Chapter Fifteen
WILLA’S FINGERS ANDtoes crackled with electricity, as if the lights from the lamps on the street had jumped into her body. Nick had stepped away so quickly, it had taken her a second to figure out what was happening. And now, Papa stood just outside the door, clad only in a shirt and trousers, the suspenders hanging loosely from his chest, and no coat.
And for the first time, Willa saw him as Nick must have seen him—a sick man.
She’d convinced herself that he was improving. He sat up in bed, after all, and even asked for some soup. But out here, it was clear how much weight he’d lost in just a week. His cheeks looked sunken in, his skin sallow, and even worse, beads of perspiration dotted his forehead in these freezing temperatures. Her concern overcame any fears that he’d seen Nick about to kiss her.
“Papa! What are you doing out here? Where is your coat?” Willa was by his side in an instant.
“I couldn’t find you.” He looked at her with confused eyes, the lines on his forehead wrinkling.
“It’s the fever talking,” Nick said quietly to Willa. Taking Papa’s arm, he said, “Let’s get you back inside where it’s warm.”
Papa nodded and allowed them to escort him back into the hotel. Nick led him up the stairs, Willa following behind. He’d left his room unlocked, and Nick eased her father into his bed as if he were a child. Willa stood by the desk, twisting her fingers together, as her gloves lay discarded on the desk chair with her coat and hat. Papa wasn’t getting better at all. She’d wanted him to—so badly that she’d convinced herself he was.
The half-empty bottle of Miracle Elixir sat on the desk. It should have been working by now. Perhaps he needed one of his other medicines. Willa ran through the options in her mind as Nick pulled the bedcovers up over Papa and felt his forehead. But none of them seemed just right. Certainly, a medicine for the bowels or one to soothe hysterics wouldn’t help in this situation. The Miracle Elixirshouldhave worked . . .
“What he needs right now is rest,” Nick said quietly as he joined Willa by the desk. “In the morning, I’ll bring my bag and do a more thorough examination—”
“That isn’t necessary. Papa will be fine.” But the words were hollow, mere shells of what she’d said over and over before.
“He needs medical treatment.” Nick glanced at Papa, his eyes already closed as he lay in bed. Nick took her hands, his fingers warm against her chilled skin. His touch sent a soothing wave through her, as if simply by holding her, everything would be all right. “Please, Willa. Let me help him.”
She swallowed hard. He’d done well by Amos. And she’d almost let him kiss her outside on a public street. How much more did she need to entrust him with Papa’s care? But it wasn’t that—not now. Shedidtrust him.
The problem was that agreeing to let him treat Papa was admitting the elixir wasn’t working as it should.
Willa squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t think about that right now. When she opened them, Nick was still there, holding her hands and patiently waiting for her answer. “All right. Please help him, Nick.”
“I’ll do my best. I promise.” And with that, he brushed a kiss against her cheek before pushing the door open. “Good night, Willa. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She stood there for a moment after he left, laying a hand over the cheek his lips had touched. A sigh from Papa’s bed drew her back into the moment.
She turned and picked up the Miracle Elixir. Removing the cork, she raised the lip of the bottle to her nose and breathed in. It smelled as it always had—strongly of mint and another herb she couldn’t name. But underneath that . . . She breathed in the scent again, Nick’s insistence the medicine was likely full of alcohol playing across her mind. Did it smell faintly of whiskey? Or did she imagine that? Had Nick’s words wound into her mind so strongly that she now doubted her own father?
Willa frowned at the bottle and then glanced at Papa. She ought to give him some more, but that would mean waking him. Perhaps she’d set the bottle on his bedside table. He did always seem to sleep better when he took it. That way, if he woke, he could take a spoonful of the elixir without needing to get out of bed.
She set the bottle and a spoon on the little night table.
“Get better, Papa. Please,” she whispered as she lay a hand on the covers over his chest. “For me.”
