Page 10 of A Foolish Endeavor

“Allow me to assist, Charlotte. I can lift the ice blocks and chop it for you,” Gilbert said, grateful to have some task with which to occupy himself. He and Charlotte exited the nursery along with the housekeeper.

“And… and will my Dickie be himself again once the fever has left him?” Lavinia asked. Her voice was muffled by the handkerchief she held to her trembling mouth. “Or will he continue to be seized in this manner?”

The doctor gave a long exhalation and shook his head. “I cannot say for certain, Mrs. Kendall. It may be that he will be afflicted by these fits all his life. I have seen such cases before. But it may not be the situation with your baby, so pray, do not foretell vexation from that quarter.” He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, which were shaking again with weeping. “We shall do what we can and put our hope in the providence of the Lord. I shall go now and return in the morning.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Miles said, offering his hand to the physician. Dr. Baker shook it, then nodded his head to the rest of the family and left the room. Miles turned to his wife, “Come, dear, you must rest.”

Lavinia wrenched away, and went to sit beside her child, who continued to cry, though less violently than before. “As if I could leave my baby! My feelings are in every way so agitated, repose would be absolutely impossible.” She turned a harsh face to Miles. “If you think you could sleep at such a time, by all means, leave us and do so. But I shall remain here by my child’s side.” She lifted one of Dickie’s hands and bent to kiss it.

Miles nodded and took a seat nearby. Frederick, who had been standing near the back of the nursery, along with Evan and Becky, moved closer and leaned over to speak softly to Lavinia.

“I understand your desire to remain, Lavinia. However, I would caution you to get some sleep tonight, as we do not wish for you to become ill, yourself. The doctor is right. Your boy is in God’s hands now. Rather than stay here together, you and Miles should each take some small time to rest while the other watches over your child. Is that agreeable?” After she nodded, he said, “Shall we pray together?”

Lavinia nodded mutely, and Frederick led the room in prayer, asking for God to heal Dickie of this sudden affliction and to bring the baby a swift recovery. As he finished, Charlotte and Gilbert returned with the ice packets. Dickie was carefully moved back from the small bed used by Miss Austin to his own cradle, and they carefully arranged the ice packs around the baby.

“Thank you,” Lavinia said softly. She turned sad eyes towards her family. “I shall remain in the nursery with Becky to take watch over Dickie while Miles rests. Then he can replace me. However, there is no need for you all to simply stand around here in the nursery and it is now quite late. Please go to your own rooms. But, please, I beg you all to pray for my child tonight.” She directed her gaze at Gilbert. “As a future man of the cloth, dear brother, I am certain God will take particular note of your prayers.”

Gilbert bent over to kiss his sister-in-law’s temple. He gently stroked his nephew’s cheek, then slipped out of the nursery and went to his own room.

Exhausted, he undressed and made ready for bed. The gaiety of that night’s assembly seemed a fading memory, or like a dream that vanishes upon awakening. He knelt, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands together, trying to think of some eloquent prayer to send heavenwards on behalf of his nephew.

But no fine words came. He finally muttered, “Please help our little Dickie, Lord,” got off his knees, and climbed into bed. As tired as he was, sleep did not come easily.

Chapter Eight

The next day showed no great improvement in Dickie, much to the dismay of the Kendall household. Despite the entire family urging her to rest, Lavinia would sleep but an hour or so, then, upon awakening, rush back to the nursery to sit by her son who continued to cry and whimper. Soon, she declared she would not leave the nursery, but would sleep on the small day bed, even when Miles came to watch over their son. She called for another small cot to be brought in for the nursery maid. Dickie’s fever had lessened slightly, and he was not wailing as violently as before, but he was still suffering seizures several times a day. Each time one occurred, it was all Lavinia could do to keep from screaming out in agony and fear. Would her precious son survive? And if so, how might the fits affect him later? She was too afraid to voice her thoughts, but her mind continually worried that her boy would no longer be the bright-eyed, curious baby he had been, and, instead, would hereafter suffer some great mental defect. The thought filled her with terror. She spent much of her time on her knees next to the crib, praying to a God she hoped would be merciful.

