CHAPTER TWO

The Sickness Continues

Tuesday, November 13, 1877

Heath watched his mother as she slowly made her way up the backstairs, rubbing her back as she went.

Heath clamped his eyes shut. They would probably all be sick. And it was all his fault.

Silas stepped into the kitchen. "You all better, Mr. Heath?"

Heath swung around to look at the older man. He was dressed, but he was shivering and hunched.

Heath went to him. "Oh, Silas. You've got the sickness. I'm so sorry. Please go back to bed."

"I can make breakfast—"

"No! I doubt nobody will want breakfast. If anyone does, I'll make it for 'em. Looks like I'm stuck in the house anyway." He eyed the older man. "Is there anything you want?"

"Not a thing, Mr. Heath."

Heath walked the man back to his room. "Now, please stay in bed and get some rest. I'll check on you here in a bit."

"Mr. Heath—"

"Do you need help changing clothes?"

"No, Mr. Heath."

"You holler if you need me. I'll keep a check on you."

"Obliged, Mr. Heath."

Heath sighed and returned to the kitchen.

Margaret, still in a robe, came down the backstairs. "What's going on?"

Heath met her with a kiss. "I think everyone has what we had."

"Oh, no, Heath. I hope not."

Heath shrugged. "Can you light the stove and put some water on to boil? I need to find the willow bark."

"Sure." Margaret was so happy Isabella had taught her how to light the stove. She hated that she knew so little about how to do everyday things. She had always wanted to know how to do things, how things worked, how to fix things, but Daddy never wanted her to do anything. He'd say that's what they had help for and her job was to be pretty and find a wealthy husband. She was so thankful Isabella was happy to teach her things and never acted as though it was abnormal for a woman Margaret's age not to know how to do such simple things.

As much as she appreciated Isabella, she was often shocked at the lack of respect Isabella showed Nick. One day two weeks ago, while Heath was still recovering from his head injury, Margaret was helping Isabella make Saturday dinner. Nick had come in and told Isabella to get him a pan of water. Isabella, who was browning beef for stew, said without turning, "Got my hands full, Nick. Get your own pan of water."

Margaret was horrified. She couldn't imagine ever speaking to Heath like that.

Then Nick pointed at Isabella's coffee cup. "And how much of that have you had today?"

Isabella shrugged. "That's number three or four."

"Isabella! You know the doctor said not to have more than one cup a day."

Isabella slapped her hands to her hips. "And how much have you had today?"

"That don't make no difference. You're gonna do what the doc tells you to do."

"Then you quit drinking coffee." Isabella returned to stirring the beef.

"What? You want both us of cranky at the same time?" Nick demanded.

"Ha! You're cranky all the time anyway!"

Nick sighed. He got a pot and filled it with water, then shook his finger at Isabella. "No more coffee today!"

"If you know what's good for you, Mr. Barkley, you'll not worry about how much coffee I drink."

Nick picked up her coffee cup, started to toss the contents, but then took a big drink instead. He made a face and spit the liquid into the sink. "That ain't coffee!"

Isabella doubled-over—as far as she could in her condition—laughing. "See? That's what you get for assuming. I had one coffee at breakfast—and then I switched to tea. Like the doctor suggested, not like my husband ordered."

"Woman, you vex me." Nick leaned over her and kissed her hard on the lips. "You could at least drink tea from a teacup."

Isabella put her arms around his neck, one fist still around the spatula that dripped grease down the back of his leather vest. "Just another dish to wash," she whispered.

Nick's hands roved over her body.

Margaret concentrated on peeling the potatoes, trying her best to ignore them. Again, she couldn't believe Isabella treated her husband like that—that she talked back to him, that she teased him, that she laughed at him—and that Nick didn't seem to mind. Certainly, Isabella had made the same wedding vows as Margaret—the vows to love, honor, and obey her husband.

No matter what Heath asked her to do, Margaret did so immediately and with a smile. She had never challenged her daddy—except for that one time when she told him she wanted to go to a business school instead of to finishing school, but when he'd told her "no," she'd accepted it and never mentioned it again—and she wasn't about to argue with her husband. Oh, she liked Isabella—a lot. Isabella was always warm and kind and welcoming to her. She just couldn't believe the way she treated Nick—and, even more, that Nick didn't seem to mind.

Then Nick whispered something to Isabella, grinned, and walked out the door.

Isabella shivered and watched him leave, then had looked at Margaret. "I adore that man."

Margaret hadn't said anything.

The sound of running water drew her attention back to the present. The large pot was about to overflow.

"I think everyone in the house is sick," Heath stated, coming out of the pantry carrying a jar of willow bark.

"I hate to hear that," Margaret said. "It makes me feel guilty." She tried to lift the large pan of water from the sink.

