Other people took shortcuts. Heating vanilla pods was one way to reduce costs, and of course, the Magruders avoided the hassle of dealing with vanilla pods altogether by using chemicals instead. Thinking about the Magruders made his head hurt even worse, and he pushed the thoughts away.
“Can I see the rest of your facility?” Annabelle asked.
It was a strange question. The vanilla distillery was the only unique operation he had. He’d wanted to show it to her as a sign of trust, but she didn’t seem all that interested. Instead she was looking out the windows at the main factory and the storage sheds.
“You already saw the spice bottling. There’s not much else to see.”
“But there were some rooms near the front of the factory. And the sheds. What’s in there?”
“Follow me.” He ushered her outside and toward the first shed, hauling the sliding door open. “Wagons,” he said shortly. He dragged the door shut and went to the next, opening both double doors so she could look to her heart’s content, because the cold-press extraction of vanilla obviously didn’t excite her.“Hardware, cleaning supplies, and a roller mill in need of repair. Come on, let’s go see the rest of the main factory.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
He didn’t break stride. “Come along. You wanted to see everything, so I’m showing you.”
He blotted his forehead with a handkerchief. It was a warm day, but this sweating had nothing to do with the weather. All the symptoms were roaring to life—the muscle aches, the violent headache, and now a ringing in his ears that made it hard to hear.
He moved quickly, striding ahead of Annabelle so he could get to his office first. She scurried behind him but couldn’t keep up. The second he was in his office, he reached for the bottle of iodine and stole a quick swig, wincing at the metallic taste that scorched its way down his throat. It was so revolting it threatened to come back up, but Gray forced it down, holding his breath until the nausea passed.
The bottle was still clutched in his hand when Annabelle entered the office. He slipped the bottle into a drawer and slid it shut, wincing at the noise. She said something, but he couldn’t understand.
He had to get ahold of himself. It wasn’t her fault he was sick or that she wasn’t impressed with a cold-extraction process for vanilla. He forced himself to be calm and turned to face her.
“I didn’t hear what you said. Can you repeat it?”
“Is it the malaria?” she asked. He could barely hear her through the ringing in his ears.
He nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s coming on fast.”
He lowered himself into his desk chair, wondering how this day had collapsed so quickly but fairly certain it was all his fault. He gestured to the chair before his desk. “Have a seat. Please.”
She looked hesitant, which was odd for the fearless Annabelle.
He managed a smile and spoke softly. “I promise not to bite your head off.”
She sat, but her face was still closed and cautious.
“I first contracted malaria in Ceylon. I’ve always known that I would have to live with it for the rest of my life, but I can’t predict when the relapses will happen. I’ve been trying to find a cure, or at least something to make these episodes more bearable.”
He opened the drawer and took out the iodine, setting it on the desk before her. Then the bottle of quinine. Then the bottles of cinchonidine, feverfew, and valerian root. He’d tried them all but found only limited relief.
“I’ve been looking for a cure for years, but ever since I met you, it’s gotten more important. I know I get bad-tempered. I’m sorry for how short I was with you in our first letters, and I’m sorry for today. The pain is real, and it’s bad, and it’s bound to come back again and again, so I apologize in advance.” He was losing his energy, but he raised his eyes to her and spoke straight from the heart. “Annabelle, I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes were sad as she picked up the bottle of iodine. “You actuallydrinkthis?” she asked in a horrified voice.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said dryly. “It tastes awful, it gives me cramps, and the ringing in my ears is so loud I can barely hear what you’re saying. But, Annabelle ... I need to get better. I know a ship captain who drinks iodine, and he swears it helps.”
“Have you ever heard a doctor say that?”
A gulp of laughter escaped, making his head hurt. “No,” he admitted. “My doctor warned me against it.”
“But you drink it anyway.”
He sighed. Annabelle was vibrant and healthy; she probably had no idea what pain could drive a man to do. His head hurt so badly he could barely see straight, and the ringing in his ears would make it impossible to sleep tonight. “I don’t thinkit’s going to help, but I had to try. Annabelle ... I don’t want to risk losing you over this.”
For some reason that seemed to upset her. “Don’t kill yourself for me. I’m not worth it.”
“I disagree.” Their friendship had flared quickly, but maybe he needed to let her see this angry, difficult side of himself, because he wanted to be completely open and honest with her. Such a thing didn’t come naturally to him, but he could learn. He wanted her too badly to fail.
