The girl's voice did little to hide her disappointment. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good girl."
They were halfway there, but everyone was already tired. Well, she couldn't afford to let that stop her. Not when Ada was burning up, barely able to keep her eyes open more than a few minutes at a time. She needed a doctor, and she needed him fast. Catherine only had the hope that she wasn't already too late, and the knowledge that she couldn't have been any faster.
The return trip did little to convince Glen that trains were a good thing, or that he would want to take another. But he took it, all the same, because they were in a hurry.
The Deputy had left a message for him to come to the office when he got up, before Glen rose at the first sight of the sun over the horizon. The man had his bag packed, and was out the door before a minute had passed.
It was oddly refreshing to be taken seriously. Something about the entire experience with Sheriff Barnes had thrown him into a bad mood about law enforcement, least in Wyoming. It was refreshing to see that there was someone who was willing to at least make a showing of trying to do their jobs.
They got off, and while Glen went to retrieve his horse from the stable, Deputy Barrett talked over his plan. There had been some assumption, on Glen's part, that he might be going around alone. That the Deputy would take care of it.
But as things developed it was becoming clearer that in a certain sense the man was deputizing him—he was being recruited as an extra pair of hands, and to his displeasure, his advice seemed to be little more than a suggestion.
"We'll talk to the Sheriff first."
"You're wasting your time," Glen said. "He'll tell you whatever he thinks you want to hear. Just to get you gone."
"We'll see." Being ignored was frustrating. But the man was doing his job, or at least, he was near enough to doing it.
Making their way through town to the Sheriff's office. It was still early, and there was a question in Glen's mind whether or not they would find the place open. To his surprise, the place was lit up like a tree on Christmas. Apparently Sheriff Barnes was an earlier riser than Glen had given him credit for, or he'd had a very long night the night before.
Catherine's chest hurt. Why couldn't they have gotten here sooner? Why was it taking the Doc so long to figure out what was wrong?
She knew better than to think that she was getting anything other than his best service. He would go as fast as he could. But still, it burned to know that every moment that they weren't working on fixing her daughter, was a moment that she was getting worse. And that precious time was being eaten up while she lay there on Doctor Connelly's couch.
"Any news?" She knew right away she shouldn't have asked. If there was news, then she would have been told it. Asking wasn't going to help, and answerin
g her was just going to waste time. But not knowing was too painful, and as long as she couldn't figure a way to help her girls, things were just going to get worse.
Grace had climbed up into her mother's lap as soon as they'd all sat down, and then promptly fallen asleep. Catherine let herself look down at the girl. She looked alright. Catherine put a hand to her forehead, just to check. To make absolutely sure, as if she might be able to cure Ada by making sure that whatever ailed her wasn't spreading to her little brother and sister.
The girl's forehead was no warmer than normal. No tell-tale cough. As far as anyone could tell, Grace was in perfect health. Just the eldest child, it seemed.
Catherine tried to let herself calm down. They were doing everything they could. She raised her head, watched Doctor Connelly press his stethoscope against her daughter's chest. It was still rising and falling with each breath, more labored than Catherine liked. It was what it had to be, though. There was nothing anyone could do to change the reality.
She closed her eyes. No, she was wrong. There was something else that she could do.
Catherine lowered her head and folded her hands. She could feel Grace stirring, just a bit, in her arms. Go back to sleep, she thought.
Then, as unfamiliar as it felt, Catherine started to pray.
Lord, I know I haven't been praying like I should, and I know I haven't put your love into my children. I know that I've been leaving you behind in my life, and I know that I need to correct that before I deserve any of your favor. But please, Lord, save my daughter. I'll do anything, just don't take Ada away from me.
She raised her head and took a breath, unsure what else she should do. What else she could do. Her head shot back down into an image of quiet contemplation.
Amen.
She raised her head again. Catherine had never been sure that prayers were answered, not the way that they were asked anyway. But she had to hope. And that meant that she had to trust that everything was going to be alright, even though she didn't feel it. That was what faith was, and right up until she'd met Billy, that had been a big part of her life.
When she'd let it go, what had she lost? More than she realized, she thought. More than it was worth. She made a promise to herself. Whatever happened, she was going to church this Sunday. This Sunday, and every Sunday after it.
Ada coughed again, and again Catherine felt the pull to stand up, to go over and try to coo over her daughter, to get the girl to feel somewhat normal again. But it wasn't going to help. The doctor was doing his best, and anything she did was just going to get in the way.
But it sure didn't feel good, she thought. She wanted to be able to help, wanted to make the problem go away. The fact that she couldn't, just made her feel worse.
The doctor turned and pulled the stethoscope out of his ears. He seemed, for all the world, to be packing his kit back up, and then finally he turned to regard Catherine. At last, she hoped, she was going to get her answer.