Bobby found that he was not as strong as he thought he was. His break times seemed to be longer and more frequent than the hours worked. He was thankful that Red had hired another young man to help them get caught up after their absences from the chores. Red still had to spend many moments indoors helping Birdie. It was difficult for her to do many of her daily activities.
Bobby left the farm weary and sore. Surely after a good night's sleep in his own bed, he could work harder tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow would be a better day. And for more reasons than the one. Tomorrow Melinda would be back—and with Joey. They were quite a pair, those two. He wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life with them, he surprised himself by thinking.
Are you crazy? he silently asked himself. He could never ask anyone to share in a life like his. Who knew what might come his way? He might have to move suddenly if he suspects the law on his trail. Or, if he is found, he could be put in jail or shot or even hanged. No, he could never marry now. And besides—did he love Melinda? She was a wonderful woman, but he barely knew her.
He turned the knob of the door to his boardinghouse room, closed the door behind him and lit the lamp. He sat down on the corner of his bed and pulled off his boots. Then he tossed his hat on the coat rack. He was hungry but too tired to go downstairs to get something to eat. He slipped of his trousers and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Even the small movement of his fingers required much effort. He let the shirt fall on the bed, and he rubbed at his sore muscles. A warm bath would sooth his pained body, but he had not enough strength to prepare the tub.
"Tomorrow," he told himself. And he smiled slightly as he pictured Melinda's face.
He crawled into the bed, blew out the lamp, and shut his eyes. He breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly, and fell asleep.
Bobby felt quite a bit better the following morning, but his entire body was still sore. His appetite was completely restored, however. For breakfast, he ate four eggs, six pancakes, and more slices of bacon than he cared to count. The lady at the boardinghouse, Miss Staples, could hardly keep up. She finally gave him his own pot of coffee so that she didn't have to make quite so many trips to the table.
"I wondered where you'd been, but the doc said you had scarlet fever," she told him as she gave him another plate of food.
He nodded.
"Where you been all the time you were sick?"
"Red O'Brien kept me up." Bobby filled his coffee cup again.
"Heard Birdie was down too. How'd Red take care both ya'll?"
"Melinda Warren was there the whole time." He buttered his flapjacks.
Miss Staples bobbed her head slightly. "Figures. She's as smart as any doctor. Good woman." She smiled slightly. "And got the cutest little boy."
"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "They're both somethin'."
"A man like yourself would be pretty lucky to win their hearts. Don't ya think?"
"I'd have ta say so."
"Might think on that." She adjusted her apron.
"Right now, I better git on ta work. Thank you fer the breakfast, ma'am."
"You're welcome."
The sky was still cloudy, and Bobby wondered if it would rain. He hoped the weather wouldn't keep Melinda at home. He was so looking forward to seeing her again.
He found himself watching the drive for her wagon. By lunchtime, she still had not come.
"When did Melinda say she'd be back?" he asked Red.
Red raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, this afternoon, maybe? You sick again?"
"No," Bobby was quick to reply. "Just wonderin'."
Silence fell between them. Red grinned to himself as Bobby gazed toward the road, a smile firmly planted on his face. Red, though he had only known Bobby a few months, realized that he had never seen Bobby smile as much as he had today. The redheaded Irishman wasn't much for matchmaking, but maybe just this once it was a good idea. Birdie seemed like a good matchmaker. Perhaps she would help him get Bobby and Melinda together.
But then there was the issue if Bobby's past. What would become of him? Was the law looking for him? Was LeAnna's father on his trail? Did Bobby plan to move again soon? What would happen if or when the law found him? That was no kind of a life for a woman and small child. This problem needed to be resolved before any relationship could begin.
Red broke the silence with a question. "Have you ever thought about goin' back ta face LeAnna's father?"
Bobby jerked his head around and sighed heavily. "Yeah, I've thought about it. But I have no doubt that he'd kill me in a heartbeat. I figure it'd be suicide."
"Well, maybe you should turn yerself in," Red suggested.
"Is that what you'd do?" Bobby asked.
He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe."
Bobby added, "I keep tellin' myself that I'm gonna stop runnin'. But I guess I'm not that big of a man."
"Ya think this is a good place to stop runnin'?"
"I've thought about that too." He ran his fingers through his hair. "You know how much I'd like to stop here. And I have stayed here longer than most places. But I just don't know."
"I could testify to yer character. Heck, we all could. Miss Staples at the boardinghouse, Birdie, Melinda…"
"I'd rather leave Melinda out of it. I don't even want her to know about it."
