Chapter 6: Wound-Fever
He didn't say another word until they were sitting on the bank of the stream in the warm morning sunshine. After cutting the bands off her, he'd grabbed an old shirt and taken her down to the creek. Tearing the shirt into rags, he dampened them in water and wrapped them firmly but loosely around the raw places on her wrists and ankles. Then he'd taken the opportunity to use more of the wet cloth to wash her legs and arms until she was as clean as she could get without using soap.
He picked the leaves Red Doe had told him to give her, and told her to eat them to ease her pain. The speed with which she'd done so told him she was in some serious pain. That had reminded him of something else, and he returned to the cabin for the jar of ointment, which he was now smearing on her legs.
"I heard ya talk," he said quietly. It was something he'd have to bring up sooner or later. Ya begged that Railmaster ta leave ya alone, and he said he figured if he wanted a question answered from ya he'd have ta beat it outta you." He saw fear return to cloud those pretty blue eyes, and he sighed. "No, I ain't gonna do that to ya. There's too many people in this world do too much talkin' an' not 'nuff listenin', an' findin' somebody who'll listen is a rare thing. I ain't gonna try an' make ya talk. If ya got somethin' needs sayin', you'll say it. I think ya say plenty with them pretty eyes o' yers. So the only thing I'm askin' is this. If ya don't wanna talk, don't. But I can't tell what yer thinkin' if ya don't look at me. Will ya look up more often? Now that yer a free girl, ya got a right ta hold yer head up." She looked at him thoughtfully with those extraordinary eyes, and suddenly smiled. Even with the bruises on her face and her extreme thinness, she was pretty when she smiled, and he smiled back.
"Now, the other thing I gotta talk ta ya 'bout is what I'm gonna call ya. They said back in the town they didn't know yer name so they called ya the 'water girl' all the time. I ain't gonna call ya that. That damn collar ya wore said you was 'Slave number 87264'. I'll be damned if I'm callin' ya that either. If I want ya, I'll say 'kid'. Ain't the most elegant, but it'll do."
Her voice, when she spoke, was so soft he almost didn't hear her. "Jubilee."
"Huh?" He stared at her. She swallowed hard, her eyes big. Sensing she'd be more comfortable if he wasn't staring at her, he allowed his eyes to drop back to the skinny leg in front of him. His hands resumed rubbing the ointment into the skin. "What did ya say? My ol' ears ain't what they used ta be."
She cleared her throat. "Jubilee. Mama and Papa called me Jubilee."
Logan frowned. "What kind of name is that for a kid?"
"Mama and Papa said they came from a land really far away, over the ocean and across a lot of land. Said they left there because they weren't happy there anymore, and they wanted to start over. When they got to America they were so happy to be here they named their new baby Jubilation. My last name's Lee. So." She shrugged. "Jubilee."
Logan was about to scoff when he remembered that smile. She was a pretty girl when she smiled. Jubilee. Maybe, with a lot of luck and some care, she'd become a jubilant child. "Ah. Well. Probably been a while since anyone said yer name. Jubilee." And then, curious, he asked, "What happened to them?"
She fidgeted. "Mr. Shiomo, who took me after my parents vanished, told me they died. I don't know. I just…saw them one day, and never saw them again." She paused there, but just as Logan decided she was done talking, she said softly, "I came to stay with him when I was five. I kept calling for mama, but she never came. Mr. Shiomo grabbed a knife and told me to shut up, that they were dead and I would never see them again, and if he heard one more word out of me he would cut my tongue out." She shuddered. "He grabbed a knife. I was scared he'd actually cut it out, so I stopped talking. And then when he indentured himself to pay his debts he took me with him. We lived in a camp of indentured servants. I saw people getting beaten for talking. I couldn't understand what they said that was so wrong. So I just didn't say a word. They couldn't put words in my mouth if I didn't say anything." She picked another leaf from the plant and ate it.
Logan flinched when he heard that. What kind of person would threaten to maim a five-year old? "How long were you in the servants' camp?"
