Chapter Seventeen

Victoria

Maybe it was because they’d become lovers, but over the next few days, Clay spoiled her with small gestures like bringing her coffee in bed. He’d leave their bed, never making a sound that she noticed, and shut the door gently. First, he’d build up the fire to warm the house. Then he’d let Charlie outside and after that, he’d make coffee, returning to the bedroom with two steaming mugs. The bed would shift as he got back in and pulled her into his arms.

One morning, he came back when it was still dark. The aroma of the coffee drew her from sleep, but when he didn’t return to the bed, she sat up. He stood at the side of the bed, holding a candle, his face grim.

“What’s wrong.” She gripped the sheets and clutched them to her chest.

“Ross is sick.”

She was on her feet and dressing in the next instant. “Why didn’t you wake me? What’s the matter? Does he have a fever?”

“I got up about twenty minutes ago to make coffee. I heard him moaning and went to check on him. Sydney was just waking up so I don’t think he’s been sick long.”

Victoria took the candle and hurried through the cabin, down the hallway to the children’s room. An odor greeted her as she entered the room. In the semi-darkness, she moved cautiously towards the top bunk and touched the boy’s shoulder. He cried out. When she rested her palm on his forehead, his skin burned with fever.

He shifted in his bed and turned to face her. His skin was ashen and covered with a sheen of sweat. His expression taut with obvious pain. Inside, her emotions twisted at the sight of the boy. She’d never seen anyone in such clear agony. She was overcome with helplessness. His languid gaze made her feel sick and weak and useless.

“He’s probably going to start throwing up soon,” Sydney said from her bed. Her voice was a forlorn shadow of her usual happy tone. “Clay got him a metal bucket just in case.”

A metal bucket? She lifted the candle and glimpsed the bucket in the corner of the bed. The boy had a bucket… like something from a barn. Her stomach clenched. A silent prayer came to her lips.

Dear God, please help us return this boy to his mother and father…

Victoria whispered. “You want some tea, Ross?”

“No.” he rasped, his throat sounding parched.

“He won’t want to drink,” Sydney said. “He’ll just throw it up.”

Victoria didn’t know much about children’s illnesses, but she knew, it was common sense that Ross would need to drink something. She’d have to push fluids. That much she understood.

“Poor Ross,” she murmured, stroking his forehead. “Poor baby.”

Returning to the kitchen, she put the kettle on and piled more wood inside the stove. They had tea in the pantry and honey too. The honey would sooth his throat. When she returned to the kitchen, she found Clay standing by the fireplace, slipping his heavy coat on.

“You’re going out? Now? It’s still dark.”

“Did you talk to Sydney?”

“She said he’s probably going to vomit.”

Clay moved to the counter and she noticed a loaf of bread wrapped in a tea towel, some tinned ham and a canteen. One by one he packed the items into a backpack.

Sydney appeared in the hallway, her face lit by the glow of the fireplace, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Ross might have appendicitis,” Clay said. “He has all the symptoms.”

Victoria’s blood ran cold. God only knew how far they were from a hospital. Or even another human being. Her mind refused to accept the possibility of appendicitis, or the implications.

“It could be anything,” she said. “We don’t know why he’s sick.”

“His pain is specific,” Clay said.

“My whole family had to get their appendix out at about his same age,” Sydney said. “I did. My parents did. All my cousins.”

Clay zipped the back pack.

“What’s happening?” Victoria whispered.

“I’m leaving. I’m going for help. I found a map when we first got here that showed something at the end of the lake. A town, or someone’s home, maybe. Someone drew the map and labeled a spot, Otis.”

“Otis?” she said.

“I don’t know what it means, but I have to find out.”

He tightened his hold on the backpack and for a long moment, no one spoke. The cabin was quiet until Ross muttered something incoherent from the bedroom.

Victoria’s eyes stung, tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head. “It can’t be. Appendicitis?”

Sydney lifted the hem of her pajama shirt to show a scar on her side. “I was eleven when I had my surgery.”

Victoria swayed and reached for the counter to steady herself.

Clay turned to Sydney. “You two are in charge. I’m leaving Charlie with you. Don’t go outside except to fill the wood box.”

Victoria nodded, crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him. He smiled down at her and stroked her head. “I’ll be back. Soon.”

Sydney joined them in a hug. They stood together, locked in an embrace. Ross called her name.

Clay clasped her head and gave her a solemn look. “Try to help your brother.”

Sydney pressed her lips together and nodded. Her eyes shone as she gazed up at him until she turned away and hurried down the hall.

Clay looked at Victoria, his eyes burning with an intensity she’d never seen. Cupping her shoulders, he spoke softly. “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.”

More than anything she wanted to believe him, but how could he promise her everything would be all right? He would walk out that door into the unknown toward a town, but how far off it was he could only guess. Ten miles? Forty? The snow lay deep. He’d have to snow shoe the entire way, through parts unknown. Past predators. Through uncertain weather.

“I just want to make you stay.” She forced the words out, her voice choking on each one. “Even though I know you have to go.”

“I’ve done this before.”

“In the desert.”

He nodded. “Where people shot at me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands. He pulled her to his chest. “You and I aren’t done. We’re going to have kids, and grandkids, and we’ll be old and grey and talking about how you stood me up and how you learned how to fish and what a smart-ass Sydney was.”

She nodded. He lifted her chin to receive his kiss. It was gentle, a stark contradiction to the fire burning in his eyes. “Do what you can for Ross. You’re in charge. Keep it together for his sake, Victoria.”

“I will.”

He turned away, zipped his coat and put on his hat and gloves. After he had his pack and gun slung over his shoulders, he nodded and went out the door. She followed him and stood on the threshold, ignoring the cold predawn breeze and watched as he strapped on the snowshoes. She moved to the steps, drew close to kiss him a final time.

“Go inside,” he muttered. “Take care of those kids.”

She did as he told her, but after she closed the door, she moved to the window and watched him in the early morning light. He walked slowly, but steadily. Charlie whimpered, drawing her from her reverie. He scratched the door and cried.

“No. Charlie. You’re staying with us.”

Returning her gaze to Clay’s retreating figure, she watched until she could no longer see him. Charlie finally relented and curled up by the fire. Victoria pressed her fingers to the glass, and watched the horizon where he’d disappeared.