Windmera-Desperation

She eyed him before she left the room and was filled with worry. Louise had to get well. She simply had to. How much could one man bear?

* * * * *

The kitchen was a huge rectangular room lined with pantry shelves and open shelving. One wall was totally dominated by a huge fireplace used as a stove. Within its crevices were niches holding copper kettles. Across its middle was an ingenious wrought-iron rotisserie, whose turning spit operated on the principle of heat and air. The heat would rise up the chimney and the rush of hot air would cause a blade within the height of the chimney to rotate, which in turn would cause a chain to revolve on its course, and voilà, an excellent rotisserie.

Heather had already met the cook, a large, round black woman with a floppy cap that always seemed to sit askew on her short dark curls. As Heather entered, the cook stood over an enormous pot of slowly simmering cherries, which she was preparing for jam.

The cook stopped her ministrations, left the wood ladle in the pot, and opened her eyes wide when she saw Heather.

“Ah, child, what is it?”

“Belle…her ladyship is ill, so ill,” Heather cried, and went into Belle’s waiting arms. They had become very close almost at once.

“Bless ya child, it is in the Lord’s hands.”

“Do we have sage?” Heather sniffed. “My father says sage tea does wonders.”

“Yessum, I’ll get on that right now. Her ladyship has been all kindness, and we’ll make her right, that we will.” Belle hurried about pulling out what she needed from the cupboard as she set the water to boil.

“Honey and lemon…yessum, we’ll add that,” Belle said as much to herself as she did to Heather. “It’s the swamp fever, it is. I’ve seen it afore, I have.”

“And did you…do you know of anything that was used that actually helped?”

“Yessum, but if I tells you, and then somethin’ goes wrong…?” Belle said uncertainly.

“Belle, do you trust the comte?”

“Yessum…we all does, but…the other white men?” She shook her head.

“Then I shall say I knew of this remedy from my books and asked you to prepare it. You have naught to fear. Only, what is it?”

“It grows right here at Brabant, it does,” Belle said.

Heather took her hands. “What is it?”

“Tamarind pulp,” Belle said tentatively.

Heather took up the tray Belle had prepared with the sage tea and said softly, “Belle, if her ladyship doesn’t improve…we’ll have to get a hold of this Tamarind pulp, so you think about that, yes?”

“Yessum,” Belle said, but looked worried all the same.

* * * * *

Abovestairs, Louise tossed violently. Now and then whimpering, calling for her dead husband, cursing Robespierre, and then sinking back against her pillow in a wretched sweat.

Maurice’s heart was wrenched and twisted as he wiped down his sister’s face with the cool rosewater, and spoke softly to her in his attempt to soothe her fitfulness.

“Non, ma petite soeur. Non…it is over, it is done. You are here with me. You must get well, be calm and rest. I need you, Louise. Please, for me, be calm,” he said quietly.

He settled back in his chair, feeling strangely exhausted. He put a hand to his face, as he was experiencing a great deal of discomfort. The breeze from the open windows did nothing to alleviate the fact that he felt hotter than usual. What was he going to do? Louise was fitful, and he couldn’t bear it if he lost her.

He stood from his chair in an attempt to walk to the balcony and get some air, but a dizziness took control of his limbs and he fell back onto his chair with a thump.

“Ah, no…” he said out loud as he realized he was dangerously ill. Not now.

Heather opened the door and started inside. The tisane with some crackers on a plate rested on the tray she carried towards Louise’s nightstand.

What met her gaze made her gasp and stop in place. She saw Maurice collapsed and unconscious in the chair beside Louise’s bed.