red," she said as she sliced the bread. "Who's LeAnna?"
"LeAnna?" he repeated. "I don't know. LeAnna who? Is it someone from town?"
"I don't think so," she said. "Bobby keeps calling for someone named LeAnna."
"Oh," Red grunted.
Melinda stopped the perpetual motion of her hand, the knife against the cutting board. "I don't like the sound of that," she said. "What's wrong? Is Bobby in some kind of trouble?"
"You could say that."
"What is it?"
"He's
wanted for murder."
She dropped the knife on the table and looked up at him. "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope."
"Care to share the details? I'm not liking this at all."
Red slapped a piece of ham on a slice of bread and sighed deeply. "He told me that he met a girl named LeAnna somewhere back east. Her daddy didn't like him none and ran him off one day. Apparently LeAnna decided she loved Bobby more than her pa, and she took off to run away with him. Sounded like it was totally her idea—that Bobby didn't know anything about it. Her pa took aim at Bobby but shot the girl instead. An' then he told everyone that Bobby did the shootin'. He's been runnin' ever since."
"Do you believe him?" Melinda wondered.
Now Red looked surprised. "Course I believe him. I have no reason not to. He's a good Christian man. Nothin' but honest an' hard-workin'."
"That's true," she said. "But it's still scary. Even if he isn't a murderer, the law might eventually come out here and throw a few bullets. Could be dangerous."
"I'll talk to him more about it after he gets well," Red told her. "We'll make some decisions on what to do 'bout the situation then."
Bobby's fever broke some time in the middle of the night. He stayed awake more now and told Melinda he was ready to get back on his feet. But she wouldn't yet let him out of bed.
"A couple more days," she told him. "You need to regain your strength first."
What could he do but nod his head in agreement? She was the medical expert. So he reluctantly stayed in bed.
Birdie finally stopped having the abdominal cramps, but the vomiting continued. And she was still extremely weak. Neither Dr. Stokely nor Melinda could put their finger on what was wrong.