Part 8 - Christmastide by Carrie Fancett Pagels, Susan F. Craft, and Elaine Marie Cooper
Since Christmas the militia and Colonel Christy and his son have begun scouring the countryside and examining the farms that the inhabitants of Fort Providence abandoned. When a fierce snow storm blankets the countryside the men return to the fort. Some of the Amish inhabitants have taken ill with the fever that began in November. And now for:
He
was hot, burning with need, and he wanted her to hurry. The soft light of the
oil lamp pulled shadows across the quilt on the bed and he had the absurd notion
that he might fall headfirst into the dark play of light and heat and wait for
her there.
“Your
fever burns higher,” she whispered.
Daniel
Mast tried to smile up at his beautiful young wife but the effort cost him and
he sighed instead. He saw the pail in her hands, brimming with fresh white snow
and closed his eyes against the desire of his thirst. She understood though and
soon held her fingers full of snow to his mouth and he sucked gratefully. The
snow was so much cooler to his throat than water and Miriam was patient, giving
him taste after taste until he turned his head with reluctance.
Miriam
sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the pail on the floor.
“You
know what comes next, I fear,” she said sadly, reaching a small hand to the
damp hair of his forehead.
He
drew a deep breath. “Go on with it.”
There
was a sudden knock on the thin door of the bedroom and Amos, his younger bruder, poked his head in. “I bring
more snow—ice too And the rope.”
Miriam
waved at him. “Kumme. We must start.”
Amos
dragged a full tub filled with icy whiteness across the wooden floor and stood
with a length the rope in his hands. “Miriam, go on out. I will do it this
time.”
“Jah, go,” Daniel breathed as he raised
his arms above his head and allowed his
bruder to tie him fast to the bed.
She
shook her head, the glow of the light catching on the fair hair that peeked
from beneath her kapp. Her blue eyes
were large in her face, shadowed with worry. He didn’t want to see her in pain,
or watch her tears when he screamed…
***
Miriam
Mast lifted her chin then bent to lift the nine-patch quit from her husband’s
big body. He had started to visibly
shiver already and she wanted to cry. He wore doeskin breeches; she and Amos
had decided to allow him the clothing for modesty’s sake after the last
tortuous bout but she knew she’d have to help him change once they were done.
She
folded the quilt and laid it aside then bent to scoop up a large handful of
snow from the wooden tub. Gritting her teeth, she began to pack the icy whiteness
firmly against her husband’s long legs. She tried to concentrate on the thought
that she was doing the right thing, what Grossmuder
Mae would have done back in Lancaster. But Miriam was gone from that world now,
living instead in a small house with Daniel and Amos and longing for Lancaster
though they had left to build a new home. But they were blessedly inside Fort
Providence, in the palm of Derr Herr’s
hand, and they were safe for the moment. Safe but for a fever that had wracked
her husband for days, and she was at her wit’s end in trying to battle the heat
of his body. She was used to him tall, secure as a rock, his brown hair tousled
and his green eyes shining. But now, his thick lashes lay against his flushed
cheeks in dark crescents as his eyes narrowed in pain. Packing him in the ice
and snow was one of the most difficult things she’d done in life and when he
moaned she bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
“Faster,”
Amos encouraged her as he piled ice on his bruder’s
chest. She knew Amos hated doing it to
Daniel too—at seventeen to Daniel’s nineteen, Amos more than honored his
beloved brother and she knew that he was as worried as she. Yet there was
nothing to do save finish the work, and at last, it was over. Daniel lay tied,
his body, but for his face, encased in ice and snow, after several more
fillings of the wooden tub. They must leave him thus until the snow melted or
until he could stand the burning cold no more. She must not give in to his
sobbing pleas; she knew he was beyond reason. But when he screamed—the strangled
sound of a strong man in unbearable pain—she wanted to cover her ears and flee.
Yet she stood fast.
“Third
day of this,” Amos murmured in an anguished tone beside her. “He can’t take
much more.”
“He
will be well. I have prayed,” she whispered.
“I
too,” her bruder-in-law sighed.
“Perhaps Gott will grant us grace as
it is nearly Second Christmas.”
