Dr. Babcock shook his head. “When a purulence bursts, some patients get relief, but it’s only temporary. And it’s an illusion. Once the pus is freed, it accelerates the disease. Even if I cut your wife open and cleaned out all the offending matter, it wouldn’t save her. The sickness has spread too far.”
He placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Amanda is dying. The best thing you can do is sit with her and keep her comfortable.”
Jackson blinked back tears. “How long?” he asked, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice and failing miserably.
“She only has hours to live. A day at best.”
The doctor’s hand tightened on Jackson’s shoulder for a moment before he withdrew it and returned to the bedroom.
Jackson stood motionless in the dim hallway, hands hanging useless at his sides, while every muscle in his throat went rigid with the effort it took to keep from breaking down. He hadn’t known a man could feel this desolate and remain upright.
From inside the room came the clink of glass on wood—the bottle of mercy—and the scribble of pencil on paper.
Jackson drew shallow breaths, his throat raw with unshed tears. He focused on a crack in the wall, tracing its crooked path with his eyes, anything to dam the flood of emotion.
The floorboards beneath his boots creaked as the doctor emerged, bag in hand. “Celia should arrive within the hour. Isthere anyone else you’d like me to notify...? A telegram to your family?”
Jackson shook his head. He’d unman himself if he unclenched his jaw enough to speak.
“I administered the first dose and placed the bottle on the nightstand,” the doctor said in a gentle tone. “She can have more in a few hours.” He walked away, his slow deliberate steps receding down the stairs.
Jackson remained rooted in the spot until the house was silent.
His knuckles brushed the frame as he moved to the doorway, uncertain what to do, worried his very presence might shatter what was left of Amanda’s time.
He stood, looking at his beautiful young wife, whose eyes were closed in peaceful sleep. Opium had smoothed the lines of suffering from her face, but she was still dying. This loyal companion and paragon of motherhood had been struck down decades too soon.
The tears burning the backs of Jackson’s eyes suddenly dried. The urge to cry was quashed by the urge to scream and rail at life’s unfairness—to rail at God. If this was heaven’s retribution for his broken promise or his many sins of war, he’d accept the sentence. But Amanda didn’t deserve it, and neither did the children.
A door opened downstairs.
“Missa Maguire,” Celia called out.
Jackson locked his emotions away and went down to greet her. “I’m here.”
Celia’s entire face curved in sympathy the moment she saw him. “I was so very, very sorry to hear ‘bout your missus. I passed the doctor on the way, and he gave me the news.”
“Thank you. And thank you for coming.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else, and you know it. I adore your precious Amanda almos’ as much as you do. Them chilluns, too.”
The children had been left to their own devices for too long. “I’d best check on them. I sent them out back after breakfast to play with a young litter of kittens I’d hoped would hold their interest.”
Celia set aside the bundle she carried and adjusted the colorful cloth tied about her head. “I’ll see to them,” she said, waving him off. “I’ll see to the meals, as well.”
“I haven’t told them anything except that their mother is resting.”
His remark stopped her in her tracks, and her ebony eyes studied him to the point he wanted to squirm under their scrutiny. Celia rarely told a white man how to handle his affairs—even him—but she wasn’t shy about staring a person down when she disagreed. Despite being only five years his senior, she carried herself like an elder, which could be a comfort or a scold, depending on her mood.
“I won’t tell them any different, though I reckon they already know somethin’s amiss.”
Noah certainly did.
But Jackson wasn’t ready to endure the pain of telling them what the doctor had said. And what if he upset them for nothing? He’d seen many a battlefield prognosis proven wrong. Amanda was young and hale. For all he knew, she might defy the odds.
“I’ve got work that needs doing, but I’ll stay within shouting distance of the house. Do you want your horse stabled or turned out into the paddock?”
“Paddock, if you please. Maybe toss him some hay, if it’s not an imposition.”
