Chapter Fifteen
Sam swabbed Moira’s fevered brow. She’d slept relatively peacefully while suffering a headache. Rachel’s herbs and an extra bit of rum in her water greatly helped. But then the fever came and the longer it lasted, the less her chances of survival.
It was going on five days now.
“Get well, Moira.” Sam bent to place a kiss on her overly warm rosy cheek while sorrow pressed in on him. “I’ve been thinking about that first night we met. I’ve concluded that I never would have actually killed you.” The grin that pricked one corner of his mouth felt both amused and sorrowful. “I’ve never killed anyone, save in self-defense.” He lowered his voice. “But that’s between us. After all, I’ve got a reputation to live up to.”
He dipped the rag in the bowl of cool water and wrung it out, then swabbed Moira’s hot skin just as Rachel instructed. He prayed the Almighty would heal her. Ironically, he hadn’t communed with God since Pa’s murder. And yet Pa, an honest man, dedicated father, and devout Christian had perished. Why did God allow such things? A good man died while his murderers walked free. How had it been fair and just?
Sam rummaged through his memories as he wiped down the skin on Moira’s listless forearms. Pa had hammered his faith into both Asher and Sam just the way he hammered out horseshoes on his anvil. Faith made sense back then. Less so after Pa died. And the various religious courses that had been required while Sam posed as a student from the colonies only muddied the waters. What did Pa used to say? Knowledge puffed up a man’s pride but wisdom came from God.
Now, however, when it came to Moira’s life, he knew beyond all reason that it came down to God’s will and that no amount of herbal remedies would override His divine decision.
But why would God listen to Sam’s petitions? He didn’t deserve to be heard in heaven.
Perspiration trickled down his temples and Sam wiped it away with his shirt sleeve. The cabin had become so stuffy in the late afternoon heat that he could barely breathe. But it was hotter outside. Worse, nary a breeze blew. At this snail’s pace, they’d dock in Virginia by Christmastime!
Moira groaned and Sam shook off his thoughts.. “Moira, can you hear me? Open your eyes, darling daisy.”
Her eyelids remained shut, though she rolled her head from side to side.
Sam tried to get her to quiet and drink some water. Amazingly, she drank, except Sam noticed her wince.
“What is it? Are you in pain?”
Many moments went by and Sam figured she wouldn’t respond.
“My throat…” She croaked like a swamp frog, but Sam perked right up. “My throat is terribly sore.”
Sam sat back, welcoming the sudden hope filling his insides. ’Twas good news; a sore throat was not a symptom of the typhus. “Rest easy, my love. You’re going to be all right. Hear me?”
Sam put the wet rag across her head once more and, again, he wished he weren’t so powerless.
Rachel entered the cabin a while later, bringing Sam a tray of supper along with broth and water for Moira. “How is she?”
Sam tore his gaze from Moira. “She woke up long enough to take in some liquid and say her throat is sore.”
Rachel’s dark eyes widened and a little smile curled the corners of her lips. “Then it is not the typhus.”
“I assume not.” But Rachel’s affirmation sent relief spiraling through him.
“Now if she could just rid herself of that fever...”
“Yes.” Sam felt responsible for this calamity. He’d brought both the sickly monk and Moira aboard.
“You’re doing a good job. Most men would leave the care of their wives to another woman or doctor.” Rachel patted his shoulder. “Moira is young and strong and, unlike Brother Tobias, doesn’t have a back full of infected gashes.”
Sam looked up at Rachel in time to see her shudder at the memory.
She met his gaze. “You’re a fine husband to her, Sam.”
“She deserves finer, that’s for sure.”
“Nonsense. Now eat some supper to keep up your strength and see if you can coax her to take some broth.”
“Your wish is my command, madam.”
Rachel snorted a laugh and headed for the door.
After she’d gone, Sam leaned close to Moira. “Hear that, darling daisy? Rachel said I’m a fine husband.” A shame that his wife might find it more a joke than a compliment.