"Seven years. Two months ago a band of Indians went through our camp and killed everyone. I got scared, but they didn't kill me. They looked sorry for me and they cooked a lot of food for me. They left me at the servants camp with food until the Railmaster came through and picked me up."
Logan couldn't think of anything to say. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "I'm sorry. No wonder ya don't wanna talk." He sighed. "If yer ready, we can go and get somethin' ta eat. I know yer hungry." She nodded and got up carefully. Logan had used more strips of the old shirt to bind the poultice on her back close to her skin, then gave her another of his shirts to her to wear. He had plenty; when a shirt got too old to wear he kept them for rags to use on the horses.
He checked the underground cellar where he stored his food, and came up with a rabbit and some root vegetables. "Here," he said. "We can make a stew with this." He took the rabbit outside to skin it and de-bone it, and when he came back in he saw the girl peeling the roots and cutting them into bite-size pieces. He grinned. "Y'know how ta cook?"
She nodded. "Helped with the cooking at the servants camp," she said, and returned to what she was doing. He smiled and put the rabbit meat on to stew. He added the vegetables, seasoned it, and let it simmer for a while, then ladled it into bowls for himself and the girl, and sat down on the bed to eat as he insisted she take the chair. Normally he'd sit outside, on the ground to eat, but she had no shoes, and her legs were still slick with ointment.
She dug into the stew as though she was starving, and he watched her eat with interest. She ate carefully, never spilling a single drop of liquid or missing a piece of vegetable or meat. When she was done he gestured to the pot. "Have more if you like." She did.
He was on his second bowl and she was on her third when he heard the sound of hoof beats outside, and seconds later came a polite tap on the door. Red Doe stood there, holding two large bundles and smiling. "Well, I guess it was asking too much for a child to stay in bed," she said. "Hello, small one. How are you feeling?"
Jubilee had retreated behind Logan's solid, comforting back at the first sign of a stranger, and didn't say a word. Logan sighed. So, she trusted him, but no one else. He'd have to teach her who could be trusted and who could not. "Seems like she's doin' okay," he answered for her. "'Specially since we got all that junk offa her." He touched the bandaged wrists lightly.
"I see." Red Doe came over and faced the girl. "Will you let me look?" she said. The girl held one hand out, wrist upwards. Logan watched as Red Doe unwrapped the wrist and looked at the dressed sores. "What did you use on them, Speaks-To-Horses?" she asked, using his Indian name.
Logan shuffled his feet. "Same stuff I use on a horse that has saddle sores," he said. "I figured if it was just the outside it'd be all right. I didn't want ta use horse medicines yesterday 'cause I didn't know if they'd make her sicker."
Red Doe nodded approvingly. "You are a wise man who knows his limits, and even wiser to admit he needs help." She rewrapped the wrist. "Your medicine is strong. She will heal well. There may be marks left on the skin, though."
Logan made a face. "I know. Nothin' can be done bout that, though."
Red Doe shook her head. "We have a skin treatment that will darken white wound marks on the skin so they will not show. When she heals I shall bring some and apply it until the marks fade." She looked at the ointment-slick legs and smiled. "You have attended to her legs?"
"Yep. How do they look?" Red Doe went to one knee, studied the child's legs carefully.
"Very good," she said finally. "Now if you can lie down, child, I will check your back." She nodded approvingly at the strips of cloth Logan had applied to keep the old dressing in place, then unwound it and used a damp cloth Logan handed her to wipe the old dressing off.
Underneath the five red lines still looked nasty, and when Red Doe touched the injured flesh Jubilee sucked in a breath and clenched her fist. Logan coaxed the fingers to uncurl and recurl around his hand, then squeezed her hand reassuringly as Red Doe inspected the cuts. She seemed to spend a lot of time on one particular cut, looking grave, but she said nothing to either of them. She rose from where she sat on the bed beside the child and went to her medicine bag, bringing forth a packet of herbs that was added to the pot of water already on the fire. When it was cool she skimmed the top of the pot and brought the skimming over. She waited until it was cool enough to touch, then smeared it on Jubilee's back. Logan held her still as Red Doe worked the ointment into that one cut that seemed to worry her, and then wiped her fingers on the strips of cloth before reapplying them to the wound.
