Tracie Peterson - [Land of Shining Water 02] (14 page)

“I can’t say at this point,” Emmalyne finally replied. She sipped her tea and shrugged. “With our own quarantine, it’s hard to say when we might be able to come to town. I know Mother will be grateful that you visited, however. I’ll let her know of your invitation when she wakes up. She’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

“I’m sorry, too. Sorry to hear there has been so much trouble for your family.” He looked at her in his gentle way and smiled. “You know, Emmalyne, God may seem far away in times of trouble, but He isn’t.”

“Yes . . . at times it certainly feels like it.” She didn’t want to pour out the details of her life to the pastor, but at the same time Emmalyne sensed Reverend Campbell would truly understand.

“It can feel quite difficult,” he commented quietly.

She tried to smile. “Life used to be so much better than
this, Reverend. I thought it would always be so, because I belonged to God. I believed all the things the Bible said, and I tried hard to live by the Word of God. I really didn’t think He would allow bad things to come my way.”

“You certainly never heard me say that it would be so,” the elderly man replied, slowly raising his eyebrows.

She shook her head. “No, I suppose I didn’t. Call it girlish whimsy if you would.” Emmalyne smoothed her skirt and lifted her face to the ceiling. “I just somehow had it in my mind that Christians were protected from such things. And I suppose that was how my life had been up until . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.

“I think God’s care for His children is often misunderstood. But we must remember that God ‘spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all.’”

Emmalyne nodded. “That’s from Romans eight, verse thirty-two. I know it well. Even so, the rest of the verse says, ‘. . . how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?’”

“But has He refused you all things?” the pastor asked. “Is God keeping good things from you?” His expression betrayed just a hint of amusement.

“Well, He’s certainly refused me a good number of them,” Emmalyne replied, feeling slightly irritated.

The old man nodded knowingly. “Still, my dear, the entire eighth chapter of Romans offers great insight. Think on this. ‘For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.’ That’s verse eighteen.”

Emmalyne nodded and admitted a bit sheepishly, “‘Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh
intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.’” She and Tavin had once memorized the entire chapter of Romans eight. They had declared it would be their life chapter.

“Ah, verse twenty-six.” The reverend leaned forward as if in a debate. “And twenty-seven tells us, ‘And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God.’”

Emmalyne sighed and eased back in her chair. “‘According to the will of God,’” she repeated. “But I’m not always sure what His will for me might be. Just when I think I understand it, something comes to vex me and steal away my peace.”

“Such is the way of the world,” Reverend Campbell replied. “You must go back up to verses five and six. ‘For they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit the things of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.’”

She drank in the words as if water for her parched soul. The reverend’s gentle instruction finally broke through the brittle façade she’d tried to keep around her wounded soul. “Yes. I must set my mind on spiritual matters. That is where I have strayed.” She looked at him and felt the burdens of her life ease a bit. “I’m so glad you came here today. I have been putting my mind on the wrong things, and with this visit, you have helped to set my mind right again.”

He got to his feet and handed her his teacup and saucer. “I am glad we could speak of such things together. Putting one’s mind right is the larger part of such battles.”

Emmalyne nodded. Now if she could just get her heart to follow suit.

Angus’s condition went from bad to worse. Despite all their efforts, he continued to weaken. And then pneumonia set in.

“You will want to keep moving him,” Dr. Williams instructed them. “Elevate him so the fluid in his lungs can drain. Don’t leave him in one position for more than an hour or two. If you keep turning him and encouraging him to cough, he will be able to rid himself of the mucus.”

Mother’s eyes welled with tears. “I cannot lose him.” She wept softly, and Emmalyne wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “God is dealing most severely with us, Emmy,” she said, shaking her head. Emmalyne wished Pastor Campbell were there to comfort them and provide the wise instruction he’d recently given her.

She watched as Jason Williams finished examining her brother. Angus was barely conscious, almost oblivious to what was happening around him.

“Angus, you must take in more fluids, and you must do your best to practice taking in deep breaths. I know you have pain when you breathe, but it is imperative that you do as I instruct. Do you understand?”

Angus said nothing but gave the doctor the slightest nod. Dr. Williams looked to Emmalyne. “You must work with him to get him to breathe deeply. I would also recommend you pound on his back for a good ten or fifteen minutes at least four times a day—more if you have the time. This will help to loosen the mucus and make it easier for him to cough.” He rolled Angus onto his side and showed Emmalyne how to use the flats of her hands to perform the task.

“I will do it,” Mother said, stepping forward, her voice firm. “I will see to it that he recovers.” She brushed aside her tears and fixed the doctor with a most determined gaze. “I am his mother, and he needs me.”

