Wild Thunder

“Are you callin’ me a cheat?” Tiny growled, his eyes narrowing.

“I call them like I see them,” Hannah said, placing her hands on her hips. Then her eyes softened. “Tiny, you are the only person I can depend on at this time to make sure Chuck is taken care of. If you do him wrong, I’ll make sure you hang!”

“Threats?” Tiny said, forking an eyebrow. “Miss stuck-up, you pick a crazy time to hand me threats.”

“I give up,” Hannah said, flailing her hands in the air. She stamped away, then softened inside when Tiny spoke up behind her.

“All right, Hannah,” he said in a civil tone. “I’ll go and tell Chuck what’s happened. And don’t fret none. I’ll look after him, fair and square.”

Hannah turned tear-filled eyes at him. “Thank you,” she murmured, then broke into a run and hurried back aboard the ship.

She embraced her mother, so grateful that she had not yet been affected by the disease.

Then when she went to the cabin in which her sister lay so ill and pale, her breathing raspy, Hannah covered her mouth with her hands and emitted a soft cry of despair.

“Clara!” she cried. “Oh, Lord, Clara!”

Chapter 31

’Tis very sweet to look into the fair

And open face of heaven—to breathe a prayer

Full in the smile of the blue firmament.

—JOHN KEATS

Several days had passed since Hannah had immersed herself in helping those who were ill. Every day she had watched for the symptoms of cholera in her parents, as well as herself.

And thus far, they had not contracted the dreaded disease.

Although exhausted, Hannah and her parents had tended to Clara and the others with scarcely a wink of sleep.

Needing a bath, her hair full of tangles, Hannah watched her father as he came toward her, equally disheveled. He had hardly let up on her since the day they had begun caring for the ill together. He had told her time and again that she was proving just how much compassion she had for people, and how skilled she was at caring for them.

Today, when she could hardly hold her eyes open for lack of sleep, she attempted to walk away from her father.

But he was too quick.

Especially since her knees were almost too weak to hold her up.

“Take a look around you, Hannah,” Howard said, gesturing with a hand toward cots of people who were recovering. “If not for your tender care, their graves would be added to those who died.”

“Yes, Father,” Hannah said, her voice drawn. “I know. And I’m proud.”

She blinked her eyes, in an effort to stay awake.

She swayed somewhat, then grabbed for the back of a chair to steady herself.

“Then, Hannah, surely you must see how much you are needed in the medical field,” Howard urged, his eyes pleading with her.

“Father, I understand how you feel,” she murmured. “But please. Not today. Please don’t start on me again today. I . . . need . . . to go and get some sleep now that the crisis has passed for everyone.”

She gazed over at Clara, who was awake and taking nourishment as Hannah’s mother slowly fed her sips of broth from a spoon. “And thank God Clara is going to be all right,” she murmured. “Had she died, I just don’t know . . .”

“But she didn’t die,” her father said, interrupting her. “And she owes that in part, to you.”

“Father, I only did . . .” Hannah said, but he again interrupted her.