*Author's Note*

Thank you for the reviews, faves, and follows.

Ooo back to back updates. Things are rolling now. I'll be jumping back into the storyline of the miniseries soon.

The Scarlett Fever

Novella POV:

Winter was cold and harsh. Snow beat down on the hills relentlessly, not stoppin' an' meltin' 'way til the beginnin' of spring. Spring was supposed to bring sun an' warmer weather, but this year the season was bein' tricky. One day it'd be blustery an' then for a couple of days it's be warm an' pleasant. Torential rain storms, some producin' hail, beat down in the Tug River Valley. Hell, the weather was bein' very temperamental an' erratic.

It was currently early April an' I was stuck in the house watchin' rain pelt the glass windows from my spot in the kitchen kneadin' bread dough. My husband was trapped in the house too, the weather bein' too bad for plantin' or firin' up his still. Tolbert was sittin' on his chair in the main room watchin' our children play on the floor. Rihanna was helpin' Tol stack up some wooden blocks.

"Hope this weather lets up soon. Haven't been able t'plant or make shine for ov'r a week." Tolbert complained, his velvet-like voice drippin' with aggravation, as he thrummed his fingers 'gainst the armrest of his chair.

"I know, I'm behind on laundry cause of the rain." If the rain didn't stop soon we'd be stuck wearin' dirty clothes an' usin' dirty beddin'.

"All this rain an' cold gonna make for a short plantin' season." Tolbert revealed wit' a solemn tightness to his velvety-gruff timbre.

"Have ya been able to clear the fields yet at least?"

"Fields that's been cleared just got muddied up 'gain. Can't do much plowin' til the goddamn rain ends."

"Oh…" I sighed, placin' the dough into the bowl an' coverin' it wit' cloth in order for it to rise 'gain. Dustin' my floured hands off on my apron I remarked, "All we can do's pray for drier days."

"Mama, Tol feel hot." Rihanna announced in her tiny voice as she turned her head to look at me while holdin' her brother's tiny lil wrist.

I rushed over to where my chil'ren were playin' on the floor while Tolbert bolted outta his chair an' rushed over as well. I quickly picked up my son only to feel that his skin was hot an' clammy, a sign of fever. Tolbert placed a hand on our son only to look at me an' remark, "He's burnin' up, darlin'."

"I know, he's got the fever." I told my husband, risin' to stand up. Pointin' to our daughter I ordered, "Feel her forehead, see if she's catchin' anythin'."

"I not hot, poppy." Rihanna protested as Tolbert placed his calloused hand 'gainst her forehead to test her temperature.

Lookin' up at me from his spot couched next to our daughter Tolbert told me, "She' ain't hot, but warm. Skin bit clammed tho."

"I think she's catchin' the fever too."

"Ya think it's just a reg'lar one or Scarlett?" My husband asked, his velvety gruff voice laced wit' distress, as he stood up, holdin' Rihanna in his arms.

I knew what he meant by his question. Since our spring had been so tricky an epidemic of Scarlett fever had broken out. Many chil'ren an' even teens were catchin' it. It was a deadly fever, the younger the child the greater the risk for death was. Just a week 'go the Dierks lost their 8-month old son Archie to the Scarlett fever an' few days 'fore that the Bowmans daughter was stricken wit' a weak heart as a defect of survivin' it while their son perished. Tolbert was worried that we'd lose our chil'ren, or more so another son. I was worried 'bout that too, but I couldn't let that show. I couldn't be afraid, I had'a be strong for the sake of my chil'ren. A weak-minded woman can't care for her babies, I needed to be strong so that I'd be able to nurse my lil ones back to health.

!

A couple days had gone by an' neither the rain or my chil'ren's fever had broken. I had sent Tolbert into town to get Doc cause I feared that my babies were stricken with Scarlett fever. Rihanna was tucked into bed wit' the quilted tightly up 'round her lil form. She was sleepin', but shakin' wit' discomfort.

I was in the main room of the house pacin' back an' forth while wipin' my son down wit' a wet rag as he wailed. His skin was so hot, he burnt to the touch. Tol's chubby lil cheeks were beat red an' flushed, his entire body was a shade of pinkish-red too. It was clear that the fever was ragin' bad in him.

