The November weather was mild because of how far south and west they had come and already Kid was feeling better, but there was still an occasional cough. He hadn't stopped looking around the general stores for something that would be of help more permanently and his eyes lighted on a book.
It had a fancy title, "An Inaugural Dissertation on Pulmonary Consumption", but it was the consumption part that caught his eye. Surely this book could tell him something.
After making his purchase, he found a spot by a river, hoping Ruth wouldn't coming looking for him there. His chances were good at not getting caught since she was making lunch. He quickly digested its contents.
He learned a whole lot about the causes. It was heredity, which explained his cousin having it. Depression, poor nutrition, certain occupations, eating while one had a cold, asthma and a number of other ailments, and liquor all caused one to come down with it. And the most common age for coming down with it was between puberty and age 36, which made him right on target.
He found out that women were more likely to get it in part because they wore corsets too tightly and because they were more inactive and nervous, which relieved him as Ruth didn't match the feminine criteria hardly at all. It also relieved him to read that it was not contagious, or at least a person had to be susceptible to it first, meaning Ruth was safe from him healthwise.
As far as cures went, there were many remedies suggested. Country air was better than city air. Cold and moisture was bad except in the case of ocean breezes, hence changing climates helped and sometimes cured. The author recommended lancing with care. It may have worked for some people, but it sure hadn't helped him. Digitalis occasionally worked, but it also bore the risk of finishing him off. There were other tonics and medicines mentioned that also came with such warnings. It suggested taking mercury and opium at the very start, but it had to be done early or it was already too late to do any good. And even if it wasn't, they were in a part of the territory now that didn't generally have access to these medicines, which is why Ruth was so needed. It also made mention that in rare cases people became perfectly restored to health, their bodies healing themselves, so at least there was that modicum of hope, small as it was.
The book did give have some useful tips, so it hadn't been a total waste of money. He had to avoid blows to the chest. Easier said than done in his case. Milk was a good reliever of symptoms. Exercise was beneficial, particularly horseback riding. And steam could sometimes alleviate symptoms. He was also supposed to wear flannel.
One thing he wished he hadn't read was the number of deaths the disease caused each year. And consumption was still basically considered incurable. He also read that in the latter stages, it became so debilitating as to require a caregiver. And there was no indication of how long it would take to reach this point. As the first doctor had said and this book backed up; some people lasted only a matter of weeks with it and some lasted as long as 50 years.
He threw the book into the river. Partly from frustration that there was no easy fix and partly so Ruth couldn't find it.
It had only served to add to his worries and he came to a decision. He'd give it 3 weeks when they finally got to where they were going and if there was no change, he'd have to leave her. He couldn't stand the thought of her being forced to tend to him, of her seeing him become useless. Not to mention, she would have to watch him die. Or worse, if it was a slow death and he only served to hinder her calling. He couldn't do that to her. He couldn't expect her to stay tied to him when and if he became nothing more than an invalid. "Please, God, don't let it come to that," he begged.
Dark thoughts plagued him all the rest of the day, which he knew now wasn't good for his consumption, but he couldn't help it.
He dreamed that night that he was drowning. Ruth sat in a row boat as the waves tossed about and the lightening flash. He called to her and she saw him, but she only looked at him with pity and then the pity became disgust and hatred. She turned her head and she began rowing away, leaving the black, stormy waters to pull him in.
He awoke, gasping for air. Apparently, he had done some real tossing about because Ruth was awake and watching him with concern.
"Do you love me?" he asked suddenly.
"Of course, I love you. What kind of question is that?"
"Then hold me."
She did and he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling soothed already.
"Were you just having a bad dream or are you feeling poorly?"
"Neither," he said, clutching her tighter as if she were going to disappear in his arms like a vapor. "I just need you."
He made love to her with the frenzy of a man who knew he might be taking his last drink of water with a long, dry stretch of desert in front of him.