"She's already asked," Red told him. "And don't you think she'd find out everything eventually anyway? Besides, I know she'd want to help."
"I don't doubt that," Bobby said. "She's already helped me more than I would've imagined."
"You know I couldn't let you court her if you didn't get all yer past behind ya." Red's tone was matter-of-fact.
Bobby turned once again to face him. "I didn't… I wasn't… I would never ask a woman to live the way I do."
"But you care for her. Don't you?"
"Of course I care for her. She practic'ly saved my life."
Red shook his head. "You know what I mean."
Bobby lowered his eyes to the ground. "I'd prob'ly better git back ta work. You go on in an' check on Miss Birdie."
"You think about it," Red said as he stood to his feet.
"Fine. I'll think about it."
He watched his employer walk to the farmhouse. "Sure are a lot of people wantin' me ta think 'bout stuff lately," he mumbled to himself.
By dusk, Bobby was worried about Melinda. Red assured him that she was okay. She probably just had some extra sewing to do or some errands to run. Bobby tried to believe him, he but could not convince himself.
As he started for home, the wind began to blow wildly, ushering in darker clouds and cooler air. To put his mind at ease, he decided to stop by Pastor Smith's house to see if he or Lyla had heard from Melinda.
Joey was putting on his sleep shirt when Sister Smith answered the door. The little boy obviously had just had a bath.
"Has Melinda been by?" Bobby asked.
"No," Lyla answered. "I thought she was still at Red's taking care of Birdie and you."
Bobby shook his head. "She went home yesterday to finish up some sewin'. Said she would be back this mornin' after she dropped some handwork off here in town and then picked up Joey.
Joey turned toward the door. "Hi, Mr. Lester. Did you come to get me an' take me to my mommy?"
"No, buddy. I just stopped by to talk to Mrs. Smith. I'm sure yer momma will be here real soon ta git ya."
"Tell her to hurry. 'Kay?" Joey asked.
"Okay. I will." Then Bobby addressed Lyla again. "Has anyone has seen her in town?"
"I don't rightly know, Bobby. But she hasn't been here."
"Well, then, I best be goin'."
"You want me to send Michael out to Melinda's house to look for her?" Lyla asked.
"No," he replied, "I'm goin' out there myself right now."
"Do you think something's wrong?"
"I hope not."
Lightening flashed across the sky as he mounted his horse. I'd better hurry iffen I'm gonna beat this storm, he thought.
It began to rain as Bobby turned down the narrow dirt road that lead to the Warren's house. He had almost missed the turn. Only the sporadic lightning gave him any light by which to see. As far as he could tell, there were no lamps lit in the house. This worried him even more.
He shook the rainwater from his hat and shoulders as best he could and then knocked at the front door. He waited. There was no answer. He knocked again. Once more, no response.
"Forgive me, Melinda, for bargin' in yer house," he whispered. He slowly opened the door, not knowing what he would find.
The rooms were dark, damp, and chilly as he searched for the young lady. No sign of her, he thought, his heart sinking. Would he find her? Or was she out somewhere in the night, disabled and cold? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Perhaps he just missed her in town. If he did not find her in the house, he would look around outside and then head back to Red's. Maybe she was there by now.
In the darkness, he shuffled to the staircase. Maybe she's upstairs.
The first room he came to on the second floor held no occupants. In the darkness he could barely see the outline of a rocking horse. This must be Joey's room, he thought.
The next door was closed, and this room was also was empty, only a small bed set in the corner. Guest room?
As he slowly and silently stepped back to the hallway, he heard a slight noise. It was almost like a puppy's whimper. It came from across the hall. That must be where she is.
Bobby entered and fumbled around in the darkness for a lamp. Luckily he did not have to search for matches too. They were on the lamp table. An orange glow encompassed him. This third room was pretty and homey and would have been inviting if it were warmer. He marveled at how crisp the air had become since the storm had rolled in.
Melinda lay across the bed. She was on top of the quilt and obviously quite chilled. Her body shook periodically. Bobby's first job would be to get her warm. He reached for her. Her skin was extremely hot. Should I keep her cool, then? He recalled that she had bathed him in cold water when he was down with the fever.
But surely it's not good for her to be so cold like this. She's shakin' all over. He sighed deeply.
"She needs a doctor," he said out loud. Should he leave her there alone and go get help? No, that wasn't a good idea.