"Are you hot?" the girl nodded slightly. Red Doe placed a hand on her forehead, then her cheek. "Are you thirsty?" Jubilee nodded again. Logan went to fetch a mug and scooped some water up in it, but before he started across the cabin to give it to the girl, Red Doe intercepted the cup. She unstoppered a skin of some kind of fluid from her medicine bag, and added a few drops of it to the cup. Logan didn't comment, but dropped the reed into it and gave it to the girl, who drank it down. In moments she was asleep. Red Doe gathered up the pot and went outside, and Logan followed her.
"She is taking wound fever," Red Doe said gravely once they were out of the cabin. "The skin around the one cut I was looking at is becoming inflamed. Her skin is hot, and she is thirsty. It is not a good sign. You must watch her carefully over the next few hours. When she begins to fidget, and becomes restless, it means that wound fever is setting in. You must keep her in bed, and she must have water to drink as often as she wants it. Bad spirits will settle into her when the fever has begun, and she will say things that make no sense. She will have bad dreams. You must make sure the spirits do not make her harm herself." She sighed. "I will return early tomorrow to be sure she is all right."
Logan returned to the cabin, looking down at the sleeping girl. Her face, now that he looked closely, was a little flushed, and her lips looked dry. He sat down in the chair and watched her for a long time.
As night drew on, she began to toss and turn in her sleep. Soft whimpers came from her slightly parted lips, and Logan saw her face grow more and more flushed. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Worried, he took two buckets outside, filled each one with water, and carried them both inside. Picking up a handful of rags he brought them to her bedside and pulled the chair up too. He soaked the cloth with cool water, wrung it out, and placed it across her hot forehead to bring the fever down.
"No…" she spoke softly in her sleep, but the word was full of anguish and pain. "Please, no…" she flailed out with her arms suddenly. "No, please, you're hurting me…" He thought she was talking about the whipping she had gotten, but as she rolled over on her back her hands went down to her loins, and she spasmed as if something were hurting her there. "No, please no, please, it'll hurt, please…"
Logan closed his eyes tight, heartsick. If her womanhood had been taken already. No man would marry her now. She would be considered a loose woman, and her only possible future now was as a saloon girl. He wondered if the Railmaster had done it, or if it had happened long ago. Had the slaves made use of her at night, like Hunt had suggested? The thought sickened him. He wondered if he dared ask Red Doe to examine the girl.
"Please," the child cried in despair. "Please, don't! please, it hurts, oh God, it hurts…" Her body jerked and spasmed. "Please, Railmaster, please tell him not to chain me, please tell him to stop, I'm just a kid, they're too heavy, and they rub..." and the rest of what she said trailed off into incoherent babbling. Logan clenched his fist. He would go back to town. He would go back for one last talk with the railmaster. He wanted to rip the man apart. He wanted to…
"Mister Logan?" came a weak, hoarse voice. He looked down to see a pair of tear-filled blue eyes looking up at him. "Water, please…" He hurriedly dipped a cup into the pail, brought it dripping to her lips, helped her drink, and then replaced the hot cloth on her forehead with a fresh, cold one. She lay back, satisfied for the moment, and her mind wandered off into the tormented dreamscape again. Logan slept fitfully that night, catching a few minutes with his head pillowed on his folded arms between bouts of listening to her scream in pain from whatever torture she had endured and begging God for her freedom. He slept when she went silent, woke when she screamed, gave her water when she was lucid enough to ask for it, and held her while she cried. Close to dawn her fever finally broke, and he bathed her sweat-soaked face and limbs before she fell into an exhausted sleep. He took the opportunity to sleep too.