I heard the loud sound of the front door bangin' open breakin' through the peltin' sound of the rain hittin' the house. I paused in my pacin' only to turn my attention to the door an' watch Tolbert enter the cabin wit' Doc followin' hot on his heels.

"Novella, Tolbert told me you think the chil'ren got Scarlett fever." Doc Rutherford remarked as he walked further into the room while my husband was shuttin' the front door.

"Yes, Doc, we do." I nodded, movin' the cool wet cloth over my son's beat red an' hot chubby cheeks.

"Where's your daughter?" Doc asked, his voice level an' professional soundin', as he held tightly onto his small leather-worn medical bag.

"Rihanna's in bed." I answered, pointin' to the room under the stairs. "She's still fevered, but I think she's finally sweatin' it out."

"I'll examine her then I'll see 'bout your boy." Doc Rutherford said, his eyes a bit downcast, 'fore walkin' off towards the room that was underneath the staircase.

Tolbert, after hangin' up his hat an' jacket, took a seat in his chair. He looked at me, watchin' me bounce on my feet tryin' to soothe our wailin' feverish son. I wiped Tol off with the rag, tryin' to cool his fiery pinkish skin while bein' asked by my husband in a shakiy velvet tone, "Tol's gettin' worse, ain't he?"

"He's grown outta his colic, so his distressed cryin's cause of the fever."

"He cool down any?" Tolbert asked me, his stormy eyes lookin' at the baby in my arms that was burnin' up.

I shook my head. "No, not really."

Tolbert opened his mouth to say somethin' whenever the door to our daughter's room squeaked open. Quickly my husband shut his mouth and snapped his head to look at the doc walkin' into the room. From the relaxed look on his wrinkled face I surmised that Rihanna was goin' to be okay.

"She's sweatin' out her fever. It's breakin', so by the night or in the mornin' she should be fine." Doc Rutherford told us as he stood in the middle of the main room. "Her left ear's hot an' swelled bad. I'm afraid she'll lose use of it."

Tolbert shot the older man a twisted look. His jaw dropped as he asked in a smooth but stunned tone, "Deaf, my daughter's gone deaf?"

"In one ear, yes." Doc nodded his head, leavin' my husband to slump his ginger covered head in sullen shock.

I admit that the news of Rihanna goin' deaf in her left ear was shockin', but I was just relieved that her fever was breakin' an' she was alive. It was my son who's fate I was worried 'bout. "Doc, he's burnin' up. Is there somethin' ya can do?" I asked, rushin' over to the older man so he could check on my sick baby.

Doc placed a hand on my son's cheek an' then his forehead. His eyes widened from behind his round wire-rimmed glasses. Sighin' he shook his head an' announced, "Nothin' to do, but keep tryin' wipin' him down with a cool cloth." I nodded, bringin' my hand that was holdin' the wet rag up to touch my son's hot an' red chubby cheeks as he wailed in pain. Doc gave both me an' my husband a sorrow filled look while sayin', "The fever's takin' him over too bad. If it don't break soon…I'm sorry…"

Tolbert's storm-blue eyes widened an' his face paled. "What? Doc, yer sayin' my boy's dyin'?"

"If he don't break his fever by the night then he'll burn up. That's if he makes it to the night." Doc bluntly told my husband, a slight softness tinted to his professional soundin' drawl of a voice.

"No, don' ya dare say that! Do somethin', give 'im somethin', cure him!" Tolbert ordered the doctor in the loudest yell I've ever heard come from his mouth. His nostrils flared an' the veins were poppin' outta his neck as he turned his attention on me. With a dark an' flared look Tolbert barked at me, "What kinda mama an' wife are ya, Ella? Yer just gonna stand there an' nod while the old drunk doc tells us our son's good as dead?"

I was taken aback at my husband's velvet-gruff timbre spurtin' out doubled eded an' sarcastic questions at me while our son was in dire health, burnin' up. If Doc was shocked by Tolbert's hysterical outburst he didn't let it show. The older man just looked at me husband while tellin' him in a smooth tone, "Tolbert, please calm down. Yellin' at your wife won't change the situation none."

"Give 'im to me. If none of ya'll wanna help him I'll tend t'him myself." Tolbert snapped as he bolted outta his chair, rushin' over to where me an' Doc Rutherford were standin'. "God knows I've cared for him after he was born." He gruffly barked, snatchin' both the damp cloth an' our son from my arms while givin' me a look darker than that of any storm-clouds in a squall. "Don't follow me, I'll come out after breakin' his fever." Tolbert ordered 'fore stormin' off to our room.

