The small, soft weight of Grace’s body reminded Jane of the last time she had held Lydia. Her sister had scraped her knee in a fall and had been crying, so Jane had held her until her tears had dried up. Though it was a different child she held, she hummed the same lullaby. The most obvious difference was the fact that the tears soaking into her dress were not the result of a scraped knee. The child’s tears stemmed from the desolation of grief.
Jane was so glad that Charles had moved poor Mercy into the barn before he left the night before. At least Grace had not had to discover her mother’s dead body when she woke. Little Grace had enough to deal with.
While Jane did not know the loss of a mother, she could imagine the sorrow Grace felt, not to mention the fear she must have for her and her brother’s future. Jane wondered if Grace and Allen had any family nearby. Was there someone out there who would be willing and able to take in two children not their own?
Mentally shrugging, Jane focused her attention back on Grace. It was not like she would ever allow Grace and her brother to suffer. Between herself, Elizabeth, and William, she knew provisions would be made for the children’s future care. What concerned her at the moment was the heat coming off the little girl in her arms.
“Grace, how are you feeling this morning?” Jane asked while smoothed Grace’s hair back from her face.
“Mmm…fuzzy.” Grace sighed and rubbed at her chest before saying, “I will be fine. I can still help you take care of Allen.”
Brow furrowed in concern, Jane asked, “Do you hurt anywhere, Grace?”
Grace seemed to sigh again, then rubbing her forehead, she said, “Yes.”
Jane did not like the floaty way Grace sounded when she spoke. Grace had definitely caught whatever had befallen her family. Pressing her lips together, Jane looked down at the sleeping Allen. The boy seemed to sleep deeply. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his forehead. While he was warm, he was not nearly as hot as his sister and had improved from the night before.
Kissing the top of Grace’s head, Jane asked, “Grace, I want to move you to the big bed your parents used. I think you and your brother would be much more comfortable.”
Grace sleepily nuzzled her head into Jane’s body, and after a moment, she mumbled, “All right.”
It was not the easiest thing for Jane to stand with her arms full of the seven-year-old, but she managed to take Grace to bed and tuck her in. It was much easier to pick up Allen’s much smaller form and transfer him to the bed. In this way, she could sit in the chair next to the bed, and the children might be able to get some well-needed rest.
It did not take long for Jane’s worst fears to come to fruition. Grace’s fever grew worse as the night progressed. By morning, Jane knew that Allen was on the path to recovery. She also knew that if things did not improve, she might very well lose Grace.
When Grace started coughing, Jane forced her tired body to move. She would need steam and more of the liniment if she was going to keep the cough from settling deep in Grace’s chest. Leaving the room, Jane went out into the kitchen where there was a kettle on the stove. Pouring boiling water into a bowl, she brought it back and placed it on the small table next to the bed. Aiding her to sit up, she held Grace over the bowl and helped her to breathe the vapor with a towel draped over the young girl’s head. Jane knew that the steam somehow helped loosen the mucus in her chest.
Even when the coughing finally settled, Grace’s troubles did not go away. She seemed to dream or possibly hallucinate. Crying out to her brother, she said, “Allen, don’t cry. I will take care of you even if mama’s sleeping. Don’t cry.”
Jane’s heart went out to the poor girl who, even in her delusions, sought to care for the one family member she had left. Sitting on the bed, Jane pulled Grace to herself, rocking her and soothing her brow with a cool compress. She murmured, “Shhh, Grace. Your brother is fine, he is well. Do not worry.”
“What is wrong with her, Miss Jane?” Looking over, Jane saw Allen’s wide, worried eyes staring at his feverish sister.
Plastering a smile on her tired face, Jane said, “Your sister is just talking in her sleep. Do not worry, I am taking care of her.”
Allen’s expression was too knowing for a child so young, but he had just recently witnessed the loss of most of his family. Shaking his little head, he said, “She is sick now too, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but you are better. I am sure that she will get better soon enough.” Jane hoped she was not lying to the poor boy. “Are you hungry or thirsty, Allen?”
Sitting up in bed, he grinned. “Yeah.”
Lying Grace back down on the bed, Jane tucked her in and smiled at the boy. It was a good sign that his appetite was returning. Removing the rag from Grace’s forehead, she swirled it around in the bowl with cool vinegar water before wringing it out and placing it back on Grace’s head. “I will go and look in the kitchen and see what I can get you to eat. Will you watch over your sister while I am gone?”