"No, sweetie." Heath hurried to her, set down the jar of willow bark, and dumped out some of the water. "Let me get that," he said, and carried the pot to the stove. "You get some coffee on, okay?"

Momentarily, Margaret panicked. She didn't drink coffee herself, but, again, she'd watched Isabella make it. She filled another large pan with water, but then paused. Everyone seemed to drink coffee except for Audra, who preferred tea, and Victoria usually only had it at breakfast. But what if everyone was sick and didn't want any? Maybe she should make a smaller pot. She glanced up at Heath, who was cutting the willow bark. "How much should I make?"

Heath considered. "Probably not as much as normal. Maybe just a medium pan."

Margaret nodded. She picked up what this family called a medium pan—although she would've called it a large pan—filled it with water, and put it on the stove.

The next step was to grind the beans. The coffee mill was on a shelf, so she took it down, then looked for the coffee beans. They were next to the mill in a glass jar. She wasn't sure how many to use, so she filled the grinder about half full and turned the handle until it was all ground. She would wait until the water was boiling before she added the grounds to the coffee. She turned and faced Heath. "Do you need help with anything?"

"I'm about done here," Heath said. He finished the last few cuts, washed the bark, and then put it in the boiling water. "We'll just let that boil for five or ten minutes."

Margaret picked up the cutting board and knife he'd been using and washed them—another skill Isabella had taught her.

Heath stepped back and put his arm around Isabella. "It will be a while before this is ready. Why don't you go on up and get dressed?"

Margaret smiled at him. "Okay. I'll be back soon." She ran up the backstairs.

Heath busied himself looking for the honey and fresh lemons. Just as he took the willow bark off the heat to steep for another thirty minutes or so, Margaret returned wearing a day dress.

Heath couldn't help but smile. No matter what Margaret wore—or didn't wear—she looked phenomenal. He was lucky man.

Margaret noticed the coffee water was boiling, so she moved it off the heat and started to add the grounds.

"No," Heath said.

She paused and looked at him.

"Give the water a couple of minutes to cool off just a bit." He kissed Margaret's hair. "Do you know how to keep the grounds out of the coffee?"

"I think so," Margaret answered. She'd watched Isabella cover the coffee carafe with the special loose-weave muslin fabric to keep the grounds out, but wasn't sure how she'd kept the fabric from falling into the coffee. She took down the carafe, checked to make sure it was clean, and then found the fabric in the drawer. She displayed her finds to Heath. "But how do you keep it from falling into the water?"

Heath unfolded the fabric and lay it on the counter. Then he put the coffee grounds in the center of the fabric, gathered up the ends, tied them, and dropped the coffee into the pan of water. He whistled "Camptown Races" four times, then took out the pod of coffee grounds and placed them on a plate. He winked at Margaret. "That's all the longer you need to steep coffee—two-to-three minutes—not the ten minutes Nick does."

"I saw Isabella hold the cloth over the coffee pot as she poured the coffee in from the pan."

Heath nodded. "You can do it either way. I really don't like grounds in my coffee, so I do it both ways." He took out another square of the muslin fabric and placed it over the top of the coffee pot. He looked around. "Do you see that strap they tie around this?"

"No," Margaret answered and looked into some of the other drawers.

"That's okay. You just hold the cloth so it don't slip in and I'll pour the coffee."

Margaret allowed the cloth a little slack, then held it tight around the coffee carafe.

Heath slowly poured the coffee over the cloth until the pot was full. He set the rest of the pan of coffee back on the stove where it would stay warm but not come to a boil.

Margaret raised the cloth out of the coffee. Just a very few grounds lay on the cloth. "What do you do with the grounds?" she asked.

"There's a pan under the sink for compost material. Just put it in that pan, and I'll take it outside later today." He winked at her. "Mother says coffee grounds is what makes her roses so purdy."

Margaret opened the tied pouch of grounds and dumped them on the plate, then added the couple from her cloth. She dumped the plate into the pan under the sink. Then she washed the muslin cloths and hung them to dry.

Heath poured himself a cup of coffee. "I forgot to ask you if you wanted tea."

"I'm good. I'll make some later."

"Why don't you get out some cups and we'll fill them with willow bark and take them to the others? Just set them on a tray." While she did that, he added a bit of honey and a squeeze of lemon to the willow bark tea and stirred it, then filled the cups. "Grab that tin of crackers," he said as he poured the tea.

The couple made the rounds, not surprised that everyone in the family was sick.

Finally, Heath sat down, drank his coffee, and ate his biscuits. Margaret had unlimited patience dealing with sick people and knew just how to make them feel better, so he was glad she was in this with him. But he had a feeling it was going to be a long, long day. For all of them.

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