Gilbert knew he should offer some solace to Lavinia, but was at a complete loss of what to say or do. He peeked into the nursery on the morning after Dickie became ill to see his sister-in-law bent over, weeping softly and, yet, he could not bring himself to walk over and even place his hand upon her shoulder in comfort.

Some pastor I would make. I can think of no words to say to her, or to God. While Frederick had spoken his prayers asking for God’s mercy so easily last night, my mind is a complete blank.

He turned away and went downstairs for breakfast. The dining room in Clayton House was beautiful, with mahogany furniture, elegant floral wallpaper, and tapestries and oil paintings hung upon the walls. Tall windows let in an abundance of light, yet the room seemed gloomy and dull today to Gilbert. Both Miles and his father were seated at the long table, pushing food around their plates with obvious disinterest. They nodded to Gilbert as he entered. He could see how weary they both appeared, as if they, too, had slept but little.

Gilbert served himself from the covered dishes set on the sideboard, took a seat at the table, and began to eat. He felt guilty for his hearty appetite—another sign, he felt, of his unsuitability for the clergy. Wouldn’t a true minister be unable to eat in this time of crisis?

The silence was oppressive and, finally, Gilbert asked softly, “Is Dr. Baker returning this morning?”

Miles nodded. “He should be here soon. I will ask him for a sleeping draught that I might somehow persuade or trick poor Lavinia into taking. She has hardly slept in her agony and will become ill if she does not rest.”

“A sound idea, son,” Evan said.

“Yes, but, if she sleeps and the boy… passes… she may never forgive you, Miles,” Gilbert said. The look of shock on his father and brother’s faces showed him the impact of his poorly chosen words. “For—forgive me,” he quickly said. “I do not wish to anticipate in any manner such a horrible and unhappy event. I only think that Lavinia may see it as an act of betrayal for you to take her choice away from her. That is all that I meant…” His voice trailed off and he stared miserably at his plate.

After a pause, Evan said, “Your argument does carry some merit, Gilbert, but let us speak first with our physician and solicit his advice on what is best for Lavinia.” He pushed back from the table and rose. “I shall be in my study. Miles, do let me know when Dr. Baker arrives.” He left the room.

Gilbert finished eating while Miles sat in silence, idly playing with the knife at his place setting, his eyes seemingly not focused on anything in particular. Gilbert was longing to fill his plate again, but felt such a big appetite might clearly signal to his brother that he had a decided lack of anxiety over the situation, so he simply drank his tea. If Miles departed soon enough, he could eat more, he told himself. Finally, Miles spoke.

“Little Dickie was an answer to years of prayers,” Miles said softly. “We had expected to easily produce children the first year of our marriage. After all, most families do. Yet, year after year, there was no sign of a baby. Poor Lavinia felt the disappointment so keenly and, I fear, blamed herself. When she finally was expecting, I was constantly worried that things may not go well, yet Dickie was born hale and hearty. Our lives were now complete. We were blessed with such a delightful, perfect baby. I do not brag, for I know you have seen for yourself how sweet and alert Dickie is, or… was. To see him now, so weak and helpless, cuts me to the core, Gilbert. I am an absolute wreck. If we should lose him—” He stopped speaking and raised a napkin to his mouth, shutting his eyes tightly, as if unable to complete the thought.

Gilbert nodded and mumbled, “I believe all will be well, Miles. Dr. Baker is an excellent physician.” He tried to think of more comforting words, but none came to him.

The front door opened, and Gilbert and Miles heard voices approaching. Charlotte, Frederick, and Nancy appeared at the dining room door, anxiety etched on all their faces.

“Miles.” Charlotte hurried over and took his hand. “What news?”

“Dickie still has a fever and the fits continue to plague him—nearly every two hours or so,” Miles replied in a dull voice. “Lavinia is with him now and we are awaiting our physician.”

“Let us go to her,” Charlotte said. “Has she eaten anything?” When Miles shook his head, she murmured, “That will not do,” pressed her lips together and went straight to the sideboard. She buttered two freshly baked rolls, adding jam before setting them on a plate. She then chose some sausages. “Is the tea still hot?” she asked, then poured a cup and nodded with satisfaction. “Come. We will insist she eat at least something. Gilbert, pray, act as host to our guest. We met Miss Slade as we walked over this morning.”