He cast one last worried look at her as he stood up. “I’ll bring you some juice, too. And maybe a little honey for the tea. Is your throat sore?”
“Just a mite. The tea will fix me right up.”
In the kitchen, Richard put the kettle on for tea, then placed a call to the doctor. Before he could think better of it, he made another call, this one to Anna Louise. Just the sound of her voice made his pulse pick up speed.
“Anna Louise, could you stop by sometime today? It’s Maisey. I’m worried about her.”
“Have you called Doc Benson?”
“He’ll be by within the hour.”
“I have to make another call, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He was pleased by her matter-of-fact response. There was no hysteria. Anna Louise was a woman who had the kind of strength it took to handle almost anything. She’d be a real comfort in a crisis.
Exactly the sort of woman a man who courted danger needed by his side. The thought crept in before he could stop it. He dismissed it at once, then wondered at the fact that he’d instinctively turned to her this morning. He tried to convince himself he’d done it for Maisey’s sake, knowing how she always responded to Anna Louise’s gentle touch and quiet prayers. He knew better, though. He’d also done it because he wanted her there for himself, just in case this cough of Maisey’s turned out to be something serious.
It startled him some that a man who’d faced sniper fire and pestilence without a qualm could come unglued when faced with no more than a hacking cough. But it was Maisey’s cough, he reminded himself. And he’d always cared more about what happened to his grandmother than he’d ever worried about himself. In retrospect he realized that was probably why he’d left her behind for so long. He’d been bracing himself against the possibility of losing her.
Forty-five minutes later Anna Louise turned up, just as Doc Benson was finishing his examination. Richard was pacing the kitchen, trying not to panic at Maisey’s terrible, dry cough, which seemed to have worsened. His spirits picked up some at the sight of Anna Louise, with her hair all windblown and untidy and her cheeks flushed from the icy air.
“Get over here by the fire,” he insisted, “before you catch your death of cold, too.” Too many bad memories of a winter just like this lingered for him to ever be able to take survival of the elements for granted again.
“How is she?” Anna Louise asked, rubbing her hands together briskly as she held them over the heat.
Just then Maisey coughed again. The sound was so wrenching, Richard couldn’t imagine how her frail body lasted through it.
“It’s getting worse,” he told her. “It wasn’t that bad even an hour ago. Is this Benson guy any good? Maybe I should call for a specialist to come in from Washington.”
“I doubt you’d get one to make a house call clear down here. Besides, Jonathan Benson is a fine doctor. He went to Harvard and interned at Johns Hopkins.”
“Then what’s he doing way out here in the boondocks?”
“He wanted to practice family medicine.” She put her hands on his shoulders and waited until he met her gaze. “Maisey is in very capable hands. Now, stop worrying.”
“If you say so,” he muttered, and resumed his pacing.
It was another fifteen minutes before Doc Benson emerged, his expression sober, but not exactly grim. Richard dared to hope. “Is she okay?”
“With that cough?” Benson said dryly. “Hardly. But I’ve given her some medicine that should ease the cough and break up the congestion in her chest. I’ll send Tucker Patterson out with more. If she’s not better in a day or two, you’ll have to think about taking her to the hospital. I don’t want any more strain on her heart.”
“I’ll take her today, if that’s what’s best for her.”
“No. She was adamant about staying here. If you can keep her in that bed, then I’ll go along with it.”
“She’ll stay there,” Richard said with grim determination.
“I’ll go in and sit with her awhile,” Anna Louise said.
When the doctor had gone and with Anna Louise in with Maisey, Richard finally had to admit to himself the flash of terror he’d felt earlier when he’d thought Maisey might be seriously ill. He couldn’t lose her, too. She was all he had. He’d stayed away for years, hoping that she would come to matter less and less, preparing himself for the eventuality of losing her. It hadn’t worked. He’d finally realized he should be treasuring whatever time they had left together, not anticipating the loneliness of the time when she would be gone. Once again, he had to face the fact that he had no business going overseas again.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and sank into a rocker in front of the fire. He was still there, lost in thought, when Anna Louise finally tiptoed out of Maisey’s room.
“She’s sleeping.”
He stood and moved closer to the fire. “I couldn’t bear to lose her,” he said, his voice catching. He couldn’t meet Anna Louise’s gaze.
“You will someday. You have to face that.”
“Not now.”
She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I wish you shared my faith,” she said, her head resting against his back.
He drew comfort from her nearness, if not from her words. “If you’d been where I’ve been, seen what I’ve seen....”
“We may not understand it, but there is always a purpose to everything that happens. If you can’t accept that for yourself, then at least know that Maisey does believe it. She is at peace with whatever God has in store for her.”
Anger bubbled up inside him, but he forced it back. Rage was pointless. He sighed and turned to face her, his arms now circling her
