Worry swept away all other thought. “She’s feverish.”
* * *
“What?” Aila laid a hand over Effie’s forehead. “She is a tad warm.”
More than a tad. She could feel the heat radiating off Effie’s flushed cheeks from inches away. Her nightgown was damp with sweat, and she was shivering. This was something other than payback of too much candy.
Finn scooped his daughter up and carried her to the bed. Smoothing her hair back from her temples, he whispered calm assurances that she would be fine.
What if she wasn’t? Aila moaned when it came to her. “I’m so sorry, Finn. I should never have taken her to the mill. Mr. Boyce hisnae been well. I kent it and took her anyway. Ian said it wisnae catching—”
“It isnae,” he cut her off with a frown. “Half my workers have come down with the same. Men I work next to day in and day out. I’ve no’ suffered any such malady. Besides, ye were there, too. Are ye ill?”
Nay, but she had the power of twenty-first century inoculations running through her blood to protect her from most random illness. Either way, whether it was exposure to sickness or too much candy, it was her fault Effie suffered. “What can I do?”
Whatcouldshe do? She’d always prided herself on her composure in emergencies. Grace under pressure. In her time, with the normal sort of crises afoot, she was all those things.
Here in this time, she hadn’t a clue what to do. Panic was not the answer. Obviously. Aila took a deep breath and tried to think. Call for a doctor? Did they have those yet? Her mind blanked. How did they fight fever in this time?
“Bring some cool water and a rag.”
The instructions were surprisingly composed. His serenity in the face of adversity recalled her rational mind and the realization that there was something more she could offer than water.
The better way to fight a fever. The right way.
Lighting a nubby candle, she shoved it into a silver chamberstick. Dashing down the hall to her room as fast as the candle’s flickering flame would accept. Rab leapt off the bed as she entered, gave her a sniff and bolted out the door. A second later, Effie bawled his name.
Aila opened her trunk and burrowed through it to find her purse. Digging through it, she retrieved a small plastic bottle where she stashed a collection of pills in case of emergency. Migraine medicine, pills to ease her monthly cramps in case of emergency…and aspirin.
God’s gift to the modern world.
In a historic world such as this?
A bloody miracle.
Chapter 19
Three days later
“Tell me another story, Aila.”
“I’m sorry?”
“May I please have another story, Aila?”
“Better.”
Effie’s fever vanished with miraculous speed. So fast, Finn would have thought he imagined her ruddy face. It reappeared the next morning only to recede again with the same haste. Many in the village had been taken with a severe infliction of the bowels, vomiting, and burning fever. Those first couple of days had been hell for him. Sleepless nights and tormenting days, he stood vigil at Effie’s bedside, awash with the fear that she would succumb to the fever. He’d known children, even robust ones, to perish under lesser illness than hers.
When she’d awoken this morning, her symptoms were — thank the good Lord — far less severe. A slight warmth that flushed her cheeks, wooziness, nausea, and an audible gurgle of her stomach that was her greatest complaint. Nothing so dire that he feared for her life or safe recovery any longer. His worse fears were laid to rest.
Thank God for Aila. She’d stayed with him night and day. She nursed his daughter with care and soothed his worries with unwavering assurances.
Since the worst of Effie’s sickness had passed, she’d been the calm amidst the storm. A salve to his sanity.
This indisposition had turned his sweet daughter into a virago. She was temperamental and demanding. Cross at being kept inside when she wanted to play outside. The pouring rain that had marked each day since the onset of her illness made no difference on the matter. She jumped on her bed with the announcement that she felt much better, only to feign an aching belly when he tried to leave the room to bathe. She’d want milk, then water. Happy with neither. A book then a story told her, with no satisfaction in either. Even Aila’s dog couldn’t draw her from her doldrums for long.
Aila had been right about his children being spoiled. Either that, or he’d sired the worst patient in history. He suspected it was the former.
