From Mourning to Joy

Ma into her bed. I’ve been lying on the floor snuggled up to her trying to keep warm. She’s powerful hot so we ain’t froze yet.”
Bernie pushed past the boy, and once inside his eyes rested on the motionless bump under the blankets by the fireplace. He rushed over and pulled the blanket from her face. She was just a kid herself. Her bright red face puffed around dark sunken eyes. No need to feel her forehead to diagnose fever; for the heat of it streamed out, pouring over him like a hot spring.
“Where’s your Ma’s room?” he asked the boy who stood overhead watching his every move.
“Over there.” He pointed to a small door on the other side of the kitchen.
“Go pull the blankets back and I’ll carry her in.”
“Got all the blankets out here, mister.”
“Lead the way, then.”
Bernie threw the covers aside, bent low and reached under her slim figure. She was as light as a feather and her head flopped against his shoulder. She didn’t stir. That was not a good sign. But he could see her chest expand with every ragged breath, so she was still alive. A double bed awaited her, with four posts and a base two feet off the floor that held the lumpy mattress in place. Someone had carved fine lines into the headboard. Bernie observed it was the only piece of furniture with any value. Her dresses hung from hooks on the far wall and a two-drawer dresser, slanted from a lopsided leg, teetered and propped against the wall for support. It must have held the rest of what she owned for nothing else but a small bedside table occupied the room.
Everything he knew about sickness told him the woman needed to be stripped down, but that was carrying hospitality too far for day one. He looked at the boy. Didn’t seem proper to ask her son to do such a deed. He’d leave it for now, till he got a few other things put to order.
“Bring in your Ma’s pillow and blankets then cover her up. I’m going to get some wood to start a fire.”
Obediently, the boy jumped at the chance to do something. Bernie could see the fear in his eyes when he looked at his mother. Bernie tried to reassure him.
“Don’t worry. You and me, we’ll work around the clock until your Ma gets better, all right?”
He nodded and offered a tiny smile. It never reached his eyes and Bernie thought he’d never seen such sadness in a youngster’s face.
“My name is Bernie. What’s yours?”
“Davey.”
“Well, then, we’re off to a great start. Tend to the blankets, now. I’ll be right back.”
Outside, Bernie grabbed an armload of wood piled against the barn. Glancing to the northern sky he wished he had time to bring Blaze inside. His faithful mare had been his best friend on the lonely trail while the two traveled north together. She deserved his attention now, but unfortunately the animal would have to wait.
Not one red ember remained in the cookstove. He scooped the cold residue into the ash pail, positioned the kindling, and ignited a spark. Within minutes he felt the cold black surface warming up. Lifting the handle of the reservoir, he noticed the tank dry and looked for the water bucket.
The boy appeared to know what he required and pointed to the floor by the counter. “I can get water if you want, sir.”
“Those muscles of yours strong enough to bring in a full pail of water?” Bernie said trying to bring a touch of relief to the boys’ uneasy expression.
“Takes me a few trips but I get it done.”
“We’re going to need a lot of trips,” Bernie said. “Off you go then and get started.”
The boy wiggled into his coat then pulled on mitts and high boots before hurrying out the door in the direction of the well. He seemed to enjoy feeling useful and Bernie had a long list to get this place up and running.
The little water remaining in the pail went into a small washbasin. The woman wouldn’t notice the extra chill and it might help break the fever. On a shelf, he found clean dry cloths. Arms loaded, he hastened to the woman’s room. He placed the dish on the bedside table and saturated the cloth, wrung it out and folded it. He leaned over and bathed her face, neck and head. Once he thought he saw a flicker of movement, but he probably imagined it. He pushed the strands of golden wheat hair high onto her pillow and moved the cloth across the backside of her neck then followed it around to the front. She had a captivating child-like appearance but at the same time showed every inch the woman. Long lashes rested against high, rosy cheekbones and the hint of a small dimple rested beside her mouth. Suddenly he realized his thoughts were wandering and promptly rested the wet rag on her forehead, turned and left the room.
The water reservoir was slowly filling up and after the third trip, Bernie noticed the boy’s reluctant gaze to venture outdoors again.
“Let’s go together,” said Bernie. “I got seasoned water on the stove to make soup for when your mother wakes up. I’ll finish when I get back.”
Bernie noticed Blaze still tethered to the hitching post at the bottom of the porch steps. “Davey, you got room in your barn for my horse?”
The lad perked up. “Yes, sir. Lots of room. Our horse got hurt a while back and Ma had to take him out to the field and shoot him.”
“You only had one horse? How do you operate a farm without good strong horses?”
“Pappy wasn’t a good farmer, but he tried to make Ma’s dream come true. The old folks that homesteaded this parcel of land before us