A low, strangled denial ripped from Garret's throat. He ran to Ashleen, falling on his knees beside her, sweeping her hard against him.
Her arms twined around his neck, her sobs seeming to reverberate through Garret's whole being.
"Ash, I'm sorry... so damn sorry..."
"No... no, Garret, you don't understand. The fever—it's broken. She—she's going to be all right."
Garret couldn't breathe, his heart seeming ready to hammer its way from his chest. He pulled away from Ash, his hand curving gently over Meggie's chest. The child's delicate ribs rose and fell, her breath soft and warm on his hand.
"She's sleeping," he said in a choked voice, his fingertips skimming the child's cool, sweat-dewed brow. "She's sleeping."
Laughter—tearful, wonderful laughter—was bubbling from Ashleen's pale lips, the eyes that had been dull with exhaustion and worry snapping now with a joy so deep it seemed to drench the world in sunshine.
With a sound that was pure relief Garret's mouth sought Ashleen's, kissing her as if to draw life from her, hope, to touch the angels who seemed ever to be battling on her side.
She clung to him, half sobbing, half laughing, all loving, and in that single moment Garret knew the piercing sweet joy his own parents must have shared.
"I love you, lady." He couldn't seem to say the words enough, reveling in the light that shone in Ashleen's crystal-blue eyes. "I love you so damn much."
As if from a distance he heard the sound of running feet and turned with Ashleen still in his arms to see Liam limping up the hill as fast as he could go, Shevonne running toward them, her skirts flying behind her, Renny outdistancing both of them. His eyes were round with stark terror.
"She's dead, isn't she?" Renny was crying. "She died 'cause of me."
"No, she's alive!" Ashleen pulled from Garret's arms to catch Renny in the fiercest of hugs. "She'll be down at the wagon in no time."
It seemed to take a moment for the boy to draw the words in. He shook his head, relief and regret flooding his animated features. It was as if the days of pent-up torment suddenly grew too heavy for him to bear, and he dissolved into choked sobs, clinging to Ashleen desperately, pleadingly.
"I—I'm sorry, Sister Ash, 'bout callin' her names," he sniffled. "'Bout everything I said 'bout you and—"
"Quiet now. I'm sorry, too, sweeting." Ash smoothed her hand over the boy's tousled red hair, and Garret was stunned to feel something like jealousy. "We'll all be together now," she said, her voice vibrant with gladness. "Together."
She opened her other arm to gather Liam and Shevonne close, their joyous babble rising all around her.
Garret stood a little ways away from them, feeling as if he were a child himself, his nose pressed to the glass jar of horehound drops in a local mercantile, able to see the sweetness tempting there, but never able to reach in and take it.
A strange emptiness knotted in his chest, and he turned, busying himself tidying up the lean-to as the children all sat near Meggie, their voices eager, laced with relief and a blind, innocent faith Garret knew he had never shared.
It seemed an eternity had passed before Ash noticed him gathering up the cloths with which she had bathed the child, the extra blankets, the soiled nightgowns.
"Garret, you don't need to bother with those," she said, and he thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did in the limp dress with her eyes shining. "Shevonne and I can wash them up."
"We won't be washing them," Garret said, scooping up a bright-hued quilt. "Everything she touched, everything you used will have to be burned."
"B-burned?" Ash stared in disbelief. "What in the world—"
"Kennisaw learned it from an old sawbones in Santa Fe—insisted that people with measles and smallpox and diphtheria—well, their things somehow carry the diseases to others. The old man swore you could become sick just from touching them."
"I never heard of such a thing! It's ridiculous! Even if the sickness was lurking in the blankets, if we wash them there should be no more problem. We'll take the things and scrub them with lye soap."
"No. None of you are to touch any of this." Garret knew his voice was hard, but he had seen what was left of a village that had disregarded the old buzzard's warnings. "It's better to be safe than have one of you take sick."
"You're really... really serious about this, aren't you? You mean to burn up the quilts and the cloths and—"
"Everything. Down to her damn hair ribbons."
Ash nibbled at her lip, bemused. "It seems such a horrible waste. But if you're certain..." She bent down to tug the pink bows from the ends of the child's frayed plaits. She added them to the growing pile in Garret's arms and then busied herself getting the child out of her flannel nightgown.
"Shevonne, run and get one of my nightdresses and a pair of sewing shears. I'll cut it off for her, then hem it later."