The sound of the bedroom door slammin' shut was so loud that it made me jump up a bit in startled fright. Doc just looked at me, sympathy in his old crinkled eyes, and told me, "He'll come out after the boy crosses over the other side."

I didn't want to think bout that. I know it'll most likely happen, but… I put on a tight smile and told the doc, "Thank you, Doc, for comin' out to examine my chil'ren."

"I'm sorry, but as I told your husband there's nothin' I can do for the boy. He's too young, so if I bleed him he'll die. He's too far bad off in the fever for the tonics to help." He explained to me why he couldn't help. Fact of the matter is Tol's just too young for any medical remedies to work on him. I've heard that sick babies are the trickest to treat. Now I reckon that's the truth an' not an old wive's tale.

Noddin' I softly muttered, "I understand."

"You're not the only family to be effected by Scarlett fever this year. I've seen many chil'ren stricken this spring due to the freezin' rains." Doc Rutherford told me before walkin' out of my front door.

I took a deep breath 'fore walkin' over to the bedroom door. "Tolbert, can I come in? Help wit' our son?" I asked, knockin' on the door, as I heard the sounds of cries echoin' from the room.

"No!" My husband shouted loudly, causin' me to step back from the door. "I said I'll come out when I break his fever." He added in, his voice raw an' angry, but not in a shoutin' volume.

I didn't know what to do or say. Tolbert didn't want me to help him care for our son. That hurt me, broke my heart, that as a mother I couldn't tend to my child cause its father was keepin' him from me. Didn't trust me to care for our sick an' dyin' infant.

It was almost dusk an' I was in the kitchen washin' out the bowl that I used to serve Rihanna some broth in whenever the loud pain filled cries of my sick an' feverish son ceased. I hoped 'gainst hope that they stopped cause his fever broke, but deep down in my heart I his cries had ended cause he was dead. My baby boy, my precious boy with chubby cheeks an' wispy ginger hair on his head was gone to forever sing with the angels 'cross the river Jordan.

The sound of the door creakin' open accopmpanied by the thumpin' of Tolbert's bootsteps caught my attention. I looked over my shoulder to see my husband walkin' out of our room with his shoulders slumped an' his head hung low in defeat. Lookin' at my husband wit' wide eyes I asked softly, "Is he?..."

Tolbert's ginger-covered head snapped up an' his stormy eyes turned near black wit' anguish an' anger as he gruffly exclaimed, "Tol's dead. Our son's dead an' it's all yer fault!"

My cornflower blues widened wit' disbelief. How could he saw that to me? "My fault? Tolbert, I didn't do nothin' wrong. He was sick."

"Sick cause yer a piss-poor mama. Oh, ya made sure yer daughter broke her fever, but didn't try an' break my son outta his. Yer fault he's dead!" My husband ranted an' raved like a lunatic who'd just received a round of shock-treatment in the looney-bin.

"Don't you dare say that to me, Tolbert. He was my son, I tended both of my chil'ren that best I could." I snapped, my flowin' voice shakin' wit' anger, as I felt tears threaten to spill from my eyes.

"Well, yer best weren't good 'nough." He spat hatefully at me 'fore stormin' to the front door. "I gotta cut boards an' make a'rang'ments." Tolbert spat, his velvet-smooth tone soundin' flatter than a stale pancake, 'fore he grabbed his jacket an' hat off the hooks an' walked out the door.

It's been two days since Tol passed, today was the funeral. Since Rihanna was still recoverin' she couldn't attend. Alifiar had volunteered to stay at my cabin to watch her, which I was grateful for.

Today the rains poured out of the sky like uncontrollable tears as I stood in front of the hole my 6-month old son was bein' lowered into. My husband was standin' at least a good arm length 'way from me, a flask clutched in his hand. My uncle wasn't comfortin' me like at Bert's funeral. No, Uncle Perry was off to the side standin' with Ole Rand'l. My brother, Moses, was with them. He was standin' 'tween my uncle an' my father-in-law. The rest of the family, friends, an' neighbors just stood gather round us, randomly scattered on the wet-muddied grass.

