“Hang on. You’re all tangled up.” Nash returned to the cot and eased the blanket from under the man.
“It pulled on my leg.” Shorty’s sigh carried a mild groan.
“Maybe I should have a look at it. It might be bleeding.”
“The pain is gone now. Let me sleep.” Shorty snugged the blanket to his chin and waved Nash away.
Mumbling came from the other direction, and Nash turned to the sound. It came from Mrs. Stone.
Addie sat up, yawning. She seemed to struggle to orientate herself. Then, alertness jerked through her. “Mother, you’re burning up.” She hurried to the cupboard to put more water in the basin, then returned to the fur bed to sponge the older woman.
Nash squatted at Addie’s side. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Pray.” Addie dipped the cloth into the water. “She’s so hot.”
Mrs. Stone mumbled. Nash made out one word—head.
He took it to mean she had a headache. In response to Addie’s request, he spoke, “Father in heaven, the Great Physician, please touch Mrs. Stone and cure her of whatever this is.”
“Amen.” Addie’s voice wobbled between hope and fear.
Lamplight cast a shadow across Mrs. Stone. Mr. Bertrand snored but didn’t wake up. Mr. Zacharius wheezed. Rain still fell on the roof.
Nash didn’t know what he could do, apart from praying and offering Addie encouragement.
“I don’t remember ever being sick as a child,” he murmured. “What I mean is I have little experience with illness.”
“I’ve helped my parents tend to those who are sick orinjured.” She dampened the cloth again, left it on Mrs. Stone’s forehead, and leaned back beside him. “Often, there isn’t much a person can do besides offer comfort.”
“And pray,” he reminded her.
“Of course.” She wet the cloth again, then settled back. “I remember a time that we encountered a family where all six of them were sick. Burning up like Mother is.”
“What did you do?” Had the outcome been positive?
“Sponged them. Got them to drink water.”
“And?”
“Mother has a medicinal tea she got them to drink. Three days later, their fevers dropped. They were weak, but they all got better.” Strength girded her words. “So will Mother.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“Did I hear you talking to Shorty? How is he?”
“His blanket had grown tight across his leg and caused him pain. I untangled it. I wanted to check his leg, but he wouldn’t let me.”
“The worst thing would be for him to get an infection.” A shudder twitched across her shoulders.
“Maybe the whiskey will prevent that.”
“God willing.”
He didn’t respond. God didn’t always act the way one thought He should. “Bad things happen.”
“Indeed. But is it God’s will or man’s folly? Is it greed and cruelty that is to blame?”
“My ma taught me that I must not blame God when there is a consequence to man’s sin.” He’d struggled to accept the lesson. “There was a time I thought God should intervene in the things man’s evil brought.”