Emmalyne was delighted to see her mother take initiative. It apparently pleased Dr. Williams, as well, for he flashed a small smile before continuing to demonstrate.

“The rash is clearing up, but he’s weak. With the added complication of pneumonia, he is far sicker than I would have liked to see,” the doctor explained. “However, he’s a strong young man, and he should be able to overcome this with the proper care.”

The doctor finished his demonstration, looking pleased to hear Angus cough, and eased him back onto the pillows. But Angus hardly acknowledged the action, and Emmalyne worried that he was far more ill than Dr. Williams was letting on. She intended to question the doctor about it once they were away from Angus and her mother.

“It’s good to see you looking better, Mrs. Knox,” Jason said, gathering his equipment. “Your color is much improved. Sometimes just having a sense of purpose gives us a healing all its own.”

She nodded but kept her gaze on Angus. “I will nae leave
him until he’s recovered. ’Tis the only purpose I have.” Emotion made her Scottish accent thicker.

“I have some refreshments in the kitchen if you’d like,” Emmalyne offered Dr. Williams. “I’m sure you’ll have a great many more patients to see before you can get to your supper.”

He smiled and tucked the medical bag under his arm. “I do have patients, but I’d like very much to enjoy some more of your shortbread—if you have it.”

Emmalyne nodded. “Mother, we’ll be just down the hall if you need us.”

“I will be fine,” Mother replied, turning back to Angus.

Emmalyne led the doctor to the kitchen. She arranged a cup and saucer on the table, then brought a small plate to add to the arrangement. Next came the teapot.

“I have some shortbread,” she told him, “but perhaps you’d favor a piece of pie instead.”

“I am quite fond of pie,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

His enthusiasm pleased Emmalyne. “I hope you like gooseberries. I picked them myself.” She went to a kitchen drawer to retrieve a knife and fork. “I found a great many bushes down by the water. They were so heavily loaded I couldn’t help but put them to good use. I’ve made jam and jelly and now this pie.”

“I do like gooseberries, especially in pie. My grandmother and mother both made it for me as a child. We often collected the berries as a family when I was very young.”

“It’s tedious and painful work,” Emmalyne admitted, “but I find the tart flavor so refreshing.” She handed him the plate and turned her attention to the tea. “Would you like cream or sugar for your tea?”

“No, this is quite all right.” He picked up the fork. “Won’t you join me?”

“Not for the pie, but perhaps a cup of tea,” she said and hurried to take down another cup and saucer. “I want you to be honest with me,” she began carefully as she took a seat at the table and poured herself some tea.

“I’ll do my best. What’s on your mind?”

Emmalyne met his curious expression and took a deep breath. “Will my brother recover?” She hated to even voice the question, but she had to know the truth.

“He’s quite sick, as you no doubt can tell. And his recovery will depend largely on his care and God’s will. I would like to see him moved to the hospital, but your mother has made it clear that this is not acceptable to her. I don’t suppose you can change her mind on that, can you?”

“No, it’s not so much her mind that must be changed. My father won’t hear of money being spent for something he believes can be attended to at home. And not only that, but both Mother and Father see hospitals as a place one goes to die. It would be akin to giving up, in their eyes.”

“I understand. However, your brother is very weak, and because of that he will have a harder time clearing his lungs. It’s one of the main difficulties with measles. Often the disease itself doesn’t kill, but the complications do. Pneumonia is particularly serious.”

She considered his words. “Would poultices help?”

“I doubt it. I know there is some speculation that vaporized herbs can help, but I can’t actually recommend them. Pounding on his back as I showed you will do him the most benefit. That and keeping him from lying in one position too long.” He picked up the fork and sampled the pie. “Ummm, this is delicious. My compliments.”

Emmalyne gave a distracted smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
She sipped her tea and thought about Tavin and his family. How were they doing? Had they fared just as poorly with the measles as Angus?

“Can you . . . would you be able to tell me how Fenella and her sons are doing?”

“Better, actually,” he replied. “The boys are very nearly over their outbreak, and Fenella is improving. At least where the measles are concerned.”

Emmalyne frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand. Does she have some other ailment, as well? Did she contract pneumonia also?”

“No. It’s just that her mental lapses have continued in the same manner.”

“What does that exactly mean?”

“She’s . . . well . . . emotionally unbalanced, I’m afraid.” He took a long drink of tea and studied the pattern on his cup. “She’s taken leave of her senses since her husband’s death. I thought you might have heard by now.”