This time the one comfortin' me was Aunt Sally. She had her arm wrapped 'round me, rubbin' my shoulder wit' her thumb, offerin' me silent support. Perhaps Aunt Sally brought it upon herself to comfort me cause she knew that Tol wouldn't make it to his first birthday. She had the gift of sight, said I'd never have a son named for hers. She knew, my mother-in-law knew, that I was goin' to lose my Tol.

"The Lord'll take Tol into his embrace, welcome him into the promise land. There Tol he'll be wit' his brother an' family that've come to paradise 'fore him." Reverend Garrett said, endin' the sermon that he was performin' for my son. It was a nice sermon, meant to be comfortin', but honestly the preacher's words did nothin' to ease my pain.

I knew what had to be done next. The final part of the funeral. With a shaky hand I bent down and took a small handful of dirt. Aunt Sally never let go of me, she just walked with me a few feet over to the grave. With tears blurrin' my vision I dropped the clump of dirt into the hole. A shrill cry leavin' my lips as the clunk of soil hittin' the tiny wooden coffin was heard.

I was lookin' at the stones of my two baby boys while waitin' on my husband to join me, to toss his handful of dirt into our boy's grave.

Bert McCoy July.5th, 1880

Tolbert 'Tol' McCoy Junior. Oct.10,1881-Apr.5,1882.

Tolbert didn't bend down and pick up a handful of dirt, instead my husband took a large swig of his likker flask an' turned his back on the tiny 6-foot hole our son's pine box was in. Without sayin' a word Tolbert walked off towards where all the horses and wagons were at.

Everyone had shocked or wide-eyed expressions on their faces, nobody knew what to do. Uncle Perry ended the awkward moment by lookin' at everyone with a somber expression on his fox-like face an' sayin', "Thank all of you for attending. It means a lot to my niece and her family." He nodded his head at everyone, signalin' that they could leave, 'fore placin' his hand on my brother's shoulder an' leadin' him 'way to where his buggy was at.

Everyone else followed suit, walked off to their horses an' wagons. Everyone except for Aunt Sally, who was walkin' next to me. She still had me in her embrace, holdin' me as we slowly walked 'way from the fresh grave that was in the rain muddled soil.

Most of the people had gone by time me and Aunt Sally reached our wagons. Ole Rand'l sat in his, the chil'ren drenched in their black mournin' wear, an' looked at me wit sad, but cuttin', beady eyes as Aunt Sally detached herself from me. She gave me a half-hearted and sad smile 'fore joinin' her family in their wagon.

Tolbert looked straight 'head, not at me, while I walked over to the wagon he was perched in. As I climbed up into it he was tippin' back his flask. I surmise half, if not most, of the likker in that flask is gone. My husband popped the cork back onto his bottle and slipped it into his black jacket 'fore snappin' the reigns, makin' our wagon pull 'way from the graveyard. I turned my head, lookin' at the rows upon rows of stone markin' different generations of McCoys.

The sound of rain water softly peltin' down on my husband's black funeral hat broke me out of my gaze, causin' me to look straight 'head at the muddied road. Since I hated wearin' hats and bonnets, rarely ever donnin' one, my copper hair was soaked an' the color of red-wood, limp an' lifeless. My hair resembled how I felt in my soul right now. Darkened, dampened, limp, an' lifeless.

Once 'gain I'd need my daughter, my little Rihanna, to pull me out of the abyss of grief and depression. I also had the feelin' that Tolbert was gonna be drowin' his grief an' sorrow wit' booze once more. I fear this sudden death of Tol due to the Scarlett fever was goin' to turn my husband into a hateful drunkard. Tolbert's reactions to Tol's death are more enraged an' irrational then they were wit' Bert's stillbirth. His intake of whiskey is more then with the last lost too.

They say that a death either brings a couple closer or tears them apart in their grief. I fear the latter might become my reality, 'specially since my husband's been givin' me the cold shoulder for the last couple of days.

AN:

This chapter was hard to write, but sadly it had to be done in order for Tolbert to slip into a darker mindset that's needed for the storyline that's in the miniseries (kidnapping & attempting to kill Johnse, starting a fight with Lias & Ellison, murdering Ellison). Happy Tolbert was nice while it lasted. Poor Novella, lost two babies back to back.