Now I'm Found by Theresa Hupp

Author:Theresa Hupp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical fiction, California Gold Rush, Oregon, 1848-1850, 19th century
Publisher: Rickover Publishing via Indie Author Project
Published: 2016-09-25T00:00:00+00:00

When Rachel stopped by the next morning, Jenny wouldn’t let her in the cabin. “I don’t want you catching it,” Jenny said. “Esther needs you. Any sign of her baby yet?”

Rachel shook her head. “This one’s taking its time.”

“Don’t let Esther anywhere near here,” Jenny pleaded. “She can’t risk getting sick.”

“I’ll bring hot food every day, so’s you don’t have to cook,” Rachel said. “I’ll leave the pot outside, and Mr. O’Neil can bring it in.”

Jenny’s days and nights ran together. A few days after William came down with the fever, he developed red spots on his face and hands. Then spots sprang up on his stomach and back. The spots turned to blisters, which filled and burst, then scabbed.

Jenny hadn’t nursed anyone seriously ill since Mac had had cholera at Ash Hollow along the trail. She’d felt so alone tending him then, surrounded by others in their company ministering to their own invalids. Doc Tuller had been there, but he rushed from tent to tent caring for all the patients. The same was true now. Doc traveled from cabin to cabin looking after people with smallpox. He only came to see William every two or three days.

O’Neil insisted on relieving Jenny of much of William’s care. “The boy likes me, Miz Jenny,” he said. “And you need your sleep.” He sent her up to the loft to rest, while he watched William during the nights. During the days, he did the chores, started the corn harvest, and—Jenny hoped—caught a few hours’ sleep in the barn. The man seemed tireless.

“You’re doing what you can, Jenny,” Doc Tuller told her during one visit. “The boy’s fortunate. Not many pox on his face. Are you feeling all right?”

She nodded. “I don’t seem to be getting sick.”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Some, thanks to Mr. O’Neil. He works all day and watches William at night.”

“And eating?”

Jenny nodded again. “Rachel brings over dishes from Esther. And I keep a pot of soup on the fire.”

“The boy’ll be better soon. If you stay well, you’ll be back to teaching by the end of November.”

“How are my students?” Jenny asked. “Have any of them . . . ?” She couldn’t bear to ask if any had died.

“None of them dead yet, though some of my other patients have died,” he said. “But the Binghams had it bad. All their children, especially young Meg. And one of the Abercrombie granddaughters.”

Jenny gasped. “Those poor families.”

“Don’t open your school till all your students have been without scabs for two weeks,” Doc said, packing his bag. “Seems to be passed along while the pox are open and scabbing. And don’t let William scratch. Or his scars’ll be worse, and he could get gangrene.”

Jenny grabbed a moment to write that evening:

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