“Doc! Doc Ada!!”
They both turned to find Isaac barging in, gulping for air from running.
Instantly, she threw her anger aside and went to him. “Yes, Isaac, what is wrong? Mrs. Fontaine all right?”
“Yessum, ma’am,” he stuttered between gulps of air. “But there’s Mes Jenny calling for ya.”
“Miss Jenny?” She wasn’t sure if she was a servant, but she guessed so. “Take me to her.” She swung a glance toward Francois. He grabbed his cane and ambled after her.
The boy took them to the front of the house as Francois tried to recall the Jennys he knew, and outside his servants, all he could think of was the shopkeeper’s wife. She’d been with Mrs. Wiggins. What was going on?
They got to the entrance hall and there stood Jenny Miller. She gripped her reticule and looked worried or scared, he couldn’t determine. Her husband, Benjamin Miller, ran the mercantile in town, the gathering place for most of the parish. Francois picked up his speed to catch up to Ada, finding his step easier as they went, that or he just ignored the pain.
“Mrs. Miller, good afternoon,” he greeted. “To what do we owe this visit?”
“Mr. Fontaine,” Jenny nodded but turned her attention to Ada. “It’s been told that you are a doctor. I’m hoping I’m correct. Can’t always get the truth out of these darkies.”
Ada flinched. Granted, darkies was the usual term, but the tone was insulting. Yet her medicinal ear got the urgency, too. “I am. How can I help you?”
The woman outwardly sighed with relief. “Fever is flying rampant through the parish. I’m worried about my husband and several others are concerned over their families as well. Could you come and see about us? I understand you’re Mr. Fontaine’s wife, or to be, and we don’t have much in Union money left to pay. Confederate ain’t worth the paper it’s printed on,” she snarled, but then she switched back to pleading. “Please?”
Ada nodded before she could think. Doctors didn’t decide help based on the political standings of their patients, just their health was the issue. “Yes,” she answered, calling for her medical bag.
She wasn’t ready for the onslaught that hit her. For the next four days, she had her own medical practice brought on by necessity, being the only doctor in town. The remaining physician had succumbed to the illness after the first day of her taking charge and she truly believed it was because the elderly man had been run ragged between the town and farms that scattered across the land.
“Dr. Ada.”
She turned, too exhausted to think, it was just automatic for her to do. There stood Fanny, one of Francois’s former slaves. In her hands, she held a pitcher and she handed it to Ada.
“Take it by the handle. It still be mighty warm.”
Ada did and took a whiff, crinkling her nose. “Pine?”
Fanny snorted. “Helps with the parched achy throat. A cup of that and tablespoon of honey will solve that complaint.”
Ada sighed, a slight wave of relief flittering across her shoulders. “Thank you. It’s sorely needed.”
“Yessum. I’m familiar with this sickness. Visits yearly. Most these folk scatter like the wind during the summer, that river they use so much ain’t nothing but a cesspool at times like this.” She leaned in. “Most us slaves know what to take to stave it off, though this year, with us being free, some think they’re too good for old slave remedies.” She snorted and walked off.
Ada couldn’t help but laugh. She’d guess the woman was close to her age and had a tinge darker skin than the bulk of the other servants from Francois’s house she’d seen. Plus the girl’s eyes were light brown. She also seemed a bit standoffish, but then again, Ada had whizzed into Bellefountaine, proceeded to jump in helping with the outbreak while arguing deeply with Francois, so with that and her Yankee accent, she noticed several acting cool towards her. That was until they realized she could help them.
She grabbed a cup and took a drink of water, her thinking returning to her intended. Since their fight, she’d been pulled away, rarely being at Bellefountaine for longer than sleep, and even that wasn’t long enough. Francois always nodded to her, arranged for her supper to be delivered to her bedroom and had breakfast ready in the morning. He drove her to the farms and quarters, got her whatever supplies she needed. But they rarely talked outside the immediate need of her work and the patients. It was like they were skating on a pond with a thin layer of ice, both acting in unison for fear anything more would crack the surface and they’d be swallowed.
Even now, he brought her a fresh canteen of water, as if he knew she needed to slake her thirst.
“You look exhausted,” he commented. “How are you feeling?”
She gave him a partial smile. “I’m doing fine. I think several are on the road to recovery. Hideous disease, burning from the inside out.”
He nodded. “Thank you for being here to help.”
His soft comment touched her deeply. “I truly appreciate that.”
The warmth in his eyes and his handsome appearance, still a little rugged with whiskers struggling to show but debonair still, made her heart pang, tugging to making her realize love for him whispered inside her. At night, exhausted from working continuously on her patients, her dreams whipped up the distinct memories of making love to him. She swore he kissed her when she slept, but woke to find absolutely no evidence he was there, and her heart
