“Is that mud?”
She knew that word and shook her head. She looked around and pointed at some colored paints on the same shelf as the brushes had been. He got them for her, and she carefully brushed dark green into the shadows.
“Medicine,” she said.
“That’s not medicine,” he said, clearly appalled. “That’s…that’s dirt and…”
Yes, she knew what else was there. She’d been the one to gather it for her grandmother. They’d used it on the women who were sick after childbirth. It wasn’t pleasant and it tasted terrible, but it worked.
She took the thinnest brush she could find and carefully drew the stages of growth for the mold from its earliest moments to its mature appearance. He would know that she had studied it under magnifying glasses to see that there were many differenttypes of mold. Assuming, of course, that such things grew here as they did in China.
He stared at her, his mouth hanging open in shock. “You cannot know… You don’t mean…”
She didn’t need to know English to understand that he was refusing to go. That it was too demeaning a task for one such as him. Which meant it would have to be her.
She set aside paper and brush then made to stand again.
“No! No! You can’t walk. I’ll…I’ll get it.” He sounded appalled by the very words. “But what are you going to do with it?”
She mimed putting it in tea and drinking it. He shuddered in reaction.
“That’s not medicine,” he said firmly.
Any other time she would have pandered to his arrogance. No man liked to be shown as ignorant, especially not wealthy men, but she hadn’t the strength to argue. The drawing had sapped her energy and she could feel her fever growing. She slammed her hand down on the paper, the sharp sound making him jump.
“I die,” she said. Then she pointed to the paper. “Medicine.” And her only hope.
“That can’t be healthy. It can’t—”
“Chinese medicine.” She glared at him. “Women’s medicine.”
He stared at her. Her skin was damp, her feet throbbed, and her breath was coming fast, but she refused to waver. She needed that medicine.
Slowly, his gaze dropped to the paper. “You’re a strange people,” he said. Then he grunted. “I’ll have to go to a public stable. Nerney would rather die that have mold anywhere near his tack.”
She didn’t understand his words. All she could do was repeat what she’d already said. “Medicine. Tea.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll get it.” He ran a distracted hand through his hair.
“Quick. Please.”
“Medicine. Tea. Yes, I’ll go now.”
He bowed politely to her before leaving. Such a sweet gesture to bow to her. In that simple movement, he gave her respect. Better yet, he listened to what she wanted even though he didn’t understand why.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, replaying in her mind everything she knew of this man. She saw his fist connecting with Lao Gu’s jaw. She heard again his kind voice when he sat beside her on the donkey cart. Then she lingered on the memory of him carrying her up the stairs to the yellow bedroom. He had such casual strength as he carried her. It matched his chi which flowed with such light.
Was he the man who owned her now? If she lived, would she then surrender to this golden man and live her life in service to him?
The idea was tempting. Many would accept such a fate with gratitude. She let the idea of his hands on her body settle into her thoughts. That could be very nice. In fact, in her fevered state, the idea took root.
And yet, she knew that it was a dream. She would not surrender to him, no matter how he delighted her. When opportunity presented, she would run. She had skills and would use them to create her future. Surely the English people needed someone who knew medicine. They would pay her well for her teas and no man would interfere in her life.
Her future—if she had one—would be free of all men, including him.
“I vow it,” she said as she bound her chi to her words.
Chapter Ten