“No,” Emmalyne said, shaking her head in disbelief. “No one has said a word. Oh, this is terrible. Poor Fenella. Will she . . . I mean . . . can she recover?”

He shrugged. “There’s no way of determining when or whether that will happen. When her husband’s death was reported to her, Dr. Schultz told me she screamed for hours on end. They medicated her to calm her down. Keeping her in a state of near unconsciousness was the only way to control her behavior. Dr. Schultz was afraid she might hurt herself or others. I’ve spoken to Mrs. MacLachlan about the matter on several occasions, and I tend to believe Fenella should go to a hospital or institution, where she can receive the latest care for such trauma.”

“I’ve heard awful stories about those places,” Emmalyne said with a shudder. “I read an article in the Minneapolis newspaper that spoke of all sorts of experiments being practiced on the mentally ill.”

“It’s true . . . such things do take place. Doctors cannot always know what might help a patient without first trying it. Often that has negative results.”

“I would hate for someone to experiment on Fenella.” Emmalyne pictured the cheerful, attractive friend she had known so well. Her heart ached, imagining the poor woman unable to handle her misery. “Is she able to speak?”

“Not really. She rambles from time to time, but it’s usually nonsensical. She can be quite violent at times, and that is the most important reason I believe the MacLachlans should send her away. She’s hurt her boys on several occasions and now cannot be allowed to go near them. She’s even a danger to herself, the result being she’s kept locked in her room with nothing in it with which she could do harm to herself.”

Emmalyne’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, please, say it isn’t so.”

“I’m afraid it is most grave,” Dr. Williams replied. “She is seriously ill.”

“Do you think I could visit her? Might that help?”

“It’s possible that seeing someone from her past could help her.” He paused and shrugged. “It’s also possible it could cause further trouble. The mind is so complicated, and we know very little about it. I wish I could be more encouraging to you on this matter.”

“She was always so happy,” Emmalyne said, shaking her head. “We both dreamed of marriage and having children. I remember our plans to live close enough to raise our families
together. We talked of how much fun it would be to have babies close in age.” Emmalyne felt the heaviness of her sorrow and fell silent. She had never expected to hear such horrible news, and the very thought of Fenella’s situation on top of everything else left her feeling truly overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Williams said, true sympathy in his expression. “I can see this has been most upsetting. I really thought by now that someone would have told you.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered when the telling came or who did it.” She met his gaze and forced a smile. “You did me a favor in sharing this. I thank you for your honesty.”

He reached out and placed his hand over hers. Emmalyne quickly pulled her hand back as if he’d burned her. She very nearly knocked over the teapot in doing so. “I’m . . . oh dear . . . I’m so sorry.”

Dr. Williams shook his head. “Don’t be. I apologize for being . . . less than a gentleman. I should not have been so forward.” He got to his feet and looked down at Emmalyne. “You should visit Fenella, if you think you can bear it. I’d give it another week or so, and by then she should be feeling better—at least physically. I’ll come by to check on Angus tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Emmalyne said, wishing she could offer something more tangible than mere words. She didn’t want to encourage the good doctor, however. The sooner he accepted limitations where she was concerned, the better they both would be. Emmalyne knew that nothing could ever come of his obvious interest in her, and he needed to be clear on that. As did she.

Feeling all the worse after Dr. Williams departed, Emmalyne went to check on the patient and his nurse. To her surprise she found her mother kneeling beside the sickbed.

“Mother?”

The woman lifted her head and looked at Emmalyne. “Come pray with me, daughter. We need to ask God to lift this wretched curse. We won’t be free of these sorrows until He does.”

Emmalyne wasn’t sure whether they were truly under a curse or not, but she did believe it was time for them to refocus their hearts on God. She wished her father could see the truth in this. She went to her mother and knelt beside her. The hard wooden floor was most uncomfortable, but Emmalyne didn’t mind. Maybe such an act of sacrifice would show God just how sincere she was with her requests.

She lost track of the time as they prayed in silence. From time to time her mother would pray aloud and plead with God to deliver them. The entire matter reminded Emmalyne of Jacob wrestling with God. Jacob had declared that he would not let go until God blessed him, and Emmalyne could imagine her mother saying the same thing.

“He’s my only son, Lord,” she heard her mother whisper. “You must allow him to come back to us.”

Emmalyne wasn’t sure God was obligated to do anything of the sort, but she knew it was her deepest desire. She glanced to where her brother lay. He looked so still—almost lifeless. The rash had faded somewhat from his face, but in its place Angus’s skin was a pasty yellow-gray color, suggesting death.