He lifted her small, lifeless form into his arms. His pulse quickened slightly. It had been a long time since he had held a woman—under any circumstances.
After he tucked the blanket around her, he considered his options. "Think, Bobby, think," he quietly told himself. "You've got to remember how to doctor this fever. There's no way to send for help tonight."
A peculiar taste came to mind. Some kind of liquid medicine or broth, he thought. He had heard her call it "tea." Red would know. He had helped nurse Birdie.
If I can just get her through the night, he decided. Somehow he would get help in the morning. He just had to get her through the night. He had to. If it took all his ability and strength, he would help this selfless woman survive the sickness he had likely given to her.
The night seemed to creep by. Bobby did his best taking care of the very sick Melinda. He had made two trips to the water pump to replenish the basin every few minutes. After hours of pressing the cold cloths against her fevered face, neck and arms, he suddenly realized that his clothes were uncomfortably damp. But he had no other clothes to change into.
He stood to his feet and opened one of the two armoires. Melinda was a small woman, but perhaps she had a robe big enough for him to wear until his Levis and heavy twill shirt dried. There was one gown that looked almost large enough, but it was trimmed with lace and ribbons. Though no one would see him, he would never feel comfortable in a garment like that.
Maybe there's somethin' in the other closet, he thought. He closed one door and opened another. He was in luck. It was full of men's shirts.
That's odd. Red said that Melinda's husband had died over a year ago. Why would she still have his clothes? Perhaps they belonged to someone else. Had she remarried? No, he was sure she hadn't. She was always alone, and no one ever spoke of a current husband.
He pulled one of the shirts from the armoire and held it up to his chest. He had no idea what size the deceased Mr. Warren had been, so therefore, he had no clue whether or not the clothes would fit him. The shirt seemed compatible.
Now I just need some pants. He yanked on the bottom drawer of the dresser. Men's pants. He held up a pair. A little long, but I think they'll do.
He stepped across the hall to the spare bedroom to change into the dry clothing. As he slipped on the shirt, something fell from the pocket. He buttoned the shirt and then searched the floor for the item. No luck. He could not find it in the near darkness.
"I'll just look for it in the mornin'," he told himself.
As he pulled on the trousers, lightening lit up the sky outside the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of an object on the floor across the room near the bed. He walked over and picked it up. It was cold: metal, most likely. He laid his clothes out flat on the floor and carried the small metal object to Melinda's room. He held it out in the lamplight. It was a badge. The outline of an eagle shimmered in yellow glow of the lamp. A Mexican peso. Was it Mr. Warren's? Had he been a Texas Ranger? Is that how he died—on duty?
Bobby placed the badge on the night table and sighed. Now he knew he could never begin a relationship with Melinda. She'd never allow him to call. The wife of a deceased lawman would never consider a proposal from a fugitive.
Melinda mumbled and tossed her head in her sleep. Her words sounded much like, "Jonathan, please."
Jonathan, Bobby thought. Oh, yes. That was Mr. Warren's first name.
He wanted to ask her about him, but he would never be so nosey and rude. A year's not nearly long enough to get over a broken heart. Or was it? Though he often still had dreams about LeAnna, he now seldom thought of her during the day. Sometimes he would even forget that he was the one wanted for her death. He was finally putting all of it behind him—at least mentally.
And now Red wanted him to turn himself in to the authorities. How could he? If it was a choice between death or a life of solitude, he would simply have to be a single man for the rest of his life. At least then he would still have a life.
He went downstairs and refilled the water pitcher once again. He still had a few hours until daylight. He needed to continue bathing Melinda in cold water. But what then? He should get help, but he couldn't leave Melinda there alone and ride into town.
Back at her bedside, he gently pushed Melinda's hair away from her face and neck. Her skin was so hot.
"I wish there was more I could do for you," he said softly. "You're such a sweet an' pretty little thing. I hate ta see ya suffer so."
She smiled and slowly opened her eyes. "Oh, Jonathan! You've made me breakfast in bed. You're always surprising me. I wish you didn't have to go to the city today. We could ride down to our spot on the creek and have a picnic lunch." She closed her eyes and whispered something about lemonade.
Bobby knew now that he needed to get help for her immediately. She was delirious. And while he didn't know much about medical information, he did know that high fevers that lasted extended periods of time could cause damage to the body's ability to function properly. He had seen it in his mother. She had lost most of her motor skills, and her speech became slurred when she was fighting the fever caused by infection.
He sighed and pressed the cool cloth against her forehead. "Stay with me, Sweetie, just a little while longer. Help will come real soon." He tried to believe his words.
