There had to be something in here about dealing with bullet wounds and the illnesses they might produce.
The clock on the mantle struck two before Ravena found what she’d been looking for. She could mix up a special tea and a strong poultice from the herbs in the cellar, though her grandmother had noted that plenty of rest and little movement for the patient was also critical.
Shutting her mind to the latter advice, Ravena went to the kitchen, wrapped herself in a shawl and headed outside to the cellar, shivering in the cool predawn air. With the aid of the lamp, she located the needed herbs. In the kitchen, she stoked the fire and set the kettle on to boil. While she waited, she crushed the herbs in a bowl with her grandmother’s old pestle.
The sharp scent of the crushed leaves awakened her further and reminded her of similar nights spent doing this very task as she’d assisted her grandmother. And now she was doing it alone—doing everything alone. A negligent tear rolled down her face, which she brushed away. Tears wouldn’t solve her problems.
Once she had the tea and poultice ready, she placed everything on a tray, added a fresh roll of bandage, and carried the things up to her room. She was relieved to find Tex hadn’t tumbled off the bed again. Her next task would be difficult, making her grateful Tex wasn’t conscious. She had to remove his bandage, place the poultice against his wound, and tie a new cloth around his middle.
Uneasiness warred with her determination, and Ravena willed herself to take a steadying breath. She’d assisted her grandmother as Olive had attended to a number of men. This would be no different.
She managed to untie the old bandage without moving Tex too much, then she tossed the cloth on the floor to burn in the stove later. With that done, she placed the herb poultice against his side. Tex winced in his sleep, though Ravena wasn’t sure if it was from the heat, the herbs or the pain of her jostling.
“Almost done,” she murmured, as much to herself as to him.
She slid her arm and the bandage behind him before grabbing it with her other hand. Leaning forward, she made sure she had the cloth in the right position.
Holding him like this, in a half embrace, she felt beckoned to recall memories she’d buried long ago. Carefree days of strolling with Tex across the hills, walking hand in hand. Or kissing him as they stood beside the stream. Or speaking of their shared future. Those were the days when her world had been bright and happy, full of love and promise. She had Tex, her grandfather and the orphans.
Ravena suddenly felt Tex tense. Had she hurt him? She flicked her gaze to his and gave a soft yelp when she found his blue eyes watching her rather lucidly. Her cheeks burned with mortification as she scrambled away from him. “Y-you fell out of bed earlier. So I thought I’d just change your...um...your bandage.”
The barest hint of amusement lit his face. “If you wanted to hug me,” he said, his voice low and scratchy, “you could’ve just asked.”
She leveled a glare at him, which only served to coax a faint smile from his lips. “I wished no such thing.” Though she did feel some relief that he didn’t seem angry at her for intervening when he’d told her not to.
“You can go ahead and finish.” He closed his eyes, but now she had to complete the task with him awake.
Reminding herself she’d left her feelings for Tex in the past, as he’d clearly done with her, she set her chin and approached him again. She grabbed the ends of the bandage as hastily as she could, then she proceeded to tie them securely over the poultice.
“There,” she announced, a bit breathlessly as she tugged his nightshirt back into place. Hopefully Tex didn’t notice. “Since you’re awake, you can have some of the tea I made.”
“All right.”
Her hands were trembling so that she rattled the teacup and saucer as she lifted them off the tray. Sitting on the very edge of the bed, she brought the cup to Tex’s mouth. He took a swallow, but his face contorted in surprise and his eyes appeared to water.
“What’s in that skunk brew?” he coughed out, pounding a hand to his chest.
Ravena shook her head with impatience. He was as bad as one of the younger boys. “It will help you heal. Now, drink up.” She hoisted the cup again, half expecting him to clamp his lips shut like Mark did. But he didn’t.
Even though he looked wary, he obediently drank several more swallows. “Enough,” he wheezed after a minute.
“Try to get some more rest,” she said as she stood. “You need it.” After scooping up the soiled bandage, she gathered everything onto the tray. Exhaustion, and a healthy dose of apprehension and discomfort, pushed her toward the door. If she hurried, she could snatch a few more hours of sleep before it was time to start breakfast.
“Ravena,” Tex called as she reached the door.
She blew out a sigh and turned to face him. “Yes?”
“Thank you for this.” He motioned to his side. “But you said one night and I won’t stay longer than that.”
Gripping the edges of the tray until they dug into her palms, she willed the words she wanted to say to reach her lips. Yes, Tex, you have to leave. I have enough concerns right now, without worrying about you and the fragileness of my heart.
Whatever she said, there was no going back after this moment. She didn’t understand why he’d come to the farm after all these years. But he was here—and she had the power to hold him to his word and make him leave or extend his time.
She shut her eyes for a brief moment, praying for guidance. The smallest seed of peace, so delicate it might be uprooted in time, germinated inside her. A whisper that everything would be all right.
Please help me trust You, God.
Opening her eyes, she peered straight at Tex, her head and heart pounding in unison. “I’m changing our agreement. You may stay until you’re well.”
Even after her conversation with Tex about staying as long as he needed, Ravena still harbored a secret hope that she would find him remarkably recovered when she looked in on him the next morning. But that hope was obliterated when she found him sweltering with fever again, his sleeping form shifting restlessly beneath his blankets. He didn’t respond to her placing her hand on his forehead or calling his name.
“How come he still looks like he’s half-dead?” Mark asked. He and Luke watched from the open doorway.
Ravena frowned as she checked Tex’s wound. “Because he’s very sick.” It was time for a new poultice. “Hurry and eat, boys, so you can make it to church on time. I need to stay here and help care for Mr. Beckett, so Jacob will be in charge. Please mind him.”
“Ah, Miss Ravena,” Mark whined, “do we have to go?”
Fighting a small smile, she guided the boys down the hallway. She could understand why having a stranger on the farm, especially one who’d been shot, held more fascination for the two than singing hymns and hearing Bible stories. And if Tex was still here tomorrow, the boys weren’t going to be thrilled about leaving him to attend school either.
