Because of You by Cathy Maxwell Read Free Book Online Page A

longer flustered by his nakedness. She lay on top of him to keep the covers around him. “Mr. Browne, you stay in this bed. Do you hear me?”
    He didn’t hear her. He kept warning Billy to watch his back. “The damn pirates are crawling the ship like maggots!”
    Pirates?
    He looked more like the sort of man who could be a pirate, than one to fight them.
    The wild thrashing slowly ceased. His teeth still chattered even as the room heated up from the brazier. His wild words turned to incoherent mumbling, and it took her a moment to realize he was speaking in another language, one she didn’t recognize.
    And so went her day into night. Each time, the chills followed the fever and the fever grew progressively worse. He alternated between the deathly stillness or battling demons only hecould see. At one point the room was so hot, she removed the brown dress.
    The snow stopped sometime well past midnight. Samantha was exhausted. Her eyes ached from lack of sleep. She could not seem to break the deadly cycle that could claim his life. She had dragged a chair into the bedroom and sat by his side watching his fitful sleep.
    Suddenly Mr. Browne went stiff. He half rose in bed, his eyes still closed. He cried out one word, “Father!” It was filled with all the pain in the world.
    Samantha was no stranger to death. She had sat by its side far too often not to recognize the signs. Mr. Browne was dying.
    Tears rolled down her cheeks. She slid off the chair to kneel on the floor, her folded hands on the edge of the bed. “You cannot take him, Lord,” she begged. “I am so weary of death. I’m tired and I don’t know if I can go on. Please, don’t take him.”
    Her prayer was met with silence.
    Burying her head in her arms, Samantha leaned against the bed and sobbed.
    But her tears weren’t just for him; she also cried for herself. Her life was about to change, and she had no one to turn to, no one she trusted. Her girlhood dreams of being a wife and a mother would never be fulfilled. She felt as if her spirit was dying.
    A hand came down and rested on her head.
    Samantha looked up through burning eyes.Mr. Browne stared at her, his dark, fever-bright gaze filled with concern.
    “Don’t cry,” he said, his voice hoarse.
    Samantha could only gape at him. The despair that had overwhelmed her slipped away.
    His hand fell from her head to land on the soft mattress. His eyes closed.
    Samantha reached up and felt his forehead. The fever still raged inside him, but now she had hope.
    She got up from the bed, consulted her medical journal, and brewed another cup of feverfew tea, renewing her battle for the life of Marvin Browne.
     
    By mid-afternoon the next day, the intensity of Mr. Browne’s fever had lessened. He suffered chills, but they no longer racked his body. Stubbornly, Samantha continued her treatment.
    She now knew that her patient spoke many different languages. Occasionally she could pick out a word of French or Italian, but those were the only two she recognized. He fought pirates and storms and talked of ships and cargoes. Often he called for Billy…Billy, who never came.
    He didn’t call for his father again.
    Samantha never left his side for more than a few minutes. He seemed comforted by her presence, and it felt good to be needed.
    By late evening, she knew she had won. Sitting back in the chair, she couldn’t help but grin foolishly at her victory. She had beaten the fever. Hewould live. His breathing was now even and natural, the color of his complexion still pale, but he was not clammy with fever or chills.
    “Thank you, Lord,” she said, and again felt the sting of tears, but these were of relief and thanksgiving.
    She’d not slept since he’d been carried through her door, and she was tired—so very, very tired. What was left of the pea soup was cold in its pot. The fire in the kitchen hearth had died out. However, the bedroom was toasty warm from the few coals still burning in the brazier.
    She