She put a hand to her throat. “My blood pressure? Is that serious?”
Peter touched her elbow and used his most calm tone. “It can be if it gets too high and stays that way, but I don’t believe that is the case with you. At least, not right now. You see, when your blood pressure elevates—probably caused by anxiety and stress in your life—it can be the cause of horrendous headaches.” He held his hand out. “Would you accompany me back to my hut? I have some medicine I want you to try.”
She nodded.
The deep furrow of her brow told him he should do a better job explaining. With a hand to the small of her back, he steered her beside him. “There’s no need to worry. I really believe that if this is the cause, then your headaches could diminish over time. You see, I think the incident you endured caused your body to react. It wasn’t simply the trauma to your head, which has healed beautifully, but all of the injuries you sustained—both physically and emotionally. It caused your blood pressure to rise. Anxiety—uneasiness, nervousness—within you because of the attack also causes it to rise. Stress, loss, grief, all of these can also cause it to rise, and you’ve been dealt all of the above. And when your blood pressure is too high, it can make you feel even moreanxious and overwhelmed. Possibly depressed or even panicked. Causing an unending cycle of one making the other worse and so on.”
She let out a sigh and stopped walking. “So you’re saying the headaches could go away? And the anxiety as well?” A glimmer of hope shone in her eyes.
“I’m optimistic, yes.”
With a hand to her forehead, she shook her head and began walking again. “All this time, I’ve been worried that something horrible was wrong with me.”
Her words struck him in the heart. Had he done that to her? “I’m so sorry. Was it something I said that made you believe that?”
“No. Just the pain. And how often it comes. I was so afraid I’d become a burden to my family.”
The fact that she shared that with him told him more than her words. No wonder her anxiety had continued to grow. They reached his tiny hut, and he opened the door. “Wait here.”
He grabbed his bag and found the Indian snakeroot and sphygmomanometer and went back outside. “Here.”
“What is it?”
“Indian snakeroot. I cut the root into sections for doses. You grind up the root and pour hot water over it—once in the morning and once in the evening—and after a week we will check and see how you are doing.”
“And you think that will get rid of the headaches and anxiety?”
“I’m hopeful. But you also need to learn how to relax and let go of your worry.” He paused and pulled out his sphygmomanometer. “I need to take a reading today so we know where you’re starting from and can assess whether the medicine is working.”
“All right.”
“I just need your arm.” He hoped his smile was reassuring, because her eyes were full of questions. “My wife used to say worry robs us of the joy God’s Holy Spirit puts in us, so it can’t be good.”
She looked away while he placed the cuff. “She sounds like she was very wise.”
“She was. She was also smart ... like you.” He leaned over and moved his head to catch her gaze. “There’s no needle or anything.”
Her shoulders lifted with her breath. “Oh. Good.” But then she pinned him with her stare.
Was she afraid of the device? Maybe he should just keep her talking. “Charlotte knew a great deal and wasn’t afraid of hard work. I always admired that about her. I admire it about you as well.”
“Hard work was always a way of life. At least until Granddad found his fortune.” She seemed to relax. “Even then he pushed us to always be busy at something. He and Mama used to say that if we were busy doing chores, we couldn’t very well be busy doing evil.”
“Sounds like something Charlotte would have said too.” He started pumping the bulb. “Deep breaths. Nice and steady.” Her nearness made him want to get even closer.
Several seconds passed. Her breathing steadied. When he looked back at her, her gaze drew him in. His heart was in his throat, so he looked back down at the glass dial. He tilted his head. “Just what I suspected. Your numbers are high. Now let’s see if we can bring them down.” He removed the cuff.
“How did she die?”
The question caught him off guard and brought his eyesto meet hers abruptly. The intense appeal there couldn’t be denied. Best to just tell her the truth. “I failed her.” He shook his head as the memory poured over him. “She was in labor, and I failed them both. There were problems that I didn’t know about. Problems with her body and the pregnancy.”
“And how was that your failing?” Whitney’s tone was very matter-of-fact.
“I should have known. Somehow ... I should have known.”
“I can’t see how that was a failing on your part. Only God knows if a person will live or die.” She clamped her mouth shut and studied him.
Peter was glad for her silence. He hated remembering those horrible moments. To his surprise, however, Whitney picked the conversation back up.