Bobby was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed and was almost asleep when he heard a noise. He rubbed his eyes and turned an ear to listen. Someone was knocking at the door. He scrambled to his feet and practically ran downstairs. He landed on the bottom step rather haphazardly—almost tripping on the hem of the too-long pants. He regained his footing and shuffled to the door. He swung it open forcefully, and it slammed against the wall.
"Mr. Jacobs. I'm so glad you've come," he started. "I need…"
The man outside raised and eyebrow and cut him off. "Well, Bobby Lester. Sure didn't expect to see you here, 'specially this time of the mornin'." His eyes scanned Bobby from head to toe and then upward again, stopping at his unbuttoned shirt and then at his messy hair. "You stay here last night?"
Bobby nodded, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. "'Scuse me. I didn't get much sleep. Sir, I need…"
"Is that so?" the man cut in again. He adjusted his hat nervously. "Say, I had no idea that you were courtin' Miss Warren."
"I'm not. I'm just…"
"Is that so?" Jacobs cleared his throat. "Look, it ain't none of my business why you stayed here last night an' come answerin' the door half dressed as ya are, but miss Warren is a well respected lady in town, an' if you've somehow mistreated her…"
Bobby's eyes widened, and he did not hear the rest of the man's words. Color flashed across his face. He was angry that Mr. Jacobs would even insinuate such a thing.
"Listen, Jacobs," Bobby said sharply, "I would never ever lay a hand on Miss Melinda, an' I have never done anything to your knowledge to suggest otherwise. If you would stop talkin' an' listen ta me for just one minute, I could tell you why I'm here and that I need your help."
"My help?" Mr. Jacobs coughed. "I just came by to get the colt I'm buyin' from Miss Warren. I'd really rather not get involved in such a scandalous affair."
"Jacobs! Stop!" Bobby surprised himself by shouting. "I am here because Melinda is sick. She has scarlet fever, and I need you ta go to town an' git the doc for me."
"The doc? Scarlet fever? Oh, I didn't realize… Okay, I'm on my way."
Bobby watched the older man scurry to his horse. Then the young man scrambled back up the stairs almost as quickly as he had descended them. He wanted to be back at Melinda's side.
"The doc will be here in no time," he told her. He poured new water in the basin and laid the wet cloth on her forehead.
Dr. Stokely did not knock. He simply proceeded upstairs to Melinda's bedroom.
"She's real bad," Bobby told him. "She was delirious at times during the night."
"It was really nice of you to stay here with her," the doctor told him as he placed a hand on her cheek.
"It was the least I could do," Bobby said. "She's done so much for me, an' I didn't think it was a good idea to leave her here alone."
"You're right. And you may have even saved her life. These cold water rags probably kept the fever from going any higher than it did." He pulled a jar from his bag. "I brought some of the sage leaves to make the tea. It will help the sickness work its way through her system a lot more quickly. Maybe then the fever will lessen some. I'll go down and put the teapot on. You continue with the cold compresses."
Dr. Stokely was gone for awhile and then returned with the tea. "Will you give this to her while I prepare a few things?"
Bobby took the cup and saucer and lifted the tea to Melinda's lips. He watched the doctor out of the corner of his eye. "What are you doin'?"
"Filling this water bottle." He offered no more information.
"What is it for?" Bobby set the cup on the saucer and turned toward the doctor.
"While I was downstairs, it occurred to me that a cold water enema may reduce the temperature from the inside out."
Bobby frowned. "You mean?" He stopped.
Dr. Stokely simply nodded his head. "Is all the tea gone?"
"Most of it."
"Good. If you'll kindly take the cup back down to the kitchen and then wait out in the hallway. I will come and get you when I finish."
The enema, in conjunction with the sage tea and the coldwater baths, seemed to do the trick. Melinda's fever decreased slightly, but enough that the doctor believed that she was out of danger for the time being. And she did seem to be resting more comfortably, Bobby thought.
However, Melinda's recovery was a slow one. The fever lasted longer than expected. And Dr. Stokely said he had never seen anyone with such an extensive coverage of the rash. He stopped in twice a day to check on her and sometimes give her a thorough bath. He could not ask Bobby to do that, and yet he knew that it must be done.
Bobby asked how Birdie was fairing. She was better but still weak and occasionally nauseous. She was up and around some though. On her bad days, Red took care of her. He had had to pay a hired boy to do a lot of the work around the farm.