Miriam
nodded. She’d forgotten the holiday in her worry. Now she remembered the Amisch observance of the Epiphany and
the normal exchange of small gifts that would take place. She recalled last
year with a sudden flush to her cheeks. Daniel’s gift had been three
extravagant kisses…
“Three
of the Wiseman…three gifts, and as thee knows, I lack the coin to buy you such,
but would use my lips to do you honor as my wife instead.” He’d touched her
hair and then her cheeks and then brought his mouth enticingly low against her
throat…
She
remembered herself with a start as someone pounded on the thin door, the noise
echoing above her husband’s strangled cries.
Amos
narrowed open the door—they were not much used to visitors as such. But the
wood fell back from his hand as a flurry of white snow swirled inside, bringing
a lanky youth, dressed in casual buckskins, his bright black eyes glittering
above ruddy cheeks.
“You
don’t know me…” the visitor gasped with the cold. “But I cannot help but notice
your actions the last few hours. I wonder—do you have a man down with the fever
then?”
Miriam
stepped forward, wetting her lips. Perhaps the youth knew a healer…
“Jah, my husband has been ill for three
days now.”
The
dark-haired young man reached out a large hand, first to Amos, and then bowed
to Miriam with a courtly air.
“William
Christy is my name. And three days is much too long for such doings as the
torture of ice-packing a man.”
Miriam
saw Amos bridle a bit at the other man’s tone but then she heard Daniel moan
again.
“Sei se gut—please,
sir, if ye might aid us in any course, we will gladly accept.”
William
unwrapped his hands and nodded. “Then get him out of that ice for one thing. I
will heat some herbs at the fire.”
Miriam
gestured to Amos and they hurried to Daniel, scraping off the ice and snow then
draping him in a dry quilt. Amos untied his bruder’s
hands with a sigh of relief.
Daniel
lay panting on the bed when William Christy brushed Miriam aside with a gentle
hand. “Step away, milady. ‘Twill only take a moment to get this bitter lot down
his throat, but it will help him. From the Indians hereabouts. A fever killer.”
“Indians?”
Amos almost growled.
Miriam
watched William look at her brother-in-law with steady eyes. “Yes, sir. The
Indians could teach us much were we willing to learn, and I thought the Amisch were open to all.”
“’Tis
true,” Miriam interceded quickly. “Amos…well, his betrothed was killed in a
skirmish between Indians and our covered wagons. He—he will learn to forgive.”
“Jah,” Amos whispered finally, dropping
his gaze.
William
Christy turned back to his patient and Miriam was amazed to see that already
her husband’s color looked more normal. She pressed her hands together and
began to pray softly, tears coming to her eyes.
“’Tis
not to cry over, milady, for I wager this man will be up and about and trouble
soon enough by the size of him.”
“Ye
are kind,” Miriam choked. “Please, will you take some tea with us?”
“Only
if I brew it,” William Christie inclined his head. “I am particular about my
tea.”
***
Daniel
came to himself in inches, painfully crawling back from near death to new life
by the stranger’s hands he’d began to recognize. Then Miriam’s face would be
above his, pale but hopeful, and he longed for the strength to take her in his
arms. He’d drifted lazily in his fever at times, thinking of her golden hair
unbound and flowing, covering his chest and arms…and then the bleak cold would
drive away warmer thoughts until he swallowed a vile brew which seemed to bring
him strange peace…
***
And
then there was the cold day that he brought himself to sit up. Miriam heard
Amos tell her husband about the strange young man who befriended Indians and
who came to bring herbs to heal him. They were surprised to learn he was son of
the British colonel who’d taken charge over the Virginia militia who’d arrived
at Christmas. They had ceased to see young
Christy after his kindness and Miriam thought she might sew a shirt for their
friend, if she could only find him about. But Mrs. Rousch, clasping her new baby
Noela, informed them that William had gone to scout whether their homes might
be safe enough to return to soon.
But,
for now, she was thankful to Gott for
Daniel’s renewed strength and for the lopsided grin he wore when he drew her
close.
“No
more Amisch snow, my love,” he teased.
She
shook her head and cuddled closer to him. “Nee…but
let us see if we might recall last year’s gifts of Epiphany.” Her words were a
husky whisper which brought the response she’d longed for from him.
Next week Part 10, by Dina Sleiman, continues our anthology.
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