Allen sat up a little straighter, as if proud to have been given a task. “Yes, I can do that.”
Leaning over, she ruffled his damp hair and said, “You are such a good brother. Just call out if you need my help. I will be quick.”
Leaving the room, Jane waited until the door was closed behind her to stretch out her neck and back. Leaning over the children and spending most of the day and night in the wooden chair was not helping her posture. At least she did not seem to be becoming ill.
Going over to the small table she had set up with water and strong soft soap, she began scrubbing at her hands up past her wrists. Her mother had sent a batch of their most powerful soap for people, promising to wash away any dirt or grime and hopefully illness. Jane’s grandmother had always insisted that cleanliness was next to godliness. The journals had often pointed out that strict hygiene seemed to prevent the spread of illness. The compassionate words she discovered in those journals had deeply moved Jane, motivating her to extend her care to the sick and those in need.
Turning to the kitchen, Jane spotted Susan at the table folding the linens that she had laundered. “Do we still have some of the broth? Allen is awake and has asked for something to eat.”
Standing, Susan hurried to the table, her excitement at the news evident at the energy in her step and the tone of her voice when she said, “I am glad. You said that you thought he would recover, and it seems he is.” Ladling out a cup of broth, she poured it in a mug before adding, “After being unwell for so long, I thought a mug might be better than a bowl for the lad. Here, you take a roll as well. You need to keep your strength up, too. I can’t have you getting ill.” Handing the mug to Jane, she turned and grabbed a dinner roll off the plate on the kitchen table and handed that to her as well.
“Thank you for looking after me, Susan,” Jane said gratefully as she took a small bite of the roll, savoring the buttery soft texture and rich flavor. It seemed to be the best roll she had ever tasted; that or she was exceedingly tired and hungry. It was possible she was hungry, tired, and it was the best ever roll. Her own inner dialogue had Jane rolling her eyes at her antics. Maybe she needed to take a break and rest after all.
Going back to the table, Susan picked up a sheet from a pile. “How is young Grace?”
Shaking her head, Jane sighed and answered, “Not well at all. Her fever is staying quite high, and she has developed a cough.” Jane squared her shoulders. She would rest after Grace improved or her fever at least broke. “Thank you for the roll and the broth for Allen and, of course, for all of your hard work with all the household chores.”
Returning to Allen, she inelegantly shoved what was left of the roll in her mouth and chewed and swallowed hurriedly. Brushing crumbs from her mouth with her free hand, she smiled and then opened the door. It would not do to let Allen know how weary she was.
Chapter Ten
Bingley’s mind was too full of his questions about the future, and he had been unable to sleep the night before. Getting out of bed, he stood at his window watching the sunrise paint the landscape with colors. First, purples chased away the gray and then pink dotted the landscape. By the time that peach and yellow joined the dance, immersing the world in a morning glow, he had saddled his horse and headed out.
Unanswered and unasked questions weighed heavily on Bingley's mind, urging him to find the courage to speak. He knew he would only find the happiness he sought with Jane by his side. However, she would only be by his side if he asked her to stay there. He had known for some time that he loved Jane. He longed for her to be his wife, and he now admitted to himself that only his cowardice was currently keeping them apart. That and an epidemic.
Soon enough, Bingley walked into the McGregors’ silent house. He immediately stoked the fire in the fireplace and restarted the fire in the stove. He had been assisting enough to know that they would need both throughout the day. Bingley wanted to help however he could. With Grace falling ill, Jane and Susan were increasingly fatigued as they worked tirelessly to care for the sick children.
Walking softly, he moved to the room that housed the two remaining McGregors. Bingley opened the door, seeking out Jane in the dim room. She sat in a chair by the bed, slumped over, her hand resting on Grace. Shaking his head, Bingley sighed. She would never get enough rest in that fashion and would likely fall ill herself.
He would support her in caring for those in need, but he was unwilling to watch her undermine her own health. A few quiet steps took him as far as the bed, and he gazed down at both of the children who had suffered so much, losing almost all of their family, and then becoming so sick themselves. Allen lay on his back with his arms and legs spread wide, taking up as much space as possible. The flush of fever had left him, and he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. His older sister Grace was curled on her side, almost clinging to Jane, and was it any wonder? Jane had been a lifeline for the girl, mothering and helping her at a time when it must have seemed that her world was ending.
