The Marriage Cure by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy Page B

came to him . Sabetha slipped an arm around his waist and steadied him . He sagged against her, grateful for her support, more so when he shivered with violent chills.
    â€œJohnny?” Her voice sharpened . “What’s amiss, man?”
    This would be where she turned her back on him, he thought, where she ordered him to go away and he had no place to go but into the woods where he would die, sick and alone . However, he would answer her before he had to leave.
    â€œI’ve a fever on me,” h e said, shaking so much he could barely spit out the words . “I fear I may be sick.”
    Her left arm tightened about his waist as she touched his face with her right hand.
    â€œAye, ye are . Ye’re burning, Johnny . I feel the fever heat through your clothes . Let’s get you inside and warm then.”
    He tried to nod but gave up and put the effort toward walking inside the cabin . The woman steered him into a rocking chair beside the fire and bustled about while he gaped at the first home he had been inside in longer than he could remember . It was small but pleasant, with the field stone fireplace dominating most of one wall . Across from it, a hand-hewn table with two benches stood and behind it, a corded bed beside a low wooden chest completed the furnishings . Strings of leather britches beans, dried pumpkin rings, and herbs hung from the ceiling . Rough rungs against one wall led, he thought, to a loft . A few dishes, pans, and such household plunder lined the top of the mantelpiece . A few rag rugs dotted the hard earthen floor and the cabin felt cozy . It evoked memories he would rather forget, as a rush of homesickness enveloped him . Every small thing felt familiar from the whispering sound of the low fire to the lingering aroma of baked cornbread . Surrounded by four walls and covered by a roof, he felt sheltered although he hurt no less.
    â€œYe’re wet through,” s he said . “Let me get these dirty clothes off from you and give ye a bit of a wash . Ye’ve traveled long and far, haven’t ye ?”
    Her hands felt capable as they stripped first his leggings and then his sodden, grimed shirt, done before he could gather his wits to reply.
    â€œI have.”
    Although it was far from cold in the cabin, he began to shiver again without his buckskins but she washed him like a child, a warm cloth scrubbing away the long weeks of the trail . The pungent stink of strong lye soap flared his nostrils and he coughed with the same harsh coughs that racked him after he swam the river . The woman , what was her name, he couldn’t quite remember worked with quick motions and before he could think, she pulled a worn linen shirt over his head, leaving the neck open and the buttons on the cuffs undone . After wearing nothing but buckskins for too long, the shirt felt soft against his skin, reaching down to his thighs . He sighed at the decadence.
    â€œThat fits ye well enough,” s he said, surveying him . “Ye were full of ticks but I’ve got them all, I think, and ye’ve no lice, which is a blessing . Let me comb out your hair; ‘tis tangled.”
    He had had lice, many of them, when he left Fort Gibson but he had covered his hair in bear grease, left it for the first few days he traveled, and then combed it out as best he could . By then, the bugs had smothered to death. Washing his hair in the river with a bit of soap root removed most of the grease but left it tangled . She moved a big wooden comb through his hair with slow, certain motions and he relaxed, savoring the feel of her hands . They were gentle as she combed his hair, and then tied it back from his face with a rawhide strip.
    Johnny felt no better, though, but worse . Although her kindness and care eased his spirit, his ills increased . He thought he probably would die of the fever but it was a mercy that he would not die alone .
    Sabetha put her hand across his forehead then cupped her