When there was no response, Sam stood and stretched. He picked at his supper and lit a lamp after the sun sank behind the western horizon. He heard the slap of the sails and Harney shouting a string of commands. They were moving.
Sam unlatched the porthole and a cool wind struck him in the face. He breathed deeply of the fresh, salty night air then quickly closed the window so Moira wouldn’t get chilled.
She stirred and he stepped over to her bedside. “Here, try to take another drink.” With his assistance, she took several swallows of the broth then lay back against the damp bedding.
“Open the window again, please, that I may breathe in more fresh air.”
“I’m not sure that would be in your best interest.” He felt her forehead. Still much too warm. “You’ve still got a fever.”
“On the contrary. I believe fresh air will do me much good.”
“Well…” He didn’t want to deny her such a simple pleasure, but he had an inkling it ran contrary to popular medical beliefs.
He thought of his mother. She’d tell him to open the window too.
A guffaw worked its way up and out his nostrils. Mama would like Miss Moira Kingsley…er, Mrs. Sam Stryker.
“Very well. I shall open it, but only for a minute or two.”
Beneath the lamplight, gratitude shone in Moira’s fever-bright eyes. True to his word, Sam opened the porthole again.
Activity above deck seemed to have increased and one glance toward the darkening horizon told him why. A ship. Was she friend or foe?
“Moira, I shall return shortly. I promise.”
She gave a weak nod, and Sam took off to find out which ship approached them.
Standing on the main deck, Sam watched the other merchant ship near until it bobbed starboard side and parallel with the Seahawk. The crew of the Lady Magenta was well-known to Harney and his men. Sam had breathed sheer relief when he learned that, like the crew of the Seahawk, they were United States merchantmen. But their news of Virginia’s fate caused Sam’s heart to sink like an anchor.
“The Brits burned the U.S. Capital,” the captain of Lady Magenta hollered across the distance. “Then they took Alexandria and occupy it as we speak. We’ve heard they have set their sights on Baltimore now.”
Sam hung his head back and squeezed his eyes closed.
“And what of President Madison?” Harney bellowed.
“Escaped along with the congressmen.”
Relief spiraled through Sam. Thank God the president and statesmen ran the country, and not the Crown.
“No passage into Virginia,” the other captain called. “We’ve set sail from Florida, but heard tell of British gunboats everywhere along the northeastern shores of the U.S., from Canada south to Virginia. My suggestion is to head for South Carolina. The British blockade doesn’t extend that far south. Not yet, anyway.”
The banter continued, but Sam felt heartsick. He traipsed to the hatch and returned to his cabin below deck. Moira had turned onto her side, but appeared to be sleeping.
“Blast it all!” Sam punched his fist into his palm. The very news he carried for President Madison was of no use now—now that the worst had happened.
He looked upward. Why? Why, God, would you allow the U S. to fall back into the hands of tyranny?
The story of Jonah flashed through his mind. Jonah and the big fish that swallowed him whole because of his disobedience. In the belly of the beast, Jonah ruminated over his own will and God’s. Once he surrendered to God’s will, the big fish spit him out and he found himself in a land he didn’t find worthy of his visit. He was surrounded by people who, Jonah determined, didn’t deserve God’s mercy and grace.
But God saw the circumstances differently.
“Sam?” Moira’s gaze pinned him to the scuffed wooden floor and he recognized the concern in her eyes. “What’s happening outside?”
“Nothing to fear, my darling.” Sam put his hands on his hips. “But it appears the Almighty is pointing me toward home, whether I wish to go there or not.”
Moira seemed to strain to keep her eyes open, but her dry, cracked lips worked a smile nonetheless. “Then you’ll escort me to the missionaries at the outpost?”
Oh, how he wished she’d get that idea out of her head. “We’ll discuss the particulars when you’re better.” He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bunk.
She replied with a hint of a nod before succumbing to another deep sleep.